Anger Management , by Blue Sleighty © 2008 property of My Secret Obsession
THIS IS AN ADULT STORY WITH ADULT THEMES DEPICTING LESBIAN SEXUAL ACTS. IF IT IS NOT LEGAL FOR YOU TO READ STORIES OF THIS NATURE, OR IF IT OFFENDS YOU- LEAVE NOW.
Anger Management (a.k.a. The Truce)
She was all PISSY.
Our room was still cool blue shadows and shades of lavender in the painfully early morning hours. But I could see that her eyes were open, and she had yet to speak to me. Her eyes were always as white as her perfect straight teeth. Which, I did not see at the moment. Her teeth, that is. Her eyes were always easy to see in the dark. They shined with health. Normally. So, while I knew that she did not presently smile- I knew that she was not snarling. Yet. I realized pretty quickly, once I was more awake that she was planning a "discussion". That's what she called it when she wanted to fight. She didn't look at me. She did not smile and say "good morning". I sighed. I knew the drill quite well by now. The silent treatment would continue until she decided that the time was perfect to start bitching.
Realizing this, I decided to quietly get up, get dressed in the bathroom and take my big dog for a walk. With any luck at all I could get out the damned door before she opened her mouth.
It seemed that each and every weekend she was mad at me these days. And, frankly, I was sick of it. I did not plan to live that way much longer.
My job can be pretty mind boggling and on top of that, my commute presently was 92 miles round trip every day. By the end of the work week my brain could be pretty much fried and I was often very stressed from the drive each day. A person could get really tired of working all week (with no time to do anything but work and sleep) and then coming home for the weekend to listen to someone bitch the whole time about what I was NOT doing and what they were afraid I MIGHT do. Like I have enough energy to cheat? I just did not want HER. It was just too much to bear.
The reason she was always mad at me was frustrating.
It was about sex, of course.
Jag and I had been living together for about a year. Our love had developed out of friendship. We found each other to be intellectually stimulating and we both were artists and writers. We genuinely admired each others creative efforts. Jag is an instructor at a local college and I am a corporate information manager. We had a great time together and grew to have great affection for each other. We decided we would do well together. I was happy to have a relationship, finally, that was not all about . . . well . . . you know . . . sex.
Our sex life was not at all that hot these days. This really upset Jag.
Our sexual stuff was great when we first met, but it cooled very quickly. The problem was me. As far as Jag was concerned, anyway.
Jag and I were talking in bed one night when we were first getting to know each other and I told her that I needed some help with my website. I wanted contributions from other writers to give it some variety and I asked Jag if she would like to contribute. She was very happy to have her work on the site. I thought it would be a good project for us together.
About a week later, she submitted her first story for my review. I had told her to write about what she was most passionate about sexually so when I read the story it stopped me in my tracks.
It was about lesbian D/s. Domination and submission.
I could not believe it. Of all things for her to be into, it would have to be D/s. You think you know someone, and then, "SURPRISE! I'M A FREAK!" As the situation began to dawn on me, I could not help but find it amusing that of the veritable sexual smorgasbord (if you will) that IS the world, and of which I enjoy a vast variety of things- wouldn't you just know that Jag would have to be into something that was such a complete turn off to me?
Reminds me of my daughter, in a way. I have been in the club and music business for most of my life (until I went corporate in the last few years). I listen to every genre of music that there is and some that can't even find a peg to fit into. I LOVE music. My daughter's father is a professional musician. The girl has met practically every musician on the planet. Yet, she managed to find the only genre of music in the universe that I do not really appreciate so much. Death Metal. And just like Death Metal turns me off (mostly)- so does D/s. That is something I was NOT interested in. The very thought of it was like fingernails on a blackboard.
As I read the story that Jag submitted, I realized that she would have to have had quite a bit of experience with 'that sort of thing' in order for her to elaborate on the details so accurately and at such length. I found that very disturbing. It REALLY bothered me. I mean, she was a TEACHER, for heaven's sake! I have never even been CURIOUS about engaging in the D/s "scene". I got all of my BDSM knowledge from the Marquis De Sade, which I read as a teenager. The stories did arouse me, but, I became very judgmental about the subject, and I secretly scoffed at people who were into leather and BDSM and all of that. I could see that Jag and I had a pretty serious problem. One that I doubted that we could ever work out
To me it seemed very fake. I tried to envision myself going out and buying all of that equipment and suitable attire. That made me laugh, too.
Jag sat waiting for my comments. She read over my shoulder. I cleared my throat.
Just how into this stuff are you?" I asked her without turning around.
I've always had a reputation as a stellar lover, and I thought I was very open minded and experienced, and since I am such an expert, I considered my opinion to be valid. Not just VALID, but unshakable. I criticized Jag very harshly. We argued the point almost all night and after that night, discussed her position on her proclivities frequently, in great depth and with much fervor. And it was never good.
As a result, we rarely had sex, and we were angry a lot. Most of the time. Actually, there was an underlying current of anger that came out in almost everything that we said and did.
Jag said that she was happy with our sex life when we had one, because I was very dominant. She said that I was just naturally that way.
"Jag. If you think that you are helping matters by telling me things like that- I am afraid that you STILL do not 'get it'. Because, I do not think that I am dominant. I AM a top, which was a problem even before you thought it was a great idea to tell me that you are mentally disturbed. Oh. I'm sure there's tons of stats that prove that people who want to dominate or submit are just PERFECTLY normal. But, truly, I have told you repeatedly that I do not like being pursued. I initiate the sex. I do not like it when anyone tries to manipulate me in any way. I especially hate disguised attempts to stimulate me, and you do that ALL OF THE TIME. And, just because I am assertive, and I do not have to answer to anyone does NOT mean that I am aggressive. I get so sick of always being labeled a bitch, or DOMINANT just because no one pays my bills and I have a right to live my life the way that I see fit, and do not feel the need to sugar coat every word that comes out of my mouth."
That is the way it had started to go. The same old story. Each and every weekend. And, now, it had come to this. I tried to escape, to find a few moments peace before having to deal with her shit one more time.
But, she CAUGHT me going down the stairs.
What are you doing? I always go with you to walk the dog." Jag stood at the
top of the stairs with her hand on her hip. Black hair caught in both reflecting
light and shadow in wild curls surrounded her face. Even from the bottom of the
stairs where I stood, fuming, I could see sadness in her coal black eyes. Her
latin features betrayed the calm that she tried so hard to project.
She told me that we didn't have to do the things that she had written about, like that would help. I felt bad for even more reasons then. I felt inadequate. I felt that I was depriving her of her needs and not fullfilling her desires. It all had become a big mess. Every time the subject came up - which was every other day for months - I flew into a rage. I insulted her for being such a sick fuck. I suggested that the whole psychology behind what fueled her was pathetic. I treated her like she was an idiot. Why Jag stayed I will never know. I asked her to leave, but she wouldn't. I offered her a large sum of money to leave, but she wouldn't take anything. I threatened to have the police remove her - but she still would not go.
"Why don't you want me, Blue?" I was not looking at her. Her voice was so sad. So pleading. But, I did not care.
Suddenly I saw red. I couldn't take it anymore. "Goddamn, Jag. I have told you a million times already. Are you mentally challenged? What part of this do you not understand?"
"But I love you. I want to make love with you. We never have sex. You hardly show me any affection at all."
By then we were yelling. The dog, who still waited for his morning walk, trodded up the stairs, sheepishly, dragging his leash behind him.
I told you to go find yourself someone who likes sex with you." I was angry
and my aggravation and frustration was escalating to a dangerous level. "I
do not want to talk about his anymore. Ever! In fact, if you say one more word
about about this right now, I may go insane!"
No one ever listens to me, and of course she didn't listen either. I thought I was going to have a stroke. I was shaking. My nostrils flared. My chest heaved. My eyes glowed red.
Jag sat down at the dining room table. "Blue, I . . ."
That did it. I went over the edge. I don't think I have been that pissed off before in my entire life. I growled from the kitchen as I grabbed the toaster off of the counter by the cord and ripped it out of the wall. Then I slammed it to the floor - over and over again, swinging it back and forth over my head and to the floor rock star-style until it smashed into a million twisted pieces. Glass flew. Jag just sat there calmly at the dining table.
I huffed and puffed from my efforts, glaring at Jag. She looked away as someone knocked at the back door. I stomped to it red-faced to answer it. Our friend and neighbor Jean jumped slightly as I sternly yanked the massive wooden door open.
the hell is going on?" She was very alarmed. "I could hear you from
"Uh, okay then . . . I'll come back later." Jean backed away, then turned on her heels. I slammed the door and turned around. I walked towards Jag as menacingly as possible.
"You know what? I'm sick to death of this crap. You won't shut up and you won't leave. So, I'll tell you what, bitch," I grabbed a handful of Jag's black hair and pulled until her eyelids stretched. "You want to fuck me? You can fuck me," I spoke through clenched teeth inches from her face. "Every Saturday night at 9 p.m. I'm going to be waiting for you upstairs with my dick strapped on. You can come up and sit on it if you feel like it. Be your ass upstairs tonight. I'll dress the part and lay there and you can just fuck yourself." I yanked her hair hard. "Now, I don't want to talk about this any fucking more," I hissed.
I went to the refrigerator and got two beers, chugging the first one in four gulps.
The dog came back down, leash still on, after we had been quiet for a few minutes. I put on my cleated boots so that the enormous animal wouldn't drag me off of my feet, and exited the front door, still grumbling.
After walking the dog, I managed to stay busy for the rest of the day with plenty of errands, and Jag finally got the hang of keeping her mouth shut, for a while.
That night, Jag tried everything to make up with me, but I wouldn't budge. I listened to music and drank beer. I played an old country song- "Put Another Log on the Fire" to emphasize my beliefs regarding what happens when one person is dominant and the other is submissive. I laughed nastily. Jag said nothing.
another log on the fire.
don't I let you wash the car on Sunday?
put another log on the fire.
Obviously, I didn't have a clue.
Soon the hour was upon me. 9 o'clock P.M. Angrily, I stomped over to where Jag was working on her laptop at the kitchen's breakfast table.
"Alright, bitch. Get your ass upstairs." I turned around, stomping off towards the stairway and took the steps two at a time to our room. Smoke was still coming out of my ears. I reached our bedroom and went to my night table.
I opened the bottom drawer, finding my biggest dildo and my stap on harness. The dildo was so big that I had to lubricate it to get it to fit through the o-ring of the harness. I took my pants off quickly, making certain to gesticulate the rage I felt. I left my shirt on. Once the harness was firmly in place, I turned around to find Jag already waiting on the mat that we lay on when watching TV. She wasn't smiling. And she was still dressed.
"Are you going to get your clothes off or am I going to have to take care of that for you?
She did not answer.
Roughly, I shoved her back on the soft foam mat.
"Blue . . . " Jag tried to stop me as I unbuttoned her jeans. I slapped her hand, and she started to grab me. I pulled back to give her fair warning. "If you want to fight, then bring it on bitch. I would suggest that you cooperate." Jag lay back down obediently.
I grabbed her jeans by the hems around her ankles and yanked her pants off in one swift movement. I was getting pissed off all over again.
"Blue! Please . . . " She pleaded, "I don't want it like this . . . " She looked kind of scared.
"Fuck you, you sick little bitch. This is the way you're getting it. It's this way or nothing at all," I yelled and then something in me hesitated for a second. She genuinely looked frightened and the part of me underneath my rage made me stop and check to make sure that she was OK.
I reached down between her legs and felt her cunt. The evidence was quite clear. "You're soaked. You fucking liar. You do want it this way!" I tried hard to communicate my indignance through every means possible. I was genuinely angry. I had plenty more to say. I managed to control myself. To some extent, anyway. I jumped up and stomped downstairs to the kitchen. I kept clothespins around to seal plastic bags up with. I found two, and stomped back up the stairs. I then knelt down and clipped one to each of Jag's nipples and then squeezed hard and twisted. Jag cried out with pain, but made no attempt to remove them.
Gyad. I was doing exactly what she wanted for me to do. I decided I wouldn't undress completely.
The dildo that I strapped on was 10 inches long and 2 ½ inches across. I knelt between Jag's legs with the dildo pointing up lewdly. I reached under the mat where we stashed our lube, and opened the cap. I held the bottle high in the air over the dildos huge head and let the slick liquid pour over it and stream down the shaft onto my thighs. The lights shining into our second story bedroom from the twinkling skyline made for an interesting prism. Jag watched and licked her lips. It looked exquisite. I shuddered involuntarily. I was determined to stay angry.
rubbed the big cock head up and down her slit until Jag kind of whimpered and
moaned, afraid to say anything. Suddenly, I felt my own hot wetness on my inner
thigh. I disgusted myself. But- I was excited. Damn it. "Kiss me, Blue,"
Jag looked at me, searching my eyes.
When I do something- I try to do it right. Even if it's wrong.
I reached down and stroked Jag's clit as I fucked her with the cock, hips pumping, her hands pulling my ass towards her. Jag cried out and moaned. She was always so LOUD. It was a bit of a problem. I was getting so turned on that all of the anger that I felt started to melt away. The way my flesh felt against Jag's and the sound of her little cries of pleasure as I fucked her ignited me. I caught my breath, and it and my heartbeat raced faster and faster. I had not felt that good in a looooong time. Jag was getting so loud that I was thinking about covering her mouth to shut her up.
My mouth sought Jag's nipples. I gave the clothespins another hard squeeze before removing them. Her breasts were full and voluptuous. Something relatively new to me, and delicious in my mouth as I sucked and bit and licked her. Our bodies fell into sensuous rhythm moving together and enjoying every sensation. Her warmth mingled with my own. My thighs squeezed together intensifying the heat I felt with every thrust of my hips, and soon our lips locked in passion as I swallowed my pride and ate my words. Her tongue danced with mine through soft sweet petal lips, and after what could have been hours, I'm really not sure, we came together, laughing and giggling at ourselves and crying out in pleasure. Our bodies rocked together as we shuddered and savored every last jolt of electricity.
"I'm sorry, my baby girl." I kissed her on the cheek.
She just smiled and said, "that's alright, Daddi", snapping my undershirt.
We laughed until we fell asleep.
Management (A.K.A. 'The Truce'), by Blue Sleighty
© PROPERTY OF MY SECRET OBSESSION, May 2008