Shay Singing For My Supper

This story continues the adventures of Shay, from "Shay Shared". It is now a year later. This story is submitted in the BDSM category, but includes themes that could be under "Loving Wives" too.

***

I hate graduations.

You know that feeling when you're someplace you absolutely can't stand? You'd rather be anywhere else, anywhere at all? That's how I felt the one time I attended a graduation. All the absurd pomp, the silly robes, it goes on forever and it was my idea of hell. I was ten, my cousin was graduating college and I swore I'd never go to another. True to my word, many years later I spent most of my own graduation day on my back. And my knees. And occasionally bent over various pieces of furniture.

My economics degree was finally completed and Paul was helping me celebrate the best way we knew how. It was late afternoon and though we were naked and exhausted, I felt confident some food would fuel at least one more evening romp. I poked Paul before he could fall asleep.

"Pizza!"

He twitched but didn't respond. I poked harder.

"No sleeping! Pizza!"

Paul groaned and tried to turn over. Yes, he's the dominant one during sex and I love being controlled in that way. But this was about food. Totally different.

"Feed me, Seymour!"

"Ow! Godammit!" Paul sat up rubbing his ribs.

"If you're going to keep a girl captive and ravish her over and over, you have to at least provide food."

He looked at me incredulously. "Keeping YOU captive? Ditching graduation was your idea."

"Do not contaminate this discussion with facts. You must provide sustenance." I plucked Paul's phone off the nightstand and placed it in his lap. "I'm thinking pepperoni and... garlic knots. Lots of garlic knots."

Sighing dramatically, Paul punched up the number for our favorite pizza spot. "Fine, but you're brushing your teeth after the garlic knots, I can tell you that right now."

I smiled in triumph and snuggled up again, content now that food was forthcoming. We relaxed for a while before Paul broke the silence.

"So Miss New Graduate, you're supposed to know all about economics. Explain to me again how you get to live here cheap and I pay for the food?"

"Simple," I replied. "I give you unlimited pussy. Most well known economic arrangement since the beginning of time. Of course, if this is offensive to your modern sensibilities we can stop immediately."

"Well, let's not be hasty."

We laughed and hugged. Paul and I laughed a lot together, which was probably number one on the list of why we got along so well. A close second was that we had very similar kinks, but from opposite sides. And he could always be counted on to find an exciting angle in the mundane. He got quiet for a moment and I could see he was thinking.

I was too, in a lazy sort of way. An economics degree is no walk in the park, and the last few months had been very challenging. Finishing wasn't really an end point, which is another reason I despise graduations. Learning always continues and in my particular case, grad school beckoned. It would be a bit of a slog, but one I anticipated eagerly. I had been told graduate work was more focused. And while I did enjoy the liberal arts classes required for undergrad, I looked forward to concentrating on work within my field. The down side was being a starving student for a while longer. As an econ major, I considered this cruelly ironic.

Paul was apparently reading my mind. "Looks like I'm going to be feeding you for a while now," he mused. "What does your economic expertise tell you about that dynamic as a long term strategy?"

"Hmm?"

"Doesn't seem fair," he continued.

To an outsider he might have appeared serious, but in actuality we had already discussed the financial arrangement going forward and it wasn't a big problem. But I could see where he was going with this. "Oh? What are you going to do about it? I don't see you giving up your favorite form of recreation."

"Food is expensive, is all. Maybe you should have to earn it."

"Earn it? You mean chores? Or are you going to pimp me out? I could start by flashing the pizza guy to get our food for free."

Paul thought for a moment and then jokingly called my bluff. "Sure, yeah. Do that."

As if on cue the doorbell rang. I stood up, naked, and looked at the door. Paul and I locked eyes for a moment and I burst out laughing. "Nah, too cliché." I retreated to the bathroom while Paul paid for the pizza, which he then placed on the kitchen table.

I came out in my bathrobe and reached for the box, only for Paul to slap the lid down again. "Just a minute," he said with mock seriousness. "If I always have to pay, just for my own self respect there has to be some kind of token contribution from you."

"OK, suppose I eat naked?" I suggested, beginning to undo the sash on my robe.

"That's a start. But let's say eat naked and... a photo session tomorrow."

We both knew he could just as well order me to pose naked for him and I'd never say no. I had certainly done it enough times before. But this was much more fun.

"Deal," I said with actual sincerity. "I agree that tomorrow I will earn my pizza as a naughty model."

Paul nodded and gave me the little smile that means he's pleased with himself. Then we settled down to demolish the pizza. He stayed dressed while I sat on my folded up robe. I think Paul was mostly just amused, but it gave me a bit of a twinge. I had to get naked in order to eat. It was the sort of thing that could make my mind go places.

***

There was leftover pizza the next day which I looked forward to for lunch. But first a run, which would allow me to rationalize the carbs. I came back invigorated and hungry to find Paul at his desk reading. He turned and leered at me in my running outfit. He always did like me sweaty.

"Shower, then lunch, ok?" I said as I headed for the bathroom. "Heat it up, will you? I'm starving," I added, over my shoulder.

Ten minutes later I emerged with my hair in a towel. I did not smell pizza.

"I think you forgot something." Paul was standing in front of me, camera in hand.

"Oh." It suddenly came back to me. Still a fun idea, but I was hungry after my run. "Later, OK?"

"No. Not OK." Paul was looking at me very seriously.

Going over to him, I turned on the charm. Putting my arms around him, I used my most loving voice. "Paul honey, I just did a run and I'm super hungry. You can take pictures of me any time. Let's eat."

He shook his head. "We made a deal. Photo shoot for pizza."

He was serious. Or rather, serious within our play dynamic. I knew I could end this any time by simply stepping out of character, so to speak. But now I was curious how far Paul would take this scenario.

"What if I don't want to? You shouldn't be making me get naked and pose for smutty photos in return for food. It's ex-ploy-tative," I said, annunciating each syllable separately.

I saw the briefest glimmer of his amusement as we both realized... it was on.

But he merely shrugged. "I can live with that." Putting down the camera, he put the leftover pizza in the oven and began heating it. I was confused.

Then he began setting the table. For one.

Moments passed. He looked at me with a cocked eyebrow, while I stared back uncertainly. Then I began to smell pizza. Paul noticed. "Hungry?"

I nodded.

"You know what we agreed on. What's it going to be?" He nodded toward the camera.

This was a sure fire way to draw me into a scene, and Paul knew it. Give me a situation that makes me feel submissive, presents a challenge and gets my back up... my mind will run away with it. Instantly, I decided to dig in. I crossed my arms and sat down at the empty end of the table. "Won't!"

Paul shrugged again as he took the pizza from the oven. It smelled heavenly. He put the box on the table between us and helped himself to a slice. He left the lid open.

Still looking at me with amusement, he began eating. I sat, looking as stubborn as possible, but my posture was already drooping. God, that pepperoni looked nice and greasy. Paul kept his eyes on me as he ate, waiting for me to break. One slice was soon gone and he started on a second.

He was enjoying this. I glared. "You can't make me get naked for food. I won't do it."

Paul shrugged again, which only maddened me further. "We'll see."

Down to the last few bites of his second slice. There was one left in the box. My stomach was growling. Still, I sat proudly stubborn.

Finished with his two slices, Paul now peered into the box and back at me. He wiped his hands, pushed his chair back and looked me dead in the eye. "Don't touch it."

"Paul, wait..."

But he didn't respond and left the room. I was left sitting at the table, staring at the lovely last slice of pizza. Again, I could have ended the game at any time. But I wanted to play. And though I was proud, I was also a sub. I was going to play to lose.

I was also actually hungry.

When Paul came back he found me still in my chair, but naked. Eyes down, I held out the camera to him. He left me hanging. I put down the camera and looked up questioningly. Paul was shaking his head. "The price just went up."

"What? That's not fair!"

"Fine." He picked up the pizza box and held it over the garbage pail.

"No! No! We can talk about it..." I pleaded dramatically.

"You're not in much of a position to negotiate."

"I'm starving!"

"Tough." With that, he put the pizza back on the table and loomed over me. He had that hard look in his eye as he stared me down. Me naked and powerless, him fully dressed. Normally that made me wet, but I was very, very hungry.

"It's 12:30 now. You will sit at the table and wait for thirty minutes. Then, I get a blowjob. After that, you can eat."

"Half an hour?!"

"Make that a full hour."

"But..." I stopped before I made it worse. Then I did what I yearned for, but was still always difficult. I looked him in the eye... and submitted. "Yes, sir."

"Tell me. What are you going to do?"

Very aware of my nakedness and the fact that I'd lost, I said, "I'm going to wait 60 minutes, and then I'm going to suck cock for my food."

Paul put his mouth next to my ear and said, "Good girl."

Fifty-five minutes later I hadn't moved from my chair. Nor had I taken my eyes off the pizza. Paul noticed this and I couldn't tell if he was impressed, or concerned that I had gone around the bend. I had occupied myself by thinking of something I learned about in psychology class - the marshmallow test. It's a classic experiment intended to gauge self control and impulsiveness. You put someone in a room with a marshmallow on a plate, tell them they can either eat it now and that's all they get, or they will be given several more if they can wait for a certain period of time.

The results are less interesting than the strategies. Of course, some just give up and eat the marshmallow. But the people who don't often try to distract themselves by looking out the window or turning their backs in an effort to not think about it. But I related to the few badasses who sat down and just stared at the marshmallow until time was up. They accepted the situation and absorbed the pain. I focused on this, and how it would show Paul I was fully committed to my submission.

The final minutes passed and Paul returned to the kitchen. I looked up at him, hungry as hell. "Ready to earn your food?" I nodded back with utter seriousness. He took me roughly by the upper arm and pushed me to my knees next to the table. The tiles were cold and hurt a little, which only sent me further into sub-space.

Paul slowly pulled out his cock. As usual when we were playing out a scene, he was hard and ready. I glared up at him, savoring the unfairness. I loved the feeling of finally losing. "The sooner you take care of this, the sooner you eat." I put my hand on it and felt the warmth. I looked up at him once more, seethed in "anger" and slowly knelt up higher to put it in my mouth. He sighed as I took him straight to the back of my throat.

I'm a little competitive when it comes to sucking cock. From the beginning of my sexual experiences I loved it so much and I wanted to be as good as possible. Now I take such pride in my skills I wouldn't dream of slacking off and doing a lesser job, even when being unfairly "forced". My approach to blowjobs mostly centers on enthusiasm. Actual physical skills count, of course. I know how to keep my teeth away, take a cock deep and vary the pace and type of stimulation. But I believe eye contact, eagerness and obvious enjoyment count just as much. I don't just give a blowjob - I worship that cock. I want to make the guy feel like a king, and make it obvious that I'm loving being on my knees for him.

This is what keeps them coming back. Paul has enjoyed a lot of my attentions, and shows no sign of boredom. As usual, I started slow and gradually built up intensity. Soon he couldn't resist the urge to control my pace a bit, and put a hand firmly on the back of my head. So together, we pushed his cock into my mouth. Before he cums, Paul often taunts me with whatever dirty idea appeals to him in the moment. It's amazing how often it's exactly what is on my mind too. "You like earning meals on your knees?"

Keeping his cock in my mouth I nodded urgently. "Uh-huh!"

"You're going to do more of this, you know."

Now I paused and stroked his cock. Looking him in the eye I said with heartfelt urgency, "Yes, do it - Make me earn my keep!"

"And it's not going to be just blowjobs."

Another quick pause to stroke. "Blowjobs are for food. I'll pay the rent on my back."

He nodded and patted my head. "Good girl." I squirmed with delight at that. Being called a 'good girl' is my favorite reward.

Another point of blowjob technique is of course what you do at the end, and here again I have an approach I use to distinguish myself. I had long ago decided it wasn't enough to just not be a cum-dodger. I let a guy know I'm there for him in any way at all. I'll swallow, I'll take it on my face, I'll lick it up and I'll do it gladly and thankfully. It's only right, I think. My partners seem to enjoy me telling them this as much as the act.

But today Paul decided to avail himself of a more nuanced Coup De Grace. It was the final twist of the knife to add to my lunchtime humiliation. I didn't hesitate when he told me what he wanted. When he got close I took his cock from my mouth, taking care first to make sure it was very wet. Then I stroked it firmly. A moment later I felt it grow harder and cupped my other hand beneath the head. Paul's knees buckled a little as I coaxed the orgasm from him, continuing the firm strokes until the spurts began to subside. I wrung a few more drops from him as Paul's whole body spasmed from the pleasure.

Having caught it all in my left hand I looked up at him innocently for a moment. I gave a knowing smirk before raising my hand to smear the cum all over my face. I only made a few passes, not wanting to rub it in completely, then looked up with my most angelic smile. I was made to leave it on my face while I ate.

It was the best pizza I ever tasted.

***

After completing an otherwise normal day Paul was primed and ready for more that night. We were both loving this idea of me having to earn my privileges, and our brief blowjob discussion set the stage for our evening activities.

He didn't ask, he ordered me to spread my legs. Then he had his way with me, often whispering in my ear that it was now his right to fuck me when he wanted because I wasn't paying rent. Of course, in our relationship he could already have me any time he wanted. But we were both into this new idea, which made it feel new and dirty all over again.

I crossed my wrists over my head and Paul obligingly seized them, pinning me down. I kept dutifully quiet while he fucked me roughly, only letting out a few gasps and cries to demonstrate how cruel an ordeal I was "forced" to endure. Oh, it was just awful, let me tell you. I think I only had three or four orgasms.

Knowing full well the power I have over him in this situation, toward the end I couldn't resist the dirty talk we both loved. Paul was pounding away at me as I put my lips to his ear. "Am I doing a good job paying my rent?"

Paul grunted and nodded.

"Once isn't enough to cover a whole month," I said solemnly. "So you get pussy whenever you want."

He groaned, loving my submissiveness. I spread my legs a little wider.

"I want to be a good tenant. You should make me pay up every day. However you want."

"You may regret that you little slut!" he cried, the orgasm taking him. Paul heaved and I moved my hips with him, making sure he had the longest, most intense orgasm possible. Soon we were drifting off to sleep, and my last thought was to wonder how he might make me "regret" this latest game. I sort of hoped he would.

***

I sometimes absently think about how my relationship might sound crazy to others. I don't care if it does, you understand, but I do sort of wonder. I suppose the opposite end of the spectrum are people like my aunt and uncle - individual twin beds. I doubt very much they have a lot of sexual satisfaction. But that's fine for them too if it works, so no judgment.

Lucky, lucky, lucky. Although raised in a family that didn't talk openly about sex, and by a mother who worked hard to keep me from disgracing her, I grew up to enjoy sex very much. The key there is enjoyment, not merely being free of guilt. Not sure how I came out this way, but I'm thankful.

Not to say there aren't challenging times. There are still moments where I question what I'm doing, and Paul, bless him, does enjoy testing me. The days after our pizza scene were busy with work and school. Not as much play time, unfortunately. But the weekend brought a new "ordeal".

We went to see a band play at a dive bar, meeting a group of friends including Aaron, who often hung out with us. Paul liked me to show off a little when we went out, so I dressed up. I was going for just a hint of naughty schoolgirl. Skirt, little button up sweater, glasses. Braids? No, too much. I settled for a fairly prim pony tail, but made sure there was a good amount of skin showing between the skirt and sweater. Paul liked seeing my belly, and if I lifted my arms the sweater could rise to bottom of my breasts.

Our group took over one of the longer tables and I headed for the stage. I danced gleefully and when the guitar player gave out a pick after a few songs I was the lucky recipient. He got a big smile and a curtsy to show off my skirt. Back at our table I proudly presented Paul with my prize and sat down. "Put that in your wallet until we get home?"

Paul shook his head. "Can't. Forgot my wallet."

That was unlike him. Looking at the array of drinks in front of us I asked, "How did we get these?"

He motioned toward our friend. "Aaron covered it. Thanks, man."

Aaron nodded over his glass. "You bet."

Paul stood up. "Going to hit the head." Then to Aaron, "Hey, since you're covering drinks for now I guess she's your date until you get paid back." He nudged me toward Aaron, making it look playful. I went along and draped myself across him, waving as Paul left for the bathroom.

Aaron made room for me next to him on the inside of the table, which meant Paul would have to sit on the other side of Aaron. That's exactly what happened when he returned, which raised an eyebrow or two among our friends. I've always been physically friendly when I'm comfortable with people, and I knew Aaron well. I let him put his arm around me, and noticed he wasn't shy about leaving it on exposed skin. No problem, kind of fun. I gave Paul a little smile and small shrug.

Aaron was enjoying the attention, and moving his hand on me, Petting, feeling my smooth skin. He moved to my thigh, my knee. Then back to my middle. Now up my back, and I'm sure he noticed the lack of a bra strap. On the next trip down my thigh he left his hand there.