Submitting to Her(62)

A little alcohol to smooth things over, and Zoey was taking to her new role with aplomb, advising the married guys among us that they were actually already firmly inside their own female-led relationship, only without the benefits, and that by embracing their roles, and finding ways to better communicate with their partners, they could find more fulfillment.

"Seriously - she spends all the time you're with her telling you what to do, and then as soon as you're in the bedroom, she waits for you to lead? So you're taking all the punishment, and getting none of the rewards."

"The rewards?"

"You do like having sex, right?"

"Well, of course."

"But she's not always interested?"

"I guess not."

"And you suspect she's not interested because when it does happen, it usually doesn't end up with her getting an orgasm?"

"I… uh… well, so what if it was?"

"If she leads in the bedroom as well, she shows you how she wants you to get her off, and it's satisfying for her every time. So now she looks forward to sex, so you have it much more frequently."

"I never thought of it that way."

"And you know how much happier a sexually satisfied woman is around the home?"

"Okay, so how do I get her to lead in the bedroom?"

It made me realize she must have already discussed our own female-led relationship - and yet somehow I wasn't being given grief, I wasn't being taunted under the table, and my friends appeared to be hanging on Zoey's every word. I was surprised - I have to admit - and I felt a little more impressed at my friends than I'd been before this evening.

Of course, she didn't have the answer to everything, but like the snake oil salesman, she could offer my friends enough of a tantalizing glimpse of the possibilities to get them hooked on the idea of such an apparent easy change in their lives making such a difference.

I found myself sitting back, letting my increasingly inebriated friends forget about sober old me on the sidelines, and crowd around Zoey, absorbing all the knowledge she cared to impart. They were like besotted fans around some glamorous celebrity - and she seemed to lap up the adulation.

Later, the marrieds went home to try out a few tricks, and the rest of us shuffled off to a nightclub, where Zoey even offered my friends a dance or three, or four, or five. It was kind of hot watching her flirting with them, seeing how they found her so beguiling. It reinforced the feeling within me that I was a very, very lucky guy.

Far from finding myself the butt of jokes, at the end of it all I found myself envied beyond measure by my friends.

There in the nightclub, I found myself glancing at the kind of blonde airheads I used to take home from the dance floor before Zoey, and I felt such a strong sense of wasting all that time.

Well, I had plenty of time to make up for it.





*





When we got home, eventually, I opened the car door for Zoey, and was a little surprised that when she stepped out of the vehicle, her skirt remained behind on her seat. I was thankful Robin had opted to stay out for longer, choosing not to come back with us.

"Uh… I think you forgot something, Zoey," I said.

She giggled, posed for me there by the car in the middle of the parking lot, wearing her suit jacket and shirt, but with her legs and little black panties exposed for all to see. Thank God the place was empty at that hour - but I was sure my neighbors would be peering out of their windows to check out my drunken girlfriend.

"Better get me inside quick, Jones," she said, and now off came her suit jacket. She was giving me a count down in clothing removals.

I fumbled with my keys and locked the car, before finding the right metal to open my apartment front door. Well, there was definitely something hot about a girl as attractive as Zoey stripping right there on the street, but there were public decency laws even in this crappy part of Baltimore, I was fairly certain.

By the time we were in the building, down the stairs and at the front door of my apartment, her shoes and pantyhose were off as well, leaving her in a white blouse and panties, barefoot.

"Come on," I said as I slotted the key into my apartment front door, a hint or two of urgency in my voice as she began slipping the buttons undone down her blouse.

She pouted. "You know, a real man would probably enjoy seeing their hot girlfriend stripping off in public."

I felt a strange warm feeling fill up my chest at her use of the word 'girlfriend'. I guess we'd not really properly described our relationship with such formal terms before, but somehow it sparked a real bliss inside me right now.

I smiled, "If I was a 'real' man, as you put it, you would have fired me long ago."

She laughed, and consented to my silent but clearly signaled request for her to go inside.