Obedience

Al Billings

I could always read her signals: the extra bit of mascara, the low-cut blouse, and the thin layer of lip gloss she’d carefully applied, my own secret slut waiting to service me. She wanted to be a teacher, and she’d been struggling to control everyone and everything around her, and she was starting to get on my nerves. Now, it was payback time, and I planned to redefine the term “Obedience” for her.

I tapped a generous half-row of Methedrine crystals onto my index finger and let her inhale it deeply, and snorted the rest. Silently, I stripped her, took her by the hand, walked her into the back bedroom and ordered her to sit on a wooden chair in a darkened corner. She’d been babbling incessantly all that afternoon, and as usual, I couldn’t get her to shut the fuck up. The children were gone for the weekend. The neighborhood had fallen into a spectral silence, and I had a plan.

Through long hours of delicious practice, I had become skilled at controlling and inflaming her sexual impulses. Now, ignited by the Methedrine, I bound her hands behind her back with a red velvet bathrobe sash, a bit too tightly, and yanked it until she flinched. I ran my hand across her left cheek, caressing it for a few seconds, enjoying the primal fear that was beginning to flush her face a furious red. I explained that I was tired of seeing her wearing those sexless Protestant panties that none of the other women I knew wore anymore, and I suggested that she buy sexier undergarments, and I reminded her that if she wanted to please me, she’d first have to learn to satisfy my demands, and of course, she agreed.

I stated that the depth and quality of her obedience was important to me, and I asked her if she truly understood what I meant. She nodded “Yes,” and I slapped her firmly across the face, shocking her and leaving a slight pinkish welt on her cheek. A glistening river of tears dripped softly from her chocolate-brown eyes. Outside, a mournful wind rustled through the olive trees that studded our front yard, and from the bathroom, the rancid odor of leaking drain pipes wafted through the room.

I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and let her take a single drag off of it before I slowly smoked the rest of it myself, watching her squirm in her chair and stare down at her beautifully articulated feet while vibrating with a mixture of brute fear and sensual submission. I stripped naked, slipped my erection into her mouth and pushed forward, instructing her to suck it tightly, and to lick it under the tip. I reminded her of the night the Methedrine had simply overrun us, when I’d bound her tightly, snatched up a thick leather strap and laid a row of vicious, stinging welts across her ass, knelt down behind her and licked it lasciviously, and then grabbed a pair of scissors and sheared away enormous clumps of her thick auburn hair, looking like a Parisian whore being punished in public by the Resistance for servicing German soldiers. I’d left her undefended when friends and family began shaking their heads and whispering behind our backs. “This is what you’ll get when you don’t behave,” I hissed, and I meant it.

A car suddenly rumbled into our driveway and disgorged a half-dozen friends lugging bags full of beer and wine. I quickly hitched up my jeans and greeted them at the door. When someone asked me where she was, I simply lied and claimed that she’d gone off with a friend for the rest of the afternoon.

I shot back into the bedroom and closed the door, leaving her tightly bound and desperate for a cigarette. I spent the next few hours chatting with my friends about nothing in particular, knowing that she was sitting alone in the dark, blindfolded and disoriented.

As soon as our friends left, I walked back into the bedroom, lit a cigarette and let her take a few drags off of it, letting the sexual tension in the room expand until it saturated the both of us. Finally, I forced her to grovel and beg for sexual release, shoving her down on her knees, kneeling behind her, fucking her powerfully, sliding my index finger into her ass and working it back and forth slowly, explaining to her that God had put her on this planet so I could treat her this way. I pumped her a few more times and left her shuddering with a violent climax, slid my cock into her ass and exploded. We said little to each other about that night, simply waiting for the next mutually shared opportunity to bubble up through the ground below us and admit that we’d become absolute slaves to our own dark and unmentionable souls.

I discovered a photo that absolutely captured my imagination, a black and white image of two women on a couch. I carefully scissored out the exact shape and glued it over a large black and white vertical image of Saturn rotating in the night sky, dark, oily, primal and overtly sexual, an image absolutely beyond meaning. I framed it and hung it on a wall in the kitchen, letting visitors sneak furtive glances at it, struggling to understand its powerful and compelling meaning. Redemption was a fleeting and obscure chimera somewhere beyond our pitiful grasps, and the party had just begun.

October 20, 2011 1:59 pm

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