Page 3 of Submissive Lies

“I understand, Jen. You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable with those thoughts, okay? They’re perfectly natural. Don’t feel ashamed.”

I smiled back weakly.

Oh, God. Oh my fucking God. What have I done?

I spent most of the day in an existential crisis of my own making. While I went through the motions of doing the mundane things that make up the fabric of a day, what was really going on inside my head was a stream of bitter, depressing thoughts. Bleak reflections that plagued every hour. Thomas did not pick up on my mood. Whether that was a function of how well I hid it, or how smug he was feeling, I didn’t know. It was most likely the latter, given the smirk that seemed perpetually plastered across his face. The way he grinned at me every time he stopped to give me a kiss. The wink he gave me as he walked by on his way to the living room. All of those things simply confirmed my worst anxieties and did nothing to slow my train of thought. And for the first time in our relationship, I was dreading going to bed that night.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! What did I do?

Thomas cooked dinner and afterwards we watched a movie. Never had I wanted a film to go on forever as much as I did then. Of course it didn’t. The credits were barely rolling when Thomas had me in his arms, pulling me tight and kissing me with a fierceness more than he ever had before. As he gripped me, fingers digging into my skin, I felt a momentary sense of buoyancy. Maybe I had been over thinking this. Maybe this wouldn’t go as badly as I had built up in my mind.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He gathered me up in his arms and I snaked my legs around him, drawing my body tight to his. My arms pulled against his back, my fingers biting into muscles I could feel working as he held me. He carried me to the bedroom while our mouths crashed together in urgent, hungry bites, an intertwining of tongues that had heat flaring inside me. Thomas had been passionate with me before, but nothing to the degree I felt from him now. It was a taste of the kind of spontaneous, aggressive play I’d experienced with other lovers, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. We were suddenly in the bedroom, still kissing, and then we were yanking clothes off. Thomas didn’t rip my clothes away, but he came as close to it as his controlled, precise nature would allow. I was starting to get into it. I pulled at his pants, fumbling with the buttons, his hands taking over mine as he shoved them down.

His shirt came up and disappeared as he flung it away. His cock tented his underwear, then was free as he shed the last of his clothing. He moved up to me, our eyes locked together. He gripped my shoulder and spun me around. I felt him pull the catches of my bra apart with a fierce tug, and then his hands were up under the cups, fondling me. Hands pressing into my flesh, my body responded in turn, my nipples drawing tight. He continued to hold me firmly as I pushed at my jeans, shoving them down, wriggling against him as I slipped free. My panties followed suit, and soon both were piled around my feet in a tangle. Thomas’ hands released my breasts as he slipped around my side, his body never leaving contact with mine. When he came into view, the look on his face was different from when we normally made love. It was darker, more aggressive than I’d ever seen him. My breath hitched, and my earlier thoughts and fears seemed stupid. He was definitely stepping up his game. Working me up in a way I craved. It was a step in a direction I couldn’t have envisioned from our earlier conversation.

“On the bed. Now.” His voice was a low growl I’d never heard him use before. It was nothing of the disciplined, almost formal way he normally spoke, and it sent a shiver shooting through me.

“Yes, sir.” My voice was a whisper as I moved to the bed, climbing on top of it. Kneeling, I positioned myself as a long-forgotten familiarity washed over me.

I remember this.

Looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes, I watched as he moved up with me. He slid over, one hand gripping my shoulder, the other snaking around my waist. Suddenly he flipped me roughly onto my stomach, and then he was straddling me, one knee spreading me wide. He moved to position himself, his erection gliding against my thigh before pushing into the cleft between my cheeks. He rode up against me at the same time his voice rumbled in my ear.

“I am going to fuck you hard, Jen.”

I thrilled at his words. This was so much more than I had expected. It wasn’t Ben, but it was as close as I’d felt in six months to what he’d been, and that had me incredibly wet for Thomas right now. Every nerve in my body was tense. Not just for what was happening this moment, but with anticipation for what would follow next.

I waited for that next.

It never came.

I felt him slide inside of me, his cock stretching me open. I knew what I expected, what I wanted. Hard, savage thrusts that would drive his cock deep inside. Fingers digging into my thighs, rough words breathed into my ear, maybe a hand gripping my hair in a knot of fingers and strands that would strain my neck in that way I loved. I waited for that, any of it, and as the moments went by, I felt tendrils of disappointment begin their insidious creep through me.

Thomas didn’t ‘fuck’ me.

He made love to me.

From the moment he entered me, it was little different from what we had done that morning. Or any other time during the months we’d been together. We did it doggie style. That was his version of rough sex—rear entry. The realization that this was what I would get, the entirety of it, made a slow, hollow feeling build inside of me. Sure, he wasn’t as gentle as he normally was. I’d little doubt his impression was he was truly fucking me hard. But the things I had anticipated, that my body had desired?

Nothing. Not a single thing.

He grunted as he stroked in and out of me at the same intensity and pace he did when we were doing it missionary style. He reverted to the gentle, considerate lover he had always been, and my body shook with the urge to scream in exasperation.

No! No, no, no, no, no! Please! This isn’t fair!

He vocalized what he obviously thought I was feeling.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice was less the deep rumble than it had been. Now it was the more attentive Thomas I was so familiar with. “You like the way I’m fucking you. I know you do.”

I buried my face into the covers. The appreciative noises I made were ones I knew he wanted to hear. Noises that were as much a lie as anything else I’d done before. Every bit of hope that had sprung up in me blew away in a whirlwind. I could feel the smooth, even timing of his thrusts that were every bit the controlled, practiced lover he was. A lover any woman would be—should be—happy with, as long as that woman wasn’t me. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth. In the end I did what was easiest. I simply gave in and followed his lead.

Thomas was trying, and he truly believed he was giving me exactly what I had been dancing around during our conversation. The thought that this was his idea of rough sex made it even worse. I lay there, and all I felt was a ramping sense of frustration. And—goddammit!—I had enjoyed sex with him in the past. There had been a time when I loved everything about the way he made love to me. The gentle attentiveness, the way he cradled, caressed, and cherished me as if I was some sort of goddess to be worshipped. Now I was struggling to show my appreciation for the effort he was putting into this and failing. That was wrong because, dammit, I owed him that! None of this was his fault. He was a good man trying to do the right thing for the woman he loved, but who wasn’t giving that back in return. I was just all manner of shit right now, because keeping this lie propped up was becoming harder than hell.

-How can you claim to love a man you can’t even be truthful with?-

That was a knife to the gut.

---