Why did i let Him in? i’d told him, never again. Yet, he knocked and i looked through the peep hole and there he was and dammit. Of a sudden, my pussy was clenching and my heart was beating and i was losing my breath and desperate and horny.
i hate when that happens.
i do, i really do. i know, it doesn’t explain why i opened the door for him. held it wide, hand braced on the edge, letting him slide against me as he strode in. that smile was on his face as he looked down. his coat brushed my thigh and i trembled and he fucking knew it.
hi slut he said, his voice all casual and nonchalant. like he knew, he understood that i would be fucking compelled to open the door when i saw him there on the other side. his hair is too long, and silvered to a sheen that gleams like metal under the hallway lighting. like a halo shines around him, it gleams.
its not like i can’t find someone else. its not like i want to be here. i don’t. fucking compulsion has me standing there looking up at him, letting him see the longing inside my eyes. i want it to not be there. i want it to go away. but he plucks it out of me, consumes the tasty morsel of it and looks for more.
i slide to my knees and place my forehead on his feet. i am humbled in my need, feeling my pussy wet as my nose smells the city on his shoes. his foot lifts, the one my forehead isn’t on, and he presses it against the back of my head, mashing my face down. showing me my place, under his feet. the place where sluts go to beg for attention.
i whimper as my nose crushes flat, as the ties on his shiny shoes press into my flesh, knowing that they will leave marks, indentation in my skin, like the ones he’s carved in my heart. finally his foot lifts, and i’m allowed to rise to my haunches. his hand finds my chin.
You remembered. Good girl.
the words are simple and soft but arrow straight to my heart. how i crave them, to be his good girl to be his good. praise is so hard-won from him, this is like a badge of honor.
at a gesture, i rise hoping to be fluid and sexy and sexual but feeling lumpish and clumsy. he wants me naked. wants me gracefully to strip and entice him. how can it be enticing to bare those same parts he’s seen so often i wonder, always wondering if this is the time he will turn away, bored with the view bored with me…
and i find myself caring caring caring so much that he wants…he gets…what he wants.
there, i did it again, offered him my craving, craven gaze. he drinks it from me, and tears fall, silver streaks to run down my cheeks and dot my blouse as i unbutton it please let it unbutton easily, eagerly gracefully.
my hands tremble with the need to please with the need to show him i don’t care, i do care …i want i need and it chills me that i do.
i have fallen under the spell again.
yes, there, just there, baring my breasts to his gaze.
there, i did it again, fell into him.
where is the birth of a story found? not always sure. but i read a post of a friend, and felt her pain and …just thinking of that birthed this. This is not nilla, this is not my friend…this is…if i did it right…raw hunger, pure need, and the fear that kind of soul and gut needyness engenders within a sub at times. ~nilla~