She had a hunger. It burned and coiled through her body, like the fabled snake. It curled in her belly, and stretched along her spine. She lusted.
Poring over online catalogs for sex toys didn’t help that hunger abate, not by a long shot. She was on sexual overdrive, that was for sure. And she needed an outlet way better than the battery operated boyfriend that lay in the box next to her bed.
Her computer was tabbed to three websites. The sex toy site was over that of that blog she liked…the one with all the Xplicit content. Well, all the good sex blogs had that. This one had pictures. Stories. Toy reviews. It was something that she only allowed herself to do on Friday nights. The third tab was that dating site for submissives.
She wasn’t sure she was one.
She pondered that for a while. The thought of someone …hitting her. It should be anathema. She clicked open another tab and found that blog with all the bondage on it. Hitting the link in the sidebar, she found the website with all those free movie clips.
Gods. That …Dominant…was hitting the tiny blonde with the giant jugs ….with a whip.
Who did that?
Who “submitted” to that?
And why were her panties soaked? Horrible! Heinous. Hateful. Just …no. That wasn’t her at all.
But every date she’d had in weeks had bored her to tears.
She clicked back to the website for submissives. She opened her profile. Eleven hits.
She’d posted her profile 10 minutes ago.
Somehow she felt like a tasty snack thrown into the shark tank. She read the offerings. OH, right. Like she wanted to jump into this and be branded by GuyTop402.
“Right” she said aloud. “Yeah, I wanna wear your mark on my ass forever and I’ve not even figured out if I am a submissive or not. Did you even *read* my profile you dumbass?”
She growled at the mean looking face on her monitor. Maybe this meant this “lifestyle” wasn’t for her after all. Her throbbing clit told another tale. She clicked through guys 2-5, female top 6, and read number 7. He was 18 years her junior. That just seemed wrong. And he liked to be called Daddy?
“Let’s get serious Daddy,” she spoke to the clean-faced youth’s picture. “I was born way before you. I’d start laughing hysterically if I had to call you Daddy. Babyface, sure. But daddy? No way, no how.”
With a sigh, she clicked off the screen. Another profile popped up. She blinked. Shit, she hated when her cursor did that, slid down the monitor from where she meant to click. She needed to get that fi…whoa.
She blinked, leaned closer to the monitor.
“Your new at this, I see. Curious. Curious is good, but you need to be safe. This isn’t the best place to meet a new partner you know. Lot of guys (and gals) looking for fresh meat to scratch an itch. I hope you’ll take time to sift through the drek, and perhaps write back to me. We can talk offline, then see if that clicks, maybe talk. I will ask you to be safe as you sift through options, okay? This isn’t an easy place for newbies. Sincerely, Dom Bill.”
She re-read it. There was nothing overly sexual. Nothing demanding. Just a warning to take care. Like maybe he thought of her as a person and not just a grouping of sex-holes?
She took a deep breath, feeling her heart pounding. For all she knew, he didn’t even live near her. Several of the responders were from the other side of the country, for gosh sakes. Nonetheless, she copied his email address and dashed off a quick email.
“Dear Dom Bill,
Thank you for the warning. I will be very careful. Was that a line meant to get my attention?
Uncertain in New London”
Jittery, she rose from the computer. A shower would help. Yet standing under the spray, she shivered. She’d taken a step. She was scared. Nervous. And wet. NOT from the shower spray. She felt between her thighs, fingering her clit, her pussy lips. There was a slickness there not borne of water, but of a deep-seated hunger. Leaning into the corner, she fucked her pussy fast, feeling her knees melting as her orgasm cascaded through her. Eyes shut, gasping, she held there a moment, then quickly lathered up.
She wondered if Dom Bill had responded.
They emailed for a week.
“What’s your favorite food?”
“What do you want to explore, kink-wise?”
“Have you had many submissives?”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Are You married?”
“Are you married/involved with someone?”
She could write reams, but she tried to rein herself in. This was a stranger. Though…he was becoming less so. He intrigued with some of his questions. Occasionally he’d slip a little “do this tonight” into their emails, and she would, and found it…inspiring. Intriguing. A turn-on.
Oh, she was hooked, all right.
She opened her browser, logged into the email account she’d set up just for her “naughty surfing”. Sure enough there was an email from Him. Her belly tightened, and she felt the tickle in her clit that she’d come to expect when she saw his email in her In box.
She tried to stretch out the anticipation. Went to the kitchen, made a cup of tea, grabbed a Pop Tart. Shrugged as she stared at the brown icing on the top of the thing. Oh well. Her pussy moistened as she tried to turn her mind away from the email. She thought of that scene in the movie she liked so much “what would NY3356 say today?” and smiled to herself. This wasn’t a movie, she knew that. But this had to rank as the top week ever. The work week had flown by as she hugged the secret to herself. She put up with her coworkers gossip, her bosses endless demands for “more, faster” and the annoying commute in and out of the city. It all paled in comparison to those moments when she opened her email and He spoke to her.
Yes, he dazzled her. She walked back into the bedroom, leaving the pop tart and the tea on the counter, forgotten. The tug from him was hard to overcome. She sat, and clicked.
555-555-5555 8:30 p.m.
Swallowing hard, she took her phone, and added his number to her contact list, then set the alarm to beep at 827 pm. Hours. She had hours to kill before then. It was Saturday, and she had a ton of stuff to do…yet none appealed. She sighed, killed the program, and rose to dive into her day.
Buried to the wrist in dough, her head shot up as her cell phone alarm went off.
“Ooohmygod” she moaned. She hadn’t forgotten. Certainly not that. But lost track of time? Yes. She always did when she cooked. Thus far she had cookies cooling on the table, and apples peeled and chopped for the pie she was preparing to put together.
She had three minutes.
“ooooooomygawd” she muttered, quickly folding the dough, kneading it smooth with her palms. Quickly the ball took shape, and her roller smoothed it, shaped it. Into the pan it went, the bowl of prepared apples and spiced dumped in unceremoniously. She dotted it with butter, and grabbed the second crust to top it.
She had never assembled a pie in 2.5 minutes before. Guinness should be called, she mused, as she set the oven for the first 15 minutes.
Wiping her fingers on her towel, she grabbed the cell. Eight-thirty on the nose. She dialed. Held her breath.
“You’re prompt. A good quality to have.”
“Hi.” Her voice was a whisper of nerves. “Thanks. I-…being on time is important. It says your time is as valuable as mine is.”
His warm chuckle filled her ear.
“Exactly what I’ve come to expect you to say, little one. And it is appreciated. So, by way of verbal introduction, I am Sir Bill. Or you can just call me Bill, since we have no formal arrangement between us…. at this time.”
She couldn’t help but smile into the phone at the very obvious pause before His “at this time.” Her pussy gave a lurch in response, even as her head processed what he’d said.
“It…would feel kind of strange to call you Sir Bill. Like you were a knight or something.” She giggled. “Sorry, I don’t mean that disrespectfully. Just…you know… I’m not even sure I’m submissive. I might just like kinky sex, right?”
“Well, I have some thoughts on that, but we’ll take time to explore that. I’m in no rush. We’ll let things evolve and see what comes of it.”
There was a moment of silence, then both laughed.
“That was not a double entendre,” He said, amused.
“Ha. Sure it wasn’t!” She giggled back. The timer interrupted, it’s chime, as always, loud enough to wake the dead.
“What was that?” He asked, his voice a bit startled. “Do you live in a lighthouse?”
She laughed, even as she moved to turn off the sound, and turn down the oven temperature. Resetting the timer, she moved to the living room to sit and chat.
“It’s the oven timer. It is obnoxiously loud. I’m making pie.”
“Pie?” His voice perked up. “What a coincidence.”
There was another pause.
“A coincidence, B-…Sir?” She could not make herself call him Bill. She just couldn’t. She could all but hear his smile.
“Well, I eat pie!” They laughed again.
“I….could bring you a piece.”
It hung there for a moment. His voice was careful, she thought, quiet.
“You could, yes. But in a neutral spot, I think, yes?”
“Do you like your pie warm? Or….cool?”
“There’s a deeper question there, girl, isn’t there? Do you like immediate gratification? Or can you stand to wait in anticipation, and perhaps earn greater rewards?”
“well,” she mused. “This is like the Marshmallow test, isn’t it? Should I gobble it up now? Or should I wait and get extra.”
“Maybe earn greater rewards. Sometimes delayed gratification is its own reward.”
She pondered this. “I don’t know, Sir, in all honesty. I’ve never delayed gratification that way before.”
“What about all those times you didn’t read my email right away? Or when you open a present slowly, peeling away ribbon and tape, carefully unfolding the paper? Those are all ways of postponing something that will delight you.”
“You delight me.” The words were out before she could hold them back. His rich laugh filled her ear, made her smile.
“As do you, little one. Let us meet tomorrow, at the park, shall we? Where the fountain of the Little Mermaid is. For now, I wish you a good night. Sleep well, and don’t eat my pie.”
She giggled as she said goodbye. She stood, stretching, tucking the phone into her pocket. The rush of pussy juice surprised her, wetting the crotch of her panties. She stuck her hand in her pants. She wasn’t just wet.
He…just his voice…had soaked her.
The timer beeped, interrupting her musing.
She got there early. It was something she always did, just in case she got lost, got a flat, had a panic attack. She much preferred punctuality to being “fashionably late”, which she considered unfashionably rude.
Living only a few blocks from the park, she had decided to walk. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. Her pussy fluttered with a burst of sexual craving that was hard to contain. She was going to meet the man who excited this…this raw need in her. She was going to meet the man who might, maybe, perhaps….oh, how she hoped he would…become her Dom.
She held the picnic basket in her hand, a pair of plates, forks, napkins, and a bottle of white Chardonnay inside, along with two sturdy wine glasses, and the pie. She was setting a scene, she supposed. Or catering to him. To needs that she had no idea if he felt or even wanted. But …what the hell. He couldn’t fault her for trying, could he?
She set the basket on the wide ledge that surrounded the fountain. She’d been here dozens of times, but had never really looked. The statue of the mermaid captured one’s fantasy. The girl who wasn’t satisfied with the life she had, although it had been a perfectly fine life. Who’d craved that something else that was hard to explain to her family. Just something different.
She smiled as she realized the metaphor there. She, she was the mermaid. There was a sound behind her and she whirled. She blinked.
It was His voice.
“I understand the package may not fit the predestined vision you may have of a Dominant.” He smiled, waving a hand down to encompass the chair he sat in. It was spiffy. It was different. A sports-like wheelchair.
“I…had no idea, no.” She looked at him, met him eye to eye. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Hell it doesn’t.” He stated it baldly. “But eventually it won’t. For now, as I say, I understand the adjustment in your thinking. You expected a tall, strapping burly man, like from one of those sex movies. And to be sure there are those. Just as there are vanilla movie stars. But most of us…and by that I mean all people…most of us are just people. Not movie stars. Flawed, human, too fat, too thin, too pimply, too awkward. I can accept your honesty, girl. In point of fact, I demand it.”
“I didn’t expect the chair, but how could I? I guess …I didn’t have an “expectation” like you were going to be 6’2″ or something like that. You were a nebulous person. And now you’re real. And I’m okay with that.”
He blinked, obviously taken aback.
“I have your pie, Sir.” Turning to the fountain, she stretched. He’d see she had a big ass, the bulge of a roll around her midsection. Fucking pop tarts! Not to mention her own love of tasting what she baked. She was great cook, and her belly bore the proof of her skills in the kitchen.
“I’m not perfect. But I make a damn fine pie.” She smiled, then opened the box to reveal the bounty within. The smell of cinnamon wafted to him. He took an appreciative sniff.
“My mother taught me to never trust a thin cook,” he said, taking the plate she offered, then the fork. “Napkins too? Smart.”
“I have wine. I don’t know what you prefer… but I think a crisp white goes nice with apple pie. ”
“Unless you’ve got a tall, cold, glass of milk in there, I think the white will be fine.”
She offered him the wine glass, but he gestured for her to hold it as he eyed the pie. The smile was genuine as he perused the thick stack of apples, the softly oozing filling, the flecks of cinnamon, and the flaky crust.
“This,” he said, holding it aloft, “is more than a ‘damned fine pie’. This, my dear, is a piece of art.”
Without further ado, he dug in with gusto. He didn’t stop, nor speak, until the plate was bare. She watched him eat with a faint smile. It wasn’t often she had a man appreciate her cooking this way.
“That was …. well beyond “good”,” he said, wiping his mouth with the napkin; then handing it back to her with the plate, he took the glass from her. She watched his lips as he sipped, then caught his eye, as he slid the wine around in his mouth. . She felt her heart bump up a notch. Their gazes locked as he tasted the bouquet. How someone swirling a mouthful of wine was at all sexual was a mystery. Yet, he was getting her all churned up, stirring her, making her blush. She felt her pussy swell, felt the dampness in her palms, and in the folds between her thighs. He made her nervous. He turned her on.
For another long moment, there were no words. She watched as he swallowed the wine, fascinated by the play of his Adam’s apple moving up, then down. Her eyes slipped back to his face, to his mouth. It was …sultry, if a man’s mouth could be described by such a female term. His bottom lip was full and round, and the hint of a beard on his chin only accentuated it. She swallowed, trying to speak, but she could only stutter.
He smiled, and she wondered if he knew how much he discomfited her. She could only look at him, that nervous feeling back in her belly.
“And so we have met. Where do we go from here, little one? Obviously I’m not going to knock you unconscious and drive away with you. It might attract a fair amount of attention should I do that, eh?”
She giggled again, shaking her head no.
“You make me…” her eyes dropped to the tips of her sneakers. Her voice dropped, then stopped.
He looked up at her. “Do finish.”
She glanced up at him, startled at the steel in that statement. Statement, hell, it was an order, steel wrapped in the velvet of his voice.
“You…make me….” She flapped her arms. “Gods, this is so …”
“….so? Interesting? Appealing? Amusing?” He supplied as she faltered to a stop once more.
“Embarrassing. It’s embarrassing. We’ve just met. Okay not just…emails. …and the phone…but…”
More steel. This time wrapped in steel wool. Prickly. Tougher. Domlike.
The word flitted in her head a moment. Yes. He was Domlike. The chair didn’t matter…it was all about the attitude of the man. And he had it, in spades.
“You make me feel nervous. And…excited.” Her voice dropped.
“Nervous…and excited…are two halves of the submissive coin, yes?”
“I don’t know!” She waved her arms again, pacing in a small, tight circle in front of him.
“How can I know that? I’m not a submissive. I’ve never done ANYTHING like this before and I…”
“Sit.” He pointed to the ground beside his chair. Her rant cut off mid-thought, and she moved beside him and sat, looking up at him quizzically.
The sound of his laugh made her blush for some reason. Even the mermaid, frozen in bronze, was smiling at her. He shook his head fondly, it seemed, as he gently ran his hand over the top of her head, cupping her chin to raise her eyes to his.
“You doubt you are submissive?” His smile was wide, and lit his face.
Her blush deepened.
“Oh, little one, there is no doubt in my mind about it. Nor, I think, should there be in yours. After all, here I am, and there you sit. Just like a good little girl should.”
He smiled again.
There was something there in that wicked grin that made her butterflied stomach dance a nervous jig.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she kind of liked that about him.
She paused for a moment before she rang the bell. Her butterflies were having babies at an amazing rate, all tumbling through her belly. Her finger was trembling as she reached up to push the buzzer. Laying her hand on her nervous tummy, she stepped back and tried to remember to breathe.
Oh, right. In. Out. Quiver.
The door opened and there he was, as striking as he had been a few days ago. The black tee-shirt fit his heavily muscled arms and torso beautifully. For a moment her mouth went dry as she remembered those long-fingered hands on her head, her chin, at the park. Those damned butterflies slid lower, and began beating inside her pussy.
“Good evening, Melody. Do come in.”
There it was again, that hint of Dom. Where she might have said “please come in,” he made it a very subtle order. She bit her lip and stepped through the door as he rolled his chair back a bit. She still had to brush past his legs as she entered, her skirt catching on his knee. She was immediately flustered, moving to pull the clingy fabric from his gray sweatpants, but his hand circled her wrist.
“Did that make you feel…uncomfortable? Having to push past me?”
She bit her lip.
“um…a bit, yes.”
“Good girl. This is the beginning of …something. Where it takes us is of no matter just now. We’ll deal with each issue as it arises. But I expect honesty from you. You need to understand how I work, how I move, and how I need some things to be. There is flexibility here, but you must always be honest with me. The chair is not a chair, my dear, but a part of who I am. These wheels,” and he released her hand to grasp the oversized, slightly canted wheels, “are my legs.” Quickly he rolled back, giving her room to move, to breathe. In a moment, he spun quickly around, then wheeled right up to her, stopping shy of knocking her over. His legs straddled hers, as they faced one another. “You will make friends with my legs, until you won’t think of them as a chair, but merely an extension of your Dom. But be aware…I am going to be strict with you about this one incredibly important rule…we must communicate openly. If you don’t understand something, ask. If you don’t, this won’t work, and I don’t mean just the chair and us, but the relationship. D/s is all about good and open communication. You must never hold back because you worry you will offend me. Understood?”
She looked at him, feeling the intensity of his gaze boring up into her eyes. She felt the heat of his thighs against her legs, and the grasp of his hand holding hers once more.
“I do. I do understand you…Sir.”
“Good. The only stupid question is the unasked one. Which isn’t to say that if I am doing something to you in playtime that I will necessarily answer then…some things need to be experienced, after all.”
His smile was magnetic. She was mesmerized, amazed that already she had fallen under his spell. He tugged her hand and she fell forward. He shifted them and she was suddenly sitting on his lap. Holding her eyes, his hand moved up to tangle in her hair, circling the back of her neck as he drew her forward to meet his mouth.
The kiss was gentle, for a moment.
The fireworks exploded as his tongue traced the outline of her lips, searching for entry. There followed a torrid exploration of their mouths; after several long minutes, they broke apart. She was panting, her heart racing.
“Are you wet?”
The candor of the man! She blushed deeply. No one she had ever dated has asked her this. Sex was the end of a good date, something explored and quietly secretive. There was no graphic talking other than the occasional “fuck me baby, oh hell ya, just like that…” but this…this showed that she had indeed crossed into another world.
“I’m not used to this…” she mumbled, looking down at her lap. She felt the incredible burn of her cheeks, then his finger lifted her chin. Her eyes flicked to his, then away.
She looked up at him. They sat, eyes locked. There was a hint of …something…a firmness, perhaps to his look, now. Her lips felt full and bruised. Her nipples rose suddenly, pressing against the lace of her bra, and her pussy felt as hot as her cheeks.
“Are you wet?”
Swallowing down the rush of embarrassment, she tried to nod, but his finger held her chin. He’d enunciated each word slowly and carefully. It was a question that demanded an answer.
There was the steel again. Her voice was whisper quiet as she murmured “yes”.
“Yes,” this time a bit louder.
“Melody, is your cunt wet?”
Her eyelids dropped shut. She was mortified. She felt the rush of spit in her mouth, and wet in her pussy. His fingers curled around her chin, shaking her head a bit, and she felt his hand around her breast. His fingers caressed the swollen nipple, then pinched, hard.
“OH! Ow! Yes, Yes!”
“Yes? Is that all?”
“Yes, Sir, my ….” she hesitated. She could read the fucking word…but say it? “cunt. My cunt, Sir.”
“What about your cunt?” He pinched her nipple again, then rolled it back and forth between those long, strong fingers. She whimpered.
“It-it’s-it’s wet. Wet Sir. Wet…ooohh…wet….cunt….Sir.”
“There now, that wasn’t so terrible to say was it? You have a wet cunt. Let’s go see about some refreshments now, shall we?” He moved her off his lap and led the way deeper into his house. For a moment, she stood there, burning. Her pussy throbbed, her nipple too. Her cheeks were deeply flushed. She was so turned on she could barely remember her name, and now he wanted refreshments? Clearly she had a lot to learn about doms.
She stood just inside the doorway of his kitchen. Far from her perception of a dom, he was busy preparing food for them. She’d thought that being a submissive was all about service, kind of like a maid, she guessed.
Watching him as he moved around his kitchen was a definite turn-on. Her eyes were drawn again to the tight black tee shirt, the play of muscles in his back as he worked. His arms were strong, his hands, dexterous. She felt herself salivating over him. Gods, this was weird. Well…she’d wanted to explore being with a “dom”…and it looked like she was really getting a full-on experience with Sir Bill.
She wondered if she should offer to help. As if reading her mind, He pointed to a cushion on the floor beside a table, and said “sit”. Silently she crossed the kitchen, and sat. Her head just missed brushing the lower-than-average table, and she knew it was made for him to wheel his chair under.
He poured wine, one glass, and sipped from it. After seeming to ignore her for a few minutes, he wheeled over to her and granted her one tiny taste. Leaning down, he kissed her deeply and thoroughly, so all that remained in her mouth was the memory of wine, and the taste of him. He moved back to what he had been doing before shutting off her brain with that kiss.
She’d seen from the outside that his house was modern. From the inside, it was apparent that it had been designed for him, as the appliances were all within his reach. Even the sink had been designed to be used by someone in a chair. Cabinets were lower, with wire shelving that pulled out, and down. Even the oven was modified, opening from the side, like a microwave. He pulled a pizza from the oven with ease, sliding it onto the the shelf below the oven to slice it.
She’d been here, on a pillow on the floor for-fucking-ever, it felt. She shifted again, trying to restore feeling to her left foot. She was being attentive to what he was saying, but still, she wasn’t five anymore. Sitting on a cushion on the floor was well outside of her “normal”. She was learning, from his conversation as he worked, that things happened at his whim. Or plan. Or whatever. If he wanted her to sit, then sit she would. The idea of him treating her like a kid, or a …she shied away from the thought. She wasn’t a thing.
Still, sitting here and just being, in a way that focused her on the present and not the past nor future was surprisingly erotic. His voice broke into her musing.
“come here, slut.”
It was the first time that he’d called her that, and it gave her a funny feeling in her belly. A bit of humiliation, with a side of sexual punch. Her pussy pulsed back to life, after laying quiescent. She started to push up off the pillow, to stand, but he forestalled that.
“No, on your knees is fine.” He patted the side of his leg. “come here, Melody, come crawl to your Sir.”
He’d slid them both into a scene as easily as he’d slid that pan onto the counter. She was caught up with him now, with what would come next. The smell of food made her mouth water. The sight of him, and what he was making her do made her pussy wet.
Crawling across the floor to him, she knelt at his side. He offered her another sip of wine from his cup, then kissed it away again. She felt her head spin as her pussy began leaking copiously. Moaning into his mouth, she braced her hand on his thigh. His hand took hers, pulling it around to the small of her back, even as he deepened the kiss. His mouth sucked on her tongue, fiercely, until she felt as if he was attempting to pull it from her mouth. Her moans became whimpers, and still he sucked. Her fingers curled around his hand, his hand pulled her closer. Her shoulder ached from the unfamiliar pose, hand behind her back, tugged upwards as he pulled her forward, harder into the assault on her mouth. She barely noticed-she was drowning in sensations. When he broke the kiss, he gently slapped her cheek with his free hand.
When he released her, she felt…liquid. As if her bones had melted. As if she was a giant orgasm poised on the brink of explosion. Trembling, she gazed up at him, beginning to understand the power, and the draw of submitting. No one had ever made her feel this way before, not from a few burning kisses.
She collapsed more than sat, still watching him carefully. He took a slice of pizza, and a healthy bite. She sat, watching him eat the entire piece. She felt quizzical. Wasn’t he supposed to give her some? The wine was an echo of flavor in her mouth, and her stomach rumbled as he ate two more pieces, seeming to ignore her presence beside him. She thought about pointing out to him that he wasn’t alone, that she was sitting here and starving, but some restraint kept her silent, and focused.
She swallowed when he did, her mouth pooled with saliva as he chewed carefully. The smell of melted cheese and warm sauce wafted to her, and her tummy grumbled in protest.
He glanced down at her.
And went back to eating. The bastard. Of all the fucking nerve. She felt both indignant…and horny. The dichotomy was annoying. Puzzling. Frustrating!
He took another piece. Tipping back his head, he opened his mouth wide, and glanced down at her.
“You look mad as a wet hen,” he said, laying the pizza on his plate. And laughed again. She stayed quiet, something that her co-workers would find amazing. She was never quiet when she was outraged. He dragged his finger across the top of the slice. A bit of oil, a dash of sauce caught on the pad of his finger.
“Close your mouth.”
He painted her lips with the mixture, then turned back to the table. And ate the fucking pizza slice. She sat, fuming, as the teasing smell wafted to her nose. The urge to lick was nearly overwhelming. He turned to her with the wineglass once more.
She sipped, leaving a smear of sauce on the rim of the glass. She moaned in frustration.
“So close, and yet so far,” he murmured, before taking a fistful of hair and her mouth. He bit her lips, licking them clean, then sucked her mouth dry. Her head spun. She was alive, full of sensations. Without realizing, she wound her arms around his neck; he pulled her easily off the floor and onto his lap.
His fingers slid under her skirt, pushing aside the wet crotch of her panties as he probed the wet folds. She felt the push of them against her pussy, the intrusion of them into her cunt, and whimpered into his mouth. He finger-fucked her hard, not breaking the kiss as he worked her body, top and bottom. She came, hard, into his hand, whimpering and moaning against his lips.
“Good girl, good girl,” he murmured against her hair. She felt his hand leaving her, leaving her feeling empty, and drained.
“Here’s your dinner, slut.” He lifted his fingers, wet from her pussy, to her mouth.
She had never eaten her own pussy sauce before.
She sat on the pillow on the floor of his kitchen, trembling. The aftershocks of orgasm, of the control, of the dominance of him made her weak, light-headed.
“Subspace already, little one?”
She blinked. He was in front of her, smiling.
“Is that …? I… I don’t know Sir. I feel like I’m here…yet not.”
“An apt description, from what I understand. Rise, slut. The evening is well begun.” He gestured her to precede him from the kitchen.
“Turn left, yes. My room is at the end of the hall.”
It hung there a minute, a bald statement. This was a moment to decide…was she moving forward, or out the door.
She made the right turn, the correct turn, the only turn she could make, moving down the hall towards his bedroom. No way was she going to miss out on any moment she could spend with him! She’d never known anyone like him before, nor experienced anything like this before. Alive, throbbing with sex and greed and …who knew what else. He excited her, intrigued her, and kissed her boneless.
She stepped into his room and to one side so that he could enter. She had no idea what some of the stuff was in here.
“The lift is to help me up out of bed and into my chair. It is also a very good holder for one’s submissive. I can hang you up there in it and eat your pussy.”
She felt her face flame. He mixed the regular with the dark, constantly catching her off guard. He laughed at the play of emotions on her face, then continued. She thought he must really enjoy making her squirm.
“Of course, I can do that in the chair too. There are many, many ways to fuck you in – here in my lap, up in the lift, on the bed. It’s harder for me to ejaculate, so you’ll have to work hard when giving me a blowjob, but we’ll get to that in good time.”
“uh…okay. I…don’t mind giving blowjobs.”
He smiled at her. “It’s not a question of “mind” anymore, Melody. If you are my submissive, you’ll give me a blowjob whether you’re “in the mood” for it…or not.”
It was simply stated. Not up for debate or challenge. As the popular phrase of the day went, it was what it was. . . a statement of his terms. His way. And she knew, knew to her marrow, that by satisfying his needs, he would be certain to satisfy hers. Perhaps not always the way she wanted, or when she wanted, but….eventually.
At least, she hoped so.
Gods knew he’d done much to satisfy cravings she’d never given voice to, and in such a short time. Why his words made her knees tremble, and her pussy grow wetter (as if that was even possible), she had no idea. She’d read about submission a lot. Blogs, stories, anything she could find. Not ONE of them explained the feelings she was feeling just now.
Turned on, immensely turned on. He didn’t make her feel “less than”…but important because her job was seeing, catering perhaps, to his needs.
“Up onto the bed.”
She moved across the spacious room, noting that what she thought was a wall was actually a pair of pocket doors. She wondered what was on the other side of them.
He looked at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, and grinned. Oh, that seemed such an inane word for that wolfish look. Her heart flipped over a bit, and she trembled again. Her nipples rose, poking hard as if for their own share of his attention.
“The other way, slut.”
Rising, she began to move to the other side of the bed. This time he actually guffawed.
“Slut! No…” his laughter broke through, as he shook his head at her. “On your belly, slut. So that I can look at your ample ass.”
“Ohhh…” she flushed, embarrassed. She stood facing the bed, and then flopped forward, face-planting into the comforter.
Her muffled voice came through the covers.
“This is actually a good thing, Sir, so you can’t see me blush, but it may be possible that I could be setting your comforter on fire soon…”
He laughed, then she heard the sound of him moving towards her, the faintest creaks as he wheeled closer. In moments, his hand was caressing the curve of her ass through her skirt. His hands moved to her waist, tugging at the waistband. She felt the give of the elastic, then the slide of it. She shifted, just a bit, to ease him in pulling it away. Downward, over her hips. Downward, below her ass. Downward, over her legs, until at last, it fell into a soft fabric puddle around her feet.
She felt the slap of his hand between her thighs. Obligingly, she spread her legs wider.
Another slap, harder this time. It stung a bit, and excited something dark and needy inside her. Gawd. She was splayed across his bed, only her tiptoes still on the floor. She could feel the weight of her skirt on top of her left foot, and then he was touching her and she was lost in his sensations. His hands moved up and down her legs, sometimes just a soft whisper of touch, sometimes a hard pinch. She was squirming, moaning, whimpering and giggling in turn. The touching went on and on, never quite hitting where she needed it most.
Lusted for it.
Soon giggles turned into panting, and she pressed back, desperately seeking his fingers inside her.
“Does the needy slut want something?” His voice was husky, with that overnote of amusement she was coming to know very well.
“Yes! Yes! Touch me, please? I ..can’t bear it…”
“Of course you can bear it. What a greedy thing you are.”
His hands curved up over her panty-clad ass. Then tugged those down, exposing her ass to his view. For a moment, there was nothing. Not a sound, nor touch broke the stillness. She could almost feel his eyes looking at her. Drinking her in. Part of her wanted to squirm away in embarrassment. Part of her wanted to squirm down and hump his leg.
The swat against the fullest part of her bottom was unexpected. She’d thought there’d be more of the caressing, the feeling of the lay of the land, so to speak. She jolted, yelped. He smacked her ass again, in nearly the same spot.
He swatted her again, again in that spot. Three firm blows and already she was trembling. It hurt! It burned, a bit. And gods above, it was like a blast-furnace had erupted in her cunt.
His hand caressed the warm spot.
“You pink up nicely, slut.”
That was her only warning, as he rained a series of blows all over her left cheek. The right one still had the ringing sensation from the first three swats, but the left was now burning all over. He smacked from her hip to her lower back; from across the crack of her butt, down to that tenderest bit, where ass and upper thigh met.
Gritting her teeth, fists clenched in the coverlet, she rose to her toes and yelled loudly at that last one. So fucking sensitive. And he had the strongest hands! There was no tender caress when he was done, but she yelped again as his fingers went to work.
The bastard was pinching her!
“OW!” she howled, trying to evade his fingers. He slid his thumb into her pussy, grabbing the top of her cunt with his fingers curled up around her mons.
“OH….ohhh” she moaned, as he pressed hard against her g-spot with one hand, while assaulting her bum with the other. She didn’t know whether to cry or moan.
She did both.
He slid his thumb out of her pussy, and pinched across her pussy lips. Her back arched at the feeling.
He slid three fingers into her. She froze. HE froze. She tried to move, to get some friction on that needy place inside.
“oh Sirrrrr, please fuck me? Please?”
“nah. Way too early for that yet, slut,” he said, and she heard the fucking amusement there. Again. Her ass throbbed, burned. Her pussy yearned, burning with raw and wet need. She screamed as she felt his teeth biting into the underside of her ass. His fingers slid in and out of her once, twice, as his teeth bit into her tender buttock. She was torn between the incredible pain on her asscheek, and the incredible sensation of him caressing the inside of her pussy. At long last, his mouth left her ass, his fingers slipped out of her. She moaned deep in the back of her throat, whether in realization of the pain, or in loss, she was uncertain.
“You’ll remember this when you sit,” he said, pinching over the spot he’d just bitten.
With a swat, he bid her to turn over.
She flopped, graceless, onto her back. He was grinning wickedly.
“We’ve only just begun, you and I and already you’re so wet. What a delightful little slut you are, Melody!. And yet, we have another thing we need to discuss now. That of a safeword. Do you know why we need one?”
“So you don’t cut off my arm and I don’t protest until it’s laying on the floor?”
He barked out a short laugh.
“Essentially, yes. You need a word that you can say in the deepest throes of pleasure, and of pain. I will feed you a mix of both, little one. Think carefully. Your safeword will stop me, immediately. It will stop everything, because it will mean that you have reached a limit that you cannot get through.”
She lay there, thinking only of her pulsing pussy. She was so fucking turned on she could barely stand it.
“Pizza?” His tone bordered on the incredulous.
“I will never again see pizza without thinking of you, Sir,” she said, speaking to the ceiling. She smiled up at the ceiling.
“Pizza it is, then.”
She felt his wicked laugh echo deep within her body.
She sprawled on the bed as if she was boneless. Truth to tell, she felt boneless.
She also felt…fabulous.
Her ass throbbed where His strong teeth had bitten into her flesh, her pussy and clit throbbed with a deep, primal, need. She understood the words of all those sexy stories she had read over the years.
She yearned for him.
What a funny, archaic term. Romantic and foolish. Yearning for someone? Never would she have thought herself capable. Yet, here she lay, giddy, and longing for a man she barely knew.
“Mel-o-dy….” His voice, soft and mellifluous brought her back to the present. To His presence.
“yes, Sir?” Her voice was a thin whisper of sound. She pressed herself upward on her elbows, looking at him. His eyes, deep and fathomless, glowed at her. She should have been embarrassed, with him looking up across her body, staring at her cunt, her round belly, her floppy tits.
“Why don’t you embarrass me? I’m just ….”
“On sexual overdrive? That’s what I see. I see a weeping pussy, the flutters of your body telling me what your words do not. That you are hot and horny, and, even more important to me, that you don’t fear pain. That your body is excited by even the small taste I’ve given you.”
His finger teased up her thigh, rubbing against a plump and swollen lower pussy lip. She stared at his hand, as he moved deeper into her cleft, until her head fell back, her eyelids drooped, and all she could see was the red haze of lust erupting within.
She squealed as he tugged her forward, off the bed.
“Move with me, Melody,” he chanted in a sing-song rhyme of lust. Her legs passed over his shoulders, as he supported her hips.
“I hold you, you hold me.”
“Wha-a-a..?” She began…
“Your feet will hit the floor, and my chair will tip back, far back. Your feet will be the support of both of us, my little slut, while I eat your sopping cunt.”
The dirty words, mixed with the practical. She trembled at the force of them, the reactions that they excited within her. She could see it, in her head. Her feet on the floor, him tilted back in his chair….and in moments, he had maneuvered them into position. He set the brakes and, wrapping his arms around her hips, dug his fingers into her soft bottom as his mouth went to work on her pussy.
His tongue lapped the outer folds of her flesh, long, slow, sensual laps up and over each puffy lip, then driving deeper, licking into the cleft between. The tip of the questing tongue swirled around her clitoris, making her arch and try to press that needy spot against his mouth. She felt the laugh as a warm vibration.
“needy, greedy slut!”
His words were muffled, and tickled her. She’d never had anyone talk to her through her pussy before. It felt strange. And sensual. He continued to torture her, avoiding her clit.
The words rumbled up her cunt, barely registering in her overheated brain.
“mmmmmmmmmm” she responded, wordless, guttural.
She felt the sharp pinch on her ass.
“OW!” she responded.
He was silent.
“Yes! Yes! More, please Sir? Please? Pretty please?”
He smiled at the desperate tone in her voice.
“You’re kind of a bastard, you know that?”
Whoa. Was that her? How had that slipped out? She could barely move, suspended on her back against his thighs, her feet planted on the ground, his head buried deep in her snatch. His deep laugh echoed up her pussyhole, through her belly, making her smile, despite the increasingly desperate need growing between her thighs.
His lips settled over her clit, and he began to suck. Much as he had while kissing her earlier, he sucked hard and deeply, until the pleasure was slashed with pain. It hurt. It felt fantastic. No…it hurt.
An orgasm began to build, faster than the tides in a hurricane. She stiffened, her body going rigid as it ripped through her. She felt like she’d drawn up into a tight bow, and then as an arrow was set free, flying through the cosmos.
She was half-unaware as he gently, slowly, righted his chair, her feet hanging limply over his shoulders. He moved her left leg, ducking under her knee, and turning her sideways on his lap, cradling her like one holds an infant.
It was the pinching that roused her. Her nipples were suddenly under attack, sharp pinpoints of pain.
He looked down at her, as her eyes flew open.
“There she is. Off, slut.” He pushed her off his lap, guiding her to the floor between his legs. She looked up at him, a faint frown between her eyes.
“I have tasted you, and found you, frankly, delicious.” She blushed at his look. His cheeks were still wet …from her pussy, she realized. She felt the heat in her face grow deeper.
“Now it’s time for you to taste me.”
Her eyes widened, just a bit. He scooted forward in the wheelchair, then leaned back. She sat, looking at him.
“That wasn’t a request, you know.” Their eyes met. Held.
“I…” her eyes fell.
“Total communication, slut. Do not forget that is our cardinal rule.”
“I don’t know what to do. If …” she gestured at his legs.
“Are you asking if my cock works? Because I can assure you that he does. When you were squirming on my face, he was straining against my zipper; oh yes, slut. My cock works very well.”
Face flaming, she nodded, then a soft “Yes Sir,” as she remembered he preferred to hear her words. Reaching up, she unbuckled his belt, then lowered the zipper on his fly. Feeling the bulge growing under her fingers she realized that his cock worked very well, indeed.
The taste of him lingered in her mouth.
The silken feel of his warm flesh, had contrasted with the solidity of the shaft that slipped between her lips. Although she might have wanted to go slower, wanted to learn his shape and textures, He’d had other ideas.
Her lips had encircled the head of his cock, as her tongue lapped the smoothness, probed the pee slit. He’d groaned when she’d done that, making her smile. His hand dropped onto the back of her head, his fingers coiling in her hair, as he began to push with firm insistence. She wanted to protest. Opened her mouth to protest.
And found herself with a throat full of cock. He’d shoved her down on his rigid shaft, gagging her. He’d “mmmmmm”ed in pleasure as she tried to take breath, tried to not vomit on the intruder lodged within. The pressure on her head eased and she’d slid back, until she could swallow.
Egads. She’d never given a blow job quite like this before, she’d thought, as he pressed her back down, forcing her once more down, down until the curling hairs of his groin tickled her nose.
“Suck hard as you come back up.” His voice broke the silence, and she obeyed, to his soft moan of pleasure. “Hell yes. Just like that…”
She caught a rhythm, after a few strokes. Down, relaxing her throat to take him all the way back, then pulling up with pressure. Her lips tightened, her tongue dragged, and she sucked his shaft as she rose. She felt the pulse of him, the sudden thickening.
“Your hand. Wrap it around the base.”
There was an urgency in his voice now, a tone she liked. She was pleasing him!
She lowered again, then drew on him like he was a straw, and she was dying of thirst.
A gasp burst from him, and she felt the soft ooze of liquid in her mouth. Not the spurting jets she was more familiar with, but a bubbling release of cum that tasted of his deepest essence. The taste of a man was unique…the salty tang of him settled against her tongue, and was swallowed down into her belly.
He slumped in his chair, panting, his hand resting on the back of her head. She released his cock, and lay, cheek against his thigh, as his shaft softened, and shrank. She watched the process, fascinated. There was one dew-drop of cum on the tip, and she gently touched it with her tongue, cleaning him.
His fist drew in her tresses, turning her face up to him.
“What a good cock-sucker you are, slut.” He smiled down at her, gently moving a tendril of hair from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. She felt soft, liquid and relaxed. Like she belonged exactly where she was.
“I want you to stay. Here with me tonight.” His words echoed her emotions.
It was past the beginning. But it was definitely not “the end” either.