Sub U

Chapter One-3

What was she going to do at the restaurant, get mad and walk home? Fat chance, and it was too far from home to realistically take a cab. It was a ploy he’d used many times in business: control the situation to such an extent that the person had no choice but to sit and hear him out. Often, a client would agree to his terms out of sheer frustration. But he knew that wouldn’t work on Bobbie. She could easily agree to what he wanted just to put a temporary end to the discomfort she was sure to feel, but the proof was going to be when they got home and he ordered her over his knee for a spanking. And that was only tonight. How committed was she going to be for the rest of her life?

For the rest of her life.

He realized he was only thinking about what he wanted from the relationship. Maybe he could finally get her to open up about what she expected from their future together. Didn’t she have any hopes or dreams? Goals? If so, why did she never talk about such things? Everyone had at least something they wanted to achieve, didn’t they? He knew he did; he was nothing if not a huge set of goals. Goal-setting Dayton. Yep, that’s me, he thought.

And how was it that he let her turn him into such a blithering i***t? He loved challenges; in fact, the more complicated a business situation was, the more determined and energized he became by it. Bobbie, though? She was different, and she’d become strangely prickly about things lately. If she didn’t want to talk about something, cased closed and end of story. She no longer bent to his will on everything like she did when they’d first gotten together. And he knew it was certainly fine and good to get off on looking at models doing kinky things in a magazine, but quite another to simply expect her to do the same things for him.

Yes, but I want her to get on her knees and take me in her ass any time I order her to.

“Why?” she’ll ask, just before I take her hips in my hands and force my c**k deep inside her tight hole.

“Because I said so, that’s why. And from now on, you’ll do what I tell you.”

He sighed in frustration, wondering how many other men had these thoughts about the woman they love.

***

Dayton closed his menu and placed it on the table. He shifted uncomfortably, trying not to slide off the slick leather upholstery in Bobbie’s favorite booth.

“I swear I need a seat belt to sit here. Don’t you always feel like you’re going to slip right off and end up under the table?”

Bobbie rolled her eyes and said, “If you hate sitting here so much, why do we always end up sitting here?”

“Because you like it, baby,” he said.

“Well, you know that’s awful sweet of you, don’t you?” she said. “Always thinking of me like that.”

Oh, you’d be surprised how I think of you.

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to wait and get a few glasses of wine in her, a few more scotches down his throat, or maybe both, before broaching the subject. Maybe it really would be better if they were both a bit tanked. What he wouldn’t give for a cigar — something to do with his hands while he tried to ease into the conversation.

“Honey, you’ve been all squirmy and fidgety ever since we left the house,” she said. “What is it, work?”

“Have I?” he asked.

She seemed to be waiting for him to continue, but he pretended to be interested in something going on at the other side of the restaurant. She turned and looked over her shoulder.

“What is it?” she asked.

“What is what?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Dayton, look. If you don’t even want to be here tonight, why don’t we just have our drinks and leave?”

“No, no, it’s great. It really is,” he said, pushing himself up against the back of the booth. “These booths are so damned—”

“Dayton, just tell me why we’re here. You’re not happy with anything lately. Your mind is anywhere but here with me, and if you want to do something else—”

He put his drink down with such force that scotch splattered over the top of the glass and onto the tablecloth.

“I do want to do something else,” he said, much too loudly.

Bobbie looked like a scolded puppy.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I really am. I didn’t mean that,” he said.

He tried to reach for her hand across the table, but she pulled it away. He scooted toward her in the booth, but her body tensed up, and she stared at her water glass, her lips in an angry line. He attempted to touch her, but her expression told him he could just move his dissatisfied ass right back over where it came from. He did so, and occupied himself by pretending to clean up spilled scotch. It had only barely dampened the table cloth around his glass, but he slowly pressed his napkin around on his plate and silverware, even picking up his glass and pretending to dry it completely. He stole a glance at her; she had apparently decided to spend the rest of the evening watching the ice in her water melt.

“Shall I tell you about our specials tonight?”

“Yes, please,” she said, smiling sweetly at the waiter.

Dayton didn’t hear a word he said. He studied Bobbie’s face and watched her mannerisms as she listened, asked questions, and ordered. Thank god she was opting for another glass of wine.

“And make that glass a big one, young man,” Dayton said, smiling at Bobbie.

The waiter smiled solicitously. Bobbie’s smile turned stony.

“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked.

“I’ll have the usual,” he said, relying on his standard line.

Normally it made her laugh— or at least she pretended to think it was funny— but no such luck tonight. Dayton waited for an amused reaction, and smiled uncomfortably when she looked bored.

“And that would be…” the waiter said.

“I’ll have the fillet, rare. Baked potato, loaded. House salad. And another scotch,” he said, glancing quickly at Bobbie, who was staring at his almost-empty glass.

“Very well,” the waiter said. “I’ll be back in just a moment with those cocktails.”

Dayton noticed he was slipping on the leather seat again, and pushed himself back up.

“I guess it’s only fair that I just be honest with you,” he said.

“Why don’t ya’ do that?” she said.

Dayton winced. He couldn’t stand it when she said don’t ya’.

Don’t ya’. Don’t ya’ think this is cute? Don’t ya’ think that’s awful pretty? Everything is awful cute, and awful sweet, don’t ya’ know.

“Look, I don’t want to yell this across the table, so do you mind if I just move a little closer over by you?” he said.

“Okay,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s this all about?”

He felt around on her lap for her hand, and held it firmly.

“Look, I’ve been—”

She looked away when her wine arrived.

“Here you are,” the waiter said. “And for you, sir,” he said, placing their drinks in front of them. Dayton looked at him impatiently, then turned back to Bobbie.

“Is this about the wedding, Dayton?”

“Yes, baby, it is.”

She studied his expression for a moment and pulled her hand away.

He hurriedly added, “I mean, no! I mean, yes, it’s really about…everything.”

She fumbled with the napkin on her lap, and gazed off into the distance. She seemed to be focusing on a large group of people seated at a table in the far corner of the restaurant, but at the same time looked as if she had left her body.

“Bobbie,” he said. “Baby, come on. Look at me. Just look at me for a minute, okay?”

She turned her head toward him and fixed her eyes on his. Her eyes looked misty, as if she might cry. He knew her well enough to know it wasn’t sadness he saw, it was fear.

“Baby, I just want something different, okay?”

He tentatively rested his hand on her forearm.

“Are you breaking up with me?” she asked, pulling her arm out of his grasp.

“Breaking up with you? No! How could you even think that?”

“What else would I think? You just said it’s about the wedding, and you want something different.”

“No, no, baby. I do want us to be married, but I want us to be different. I want…” He inched closer to her and she leaned away slightly.

“I want…”

He tried to remember Travis’ exact words from their telephone conversation, knowing this was his only chance to get this right.

“I want a different…dynamic…in our relationship.”

“Dynamic? What does that even mean? That just sounds awful strange.”

He winced. “No, it’s not awful strange.”

She bristled at the barb.

“We’re talking about the rest of our lives, Bobbie. Think about it—the rest of our lives. I want things to be different,” he said.

“Different how?”

“Baby, why don’t you let me be in the driver’s seat from now on? I guess that’s a good way to explain it. I don’t mean every second of the day, but….”

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But, with s*x—”

“Our s*x life doesn’t satisfy you?” she said.

He looked around at the other tables to see if anyone had heard her.

“I want to be…to be…in control. In the bedroom.” He took a deep breath and paused for a moment. “I want you to do what I say.”

“I don’t have the faintest clue what you’re talking about.”

“Bobbie, look—”

“How long have I not pleased you in the bedroom?” she said, stifling a laugh.

“I just keep thinking about how things could be better in that regard, not just for me, but for us, I think, if you’ll just try—”

“Oh, so I’m the one who’s not trying?” she said, her smile turning rather wicked-looking.

“Bobbie, come on. How about a little adventure? How about a few games? I’ve even seen some role playing—”

“Seen? Dayton, what have you been up to?”

“No, I just mean in magazines. You know how lonely and boring business trips can be, so I started buying magazines here and there, and before I knew it—”

“So let me get this straight. You got lonely and bored, picked up a few magazines, and because of some porn—”

“Baby, what’s the harm in giving it a chance? Could you at least dress up for me? Is that too much to ask? We could start there, at least.”

“So what I wear would change everything? You want me to dress like a slut, is that what you’re asking?”

“God, I’d love it if you did,” he said almost wistfully, remembering the picture of the bride in the magazine.

“Well, you’ve got another thing coming, then.”

Dayton knew when he had another “thing” coming, the show was over, the curtain was down, and Elvis had left the building.

“You won’t even try this?” he whispered. “Not for me?”

She looked beyond exasperated.

“Why bring this up now? I have a wedding to plan, Dayton.”

He snorted. “You’ve already had months to plan this wedding.”

The depth of disgust in her expression surprised him. She had never looked so offended by anything in all the time he’d known her. He may as well have whipped it out and peed on their table. He tried to pass his comment off as a joke, but she wasn’t buying it. While she continued to eye him with disgust, he watched himself helplessly, as if from afar, as his attempts to placate her took him deeper and deeper into dangerous territory.

“Well, haven’t you? Haven’t you been working on this for a few months already?” he asked, trying to sound merely naïve about such things.

“Well, I’ll just tell you what,” she said.

What was that line from that movie? “Houston, we have a problem.”

“I’d be happy to turn the rest of the details over to you, honey,” she said, producing an exaggeratedly sweet smile.

“No, no, no,” he said. “I’m sure there’s a tremendous amount—”

“But I really don’t want off-the-rack bridesmaid dresses, or weeds for a bouquet, or hamburgers served at the reception, or the service to be held at the Moose Lodge or whatever they call that place, or for us to stay at Motel 6, or to use hand-made invitations, or—”

“I get it, I get it, I get it,” he said.

“So, why don’t ya’ just keep that in mind when you’re putting together the rest of the details, okay?”

“I said I get it.”

“Yeah?” she asked.

A stare-down ensued, one that was broken only by the arrival of their salads. They looked away from each other and Bobbie smiled up at the waiter. When he walked away from their table, she began a process of stabbing at her salad and shoving every bite so forcefully into her mouth that Dayton was surprised she didn’t injure herself. She was hardly even chewing. He noticed she was using the wrong fork.

“You’re—” he said, pointing at the offending utensil in her hand.

She slammed the fork down on the table and said, “Now what?”