I look at Nick for a long moment before raising my eyebrows and looking away "Yep." I reply, drawing out the last letter of my response.
He knows something is wrong. To be fair, I couldn't be making it anymore obvious and I can tell that I'm starting to dance along the line of his patience, but I don't care.
Nick takes a long slow breath and exhales, trying again "I was thinking we could pull in to one of the parking areas on the drive up? Maybe go for a walk?" he suggests, the teasing hint to his voice suggesting the opportunity for more.
Looking back to meet his eyes, I open my mouth to tell him, to say the words
'you hurt my feelings last night',
the very idea sending spikes of embarrassment through me and I shut my mouth. "If you want." I answer, deliberately injecting as much disinterest into my tone as I can.
That hits a nerve, and a small twinge of guilt passes through me, but I ignore it, re-focusing my attention on his words from the previous night. Picking up the tray from the table, I walk away without another word, heading towards the bins. By the time I get back, Nick has left, heading back out to the car. I follow slowly, the idea of returning to the tension filled car filling me with dread.
My gut twists as a quiet voice inside my head points out that I am the one making it tense. I shake my head slightly, avoiding that thought. Slipping into the passenger seat, I pull my phone out my bag, switching between messaging apps and social media, anything to avoid looking at him.
"Are you going to sulk for the rest of the drive too?" he finally speaks, the tension in the car seeming to increase.
I can't look at him, hot tears prick at the back of my eyes and I turn towards the window, watching the trees and bushes grow thicker at the side of the twisting road. The silence in the car grows and I can feel my heart beat faster as thoughts race around my mind.
'Just fucking say it! Just tell him that you're upset because of what he said last night and take it from there!'
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to disrupt the rising feeling of guilt, I can feel Nick glancing over at me and focus on the fact that I'm annoyed.
"What?" I snap "Just stop looking at me like that!"
His fingers tighten their grip on the steering wheel, but he says nothing. He rarely replies when he's angry and suddenly, that pisses me off even more. "So what? Are you just not going to say anything?" I try to keep the fire I feel in my voice, but it doesn't come out the way I want it to.
"I don't think there is much to say right now. Your behaviour is really disappointing me" he says, the cool tone he uses doing little to mask his annoyance.
"Fuck off!" I practically spit, the rising guilt heavy in my chest.
My hand is shaking as I pull it away from my clit, writhing on top of the sheets, my left hand balling up as the frustration sears through me. My jaw aching and the leather straps of the gag pressing painfully into my cheeks, even though I'm alone, every trickle of drool down my cheek or neck sends shards of embarrassment through me.
Still. Only one more edge to go. I pick up my phone and relay that message, the blue ticks showing me he's still reading what I'm sending. I've recovered enough that I slide my hand down to my clit again, using my middle finger in a slow circle, closing my eyes while I picture and plan what our romantic weekend away will look like, maybe he'll let me cum this weekend, I add my index finger, pressing harder, moving faster as my hips buck off the bed. I want this so badly, I want to just keep going and have an orgasm, the sensation builds through me and I'm so fucking close, my hips tilt off the bed again and I move my hand faster, pulling it away just as the feelings peak and groaning in frustration as my clit throbs with the denial.
'Completed the edges' I type; it's a slow night at work for Nick so he gave me some instructions. My stomach clenches with excitement as the app tells me he's typing.
'Good girl. You can get cleaned up; but before you do that, I want a picture of you gagged, I want to see how much you've drooled all over yourself.'
I freeze, staring at the message. I hate sending him pictures like that, hate when I wasn't expecting the instruction, I know I'm a mess, my mascara half way down my face, make up smeared from the drool that's ran over my cheeks. I know he wouldn't show anyone, well, I don't think he would show anyone but what if he did? I pull up my camera, desire to please warring with nervousness as I reluctantly raise my phone, taking the photo.
He's obviously judged my lack of reply correctly as another message comes through.
'You can use a filter.'
My eyes scan the message a couple of times, my heart beating faster as I feel the hurt rise, a filter?! I'm not sure what to reply, would he rather I used a filter? I take a deep breath and lean forward slightly, raising my phone again and take the picture, sending it without looking at it.
"I'm pretty tired, I'm going to shower, and I might be asleep by the time you get home" I send quickly, my brain still focused on the filter comment.
I'm pulled from my moping as I realise, we are slowing down, the clicking of the indicator breaking through my thoughts as we ease off the road and into one of the parking places.
'I am not going to speak first.' I think stubbornly, keeping my eyes focused on the window.
