It had been five years since he had last awoken to Megan's fellatio. This time was, if anything, more gratifying. Back then, she had been trying to win his affection, indulging his fantasy, hoping to entice him into a relationship he didn't want. (Frankly, it didn't make much sense for her either). They had been colleagues, her in legal, him in engineering. He wanted to be the Steve Jobs of infectious disease. She was always on point, careful beyond a fault -- exactly the qualities that make a great lawyer, but between his wild adventurousness and their collective cosmological ego, the'd make terrible spouses.
So it had ended, messily, but with the friendship not beyond repair. And they had both prospered -- he now CEO, her a partner at some ritzy feminist law firm Perez, Lee, and Shah. And the delightful morning wake-up was something he was training into her as his willing submissive.
Part time, of course. There were very clear limits. Boy, were there limits. He could never approach her; she must come to him and initiate. He set that rule -- making her beg for it. The boundary protected both of them and made the descent into each night's pleasures more enjoyable. At the beginning of each encounter, the roles were clear, her yearning for his control, him drawing her out into his clutches.
This night had been at a friend's book party. The room was moody and dark -- it was meant to stand in for the drawing rooms of some decadent Rothschild or other -- one with a taste for literature. The book was about the feminist court history of the early Roman Empire -- a sort of revisionist I, Claudius. Apparently, women men wanted to push out of power were tarnished as sluts. And they may have been quite slutty, but so were the men. Always the double standards.
The subject matter provided the language for Megan and Hector's spiraling flirtation. They had met each other with a cozy hug at the drinks line. Megan asked him if he were feeling imperial tonight. He smiled tightly, said nothing, looked her meaningfully in the eye. They took their seats apart, him a few rows behind her.
He was a little bored, so he decided to text her. "Who'd be your favorite Roman emperor to submit to?"
He saw her smile for a bit, want to look back at him but stopping herself. Saw her typing.
"Joaquin Phoenix was pretty hot in Gladiator. I bet he'd have no problem making me do what he wants."
"Personally I go for emperors that aren't homicidal weaklings, but I guess you're easy to dominate."
"You'll just have to find out tonight." She said.
He let that one sit. "Are you wet now?" He asked, imagining her breath quicken.
"Yes." Blushing emoji. She was wearing a clingy purple dress with lace that cupped her perfectly. He was getting hard.
"What are you?" No answer. He was watching her like a hawk. "Do you want me to come home with you tonight?"
"Yes."
"Then you have to tell me what you are."
She threw him a glance over her shoulder. He waited for a beat and let the moment unfold.
"I'm your submissive little slut."
"What does that make me?"
She didn't answer.
"Take your hand; touch your pussy, and then taste yourself."
Though it was a little thing, there was a sort of script they liked to follow and her dragging it out and trying to duck him were signs of rebellion a.k.a. a plea for punishment.
She glanced around, tried to be discrete. She stretched out her leg into the aisle, went as if to scratch an itch midway up her thigh, glanced around quickly and then her hand disappeared from his view. She gave it a good few seconds before her hand crept out to her knee. She turned so he could see her in profile, brought her hand to her chin as if in thought, glanced at him with almost a look of defiance and kissed her two fingers.
"Good girl." He texted. "Meet me in the bathroom and get on your knees. When you hear three knocks, unlock the door." He saw her leave. He waited what felt like an eternity to him, counting the seconds to sixty slowly in his head. He kept waiting as long as he could stand and then went to follow her.
They had been to this place enough times to know the layout, he knocked on the door three times as promised, heard the lock click open. He checked that the coast was clear, undid his belt buckle, and opened the door, quickly stepping in.
She was on her knees as promised her eyes pleading him and her dress covering nothing from this angle. He grabbed her hair from the nape of her neck, felt her rub her face against him even before his urging her to do so. She quickly unzipped his pants and had him in her mouth, her warmly bobbing. He suddenly noticed the seaminess of his surroundings and it gave him a crazy thrill as he grabbed her head and used her more and more, her eyes closed but her keening with desire.
He didn't want to finish and when he felt close, he took a second, pulled her up gently but increasingly firmly, standing now with one hand on her cheek and the other around her throat. He kissed her hard; she moaned, ground her pussy against him. He gave her one quick smack on the bottom and then two more, pulled her back with some abruptness by the hair to give her a shock, his looking into her eyes the both of them breathing hard.
She was expecting him to kiss her again. He wanted to but he left her there, yearning. He pulled his pants up and left the bathroom. The two of them going back to their separate seats. They didn't speak for the rest of the party -- mingling with others. He thought he saw her get some girl's number. But there were certainly a few meaningful glances between them.
When he wanted to leave, he gave his head a quick tilt to let her know he planned to go. She came right after him.
