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The call

She waits for his call, the way she always used to.
She awoke with a start. It was 5:55am. Exhaling in a half frustrated, half indulgent groan, she sank back into the new winter sheets she had just pulled out three days ago. The season was changing. Outside, Fall was making its graceful exit and the gritty cold winds of Winter were approaching.

Four months it had been, and yet it was with her.

'Wake up 5 minutes before My call' he instructed her.

He had no authority over her except that which he exuded. The decision to obey him was completely hers. That was what made it so delicious.

Of course it was not always so. She still would shake her head in disbelief when thinking about their first interaction. A napkin passed to her after a long lunch at the local Greek restaurant. She was with her then boyfriend and he was a late arrival. He sat opposite her and ate quietly. He didn't speak much, but it was clear he was taking in everything around him.

'Call me tomorrow at 6am' It said. A phone number was printed in neat handwriting next to the benign command. He didn't ask for her number. He didn't try to impress her.

Just a note in passing at the end of lunch.

She tried to remember if he had done it in view of her previous boyfriend. She pulled the covers up over herself as she tried to remember his name. That failed memory was certainly telling. What she remembered clearly was that he had seen in that one lunch what she had not seen in two months of going out with her ex. That he couldn't give her what she was seeking; that she was likely going to be satisfied with something that was good enough for the promise of a safe existence and a caring, nurturing relationship.

She tucked the strands of long black hair that pushed over her ears. She could feel her nipples taut now, erect and hard. She allowed herself the touch, running just the tip of her finger over the sheer fabrick of her white nightgown. He made her touch herself. He would listen while she did, making her tell him, describe to him in detail everything she was doing. It was a taking of double magnitude. First, she had to surrender herself and perform the act. Next, she had to take on the embarassment of having to describe it. Her reward? That thrill and electricity that would shoot through her body as she realized she was not in control.

She didn't actively look for most of what he made her do. She didn't particularly crave it. But that feeling that came when she did it.

That she craved. Intensely.

It happened over multiple conversations - all at 6am. How he knew that her boyfriend wouldn't be in her bed next to her she had no idea. But he would know. The converstaions were never pushy. He never commanded her to do anything, never raised his voice. It felt like she was being taken and led along a journey. A journey she knew she wanted to undertake but didn't know how.

It was just two weeks ago that she finally took the box and disposed of it. Her 'bitch' toys as he called them. The black collar with the diamond shaped stud. The pink and red tails that she had made her make out of thin silk, the belt she would wear around her waist whenever he dressed her up as a doggy bitch to spank and fuck her. The anal beads, the two ben wa balls and the ankle cuffs that he would use occasionally, when he wanted to turn her into a desperate whore. Amazing that they all fit into that small box. So much of her life. So much time, so much anticipation was extracted from her with these seemingly unrelated implements.

Her butt cheeks clenched involuntarily as she thought of the toys, especially the beads. He had been the first person to invade her anus. For as much as she had thought about it and fantasized about it, she never allowed any boyfriend anywhere close. The moment she heard them ask permission, the moment she heard them get tentative at her first shrill negation, she knew her anus was safe for the time being.

With him it had been different. He didn't ask for permission. He didn't stop when she struggled. He took it when he decided he wanted to. Of course he didn't sodomize her at first go. It was a digit that was introduced past her clenched sphincter muscle. She raged at the intrusion and delighted at the dominance. At the time, she had no idea what made her accept it. She fought it the next time, and the time after. She told him she didn't like it.

Light was slowly breaking outside. She looked at the clock. It was now 6:20. Night still had not relished his hold and daylight was seeking permission to break.

How much memory, emotion and feeling from just this one action? Waking up like Pavlov's bitch, with a familiar moisture between her clenched thighs.

His voice.

His voice was intoxicating. It still had a hint of an Indian accent. Whether he washed it away intentionally or it disintegrated over time due to exposure to the American accents around him she didn't know. What she knew is that when he called at 6am, she was already in a headspace that she found incredible to comprehend. Who was she kidding? She had no idea what was happening for months. She just knew that she was doing more and more of what he asked, despite herself.

She had told herself that it was a boon in disguise that the calls no longer happened. That the meetings were over. The sudden and unexpected visits at work, at home, were a thing of the past.

Yet when 5:55 am arrived, her body responded to her subconscious urge and needs.

Perhaps today he would call.
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Comments(2)

LauraLee_sugah
Posted 25 Oct 2011 07:14
those quiet ones have the most power...... the longing in this hurt my heart a little.
Michael
Posted 25 Oct 2011 04:34
Unique story line, well presented. Left me wanting to know more about her, him and those early morning moments. Enjoyed it.
 

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