Rotten

This is an unpublished vignette that i wrote a while ago:

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I'd just dropped off my bike to get a tune-up, and turned the corner when suddenly i was hit by inspiration. No, it wasn't the kind of inspiration that brings me to type these words into this editor window. It was a different kind of inspiration, and i can't really say where it came from but it took a very simple form:

I wanted to spoil my girl

I occasionally get these urges, just out of the blue, where i want to go get something nice and pretty for her that will come as a complete surprise. She'd recently been complaining about her wardrobe, how she was kind of bored with it. I understood what she meant, but making a change to it wasn't her responsibility. For a very long while, my girl has abided by a dress code of my design. Anything new introduced to it is either selected by me or put forth for my approval.

I told myself that i would walk the avenue, looking in the store windows, and if i saw anything that inspired me to purchase, i would execute. This search lasted all of four minutes. I passed a store where all the dresses are hand-designed and sewn by the shoppe's owner, and there was a dress that screamed "my girl." I entered the store and asked to see the dress so i could find out whether the measurements matched those of my tightlaced beauty's. I came to find out that there were only four dresses made in this style, and it just so happens the one we were looking at abided by her dimensions (almost eerily so). I told the shopkeeper that i would be right back. I wanted to think about it, give some of the other stores an opportunity to woo me. Alas, after a short survey of the competitor's windows, it became clear the dress had a new owner.

When i brought the dress home, i hid the gift-wrapped box behind a chair in the foyer, and greeted the missus in the kitchen. We spoke a little, as i withdrew some cold refreshment out of the ice box. Filing through the mail, i nonchalantly asked her to fetch the bag behind the chair.

"What is it?"

She hands the bag to me, as if i wanted the items inside.

"It's not for me."

She knows it's not for me. She makes this gesture to seek my permission to accept the gift.

Needless to say, this dress has become one of her absolute favorites. She wears it well. I mildly worry about the way it may have spoiled the rest of her wardrobe.

sneaky little bugger

In the company of our home, i regularly tell my girl when it's time for her to go to bed, when she's done with her meal, and what she should wear. On a rare occasion, i'll vocalize similar things in front of others, but usually in tones low enough for just her to hear, and sometimes i'll even utilize facial signals where only she knows the message behind them. Being the little brat that she is, she'll recognize the social limitations of fully exhibiting our power exchange, and push those limits. When i've indicated that she's done with her french fries by subtly placing a hand on her wrist as it moves to her plate, she'll wait until i'm in the middle of an anecdote, occupied by my boisterous regalement, and slip one or two crispy culprits into her mouth. She always looks right at me as she does it, knowing full well i'm witnessing her commit this foul.

She'll later, under interrogation, say she was playing with me. And i do understand what she means. She enjoys the idea of the flow of our power somewhat inverted, where i, the one who is in command, has limits applied to me based on the social situation we happen to be in. It's also a way to flirt, grab my attention and speak to me in a silent dialogue only her and i are having. But, that doesn't absolve her of having transgressed a directive of mine. Correction does follow such behavior.

Recently, she and i attended the wedding of two very dear friends. The ceremony was in the evening, and prior to us walking the few short blocks from our hotel to the wedding's venue, i invited my girl to have a cocktail with me in the lounge just off the lobby. The bartender delivered us the overly rambunctious drink menu, and before even opening it, i said,"Two gin martinis, up, with olives." We enjoyed the moment of solitude. Her in her gown, me in my tuxedo, letting the stiff alcohol of the martinis wrap itself around our conversation, giving the precipice to the evening a distinct smoothness.

Once at the wedding, it became clear to me how stiff those drinks were. My girl is a charmer when sober, but she's an absolute heart sizzler when she's had a few. She seems to forget that others are around us, and her sensual arousal amplifies. She was pawing me, rubbing her hands up and down my chest as we stood amongst the chapel seats. She played little kisses along my jawline with her lips, working her way upto my ear. I loved it, but i also knew this was not the place for it. I pulled her arms-length away from me and looked in her eyes, giving her an expression that indicated 'perhaps not now'. What i saw in those brown bobbles was the earliest indication of a very pernicious bratty girl. To sway me, she wiggled back up against me, and lay her head on my chest.

"You smell soooo nice."

Throughout the ceremony, she held my hands in numerous combinations of one or the other or both at the same time. By the completion of the marital vows, i went to speak with my friends in the groom's party, thinking my girl would speak to the bridal counterparts. Not so. She'd wedged her way into linking with my arm, clinging to me as i talked "shop talk" with the boys. When we adjourned to the upstairs veranda for the cocktail hour, i suggested to her to take it slow, and just get some wine to sip. After all, it would be a shame not to enjoy (remember) the evening. At one point, we got separated, but from across the room, i occasionally looked over at her wherein she would smile and show me her glass still just half-full. By the time dinner was about to be served, we reconvened, and she proudly showed me her white wine glass as if to say "See? I'm still on my first glass." But, here's where the games began. She knew i wouldn't fall for it.

"Same glass? Why does this one not have the red scarlet imprint of your lips on the rim? Again, please take it slow."

We assumed our seats at our table, joining our eight other table-neighbors. When the waiters worked the room with wine bottles, my girl declined. Somewhere during the appetizer course, she noticed my bourbon was low and offered to get me a drink. I took her up on her offer, thanking her for it. By the time she'd returned, i'd somehow managed to gain the entire table's attention telling them a story about the groom and a creative use of bananas. She'd returned with a glass of amber whiskey, but also a cocktail of her own. I couldn't say anything in the midst of my stroll down memory lane - and she knew it.

For the rest of dinner, we engaged in a duel of sorts with me putting her contraband drink out of her reach, and her taking it back - again while i was consumed with a conversation so that i couldn't stop her. Eventually, i was able to pass it off to a waiter who was clearing dishes. Thankfully, the dance portion of the evening commenced, which served as a perfectly timed distraction. I adore dancing with my girl, she is adept at being led, which makes dancing a virtual heaven. We scooted around the floor for a few numbers, then i cut in between the groom and his new bride for a quick shimmy. Afterward, i couldn't immediately find my girl. When i did, she had a wrinkly, wry smile pulling at the side of her face.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing." She said this as she wrapped her arms around my neck and swayed her hips to the slow rhythms of the band's tune. But, i could smell exactly what she'd been upto. And she knew it. This only made her smile more. The next number, the band kicked the rhythm up, which meant much more coordination from those dancing. Within the first few bars of the song, i knew my girl wasn't up for it. She stumbled, she plodded and she most certainly didn't follow my lead.

"Okay. We're done."

"Why?"

I went and grabbed her jacket from the coat check, holding it up to help her put it on, then gave her my arm to escort her outside. We walked back to the hotel, with her leaning heavily into me. A few times, i had to catch her, as she nearly tripped to the sidewalk. By the time we reached our room, she was incapacitated. The removal of her gown and undergarments was left to me. In this state, i knew she would not be responsive to what needed to happen. Lucky for her. Her booty got a reprieve that evening, but, later, she would pay for it.