When you finally push back your chair and stand, approaching me, my fingers wiggle slightly to try to gain back some feeling. My relief when you unshackle me from the doorway is completely short-lived. You hand me your empty coffee cup, then brush past me with nothing more than a slap on the ass and a smirk. My face is hot with anger and disbelief as I wait for the numbness in my hands and feet to wear off, then hobble to refill your fucking coffee.
Might as well- I am thirsty now, and need to grab some iced tea for myself.
Carefully carrying both, I find you sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the mirrored dresser. I hand you your coffee, wince when you take a big drink, wondering how the hell you can stand anything that hot. Standing in front of you just off to the side, leaning up against the dresser, the pins and needles still zipping through my arms and hands, I entertain the thought of dumping my tea over your head in retribution for leaving me tied up …but my throat is too dry to give up the ice cold liquid that way. But the idea still amuses me enough to make me smile as I drink. My grin spreads when your hands grab my hips and slide me in front of you. I know that look in your eyes….I set down my glass and lean in, brace my hands on your shoulders even as your thumbs hook in my skirt and panties and shove them off my hips. They haven’t fully slid down my legs before your hands are shoving my shirt and bra off, two of the buttons pinging when they bounce off the dresser behind me, the bed you are sitting on, and onto the floor.
Your hands are rough, fast, skimming over my skin, molding to the curves, scooping in the hollows, seemingly everywhere at once. Already making soft sounds of pleasure and arching into your touch, I reach for them hem of your shirt, wanting the contact with your skin, but you are lifting me, setting me up on the dresser, sending things scattering across the hard surface and to the floor with one sweep of your arm.
One flick of your finger in command has me scooting back slightly, another has my heels raised, tucked against my ass tightly. I don’t bother wrapping my arms around them, your hands are already spreading my thighs wide, opening me up to your gaze. Naked, slightly chilled, my nipples already hard, I am damp. You lean back on the bed slightly, watching me.
Wanting to tease, wanting to draw it out, wanting to see your reactions, my hands lift to my hair and draw out the pins, sending the curls tumbling down freely around my shoulders, dancing along my collarbone and upper back. I lift my hair from my scalp, then let it fall freely in disarray. My fingers skim down over my neck, one hand hooking lightly on my shoulder, the other lifting to my mouth, index finger stroking over my lips, then my chin, then gliding down between my breasts. My hands cross to the opposite shoulder and stroke down each arm languorously, dropping to my ankles and skimming my fingertips over my calves, around the curve of my knee and drawing up the insides of my thighs.
Watching you intently, I flatten my palms against my hips and angle my hands upwards over my ribs, cupping my breasts and lifting them slightly, offering them to your gaze. I catch each nipple between index finger and thumb, rolling them gently, tugging sharply. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as pleasure spears through me, a soft moan echoing in my head and in the room.
Your eyes are so dark and deep, lighting from within with a heat that kindles a hotter fire inside me. Your gaze is so intense, watching your eyes follow the path of my hand back over my belly and between my thighs thrills me.
Knowing what you want, I slide my hands over my sex, opening myself to you. When I bring my wet fingers to my nipples, then back down to moisten them and to my mouth to taste, your growl skates down my spine with a delighted shiver. Working my fingers over my skin, my head drops back with the pleasure and the excitement of touching myself in front of you. Your voice fills my head- low words, then commands, coaxing me closer, shoving me right up to that first peak of pleasure. My body is bowed, arched, quivering. Right up to the edge– and your hands yank mine away from body, leaving me panting and tense.
Your hands slide up my thighs, making me moan, my lips parted and damp. When you lean forward, brush your lips over my skin, I can’t contain the groan at the rough scrape of your jaw easing along my inner thigh. My heart pounds, my legs shake, and the merest whisper of your breath over my skin–right there– makes me gasp and raises goosebumps along my skin. I watch you inhale deeply, watch your eyes laugh into mine at my reaction. A shudder edges through me, but not one of release, when you tug at my wrists sharply, pulling me forward off the dresser.
Using the momentum, I shove against your shoulders to catch you off guard and straddle your hips as your upper body sinks back to the bed. Just mad enough about the coffee and the doorframe, completely aroused and frustrated by the last 10 minutes, I want…something. My hands brace on either side of your head, my body ranges over yours, and I grin down into your face. You lift your hands, when they wind in the hair that has fallen on either side of my face and you tug lightly, I can smell the rich tang of tobacco on them, under the scent of your soap and you. When I duck my head, just barely skimming my lips over yours in a whisper of touch, I can almost taste the thick flavor of the coffee on your breath. Anticipating your move, I pull my head back as you lift yours, dodging your mouth. I barely manage to suppress a chuckle when your eyes narrow and kindle. Your hands tighten in my hair, tugging, and though it makes my eyes water with tears, I pull back, wriggle backwards. My hands shove at your shirt, bunching it up around your neck, my hands roaming over the sweep of your chest. My teeth are already tugging on the waistband of your pants, my fingers busy with your nipples, rolling them, feeling them harden and a groan of pleasure rumble through your chest.
Your stomach muscles jump under my mouth, then my fingers as I pull your clothing down, out of my way. My mouth is busy, nipping at your hipbone, tongue cruising along the crease of your thigh, lips brushing over the head of your cock. I feel your hands tug slightly in my hair, but I duck my head, your cock slapping against my cheek as I take your balls into my mouth, sucking them lightly, laving them with my tongue.
I lift my head to take you into my mouth fully, looking you over as I do. You should look ridiculous, stretched out on your bed with your clothing around your neck and you knees and your cock jutting up at me, but the only word that comes to mind is that you look….tasty.
Something clicks in my head, a memory, a thought. Slowly, I reach for your coffee, the ceramic mug hot and nearly burning just to the touch. The heat of it nearly scalds my tongue when I take a mouthful, but I dip my head and take you in my mouth, rewarded by your gasp and the tightening of your hands when the heat sears along the length of your cock. Sucking, my throat muscles rippling as I swallow around you, then pulling back to take another drink and repeat the maneuver. Gagging as you force my head down fiercely, but eagerly taking you in. This time I reach for my tea, the glass cold and moist with condensation, and I carefully take a quick drink, then lower my head and take your cock into my mouth almost before I have swallowed the tea. Hearing your growl, taking it for pleasure, I repeat the methods, alternating, taking you so deeply, letting your hands on my head, in my hair, cupping the back of my neck guide me and force me. Taking one last drink of my tea, I get an ice cube and hold it in my mouth for a moment. Swallowing the liquid, I slowly rub the head of your cock against my lips before havigng you force your way into my mouth, then I suck, fiercely, using my tongue to push the sphere of ice over and around and under and across your cock. Feeling you pulse, throb, forcing the ice to click against my teeth, pushing you even farther back in my throat.
Applying my mouth in earnest, I am intent on tasting you, getting all of that flavor from you, wanting to milk you. Wanting to hear your groans, needing to feel you shudder and arch up into me. My neck strained, my jaw aching, I draw you closer to the edge with every lick, every suck, every nibble. I can feel that you are close, can taste it. Knowing you are holding back, I am determined to shove you over that edge, but you grip my head, then my shoulders, literally ripping my mouth away from you.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth, wiping away the damp, feeling my lips swollen and still tingling.
Your hands are on me, dragging me up, over you, you rolling to your side. One leg is thrown over mine, pinning my lower body, my shoulder wedged against your chest. Your hand captures both of my wrists, locking them steady just above my head, the other hand skims over me. Down the inside of each arm your fingers trail, making me squirm and gasp. Lightly tracing, almost tickling, your fingers move around my ribs, under the swell of each breast, over the curve and hollow of my hips. Impatient and greedy, I tug on my wrists, pull slightly, giggles interspersed with soft whimpers, but you only hold tighter, determination in your face. I feel your breath on my neck, warm and moist; I can feel the pounding of your heart, the heat of your skin, the hard length of you against my thigh, still wet from my mouth.
Your hand dips between my legs and finds wetness, and my thighs clench together, though I don’t know whether I am trapping your hand or trying to deny you access. You merely shove at my inner leg, rough enough to bruise the pale freckled skin. “Open. Open for me.”
No sooner have I shifted than your hand plunges in, fingers driving deep. Twisting, dipping, curving, pressing against slick skin and tight heat and sending me arching off the bed and crying out. The pressure builds, so tight. I am right there, on that edge, carried over from before. Your name echoes in my head as a plea and as a curse.
“Kyle. God. I am so close…”
Your voice literally vibrates with authority and power. “You have to ask permission first.”
My head twists on the bed, my face incredulous. “Wh…what?”
Your fingers simply find that small roughened patch of skin inside, and press firmly, sending me straight off the bed.
“Dammit. God Dammit!” My chest is so tight, every breath is labored. Covered in a light sheen of sweat, rocking against you, sensation pulling me in every direction. I lift my hips off the bed, thinking to force the sensation, but you change your movements just enough, making that razor thin edge dull slightly. My fingers clamp against my palms, the nails digging in. My heels press into the bed, hips arching up, but your leg restrains me. So close, so needy.
“No.” Your voice cuts me off. “Ask.”
Frustration and anger take a backseat to the need for that pleasure. “Can I…please, may I come….”
Your fingers twist again, thrusting, pulling a long liquid moan from me. That building pressure is ready to burst, the anticipation of it races along my skin.
Your hand withdraws, glistening and wet, lifting to spread that moisture on each nipple, making them throb even tighter. I yank my arms trying to get free, and succeed only in making my shoulder pop lightly and a twinge of pain shoot through. Your hand, open and flat, lands several stinging smacks on my splayed thighs, my wet sex, my breasts. My curses are ripe and breathless, my struggles to dig in, twist away, escape your grip only wears me out.
More slaps on my skin, your fingers raking over me, rough now, fierce. Pinching, prodding, twisting. Pleasure and pain, stroking me upwards again. Having been brought so close, and denied twice… you are relentless, propelling me. Anticipation drives me even further, and I am there again so quickly, hovering.
“May I come.” Each word burns in my throat. “Kyle. Kyle. Please…I am coming…”
Your fingers grip my chin, turn it in your direction. “No, you’re not. I control you.” Your eyes glitter, dark and hot and full of promise. “I own you.”
That edge falls clean away, my body simply sinks. Indignation ignites, anger burns, and embarrassment fans the flames. These are only the surface emotions- there is a fear underneath at how easily you can control me, every part of me. The instinct for self-preservation kicks in, albeit a bit late. I can’t think, can only react.
My outside leg thrashes, I manage to twist enough to half-flip on my side. Thinking to roll and yank my arms and gain freedom, nearly tasting it, your leg and hand hooking and flipping me back leaves me stunned. Your fingers dig into the curve of my hip, your leg is a thick weight over both of mine. You angle over me more, filling my vision, and I turn my head, not wanting vulnerability- complete, at this point- to show on my face as well as my prone body. The hand pinning my wrists releases, slides, tipping my face to yours. Your mouth crashes onto mine, your tongue demanding entrance and compelling a response. Hot and deep, your kisses taking me under, sliding me back through those sharper emotions until I am left with only need and desire. Until I have accepted, and acknowledged, and settled.
Your fingers are gentle now, teasing, tracing the curve of my ear, flicking over each nipple, stroking the back of each knee. Pleasure is there, under that still-burning need, gentler and broader. Rising and falling, building the ache again. Your mouth on my shoulder, my neck, your lips and teeth and tongue driving me crazy. Your name falls easily from my lips, in benediction and supplication, carried on increasingly louder moans.
Hips undulating against the mattress, rising and falling in a rhythm. Aware of your arousal pushing against my thigh, aware of your elevated heartbeat when I skim my hands over your shoulders, down the sinewy length of arm, sliding around your waist to stroke over your back.
Raising up slightly, skimming my lips over your collarbone, your neck. Sinking my teeth lightly into your shoulder, my hands stroking down so my fingers can bite lightly into the tight curve of your ass. Hearing that half laugh, half growl evens me out, steadies me.
Running my hands over you, thrilling to the feel of smooth hot skin and rippling muscles. Feeling your heart kick, your body quiver when my fingers curl around you, find you hard and thick and throbbing. I manage to push you back, rolling us over, straddling your waist, looking down at you again. Watching your eyes glaze slightly when I wriggle backwards, teasing us both when you graze against my wet heat. My fingers curl lightly around your wrists, pinning them against the bed.
I know, we both know, that I have this measure of control only because you allow it.
Dipping my head, pressing damp open-mouthed kisses across your chest, flicking my tongue out to curl against each of your nipples in turn, feeling them pebble. Your hips press upward against me, I rock backward slightly, feeling you slide fully against me. Both of us groaning in unison.
Lifting my hips up, leaning low and kissing you deeply, nipping lightly at your bottom lip before I take you in slowly. Levering myself up, my thigh muscles quivering with the tension of holding myself off of you.
“Kyle.” I don’t know what else to say, can’t remember what I was going to say.
Your eyes meet mine, half lidded. Your hands curl around my hips, holding me steady. “Take me in, Gaelyn.” Your hips lift slightly, your hands press down. “All of me.”
My breath hisses out when I do, lowering myself onto you, feeling you fill me. Your groan echoes, hums through me. My hips lift, fall, rock forward, then back as I take you deep. Deeper. Your fingers dig into my waist, slide up over my breasts, squeezing, lifting, kneading, then back to my hips, curving inward. Lifting me up, pulling me back down to you, back on you. Guiding both of us, controlling the sensations. Your thumb rides against my clit, making me shudder violently. Coupled with the friction of you inside me, I am hurtling fast towards completion, but stop just short. Straining, riding you, my hips shifting as I take you in, angling for better sensation. Dropping my head back, my hair swishing over my shoulders and down my spine, bringing my hands up to cup my breasts, layering sensations. Seeking, desperately, trying to coax my body into that release. My skin is tight, so tight, my head is fuzzy, but my senses sharpened. I can smell my own arousal, now the scent of sex. Your skin, your sweat, mine. The slap of skin against skin, the very faint thud of you slamming into me that is more felt than heard. The heaving of breath, the moans of both of us. The steady pleas that are wrenched out of me, the answering growls and grunts from you. Hot skin brushed with cooler air, the coarse texture of your hair and skin under my thighs and hands, the smoother sheets under my knees. The taste of you still in my mouth, my lips swollen and bruised and needing more. Heat prickling in the soles of my feet, that first indicator, and crawling up my legs, making them shake. Fingers grasping and gripping, eyes heavy lidded and blurred with pleasure.
Focusing on you, the hard thick length of you filling me, sliding against me, pounding upwards as I thrust down. Catching a glance in the mirror, I turn my head, watching myself, watching your cock disappear inside me, seeing your heels dug in and hips raising, my breasts bouncing, cheeks flushed, my skin marred with the red and pink prints from your hands earlier.
The pleasure is nearly a pain, the sweet aching pressure blooms, coursing just under my skin. Pounding at me, ready to drown me. Closing my eyes, concentrating, I barely feel you shift. Your hands ease around my throat, the distinct metallic click makes my eyes fly open. I watch your hand wrap around the leather strap as if in slow motion. You pull, the strap tugging on the thick leather band you fastened around my neck, drawing my upper body down. The change in pressure, the angle of the friction sets me trembling all over. You pull me down, so close your lips are nearly brushing my lips, your eyes boring into mine.
“I own you. I control you. I take what I want. “Your voice is thick, almost slurred, and broken. “I give what I want. You will give me what I want.” Your hips drive harder up into me, my hands can only cling to your shoulders now. “Give.”
I am not sure if you are speaking the words or if they are there in my head, in your eyes. I only know that they fill me.
“Give, Gaelyn. Give it to me.” You thrust up, hard. “Now.”
Hard. Fast. With dizzying speed I am flooded, drowned in sensation, rocketing over the edge and flying high and fast. I think I scream, or maybe that is just in my head. My whole body seems to thrum with your name, every cell giving over to you. Locked in your eyes, lost in the sensation, some small part of me registers the way your eyes harden, then go blind. My body greedily accepts you, milking you. Still spasming around you, feeling you fill me, that hot wet rush of your own pleasure that sends me into another long tremble.
Collapsing on you, weak. My hand lifts to the leather band around my throat, almost in disbelief. My fingers, shaking, fumble, release the catch. It tangles in my hair as I pull it away, the pain is sharp and bright. I yank, quickly unwind it from your hand, toss it in the direction of the corner. Not sure what my actions just prove, I slide from you, and all too quickly find myself pinned under you as earlier.
I try to shove at you, too weakly. “No Kyle…I can’t….”
“Dammit, you will give me more.”
You are already stroking me into another orgasm, that easily and that fast. Your fingers pressing into me, finding that sensitive spot, easing over it. In heartbeats you have me writhing, twisting, hips bucking, crying out one long keaning moan that can only be described as animalistic and, in my own head, completely embarrassing. Keeping me right there, riding out the edge of the storm long and hard and full steam ahead. Making me flail, jump, beg and plead. One hand driving me, owning me, your other forearm pressing down on my forehead, allowing me no escape and no room to maneuver away from you.
Forcing me to take more from you.
To take all that you are giving.
Trembling and spent, sunk into a near exhaustive state, my mind completely empty of everything. Your hand on my head shifts, strokes into my hair, winding a handful around and between your fingers. The hand between my legs lifts, you bring it to my mouth. Your finger tip, drenched in moisture strokes over my lips, then between.
“Open.” Your fingers slide in. “Taste.”
Myself, you. The combination potent and, to my mind right then, near-deadly. I cannot open my eyes, cannot even drum up enough energy to draw my legs together when you repeat the movements twice more, scooping from me and then feeding the blend of my release and yours.
I feel your eyes on my face after I have licked your fingers clean, can feel your brain click on. My eyes open, focus, my head turns and I meet your gaze.
Your fingertip slides over my neck and throat, and I nearly lift my hand to check and see if I had really removed that collar, or if it had been there at all. I can still feel weight, almost substance. I shiver as you speak, your voice quiet and clear.
“It is still there, Gaelyn. You can take it off, throw it, hack it to pieces, burn it. You can try all you want to deny the claim. But you and I both know, it is still there.”