My boyfriend Claude and I have been living together for three years now. When I first moved into his apartment (a move we had considered for more than six months) it seemed as if we could not get enough of each other. When he came home from work (he teaches high school English at the school where I work as a librarian) I would often be there waiting for him, wearing much less than I had worn to work myself and kissing him as he came through the door. We would make our way to the bedroom, where dinner would only come as an afterthought.
After three years of living together our thoughts of making love have drifted to the back burner, gradually crowded out by the mundanities of life. Job concerns, automotive maintenance, putting food into the pantry, all these and a million other things have eclipsed our sex life. Now instead of coming home to me, Claude will often go out drinking with friends. I know he was not cheating on me, he would never do it and I trust him completely, but when he comes home late, after several rounds of beer with his friends, he comes in and after mumbling a greeting, he takes off his shoes and pants and crawls into bed and falls asleep. While I do not entirely begrudge him the time he spent with his friends, as I have been known to join my friends for a ladies night out, but still it seemed that all to often he had time to spend with his friends and not with me.
Even on nights when he does not go out with his friends it seems that there is always something he is doing and not spending time with me. Whether he is grading student papers or watching sports on TV there always seems to be something occupying him, taking him away from spending time with me. I longed for those days, early in our relationship, when it seemed that our lust for each other knew no bounds.
Tonight it was a Friday night and I was determined not to take no for an answer. I knew that he would be coming home a bit late because he always stayed after on Fridays to give a little extra help to his AP students. I had prepared his favorite meal, steak with baked potato, and spinach salad. I had even gone out and got a bottle of a central Californian zinfandel that we both liked.
I met him at the door wearing my favorite short black dress I knew he liked, with black stockings and heels and greeted him with a glass of wine. I had even done my makeup, something I rarely bothered with on a night we were both spending at home.
"Janelle?" he asked upon seeing me, his eyes gone wide with surprise.
"Here," I said handing him the glass of wine.
"Thank you,"
"Why don't you come in an have some dinner, I made your favorite."
I led him into the TV room where we usually ate. Instead of the television, which was usually on when he arrived home, I had put some jazz on the stereo.
"Why don't you sit down and I will bring you dinner."
Without a word he sat down in his usual place on the couch and reached for the universal remote.
"Ah, why don't we try to do without the idiot box tonight?"
"Sure," he said, reluctantly putting down the remote. I knew there was a football game on he wanted to watch, but I had no intention of letting him. Not tonight.
I went to the kitchen and got both of our dinner plates and brought them out to him. Handing him his plate, I put mine on the coffee table we ate at. I walked back to the kitchen and got the butter, cheese and sour cream for the potatoes and then returned to the TV room. He had said nothing more about the way I was dressed and I guess I was a little hurt. Could he not see all the effort I had gone to on his behalf. As tears welled in my eyes, I did my best to hold them back. I would not get mad; I would get even. Claude had already started eating his steak when I returned. I choose to ignore the rudeness of his not waiting for me. Mentally I added this to list of the things that I would be punishing him for.
We ate dinner without conversation. He is a rapid eater, in my opinion not savoring his food, so as usual he finished before me. He sat silently and waited for me to finish. When I finished I picked up both our dishes and took them and put them in the sink. After I finished washing off the dishes and putting them into the dishwasher I picked up a pair of leather wrist restraints I had stashed in the kitchen I returned to the TV room.
When I returned he had already turned on the television and was watching his football game. Holding the restraints up on display I stood waiting for his attention. It was several seconds before he noticed me there. He was engrossed in the game and my being there was, as usual, superfluous to him. Finally he looked up at me and when he saw the restraints in my hand he gave me a quizzical look and then looked back at the game.
"You've been very bad and will need to be punished."
"What?" he asked, still not looking away from the game.
"You heard me, bad boy. Turn off the TV and come with me."
"What? I am watching the game."
"Come to the bedroom, now!" I said in my most demanding voice. "Come with me to the bedroom, or I am going to pack my things and leave." After I said it I knew that I meant it. For to long I had been forced to wait for him. The long nights when he had been out with his friends and I had sat at home craving his attention. He would either submit to my wishes now, or I was gone.
With a bewildered look on his face he followed me to the bedroom. "What are those for he asked," pointing at the restraints.
"Come to the bedroom and find out," I said.
"Sit," I commanded, indicating the chair at the small desk we used to do the bills. I had turned the chair away from the desk so that it faced the foot of the bed. He sat in the chair, as commanded. Pulling his hands behind the chair I put the restraints on his wrists. With a piece of rope I had placed under the bed, I bound the restraints to the chair so that he could not get up.
"Aren't you going to blindfold me?" he asked.
"No, I want you to watch."
"Okay," he said, not really knowing what I had planned.
"I want you to see what I do when I am home here alone and you go out drinking with your friends," I said, undoing the back of my dress, and letting it slide off. After hanging the dress I walked back to the bed. Now clad in only a matching set of black bra and panties, garter belt and stockings, I sat down on the bed in front of him.
"You look nice," he said.
"Sure, you say that now, but it hasn't stopped you from ignoring me these last few months. Ignoring my needs. I've been forced to take care of myself," I said, blatantly lying. With my fingers I started massaging my breasts through my bra, first cupping my breasts and then massaging my nipples. I did my best to show him how much I was enjoying myself, craning my neck and softly moaning. All to soon I was not pretending to enjoy myself any more; it was starting to feel good and I felt my nipples harden.
After several minutes of playing with my breasts I wanted more, so after sliding the straps off of my shoulders, I reached around my back to unhook the bra, and after taking it off I threw it to the side of the bed. All this while Claude had been silent, watching me. I could see the desire building in his eyes along with the bulge in his pants, but I had no intention of letting him release his desire any time soon. As I massaged my breasts I imagined that my hands were his hands, playing with my breasts. Claude is a breast lover and one of the reasons that we got together is his infatuation with my breasts. They are about the size of apples and as I ran my hands over them and pinched the nipples I tried to remember all the times that he had gotten me so hot by toying with them.
