He is trying something new with her tonight, taking it to the next level. They’re in her favorite restaurant, and she is sitting across from him with a wide, happy smile on her face. He told her she could order anything she wanted, so he isn’t surprised when she orders the filet mignon. He smiles back at her when she orders blue cheese dressing on her salad. This is a treat for her, and he savors every response.
She has a baby-face, heart-shaped. Although she has the occasional strand of silver hair, age has not touched her face yet. When she winces, she has an adorable, child-like quality. He loves to see her keep her little chin up so stoically, and then watch it quiver just before the silent tears start. Her cheeks pinken so sweetly during a session, and she sobs so tenderly when the impact stops. He loves her delicate responses – really, just about everything she does is charming to him from start to finish. He loves feeling her curled up behind him, hours later, her warm skin pressed up against him, pebbly with welts.
The waiter brings them their salads, hers is drenched in blue cheese – just like she likes it. His oil and vinegar is on the side – just like he likes it. He takes his eyes from her only long enough to drizzle a little oil then the smallest amount of vinegar on his salad. She is already eating, her enjoyment plain and gratifying to him.
He waits until she is halfway through her salad to take a bite of his own. Then he says:
“I want to break up with you.”
He watches her face go through disbelief to shock and then pain. Her fork hangs in mid-air. She has obviously forgotten it, so a piece of lettuce and some of the dressing plop back into her bowl. Her face is white, her cheeks pink, her eyes shiny and hot-looking.
Her voice is barely a whisper. She says only one word: “Why?” There is such an incredible expression on her face – her pain stark and profound.
“I don’t love you any more,” he says, looking at her and then looking at his salad, not wanting to give away his true feelings. Deliberately, he takes a bite and returns his gaze to hers.
He almost missed it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees how her hands tremble. Suddenly, but very quietly, she stands up and walks toward the ladies room. He imagines she will cry there, dry her eyes, compose herself, and then come back. He eats more of his salad, but he is not really tasting it. His mind is already going over his plans for the evening. Definitely, he will blindfold her so that she can concentrate on the sounds he makes with the toys. She dreads the cane… Every time he lets her hear it cut through the air, she will let out a whimper, but he knows from experience she will bear up and not cry until she has a few red stripes. It will be an intense session: he will let her “convince” him not to break up with her but he won’t let it be easy for her. Anything worth doing takes effort.
She hasn’t come out of the ladies room yet. She is taking longer to collect herself than he anticipated. He has run out of ice water, so he is about to motion the waiter for more –
She is walking out the front door! He stands up and walks toward the door, intending to call her back and tell her to sit down and finish her meal. He passes the maitre d’s station and is nearly at the door, when a voice calls out, “Sir! Excuse me – sir! You haven’t paid for your meals!” He pauses and turns. Good lord. He didn’t even think about that. He looks back at her. She’s about to get in a cab. He looks back at the maitre d’. If he gets out the front door right now, he can catch her. He turns his head just in time to see the cab leave. He will have to talk to her about that: he can’t have her walking away from him like that, especially in public!
In a bad mood, he pays for the meals and has them packaged up. He might make her eat hers cold as a reminder not to disobey him. True, he never told her specifically that she is not allowed to leave without asking first for his permission, but that should be a given. His mood does not improve as he drives home.
She isn’t there when he gets home. She has a key, so there is no excuse for her not to let herself in and wait for him. He checks his phone. There is no message. He puts the food in the refrigerator, because he is not in the mood to finish his dinner. After waiting another ten minutes, he calls her phone. It goes straight to voice mail. He tells her to call him back. Twenty minutes later, he calls her number again and it goes directly into voice mail.
“Call me,” is his message. He leaves the same message on her home phone.
The evening is ruined. He has no idea where she is, but he will be damned if he leaves another message. He puts the toys away. At one point, he warms up his steak and with the first bite remembers why he never packs up leftover steak from a dinner out. It never tastes good reheated. He throws the rest of his meal away and watches some television. The television ends up being just so much background noise. He switches it off and checks the house, making sure all the doors and windows are locked. He checks to see whether she called without his noticing it. She hasn’t. He lays in bed, but sleep won’t come. After fitful tossing, he finally drifts off.
In the morning, he wakes and feels the cold spot beside him. He gets up and checks his phone. There is a message from her. He can hear inner strength in her voice as she says his name. He can hear pain, too, in her quiet tone.
Then she says:
“You know what? There is a difference between accepting pain and getting hurt, like there’s a difference between getting hurt and being injured. I took the pain you gave me. I could take any pain. But you aren’t allowed to hurt me. You’re not allowed to break my heart.”
That is all the message she leaves him.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/bhwj25/differences_mf_domsub