The Going Gets Rough. Really Rough.

It's a long day at the observatory. There's a new film, Russian-made, that I had to translate into subtitles so people can watch it tomorrow evening. We always expect a big crowd on the Holidays. Fourth of July especially. My hand shakes slightly as I slide my key into my lock. To keep myself from slumping against the door and passing out as I turn the key, I imagine, painfully, how the teeth of the little bit of silver in my hand manipulate the pins inside the lock, just to keep myself awake long enough to kick off my sneakers, drop my laptop bag, and collapse onto the black leather couch in our living room.

I was woken up a few hours later to Liz's lips on mine, a quiet greeting that she probably didn't mean to wake me with. Or maybe she did. Maybe she thought, in my sleep deprived mood, that I might punish her in some cruel and sadistic way. She likes the cruel sadistic ways I punish her. And all she ever has to offer is that I should go further next time. So sure in her ability to misbehave she knows there will BE a next time.

Or maybe she just wanted to say hi.

Regardless, I opened my eyes and sat up slowly. I'd flipped onto my back in my sleep. She shushed me and tried to (lightly) push me back down. "Shh. I'm sorry, go back to sleep baby..." She crooned.

But I was awake. As I took her in, I knew she'd just been to the supermarket and back. Groceries on the kitchen counter confirmed my suspicion. She was dressed in jeans and an over large sweatshirt that fit me well. ("A man's t-shirt on a woman is the same as a flag on Everest; conquered!" I could hear my dad say.) Her feet were bare where she'd kicked off flip-flops by the door. I pulled a glass from the cabinet and got myself some cold water from the fridge dispenser. She was talking.

"We needed buns and condiments for the cookout tomorrow, so I went to Jewel down the road. I got you pumpernickel." She mentioned off-hand to me, waving vaguely at the loaf of dark brown bread covered in a fine layer of flower already put away in the breadbox. Just for that, I put my hands gently on her hips, kissed her cheeks, and stared over her shoulder as she pulled things from bags. She smiled, I could tell.

"Thanks babe." I told her, my arms suddenly surrounding her body and lifting her surprisingly into the air, her legs kicking and her screaming in faux outrage, the effect ruined by her hysterical giggling. Her hair fell back into my face as I lifted her up and kissed her neck. She stopped shouting and turned her head to kiss me. I put her down slowly as I savored her lips against mine.

"You're welcome..." She answered finally, turning her body to face me, wrapping me in one of her warm, tingly hugs. Over her shoulder, my hand reached into the bread box, where I took a slice of the bread and bit down on it, before pulling back and offering her the other half. She bit down playfully, grinning, and we were reenacting the most well known movie about dogs Disney ever made.

I have this thing about bread, I just like it. Any kind of bread. Toasted or not, I will definitely snack on it. I figure maybe four pieces of this loaf will actually end up toasted and buttered with breakfast. The rest, well, one slice rolls into two... Liz is the same about coffee. We keep a lot of coffee in our house. We have three coffee makers. One in our bedroom/office, in case she doesn't want to walk down the hall to pour herself a mug, the one in the kitchen, and the backup, which for some reason she put in the bathroom when she unpacked her stuff here nearly two years ago. It just sits there under the sink, collecting dust. As a kind of Thank-You-For-Living-With-Me-And-Loving-Me present, I got her the most expensive Keurig at the store and made her put on a blindfold before I let her see it.

Toast and Coffee go well together. Just like Elliot and Elizabeth.

After eating a slice between us I let go of her and started putting the ketchup and sauerkraut into the fridge, even though I was still ridiculously tired. Something about Liz revitalizes me.

"Write about anything interesting?" I asked her. Liz is an online journalist, she works from home. She shrugged, chomping on a slice.

"Politics in Greece. Fucked up stuff, going on there. They cut Social Security, benefits for the elderly, food stamps, trying to stabilize their government." I nodded slowly, thinking. I didn't know much about Greece or Politics. Liz didn't know much about Astronomy or Engineering, my two fields of choice, but that didn't mean she couldn't ask.

"What about you? How was stuff?" She asked.

"Had to translate an hour long documentary from Russian to English today. My boss waits until the last minute to do it before the rush tomorrow. That's why I'm a dead man walking, этот американец устал!" She doesn't speak Russian, but she thinks it's kinda hot when I speak it. I indulge her. She puts her hands on my chest and leans her head into it.

"I'm sorry hun, that sucks. Want to head back to sleep?" She asked, already guiding me to our bedroom, past the bathroom.

"Cuddle with me?" I requested, as she turned me around and pushed my butt into the mattress. She smirked to herself as she worked my jeans off for me. I could do it myself, but sue me, a beautiful woman wants to do it. I am not going to deprive her of that. She sighs like I'm a demanding child and she's a harassed mother, but her smirk gives away her feelings. She eagerly disrobes to her underwear and crawls into bed next to me, I spoon her. There's no sex in it, at least not right now, but her body pressed against mine, a firm ass and a big chest, has its sensuality in anything.

I doze off to the sound of her slow breathing and the smell of her hair, flowery shampoo and the overwhelming HER flooding my nostrils.

What happened next, is not my fault.

I woke up to a wonderful wet sleeve on my dick. I wasn't sure if it was her mouth, I didn't feel a tongue. It wasn't and isn't uncommon for Liz to wake me up like this, get me hard and demand I fuck her through the wall. She had an extreme appetite about these things, demanded so much that a man with lesser self-control might fail where I succeeded. Not bragging, just how she is. In high school I'd been concerned with lasting a while in bed, so I practiced and got myself some stamina. That paid off, but even that wasn't good enough to sate her lusts.

I might have to be hard at a moments notice. Ready to punish or reward her whenever she demanded. And it was a demand. Oh, sure, I was the Dom, but when she begged me to bend her over the bathroom sink while she looked at me in the mirror, I wondered who was really in charge. How much more I could give, I wasn't sure, but was always eager to find out.

Which is why I opened my eyes and rocked my hips forward into her cunt from behind. Her leg had looped backward around mine, she'd kicked my boxers down with her foot, and her panties were pulled to the side. Otherwise, we were as we'd been when I checked out. She was biting her fist as I slowly screwed her from behind, not making noise as she thought I was still asleep. When my hand made vicious, biting contact with her ass, she knew I was up, in more ways than one.

"Fuck me!" She said almost immediately, pulling her first from her mouth and cupping one of her tits, squeezing it as I entered and retreated hard, in and out, in and out.

"Planning on it." I grunted, my hand that had spanked her grabbing her chin and forcing her face to me, kissing her full lips and making her suck on my finger. She did, eagerly, giving me more and more. By now, I'd doubled my pace, and her twat muscles were clamping down in orgasm. She moaned, squirted a little, and shook all over. I fucked her through it. She must've been fucking me for a while to come that quick. Not that she was hard to please, but, she was a woman. Takes them time, you know.

The squirting wasn't new, but not all that common. Maybe one in twenty fuck sessions would see her ejaculate. Only when she was really horny before we started. Christ, had she even masturbated today while I was gone? She had a tub under our bed full of toys to use, and I know she did a lot during the week, when I wasn't here all day to screw her senseless. She liked the weekends, when I could. There were times we rarely went out, just ordered from the Thai or Indian place down the street and stopped long enough to answer the door not totally nude. I had bought her a grey bathrobe for that very purpose. Wrap it around herself so she didn't give the seventeen year old delivery boy more then he could handle.

I started hammering her twat from behind, entering the final stretch of my stamina. It hadn't been longer then five minutes, not very long for us honestly, but I had ideas that involved other holes. She felt me quicken my pace, and new what I had in mind. As my thrusts became erratic, she shoved her ass back against me, and I exploded in her.

Thank god for the pill, right?

My ejaculation seemed to set something off in her, and she had a small orgasm as I finished. I pumped what felt like gallons of cum into her for at least a minute, then relaxed and slowed my thrusts, kissing her cheek and rolling her onto her stomach before I pulled my semi-hard cock out of her embrace. She was breathing heavy, a dopey grin on her beautiful features. Her body seemed to smile, you know?

With her laying there, a small ring of white around her hole where I'd filled her to the brim, I kissed her neck and back, before bringing a hand sharply down on her asscheek. She yelped in surprise, but I grabbed her hair and pulled her roughly until her head faced me. I could see the lust in her eyes from my treatment of her.

"Was my bitch horny?" I asked her. She nodded. "You should've played with yourself. What makes you think I wanted to fuck you?" I asked, slapping her ass. She groaned.

"I..."

"You didn't think." I snapped. "You just wanted a good dicking, you selfish whore. I'm going to punish you now, Liz, and you're going to know you deserve it." I informed her. She nodded.

"Yes, Master." She mumbled, trying but failing to hide her eagerness.

I let go of her hair, moved my hand gently down her neck to her back and then her ass, which I struck with my right hand. She groaned.

"Count." I ordered.

"One, Master." She replied instantly, her face buried in the pillow. I spanked her again. "Two, Master." And eventually, "Ten, Master." I stopped. Her ass wasn't very red, but if you looked at it, it did look freshly spanked.

"What do you want to eat?" I asked her, gently rubbing her bottom in soothing circles before sitting her up. She had tears in her eyes, but didn't seem sad. She kissed me gently and whispered "Thanks," before replying.

"Do you want to cook?" She asked me. I nodded. "Could you make that chicken Alfredo again?"

"Sure." I told her, an entirely too fond look on my face as she did a little jig when I said Yes. She stood, adjusted her underwear, and pulled me out of bed. I put on my boxers and a t-shirt I got when Daft Punk came to Chicago. I pulled her robe from the hook on our closet door and wrapped it around her shoulders, before she slipped into it and tied it loosely around her waist. The robe, oversized and baggy as it was, did nothing to hide her Hourglass figure. Nothing she wore could. She made everything sexy. Maybe that was her superpower or something.

She sat in a stool at the kitchen island as I pulled my recipe book from the top shelf of the kitchen and flicked through the A's. As I made dinner she started typing a lot. I assumed, as she normally wrote while I made dinner, she was working, so I didn't bother her with trivia from my day. I cooked most of the meals in our small one-bedroom apartment. She made waffles once a year on my birthday and last Valentine's Day almost started a grease fire trying to fry some bacon.

So for her safety the cookbooks are on the top shelf.

She spoke suddenly, but nothing about her was startling to me. Except, maybe, her breathtaking good looks.

"Something wrong?" She asked. I looked over at her, raised my eyebrows and did the universal lip gesture for "Nah/Beats Me/I Don't Know."

"I'm good. You good?" I asked. She nodded in a dismissive sort of way.

"You're quiet." She told me, looking concerned. I took out chicken to defrost and set it on the counter.

"I just didn't want to bother you while you were working." She shook her head, giving me an Are-You-Crazy look.

"Don't worry about that! Fire off! Hit me with a Cosmic Fact." She requested. Cosmic Facts are these cute things we did in the beginning when she had no reference for what I actually studied at work. I thought for a few seconds.

"While studying to write his book The Martian, Andy Weir had to create a simulator to calculate where Mars and Earth would be in their orbits so he could choose a launch date for the Ares mission that would overlap Thanksgiving." She nodded.

"That's more like it. Thank you for that charming piece of information." She said, grinning at me and fiddling with the collar of her robe, pulling a finger down to the V wear her cleavage was very... Cleavage. I didn't stare only because I'd just gotten a great look at it from over her shoulder in bed.

"How's stuff going on that paper?" I asked her. She was in the middle of writing a full-on paper of the socioeconomic problems the Euro created. She shrugged.

"Fine. Greece is Greece and the government website is in Greek, so I'm a little stuck in some leads. Need to get this stuff translated." I nodded. "But otherwise great." She told me, smiling.

"Good." I said, starting a pot of pasta and mincing Garlic at the same time. She, already horny again (or maybe she just never wasn't?), undid the robe and left it on the counter. I didn't see her, busy as I was, but she started to undo her bra and let it hit the floor, lifting her breasts in her hands and coming up behind me, letting them press against my back.

She wasn't tall enough, her eyes only came to my nipple, but she stood behind me and looked at my hands around my side as I took a short break and looked down at her.

"Do you need some attention?" I asked, a smirk on my face. She nodded, seriously.

"I do. I really do. Specifically on these things..." She said, letting her breasts rub into my back so there was no doubt what they were. "You know how it is, big tits, back problems, bra doesn't fit right... but I think a nice massage would help. Really." She grinned innocently. I was happy to indulge her.

"Hop up." I said, patting the kitchen island that she jumped her plump bottom onto, swinging her feet. Sitting there, she was a little taller then me. I was at her neck. I leaned forward a little, my hands not instantly latching onto her boobs. I just kissed the tops, the sides, the undersides, finally the small bud in the center of her areola. My tongue only came out after one hand had come up and started massaging the one I was not paying attention with my mouth to.

She moaned quietly. "What do you think about, maybe, a piercing?" She asked. In truth, I thought fuck yeah, but I wanted to see what she thought first.

"What kind?" I mumbled, kneading the soft flesh gently, getting out the aches and pains.

"Haven't thought about it. Obviously it would be your choice."

"Obviously?"

"Well, they're for you, Master." She giggled the last word.

"Hmm... I'm not sure. Might not want you pierced. Might get in my way." I told her, in reality I just wasn't comfortable choosing something to go in another person's body and not give them a say. I mean, a Pacemaker for my dying grandma is one thing, it serves a purpose and there aren't many brands, but a nipple piercing for my girlfriend seems, I don't know, weird.

She seemed to buy it though. "Mmm. Okay." She moaned quietly. I reached behind me and silently stirred the Alfredo on the stove with my left hand, which was the only one not molesting my girlfriend at that point.

Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend! I keep using that word. It doesn't seem official enough. I don't like 'Partner,' it's so 2016. So let's talk about marriage.

I like it, I tried to ask if she would maybe be interested in me putting a ring on it. This was about, oh, eight months ago. After almost two years of dating I wanted to make things official. She was living in the apartment by then. But, she told me she was not bride material. She couldn't cook or clean or raise a family. She's a southern girl (she ditched the accent in college even though I think it's dead sexy), her mother and father are conservative, Christian, and imposed a very strict worldview. I don't expect her to do any of those things, I do them already minus raising a family. She cried for a few days after I asked, saying I deserved better and fucked up things like that. I shushed her and didn't mention it again.

I want to be clear, I have no issues with commitment. I crave it. I would love to spend the rest of my life with her and that wasn't a hard conclusion to come to. I mean, not love at first sight, but certainly within a few months, I knew. I hope, somewhere, she does too.

And I'll be honest. It does bother me that she is not Mrs. Elliot Calvinson. Call me old fashioned, I want her to be mine on a piece of paper, just like I want to be hers. But I'm letting the subject lie low. I'll bring it up soon, again. Maybe after she's done something extremely nice, to prove that she can be all those things she says she can't be. I don't know.

I paid her breasts a little more attention before turning away, back to the food. Stir pasta, taste Alfredo, add salt to Alfredo, slice mushrooms, all while she whines like a dog. "Masteeeeeeer." She crooned.

I smile and turn back to her. I packed her on the lips. "Sorry babe, maybe some other time. I'm a little busy making dinner." I offered, knowing it wouldn't fly, but enjoying tormenting her. Her eyes got dangerous.

"Master, I'm asking, begging, for you to bend me over this counter and have your way with me!" She said, wrapping her arms around my neck in a death grip and pushing herself nearly off the counter to flatten her body against mine. I supported her weight as I pulled her into me and started walking her to the stool she'd abandoned.

"Just sit here, cupcake. I'll take care of you later." I promised with a malicious grin, kissing her cheek. She fumed. I went back to work and she didn't speak, but I saw her pull the robe back on and tightly knot it in the front. She'd forgive me, I knew, tonight after (or possibly during) dinner.

The cooking was finished inside of thirty minutes, then I plated and served on our couch, letting her pick what we watched. Of course, being her, that meant Walking Dead season 2. I don't know why, I guess beardless Rick does it for her. In time, she even seemed to forget she was mad at me, shoveling pasta into her mouth and leaning her head on my shoulder. I stood for a few seconds to pour her a glass of wine (nothing fancy just Yellowtail), but I didn't get myself anything. Once I'd finished eating (Liz had gotten up for seconds, another reason I love her), I said "Hmm, thirsty now."

She offered me her glass of white, but I shook my head. "Nope, not for that." I said, before getting on my knees between her thighs and kissing one. She squirmed and gasped slightly, but I just continued upward, eventually pulling her black panties down past her knees and moving the bathrobe a little out of the way. Then I had dessert.

Her tart peach was a nice accompaniment to dinner, her fingers pulling my hair, I could've done without. But I didn't say anything and... just licked the hell out of her. I paid special attention to her clit after a few minutes, and she started making the same noises as the Walkers on TV. Interspersed with "Fuck yeah"s and "Do me dirty"s.