The List 21: Its Ears Are for Hearing Orders

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: He jumped as he noticed her feet, then leaned back and looked up. She was wrapped tightly in her robe, hair still wet, and looking down at him. “It’ll do, until I get you some glass cleaner. But it wasn’t done before I got back, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer. Just remember who wrote ears are for hearing orders on their list during this next part.”

He glared. “This is beyond humiliating.”

She smirked. “Is that why I’m enjoying it so much? Or is it something else? Maybe because you seem to prefer to dress like a hobo?” Her hand slid down the front of the shirt, smoothing it, then she frowned back at him. “Try on the blue one. Ears. Orders.”

He sighed and took the shirt into the changing room, undoing and redoing buttons. She waited outside, sitting cross-legged on the stool for trying on shoes, fingers flicking across her phone.

He came out of the changing room, sighed, and held his arms out from his sides. She looked him up and down, then tilted her head, then finally nodded. “It’ll do. Thirty percent less hobo. In fact, you almost look like a grownup.”

He started unbuttoning the shirt and headed back for the changing room. “Looking like a grownup is vastly over-rated, and their clothes are itchy.”

She dropped her phone in her purse, and stood up. “Pay for it and meet me in the food court.”

He paid for the shirt, grunted responses to the cashier’s attempts at small talk, and trudged through the mall. He walked through the food court, looking from side to side. She saw him first and waved him over, then looked up at him. “Hey cutie, get me a slice of cheese pizza and a soda, and pick up whatever you want.”

He chuckled and dropped the bag on the table, then walked over to the pizza counter. He watched her at the table, probably playing a video game on her phone judging from the way her fingers moved and the look of concentration on her face, and whistled tunelessly as the long line wound its way past the counter. Finally their order was ready and he walked back to her table. The tray dropped on the glossy imitation granite top and he slid it across to her side, then grabbed his own soda and pizza and lifted it towards his mouth.

“Uh-uh, wait until I’m done.” She took a delicate bite from the pointed end and raised an eyebrow as she chewed. “Well?”

He put the slice of pizza back down in the flimsy cardboard container, and raised an eyebrow back at her. “I’m finding ears are vastly over-rated at the moment.”

“The terrible torture of being you.” She ate slowly, but deliberately, enjoying the site of him drumming his fingers on the table, checking his email, and putting his phone away. The last bite disappeared into her mouth, and she took a long drink of soda. “Go ahead, you’ve earned it, surly-pants.”

He took a large bite, chewed, and swallowed. He counted to ten in his head, and then shrugged. “This just wasn’t I had in mind when we started.”

She leaned back, and spoke slowly and carefully. “I know. But these are things we need to do, you looked like you needed a break, I definitely needed a break, and it seemed like a good way to kill both of those birds with one stone.” She looked into his eyes then flicked her gaze away. “Sorry if it’s not sexy fun times for you.”

He chewed, swallowed, took another bite, and chewed. “It’s just that, if we’re going to take a break, I’d like to take a break. This is weird, it’s very mixing vanilla and d/s, and I’m not sure where to go with it or how to process it.” He took a drink, and glared at the ceiling. “The music doesn’t help, either. Never in the history of d/s, with its long and gloried list of monumentally bad decisions, has someone thought John Denver’s Christmas album would help them get their kink on.”

She laughed and the tension eased out of her shoulders. “Okay, fair enough. You’re off the hook. I’ve got three more errands I need to run, and you can be your usual surly, snarky, horrible self until we get them finished and are back home.”

“Thanks.” He smiled and offered her the last bite of pizza, and she shook her head. He popped it in his mouth, chewed around the words, and tried to look innocent. “What happens when we get home?”

She licked her lips, and wiggled in the hard plastic chair. “The break is over, and your nose gets clamped, my friend. My advice: Drive slow and enjoy these errands.”

Preview: Noses are for being clamped? WTF was I thinking when I wrote that? The nose is like, the least erogenous zone ever.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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Slow Scene Opening Credits

The cardboard scraped against his cheeks as he slid his head inside the box. She looked down at him through the open top, and stuffed paper towels between his neck and the skin. The duct tape ripped off the roll with a hiss, and she leaned down to tape the cardboard to his skin.

He shifted his weight from one knee to the other, and tried to follow her as she moved around him. “Seven would have been a totally different movie if he had just done it this way.”

She laughed and flicked his ear. “Don’t move. What’s in the box? It’s your wife’s head, and there’s the rest of her! Still attached! And preggers!”

“Ten months later he shoots himself, just so he can get some damn sleep.” He held his head still, watching her from the corners of his eyes as she circled back into view.

She frowned, looking down at him, thinking.

“I’m funny, damn it.”

She grinned. “I know, I was thinking about something else.” She paused, then shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to, or you’ll whine all night.”

She left and came back with goggles. They snapped over his eyes, the rubber strap holding them to his head. “I don’t want to get salt in your eyes. Yet.”

“Yet? What do you mean…” The question was cut off as chips started falling on his head, running down the sides of his face and filling up the box.

She stuck her tongue out at him, and made sure the broken chips and powder on the bottom hit him on top of the head.

On his knees, a cardboard box wrapped around his head, his eyes barely peaking over the edge of the box and hidden behind the goggles, he pursed his lips and tried to look dignified. “Yet.” He pushed chips away from his mouth with his lips, and inhaled the scent of salt and ranch flavoring.

“Stay on your knees, but scoot closer to the couch. And don’t spill my chips. Unlike some people, I don’t enjoy eating off the floor.”

He shuffled backwards awkwardly until his feet hit the couch, then keeping his head upright, slid his feet and lower legs under the couch until his back bumped against it. She sat down on the couch and sighed, wrapping her legs around him, pulling him close, and grabbed the remote.

“I like you like this. Useful, and close, and less likely to get bored and wander off during the movie.”

He blinked behind the goggles, and wrapped his arms around her legs. “I like being like this too.” The title screen rolled up, and he groaned as she hit play. “Oh shit, this is not a good movie, didn’t I warn you about this?”

“Um-hum.” She nodded, and turned the volume up. “But I want to see it anyway, and this is what you get when you see bad movies without me. You have to watch them twice. And don’t ruin the ending, or I’ll take the goggles off and you can watch it with salt in your eyes.”

“It might improve it, actually. Or not!” He amended his statement as her fingers drifted into his peripheral vision and towards the plastic lenses over his eyes. He pushed chips away to keep them from falling into his mouth, and sighed. “I don’t know how I could ruin the ending anyway. It’s a giant monster movie. What are the odds of Godzilla just trampling all of Japan, doing a fist pump, and then wandering back into the ocean?”

She popped a chip in her mouth, and grinned. “Submit to the Godzilla movie baby, or I will buy a dinosaur costume and kick the crap out of you while wearing it. Actually, that sounds kind of hot. I wonder how sweaty those costumes are?”

He started to shake his head, then stopped, not knowing how close the chips on the edge were to falling over the side. “As sexually open-minded as I like to think I am, I’m not sure about submitting to a woman in a big green lizard costume.”

She giggled. “Crotchless green lizard costume?”

He tried to think of an objection, and failed. “Touche. I’d pretty much submit to a woman in any costume as long as it was crotchless.”

She popped another chip in her mouth, and turned up the volume. “All right, movie starting, shush. I will gag you if I need to, and stay still. Be a good boy and I’ll feed you some chips, add some nipple clamps, or even put a pretty ribbon around your filthy cock and let you play with it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The movie started, and they leaned against each other.

Preview: His skin was hot under her hands.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.