Late, But Well Worth The Wait
One hour. "Correction," he reminded himself, "one fucking hour." That's how long Michael had been in traffic trying to get back from work. It was normally only a twenty-minute drive from his office complex in the Upper-Side to his apartment, but there had been some rain that drenched the roads and flooded out one of the bridges. It was pretty bad— two vehicles stranded completely. Not compacts, either: there was a Taurus and a Dodge Ram. For a moment when he saw that, he laughed to himself: people in trucks always thought they were invincible, but not this time. Of course, the humor only lasted for the first thirty seconds or so until he realized how long he'd be stuck near the bridge. He muttered to himself as the cars plodded, one at a time, on the shallowest stretch of the water to avoid submersion. His exit was only two from the bridge. Eighteen minutes to get to the bridge. Over forty waiting for the idiots in front of him to move.
When was only a few cars away, and he inhaled deeply and ran his fingers through his thick russet-tinged hair and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He'd told Megan that he'd be there at 6:00.
It was not 6:00.
Finally it was his turn to move beyond the newly formed water basin and he was on his way again. A quick glance at the speedometer would tell you he was going a good twenty over the speed limit, but he justified it in his mind because he wanted to be home and he was tired of the endless waiting. Zigzagging between cars and impatiently waiting for stoplights to change paid off, because he was home in half the time it should've taken from the bridge. Thank God for little mercies.
He turned off the ignition and opened the door, tossing the keys in his pockets. He could see it now: Megan angrily chastising him for not only being late, but not calling her and letting her know. It was supposed to be their "date night" and they had plans to go see the latest film and grab some food, but that clearly wasn't going to be happening (at least not the way it was intended). Michael opened the door and stepped through it into the living room, but Megan was nowhere to be found. He winced inwardly at her absence— it was never a good sign when she wasn't there. He hesitated a bit, then headed towards the bedroom. He toiled through possible apologies in his mind and knocked on the door. He thought he heard something, but it was muffled. He knocked again.
"Come in," was whispered in a very soft, breathy tone.
Michael canted his head to the side— something was up, but he wasn't sure quite what. He turned the doorknob and pushed the wooden frame open to find Megan standing there in a rouge velvet corset that laced tightly in the front, a long ebony beaded necklace, laced panties, and black garters with fishnet stockings.
"Well, hello there, handsome."
Michael choked on his words as he looked at Megan: there she was: faultless physique, pert breasts, perfectly shaped curves along her hips, and all ready for the taking. He barely managed to speak, "...er...hi."
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing, I just... erm... I wanted to apologize about being so late. There were two cars stuck in this giant puddle because of the rain and—"
Before he could finish, she cut him off with, "don't worry about it."
"We can still go out if you want to, Meg." His eyes scanned her body and he forced himself to keep eye-contact so he wouldn't get too turned on. It was a difficult task, to say the least, with her breasts almost pouring out the corset and her legs spread apart as if to invite him in.
"No, I don't think I want to go out tonight," she had a knavish little grin plastered across her glossed lips.
"Then what do you want?"
"I want you. I've been waiting for you all night. I was at the school today, all day, teaching middle-schoolers about the differences between "conocer" and "saber," but all I could think about was you taking me," her tongue flicked across her teeth as she purred out the words.
Michael smirked and began to get a bit emboldened: he was forgiven, and the ball was in his court now. He could do with her what he pleased, and he could draw this out.
"I'm not sure, hon. I really think we should go out. I mean, you wanted to so badly a few days ago and I feel terrible..."
"No, Michael. I want you."
"Well, how do you want me?" he simpered and closed the door, leaning against it. She took the bait and waltzed towards him, her hips cartwheeling those garters up and down as she made her way over.
"I want you to take me."
He looked away, pretending to be disinterested, "take you how?"
She turned his head back around and pulled on his tie. Looking him directly in the eyes, she responded, "I want you to fuck me like you own me. I want you to make me yours."
Her words set him off, and his hand instinctively went for her throat, grabbing it with just the right amount of force, and he spun to pin her against the door.
"You don't tell me how you want it, do you? I tell you how I want it. Did you forget?"
"N-no, mister. I didn't forget."
"Apologize."
"Sorry."
His hand went back and he struck her across the face with enough force to sting. Her body tensed and she let out a soft moan. He eyed her sternly, "you forgot something."
"Sorry... sir."
"Much better, my little girl."
His natural dominant nature began to come out as this went on. He was a loving man, but when she said those words— "like you own me"— something almost changed in him. Or rather than change, actualized. And in that same instant, Megan became his submissive little slut to do with what he pleased. Just the idea was enough to get him hard. He took her by the hand and moved it to touch his hard dick through his pants. She squeezed hard and looked up at him with wide-eyes.
"Well, hello there."
"Get down on your knees." She would have fallen down naturally, but he wasn't about to make it easy on her. He took a tuft of her auburn hair in his hands and pulled on it from the roots, literally yanking her to the ground. She winced and gasped, opening her mouth, and he used that opportunity to unzip his fly and stick his long, hard cock past her waiting lips. She gagged for a moment and then started going at it, her tongue tracing up the length of his shaft, feeling it pulse in her mouth. He arched his back and continued to force her up and down on his dick, barely giving her a reprieve in which to breathe. Her lips tightened around each inch as she bobbed her head back and forth. She did this over and over again, and Lord knows she was skilled at it. Her tongue was magic as she sucked him senseless, humming her lips on him while she went. He pulled her up for a second and half-dragged her over to the bed.
