Not About That Life

by Vera Roberts

  I hiccup. “You told me to swallow big.”

  “That I did.” He finishes the drink and set the glass on a nearby table. “What’s on your mind, angel?”

  “I think you’re channeling your inner Rick James.” I let out another breath and I feel his questioning eyes. “Sex dungeons.”

  “Ah,” he shakes his head, “you know none of the sort goes on here, angel.”

  “I know, it’s just…” I look around the room again. How can it be so aesthetically pleasing and freaky at the same time? Come to think of it, that describes Ian to a tee. “…I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “I told you I wasn’t going to keep any secrets from you and this was a big one.” He admits. “Not everyone knows this about me. In fact, you’re only one of a few. Not even Gerald and Emma know this, though I doubt they would be surprised that I did.”

  I can only imagine how Thanksgiving would be if that information came out. “Who actually knows that you do this?”

  “Well, my friends I’ve spoken about, Nick and Zerrin, and Scott and Mariana. And a few submissives I’ve had signed a NDA so I’m not showing up in TMZ.”

  My mind immediately goes back to the first time I’ve met Ian here. “Toothpick Tanya…” I mutter.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  I turn to him. “That blonde with no ass? The woman that was here when I first came over? That was a submissive?”

  “Ah, yes,” he agrees, “she came over to do something and left shortly afterward.”

  Don’t ask what she did. Don’t ask what she did. “What did she do?” Domi, we need to have a chit-chat, girl.

  “She let me hogtie her as I spanked her until her ass was nice and red. Then I fucked her mouth with my cock and gave her a facial. She was cleaning up when you arrived.”

  A weird storm brewed inside me. I was jealous AF and I was aroused AF. I couldn’t decide which emotion was dominating until the arousal slowly took over again. “Oh,” my voice came out all quiet and meek, “I see.”

  I feel Ian’s eyes on me and I can tell he’s concerned about how I’m taking all of this. To be honest, I’m not sure how I’m taking this my damn self. “If this is too much for you, angel, we don’t have to do any of this. I just wanted to be open and honest with you. No secrets.”

  Ian can’t know about this. I shake the conversation I’ve had with Gerald out of my head as small pangs of guilt creep into my mind. “No, it’s fine. It’s just a lot to consider right now.”

  “We don’t have to do anything tonight or at all, angel. I stand by that. We can just go to New York next week to visit friends and that’s it.”

  I don’t want to waste a plane trip to New York to speak to Nick and Zerrin, when they might be my only chance to really know what BDSM is about. I’m feeling a tad bit bolder from that liquid courage and it’s now or never.

  I stand up and walk in front of Ian. I strip down naked and stand before him. I feel his eyes examine my body and once again, I’m raw and vulnerable. We’re about to embark on another level in our relationship and I’m terrified.

  What if I hate it? What if it’s too much? What if I don’t want to do this anymore after a while? What if Ian wants to continue and he’ll find another?

  “Shh…” I feel Ian’s lips on my navel and my knees slightly buckle. “Your mind is going a mile a minute. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “What…” I clear my throat. “…what are you going to do, Sir?” Damn, calling Him Sir is so fucking sexy.

  “What I told you at the restaurant,” he looks up at me, “I’m going to tie you up and eat your cunt.”

  Pleasure points sprung up all over my body and I feel my pussy starting to sing. It’s singing Christopher Williams’ “Please, Please, Please” as a matter of fact. “Oh…” I manage to push out the word. “…I see.”

  Ian soothes his hands all over my ass and why are we still talking? “What’s your safeword, angel?”

  I didn’t even think about a safeword and I have to come up with one on the spot. “On fleek.”

  “One word,” Sir advises.

  “Basic,” I reply. Ian’s eyes narrows and I already know I need to change it. “Turnt.” His expression doesn’t change. “Trill.”

  “I’m sorry?” His British accent bites. “What’s a trill?”

  “Trill. It’s not a thing.” Why am I explaining this while I’m butt-ass naked and he’s still fully dressed? “Trill is the combination of two words – true and real. Trill. It’s so trill.”

  Ian slightly shakes his head. “But isn’t true and real one and the same? I don’t understand why anyone would say something is both true and real when they’re the same?”

  Bae’s got a point. “Okay, how about deadass?”

  “Angel,” he manages a grin, “let’s not use AAVE, okay?”

  “Okay, fine!” I stick out my tongue and he smiles. I quickly think of something that would standout but not be so obvious. It then dawns onto me and I wish I thought about this sooner. What better safeword than one of my favorite foods? “Donut.”

  Ian slowly nods. “I can work with donut.” He kisses my navel again. “Are you ready?”

  Not really but it’s too late to turn back now. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Since you’re still new to this, we’re going to go by the traffic light system. Green means you want me to keep going. Yellow means you’re almost at your limit. Red means you’ve had enough.”

  I wonder how much I would have to go through to get to red. I’m oddly curious about it. “Got it.”

  Sir stands up and hoists me onto the table. He lays me down and retrieves a bottle of oil. He sets it aside and removes his shirt, leaving his slacks on. His nipples are hardened in the cold air and his muscles flex with each movement. My sex flutters just by looking at him.

  He pours some of the oil and spreads it all over my body. It reminds me of the first night were together. He was so gentle, yet so passionate, as if it was something He’d been waiting to do and was just as anxious as I was.

  I wonder what’s going through Sir’s mind now. Is He just as nervous as I am? Do Doms have performance anxiety? He’s so calm and cool, and I wonder if it’s just an act and He’s a wreck inside?

  Damn, why am I so emo when I’m about to get eaten out?

  “Quiet, angel.” His tone comes out as a warning as He massages my breasts. “I can feel your thoughts.”

  I let out a deep breath. I need to clear my mind and relax. This time the focus is on me. Sir is going to pleasure me and worry about Himself later. I need to lay back and enjoy the….

  My eyes fly open and I look down at the two leather straps across my torso. Sir was right – my black ass was really going nowhere tonight. Oh dear.

  He repeats the same motion on my legs. Now I really can’t go anywhere. I feel my legs spread and that’s when I discovered the leather table has compartments. Here I am, bound on a plush leather table, my legs spread apart so everything of me is seen, and I’ve never felt so damn sexy in my life.

  I feel Sir’s fingers brush against my wet slit and my toes curl up. His other hand strokes my entire leg from ankle to hip bone, while He keeps playing with me. He removed His hand from my cunt and I moaned at the loss. Was there going to be more exploration? What was going on?

  “There you go,” He whispers to me as I felt the silk handkerchief tied around my eyes. “Now you can concentrate on feeling the pleasure and not being distracted by what I’m going to do.”

  My tongue darts out and wets my suddenly dry lips. This is now an entirely new level of eroticism. The room, once freezing cold, feels perfect on my skin. Now I completely understand why it’s so cold. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl.” Sir leaves and goes back to my sex.

  The room is deafening quiet and all I hear is the fan of the AC and my pounding heart. What’s going to happen next? Am I going to enjoy this? Would it be too much? Would I really remember to say donut?

&n
bsp; I suddenly hear the sounds of Otis Redding. What? Otis Redding? Right now?

  I feel the brushing of an implement on my skin. It feels like one of the floggers. He’s about to flog me? Okay, I can handle this. Tied up and flogged? Sounds like a good time to me. I wonder if it’ll be a hard swipe or a gentle brush and I won’t feel any—

  Swat!

  My body lurches off the table but the straps hold me in. Fuck! He just flogged my sex. I was not expecting that!

  Swat!

  A soft grunt escapes my lips as I prepared for another one.

  Swat!

  The strips hit me and I felt every single strap at once. It was a burning hot sensation but it wasn’t painful. It actually felt really, really good.

  Swat!

  Sir flogged my pussy and the rush from it filled every corner. That felt so amazing, causing tiny pinpoints of pleasure all over my body. And combined with Otis singing about a lover’s prayer, I think I’m in heaven.

  “Do you want more, angel?” Sir asks me.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Say it.”

  I inwardly growled. He wanted me to beg. He loved to hear me beg, writhe, and cry out for it. “Sir, can you flog my pussy again?”

  Swat!

  Swat!

  Swat!

  Swat!

  Each time Sir flogged me, my body went on pleasure overload. I wanted more but I knew I had to ask for it. What was going on? My mind went everywhere but I couldn’t form one coherent thought.

  Sir dragged His fingers against my wet slit, making me write beneath His touch. “Beg me to eat you.”

  “Oh fuck!” My voice came out as a high-pitch nonsense. “Sir, can you lick my pussy?”

  “Good girl.” He immediately puts his mouth on my sex and thank God I was strapped down to the table. I would’ve for sure leaped off it.

  Sir’s mouth is warm, inviting, and oh-so wonderful. He licks me gently and meticulously as if I’m a delicate flower he doesn’t want to ruin. His tongue slid up and down my slit, circling me, until He began to flick His tongue up and down.

  He didn’t use fingers or any other implements; He just used His magnificent tongue. My feet curled into tight balls; my fists followed the same and I couldn’t get enough of it. He was taking me to the Promised Land, one stroke at a time.

  Sir’s tongue began to work on me faster, more urgently, as if He were silently demanding that I come and come hard. Moans poured out of me as I cried, panted, and begged Him to not stop. I felt small beads of sweat forming on my body and my brain was on overload.

  Sir’s lips and tongue were so hungry, so greedy for me. My legs began to shake, little orgasmic pangs hit my body in different places, and finally I came hard, shaking the table and trembling with the erotic aftershocks.

  “Shhh…” He placed a palm on my sex to calm down the involuntary movement. “That’s my angel…” Once my body stopped shaking, I felt Sir’s head lean against my inner thigh. The smooth roughness of his beard slightly tickled me but I didn’t mind. I’ve grown rather accustomed to Him doing that whenever He pleases me. He loves to study me, study her, and decide which course of action to pursue next.

  “You’re so damn sexy, angel,” He murmurs, “the sexiest woman alive.”

  Sir doesn’t compliment me very much. It’s not like I go fishing for his compliments but when He does say something, He makes sure it’s clear I heard He meant every word. I love that quiet strength about Him.

  “Where are you?” He asks.

  The traffic signal.

  I’m not sure if I’m quite red, but I don’t know if I want to stop. I decided to take a risk. “Yellow.”

  “Oh?” His voice sounds surprised. I hear Him get up and walk over to a station, before He came back to me. I hear the familiar buzzing sound of a vibrator and my mouth gapes open.

  I…I…I don’t know if I can handle this now.

  My mind is telling me to scream red, red, red…no, it’s not red, you idiot. It’s donut, donut, donut!

  My body is telling my brain, ‘bitch, shut up and let Sir do His thing!’

  My heart is singing, “I feel pretty! Oh so pretty!”

  I feel the buzzing against my inner thigh before Sir rolls around to my sex. I gasped but no sound could come out. My body tensed and my fists were tightly clutched.

  Sir had it on the highest setting.

  He rolled the vibrator around my sex until He held it against my clit. I breathed hard; grunts and groans were pouring out of me. I couldn’t take the pressure anymore as another earth-shattering orgasm rumbled throughout my body.

  “You need to beg Me to come.” He ordered.

  The need to climax was hard, intense, and the most frustrating experience in my life. It was on the brink of excruciating and I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I could barely moan.

  What in the fuck was happening?

  “Angel…” Sir warned me as my body involuntarily convulsed.

  I gritted my teeth and grunted again, pushing hard air through my nostrils. “Sir, can I come?”

  “No.”

  “No?” I shrieked. WHAT? I wasn’t expecting Him to say no!

  “Ask Me again.” He directed.

  “Sir, can I come?”

  “No.”

  By now, the pressure from the impending orgasm was becoming too much to bear and I couldn’t stop it. It was going to happen regardless if I wanted it to. “I have to come! My body can’t stop this! I’m going to come!” I begged Him.

  “Ask Me again,” He directed.

  Just for Him to say no? If He says no this time…. “Sir, can I come?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, rolling through my body and slamming me back down to earth. I screamed to the heavens, cursed until my throat was raw, and finally after a few minutes, it was all over.

  The song choice officially made sense – Sir worshipped my pussy.

  “Where are you?” He asks me.

  I wanted to keep going. I really did. I was spent, my mind was exhausted, and I don’t think my body could take anymore.

  With heavy reluctance and regret, I answered Him. “Red.”

  I heard Sir turn off the vibrator and unstrapped me. He picked me up and carried me to our bedroom where He laid me down on the bed. He left a short time to retrieve a cool washcloth and cleaned me up before He joined me. I felt His body spoon against mine as His hands threaded through my hair, easing me to sleep.

  Ian’s mine and I am His.

  Two

  Today is December first.

  The official start of Ian’s Grumpfest.

  Honestly, I’m being too hard on him. My mother died in April and I can say every April is a month I’ll forever dread. Her actual death date isn’t so bad but it’s the time that leads up to it that’s the worst. I become melancholy, emotional, and even angry.

  I wonder how Ian is going to react.

  He’s normally calm, cool, and collected, but everyone keeps warning me about how emotional he might become. Their warnings not are not ignored but no one is telling me how I should prepare for Ian’s state.

  Do I need to stay with Adrienne for the entire month? Would I need to move in Courtney from Inglewood with us? What do I need to do to prepare myself and Ian for this horrible month?

  It’s our first Christmas together as a couple so I want to make sure his holiday is nice and light. I’ve taken the liberty of going Christmas shopping and dragging Adrienne along with me as I rummage through the Target shelves for décor. You can never have too much Christmas in your home, is what I say.

  “Oh, this is adorable!” Adrienne picks up a heavy snowman and waves it. “You should get this!”

  I probably don’t need it and I’m not sure where I’m actually going to do with it. That is pretty much my attitude with ninety percent of my clothes and shoes. “Got it.”

  Dressed to kill in tight, hip-hugger jeans, Adidas sneakers, and a crop top, Adrienne is tot
ally dressed-appropriate for Southern California winter. I let out a small sigh as I think what’s ahead in the coming months.

  He really wants my black ass on those slopes.

  I looked up where Ian proposed we were going. Some place called Valmorel in France. I looked it up online and it’s a really beautiful resort that promises nothing but fresh snow to ski, snowboard, and other things white people like to do because they never show a brotha or sista in those ads.

  “You’ve gotten quiet over there,” she kneels down and looks at different garlands. They’re all gaudy-looking so naturally, they’re also coming home with us. “Is everything okay over there?”

  “Yeah, just thinking about Ian. It’s the month that everyone has warned me about but no one is telling me how I should prepare for it so I’m just wondering what I need to do to make it easier on him.” I reply.

  Adrienne nods as she stands up and studies ornaments. “Blow him.”

  “Besides that.”

  “No, that’s the only thing you need to do.” She nods as if it we’re having a serious conversation. Well, I guess it is. I’m serious about my fiancée and I want to see he has a good month despite the heartache. I guess talking about blow jobs is serious business? “Blow him every night and he’ll forget why he’s upset.”

  “Well, I’m not getting locked jaw every night but I don’t think he’ll forget why he’s upset.” I point out. “Don’t you ever get depressed and moody about mom’s death?”

  “All of the time,” she mentions, “I talk to her, I sing her favorite songs. I even use Pine-Sol when I have to clean because I know that was her thing.”

  “And I fucking hate Pine-Sol,” I chuckle, “Ian’s maid uses that but I don’t have the heart to tell her to stop using it.”

  “Don’t,” Adrienne turns to me with a grin on her face, “that’s mom speaking to you.”

  Adrienne walks past me to look at some other ornaments and I’m stuck in the same place as I try to process what she just said. Was Ian’s older and petite Spanish maid really the Whoopi Goldberg to my Demi Moore?

  Somehow, it doesn’t sound right in my head but I continue on. “How does mom speak to you?”

  Adrienne pauses for a moment and looks up at the ceiling. “Oh, she does it in numerous ways. Whenever I have a big decision to make, I feel a tug on my heart and I know it’s her. She’s telling me to listen to my gut and consider the pros and cons.”