Breaing My Own Rules

I was on the bus, stuck in traffic on 47th when my phone chirped. I would have ignored it. Nobody that I actually want to talk to ever calls me, but we'd been sitting at this intersection for three rounds of the stoplight and I was about to go out of my mind with boredom, so I glanced at the screen. Someone named Dr. Thomas Harker was calling me. I had no idea who that was, no recollection of programming that name in, and to be perfectly honest I'm really crappy at the whole yearly physical thing. Since my gynecologist was female, and I really wasn't seeing anyone else, I had my finger poised over the ignore button. Then it occurred to me. My dad was a doctor. We only saw each other like once a year when I'd go to Wisconsin for a visit and a Green Bay game. But maybe this was one of his friends. He was an old coot, but I loved him and couldn't help but worry, so I went for the answer button instead.

"Hello, hello?" I shouted into the phone, because the bus was full of irate riders who just wanted to get home and were being very vocal about it. I covered my other ear, trying to make out the words on the other end.

"Thirty minutes. Leave your door unlocked, be naked, kneeling in the middle of the living room."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. I didn't put it back quite as close to my ear, because, you know, radiation. And bad vibes. "Who is this?" I demanded.

"Thirty minutes." The voice repeated, then there was only that peculiar silence that cell phones give you. No clicks, no dial tones, just dead air.

"Okay," I said to myself. "A wrong number. No biggie." Except that the call was from a number programmed into my phone. I went to the contact list. Sure enough, there was a name and a phone number, listed as business. Nothing else, but the area code was local. I tapped a few more icons and opened up a Google Search. Typed in the name. Went back and added the city. Went back again and added doctor. It might as well have been Tom Jones for as much clarity as the search gave me.

The bus was moving again, sort of, and I shoved the mystery to the back of my mind. Whatever the case, I sure as hell was not going to strip and kneel in the middle of my floor with the door unlocked. This was the big city, after all. We made it a few more blocks then some cab tried to cut in front of the bus. The driver swerved and a drunk teenager fell into my lap. I shoved him back into the aisle. A couple more blocks and some perv slipped into the seat next to me where a sweet granny had been sitting. When he started leering, I fervently wished for the granny's knitting needles. I finally abandoned mass transit a couple blocks early, asking myself yet again why it was I'd moved to the big city. The phone call was all but forgotten.

I stopped at a sidewalk vendor and bought a chili dog. See, that's what happens when you have to hoof it; impulse buying. And of course they always smell way better than they taste, but at least I didn't have to give more thought to dinner. I paused in front of my apartment building to finish off the dog. The doorman gets really irate if you bring food into his lobby. I've found that if you're lucky enough to have a doorman, you really want to stay on his good side. Otherwise, packages, pizzas and other goodies can go astray way too easy. I dropped the wrapper in a handy waste bin on the corner then climbed the steps, still chewing. When I mumbled a greeting to the doorman, he gave me his usual crap about how bad my diet is. I just smiled and kept chewing as I headed for my mailbox.

Inside, there was the regular stack of junk mail. I almost threw it all into the recycling bin, but then I noticed a thin envelope with a handwritten address on it, using my full name. God I hate that. "My name is Sky," I announced to the empty hall. Next I noticed the return address, or rather lack thereof. All it said was Dr. Thomas Harker. The creepy-crawlies went up and down my spine. I started to open it, but then the jerk from 203 came around the corner. He had no business of his own, so he was always getting in everybody else's. I tucked the envelope under my arm and headed for the elevator.

Once I reached my apartment, I tossed the envelope on the counter and searched the fridge for some wine or beer to wash the chili dog taste out of my mouth. All I found was beer, of course, because if there was wine, I would have drunk it already. It always held priority over beer. I popped the top and took a long swig, then stared at the envelope. Did I really want to know what was in it? I finally convinced myself that not knowing was not an option. I took another swig, then ripped the envelope open. Inside there was a handwritten note. It said, "6:00 pm, door unlocked, naked, kneeling in the middle of the living room." I dropped the note as if I'd been burned. When I could breathe normally again, I glanced at the microwave. It was pronouncing that the time was 6:23. I rushed to the apartment door and threw a couple more locks, then I pulled out my cell phone and checked the call log. The call had come at precisely 5:30. So, okay, I told myself. Whatever was supposed to happen at six had come and gone.

I retrieved the note and studied the hand writing. A cold chill was coming over me. My old stalker friend had left me alone for almost two months. I had dared to hope that I was done with that whole episode. I still hadn't figured out how an encounter could be so intensely wonderful in the moment and so incredibly creepy when viewed from a distance. While I never did manage to get his name (yeah, long story) one of my friends claimed it was Tom. He had written me a note once before, but I hadn't kept it and recognizing handwriting was not my forte even with side by side samples. I drained the beer and pulled another one out. I looked at my cell phone again, trying to see when Thomas Harker had been added to my contacts. If there was a way to tell, though, it eluded me. I decided that it would be a really good night to crawl into pj's and watch some mindless TV; maybe even fall asleep on the couch. If you can't solve a problem, deny it exists.

I might just mention that I'm a real lightweight when it comes to alcohol, so guzzling two beers in a row was never a good idea. I was beginning to feel the buzz as I headed for the bedroom to change. I threw my head back to finish off the bottle, which is why I tripped over something on the floor. I stumbled into the wall and when I finally righted myself, I was searching for what had tripped me. Hence I was staring at the rope that was trailing out from under my bed instead of the man standing on the other side of the bed.

"You're late," he said, in a stern headmaster sort of way. I jumped about six inches.

"You're not naked. You're not kneeling in the living room. Have you forgotten entirely how to obey?"

"How did you get in here?" I demanded.

"With a key," he replied, and gave me a condescending look as if I was campaigning for village idiot. I glanced at the bathroom door, but he was between me and it, and frankly, hiding in a bathroom hadn't worked out so great last time.

My brain was screaming "Run!" at my feet, but they were busy remembering how he was capable of delivering orgasms that tingled all the way to the tips of my toes. In fact, pretty much everything from my neck down was totally ignoring all those fight or flight signals. At least the adrenalin was starting to clear the beer fog. I remembered the extra key that I kept in the kitchen drawer for when my brother would visit. Or maybe, that I used to keep there.

I raised my hands like I was trying to ward him off, even though he was on the other side of the room. "Look, I'm not going there anymore. We're through. Find someone else to be your whipping boy. Girl. Whatever. Just leave me alone."

"I'm not through with you," he said in his deep, melodious and utterly threatening voice. He started toward the end of the bed, and finally my feet decided to listen. I made a dash for the apartment door and was fumbling with the third lock when he leaned against the door, arms crossed on his chest. "Where are you going?" he asked softly.

"Away from here," I exclaimed tugging fruitlessly at the door.

"This is your home," he pointed out needlessly.

"Not any more. I'm moving." I kept tugging at the door. I'd get it open a fraction of an inch and then it would slam shut. Maybe if I annoyed the neighbors enough, but no, it was Friday night. I was the only one home on a Friday night. Me and the jerk in 203.

"You don't want to move," he said, reaching over and unwrapping my hands from the door knob. "Think of all the memories we've made here."

I yanked my hands free and backed away. One of those voices in my head was screaming "Don't let him touch you!" I only had a few states of being when he was anywhere near; angry volcano, which I was clinging desperately to at the moment; putty, which was pretty much any time his fingers touched me; soft and gooey when his lips touched me; stormy ocean when his tongue touched me; and molten lava when his cock was buried inside me. I hadn't ever seen those phases described on a National Geographic special, but they should have been. When he wasn't around, I could pass as a normal human being, even hold down a job and pay bills. When he was around, well, I was basically mindless goo.

He calmly reached over and slid the deadbolt lock shut. "Last time I was here, you said you would never deny me again," he said, still leaning against the door.

"That's not fair! I was under duress," I argued.

"Duress? Was I hurting you? Was I doing anything that you didn't ask me for? I believe the phrase you repeated more than once was 'Please, Sir.'"

"Under the influence, then."

"Of what? I didn't see you take a drink of anything. I didn't taste wine on your lips." He licked his own lips as he said that, and his eyes were glued to my lips. He was moving closer, so slowly it was almost imperceptible.

"You, damn it! I was under the influence of you."

That made him smile. "Admitting the truth is good for the soul, don't you think?" he asked, cocking his head.

A tiny little voice was yelling, "Back away," but it was so distant and there was a roaring in my ears. "What?" I said with a shake of my head. "What truth?"

"That you need me, that you want me. That you are empty without me. That you need me to fill you, to make you whole." He reached out with one long finger and traced the outline of my lips, concentrating as he did so. The little voice in my head was jumping up and down, waving its hands in the air and shouting, "That's how it always starts!" I started to shake my head and suddenly, the hand that had been so softly tracing my lips was tangled in my hair, gripping the back of my neck tightly. "That you want me to punish you, to make you obedient," he continued, then crushed his lips against mine. I was gasping for breath and his tongue took that as an invitation to enter and overwhelm my own. My hands found his chest, but they had no strength to push him away. With that one hand and his lips he held me frozen in place. When he had wrestled my tongue into submission, he pulled back and used the hand at my neck to push me down on my knees. His hands twisted into my hair and gripped my head.

"How liberating would it be to trust someone who has complete control over you?" he asked, apparently oblivious to the fact that I was trembling. "Here's your chance to find out." I couldn't see much of anything but his crotch, hidden behind dark slacks, but he was obviously hard and ready, waiting for me. When I'd told him before that I couldn't deep throat him, he had accepted that, and then berated me after for not trusting him. I'd been with enough guys who had broken that trust, and he was so totally different from all the rest, how could he expect me to trust him? Perhaps, because he was different from all the rest? I knew, with as much surety as I was capable, that if I refused and convinced him that I really meant it, he would walk away. But part of me - the part from the neck down - wasn't ready to let him walk away. In fact, the two month drought after the incredibly intense experiences he had orchestrated had been torturous in its own right. There wasn't a vibrator in the world that could match the magic of his tongue.

I was taking too long to think about it. That was probably an unspoken rule that I was expected to know. He shook me. "Decide!" he snapped. My brain didn't say, "Okay, let's do this," but my hands reached for his belt. A moment later, his cock was springing free, demanding attention. Jeez, it seemed even bigger than I remembered. I licked my lips and engulfed as much as I could, but he yanked me back. "Not so fast. Take your time," he commanded, but I thought I sensed just a hint of approval in his voice. I guess that made sense, since he had told me he fed on his control over me and I certainly seemed to be fulfilling his commands.

I started again, with just the tip of my tongue, teasing from balls to head, top to bottom, then again with the flat of my tongue. When I had covered the entire surface, I spent a few moments on his balls. Then, I sucked the head of his cock into my mouth, working my tongue furiously on the underside and my hands stroking and working what didn't fit in my mouth. His hands tightened on my head and it took all my will power to keep going. My own hands tightened on his cock, preparing to defend my throat against an assault. But then he was coming, pressing no farther than my mouth and throat could easily accommodate, his hands firm on my head but not forcing me. Despite gagging, I used my hands to milk the last of his come and swallowed readily. When he finally pulled back, I fell forward, bracing myself with my extended arms, trying to catch my breath and calm my nerves. I could feel him watching me, but refused to look up.

After an interminable silence, I heard him refasten his slacks, then he stepped back and said, "You're kneeling, but you're not naked. Fix that." He turned away and moved into the kitchen segment of the room. It sounded like he was helping himself to a beer. Again, I was sure I was taking too long to decide what to do. Part of my brain was saying, "You've sucked him off. That's enough." Unfortunately, the part that was from the neck down had other ideas. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see him move in front of the kitchen bar, probably leaning against it, crossing his legs at the ankles.

"I'm not seeing bare skin," he taunted, but with a touch of humor. He was enjoying my dilemma.

I took a deep breath and sat back on my heels, though I still didn't look up. "What do you want?"

I knew he shrugged, even though I couldn't see it. "Your obedience."

"I think you want my disobedience," I challenged, with just a hint of a cringe.

Is it possible to hear a smile? He sauntered over and his fingers combed through my tangled hair. "Is that what you think?" he asked, disingenuously. "That it's all about punishment?"

"Yes," and damn if it didn't come out squeaky. I took a deep breath. "You knew how unlikely it was for me to be able to get home by 6:00." Okay, that was conjecture, but any good stalker should know stuff like that. "You told me to leave the door unlocked even though you had a key. You showed up here expecting to have an excuse to punish me." I straightened my backbone but didn't raise my eyes. Baby steps.

He squatted down next to me. "I didn't need an excuse, cherie. I have been explicit about the rules. I promised you punishment if you didn't follow them. You said you understood. You have been very disobedient." He leaned close to my ear. "You crave punishment. Deny it."

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes tight shut to prevent tears. I felt helplessly trapped in a paradox where no answer was right. When he had spanked me, it hurt, yes. It also went straight to my core and ignited a conflagration. He was the only one there to quench it.

"You also crave to obey, crave clear rules to follow," he continued. "Do you know why?"

I shook my head. I couldn't think of a good argument to prove I didn't crave that kind of weakness, let alone why I might want that.

He tucked my hair behind my ear, making it harder to hide from his intense gaze. "Because it's easy. Simple. No decisions to make. You do what you're told to do, you get your reward. You misbehave, you get your punishment and after, when you do obey, you get an even more intense reward." His lips brushed the corner of my eye where a tear was threatening to fall. "Simple," he whispered. He pulled away. "Now undress," he snapped.

My hands went immediately to the top button of my blouse. He went back to the kitchen bar and took up his beer again. I still didn't meet his eyes as I slowly pulled my blouse off, removed my bra and unfastened my slacks. I couldn't figure out how to slide them off while kneeling, so I made do with pushing them down, squirming to a sitting position, to pull them the rest of the way off, then kneeling again. Not exactly what you would call graceful - or even close. I swear I heard him smile. I had used up my store of feistiness and returned to being his obedient pet. And he never doubted I would. He made me wait like that until he finished his beer, then he sauntered over and knelt behind me.

One arm snaked around my waist from behind. His other hand was at the back of my neck again, pushing my head down toward the floor even as the arm at my waist was lifting my ass up high. When he seemed satisfied with that, he place my arms on either side of my head, stretched forward in such a way that I suspected was meant to be intentionally awkward and difficult to hold. Part of my brain was suggesting I needed to go back to yoga classes. Another part was noticing that I really needed to vacuum. Most of it though was quite simply dying for his touch anywhere in the area he had just so thoroughly exposed.

He made some minor adjustments, stood and walked slowly around me, knowing the torment he was putting my through. It seemed like forever before he settled back behind me, chuckling when he saw the juices running down the backs of my thighs. There was another long pause, then his thumb was buried in my pussy. It wiggled about briefly, then just as suddenly was gone, only to press insistently at my asshole. Well lubricated with pussy juice it slit right in. I was pleased with myself for remaining silent. He hadn't commanded it yet, but I was sure it was coming, and practice couldn't hurt. I didn't make a sound when two fingers of the same hand slid into my pussy. I didn't even gasp when they all began slowly pumping in and out. I stayed as still as I could, and prayed they would go faster.

They didn't, but after another moment, his other hand had reached in front of my thighs to press upward, massaging my belly, even as his little finger wiggled down between my lips and softly massaged my clit with the same rhythm as his other hand. Too slow, I wanted to shout. But I stayed silent. I was obedient. I focused on how the sensation of being massaged from inside and out at the same time was causing so much pressure to build inside me. I didn't know if I would survive the explosion when it came.

When I was sure I would lose my mind if the pressure wasn't relieved, his hands suddenly disappeared. I think I made a soft choking sound and I could feel my thighs quivering with need. I began reciting the pledge of allegiance in my head. Anything to keep my focus away from my oh, so empty pussy. What was he doing back there? I heard him stand and move away. I balled my hands into fists, hoping he wasn't looking. A few moments later, he was back. I could feel his breath where it hit my sopping pussy and the juices running down my legs. That tiniest of sensations was pure torture. I couldn't stand it anymore and I blurted out the one thing that might not get me in trouble.