"Ya know what," she said, "I'm sick of your shit. You know, I have needs too. And its about time they got met."
"Yeah, ok, listen can we talk later, the game's on."
"You're not listening. There is no later, I'm talking now- and you're going to listen."
"Hey doll, do you mind. You make a better door than a- what the fuck!"
She stood in front of him holding the cut TV cord in one hand, the ragged looking knife in the other. "We need to get a few things straight. I don't like to be called doll. I never have. You need to become a little more attentive and pick up on these things. I DON'T want to keep having to remind you."
"Listen babe-"
She jabbed the knife at him. "I SAID don't call me that."
"Lea, honey. I don't know what's gotten into you, but we can fix it. Just hand me that knife..."
"No, Dan, you listen. I do not like repeating myself. I WILL use this thing. Now, take off your shirt."
"Lea-"
"Take if off, Dan."
When he didn't move to do as she said, she walked right up to him and put the knife tip against his abdomen. "Don't move," her voice was steady, clear and threatening. She edged the knife up under his olive green tee-shirt. The blade traced its way up the tender flesh of his side. Midway to his armpit, she turned the knife and pulled it toward her, rending his shirt in two with a loud ripping sound. As the shredded remains of his shirt fell around his feet, Dan stared at Lea, open mouthed and scared."
"Close your mouth." Lea snapped. "You are starting to get the idea finally, I think. I am in charge now." She walked around him as she talked, running the tip of the knife over the surface of his tight faded jeans. She tipped the knife to the flat of the blade and teased it over his taunt tanned chest. "When I tell you to do something, you do it- immediately. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he said, comprehension beginning to register in his eyes.
"Yes, Mistress." she ordered.
There was fear in his eyes. The knife was centimeters from his stiff nipple. But she could see him struggling, unwilling to submit to her desire. "Lea, come on. We both know you're not going to use that."
"Do we?" she asked, turning the blade again and pressing it to his skin. The knife sunk in, not cutting but clearly able and willing.
"I know you think calling me Mistress will somehow compromise your manhood," she said slowly. "But I'd reconsider quickly, as the safely of your manhood is resting in my hands right now." She traced the blade southward, stopping at the line of his pubic hair.
He followed her gaze down to his half-erect penis. That last comment was clearly too much, he really wanted to put a stop to this nonsense at once. He wasn't afraid of blood, certainly not his own, and he knew that he could over power her. Yet something rooted him to the spot. Whether it was fear or shock or something deeper, he didn't have time to contemplate. He simply knew that he was incapable of moving, incapable of fighting back. His brain seemed to have gone on strike because it just refused to tell his body what to do.
"Yes, mistress," he choked out. His throat was dry, his hands clammy. Everything in his world seemed upside down.
"You don't have to sound like it's killing you." She said, waving the knife in slow controlled zig-zags in front of his navel. "Take off your jeans," she barked. This time he quickly obeyed.
"You're catching on," she intoned dryly. "Now throw them over into the corner."
She looked at his body, buff and tan. He wasn't Mr. Universe or anything, but he kept in pretty good shape. She thought about how when they had met he had bragged about how he could bench press her, and how they had made love nearly every day. Sometimes they even had done it two or even three times in one day. And each time he just seemed to be able to go on for ever, always making sure that she came before he did. What the hell happened to all that stamina, she thought, and the consideration? These days, when he was home it seemed he was always distracted by sports, or sitcoms or video games. Christ, when do they start to outgrow that shit anyway, she wondered.
"I'm getting really tired of you ignoring me," she told him. "You always have time for the TV, but then when you're done with that you're just too tired for anything else- me included. I'm tired of having sex once every week or sometimes two, and then having you cum after five minutes and I'm just left hanging. I'm really really sick of you expecting blow-jobs all the fucking time and never being willing to go down on me. Well you know what? Its all coming to an end right now. Get down on your knees and start licking."
He didn't know why or even how, but in the next moment he was on his knees, her panties were around her ankles, and his tongue pressed up into her pussy. She held the knife, carefully, on his shoulder. "Lick me, that's right, lick it real good. Yea, I wanna feel all of your tongue up inside me. You like that sweet taste of pussy?"
She ran the fingers of her free hand through his hair and closing her fist around his locks, drew his face back impelling him to make eye contact. "Yes, Mistress," he murmured before diving back into her cunt. He knew that he should have grappled the knife from her hand, forced her to the floor and asserted his manhood. But he had done the opposite. He had submitted to her demands, and now he had no choice but to continue to do so. He knew that his one chance had passed, he was now changed forever in her eyes, in his own eyes.
"Oh yes," she moaned. "You're my little bitch now, aren't you. I don't need this knife anymore, because you have already lowered yourself to take orders from me. Now we both know that deep inside yourself you really wanted to be dominated all along and now there is no going back. And you always prized yourself on being such a macho guy. This is going to be so much fun."
No, he thought. I am the man, I wear the pants, I give the orders. This is ridiculous, get up, and take charge. Yet here he was on his knees, servicing Lea with his tongue and calling her mistress. He knew she was right. He was past the point of no return.
