Scene: Control

When I walk in, kiss me and ask how my day was. Help me take my jacket off as we talk. Offer me a cup of tea, which I will decline. Let me notice that the lights are slightly dimmed, intended to set me at ease. Keep talking to me as you sit me down and help me take my shoes off, your hands running up my legs ever so often. When I've been divested of the pesky things, stand me up and lead me by the hand to the bedroom, where I notice that you've set the temperature a little warmer than usual, again for my comfort. Kiss me, slowly, again. Ask me to stand quietly by the bedside, then unbutton my shirt slowly and carefully, your eyes watching mine, my eyes following your hands. Take it off, fold it and set it aside, then make me turn around, facing away from you. Ask me if I'm ready. Wait for my silent nod before unsnapping my bra and laying it atop my folded shirt.

Sit down on the bed and beckon me over to stand beside you with my hands extended in front of me, and bind them together to reinforce that I have no control over the events that follow. Bend me over your lap, adjusting my limbs until you're happy with my position. Make me stretch my arms out above my head so that they're out of the way.

Run your hand over my ass, taking your time to enjoy it, squeezing and gripping it as you please, until my back loses its stiffness and I begin to accept the situation I'm in. Rebuke me gently for enjoying this; force me to acknowledge that I am at your mercy and then, to really rub it in, make me say out loud just how much that turns me on. Right in the middle of my halting words, start to spank me - slowly and playfully at first. Take your time to make me twitch a little before establishing a rhythm, distributing your blows so that you don't hit the same spot twice in a row. Keep your other hand firmly resting on my back so that you can feel it every time I jerk in response to your strokes, and use it to make me stay still so that I am reminded again that I have no option but to take the punishment being meted out to me - and to take it well.

When you've warmed up my behind and I am squirming silently in your lap, yank my pants down partway down my thighs, leaving nothing between your palm and my bare ass but my thin panties. After a few moments of running your hands over the hot skin, resume your ministrations, this time laying your palm flat against my ass, outlining your target before you hit it. When I start to cry out, growl a warning at me, demanding silence, with the threat of further punishment hanging over my head if I disobey. We both know that you enjoy every little twitch and jump, every moment of tension in my muscles just before your hand comes down, every little sigh as the sting makes itself felt across my aching flesh. We both know that this is making me wet and ready, and you, hard.

Just when I think you're ready to give me a break, grab my hair and yank my face up to give it a sharp slap, just hard enough to sting and to make the fires smouldering behind my eyes roar to life. Watch me moan in response, my nipples stiffening even further, holding myself up on my bound hands, my crotch still draped over your lap, beginning to grind ever so slowly - and almost unconsciously - against your hardness. Slap my face lightly a few more times, back and forth, and feel my instinctive grinding pick up pace.

Make me get up, then, my hands still bound in front of me, and strip me down to nothing, carefully piling up my folded clothes. I will be breathing hard, eyes starting to glaze over, and you will see that I am wet. Smile as the smell of my wetness wafts up to your nostrils. Call me a dirty little whore, slapping my cunt lightly, making me jump and moan some more. On the pretext of tying my hair up, spin me around and blindfold me, making sure I can't see a thing. Let your hands roam over my body, my ragged breathing loud in the quiet room. Play with my nipples, my breasts, my neck, my back, stopping each time I squirm, resuming only when I hold still for you. Very slowly, and very delicately, pinch each of my nipples, then attach a weighted clamp to it, increasing the pressure till I gasp in pain. Step back to admire your work, then lead me out of the room by the throat, owning every inch of my body with that grip as I take one faltering step after another. Direct me to bend over, and feel me shiver as I realize that I'm being draped face-down over the back of your couch, my arms extended in front of me, my clamped nipples grazing the hard upholstery, my legs spread shoulder-width apart, my ass in the perfect position for a sound hiding.

Ask me, quietly, to open my mouth, then unceremoniously shove my wet panties in to muffle my cries. Hand me two pieces of cutlery - a spoon and a fork, I think - and tell me in careful, measured tones that if it gets too intense, all I have to do is throw them to the floor. Wait for my nod, whisper, "good girl," and give me a kiss on my neck before stepping away. Leave me there to contemplate my situation while you prepare the next instruments of my torment. Put on some low, rumbling music - the kind that you know will help me start to float through the pain to come - just loud enough to drown out sharp cries, but not loud enough that I can't hear your instructions.

As the strains of Massive Attack's Teardrop fill the room, ask me if I'm ready, your left hand resting at the small of my back. When I nod affirmation, remove your hand, and as I tense in expectation of pain, sink your teeth into the flesh of my ass, nipping at the tender spots and laving them with your tongue. Smile as I squeal, sharply smacking me to make me stop fidgeting - eliciting another, smaller squeal, followed by shuddering obedience. Spend a few moments running your hands up and down my legs, dipping your fingers into my warm cunt, letting me know that you plan to leave me dripping, bruised and used. Just as I start to buck against your fingers, withdraw them, then let me feel the bite of leather as you start to whip me with my own belt, at first taking short swipes at my ass, then letting the length of it whistle through the air to leave behind bright red imprints on impact. Remind me that my screams can't be heard by anyone, allowing me to unleash them without a thought. Alternate between the top of my butt and the sensitive flesh at the meeting of my ass and thighs, making me jump and almost dance at your will. I will yell in pain, but my grip on the spoon and fork will only tighten until my nails are digging into my palm. After a while, take the flogger that I had so mischievously brought with me the first time we played, and use it to raise welts across my tender skin, sharp stinging replacing the dull burning of the belt. Use it on my butt, my thighs, my legs, my back and my outstretched arms, merciless and consistent in your pace. Let the welts criss-cross my skin until the pattern pleases you. When my little screams have blended into one long wail, pause to gently massage some life back into my aching muscles, remarking over my noises on how my ass is glowing with heat and how hard it makes you to see that. Sit down, pour yourself a drink, and wait for the groans to subside to ragged gasps before stepping back up to me with an ice cube in each hand, running it over the now dearly sensitive flesh as I cry out in delirium through my gag, not sure if I want you to stop or keep going or fuck me or kill me. The choice will not be mine, in any case, as you remind me when your icy fingers reach down to play with my hot, steamy cunt. Talk to me as your fingers reach deep inside me, telling me how well I've taken my punishment, how beautifully I've been your little pain slut, your other hand stroking my hair. As I calm, give me one last surprise, your fingers tightening in my hair as you spear me with your hard cock and begin to fuck me from behind.

Make me scream into the gag as I quiver around you, the music just loud enough to cover the sound. Grant me no quarter, even as I begin to weep and clench and my legs start to shake from the pleasure and strain of holding myself up. Pull me up and tell me to place my weight on my hands, deftly removing the clamps that have made my nipples so sensitive that the slightest touch of your fingers on them feels like fire and ice. Hold me tight to yourself, one arm across my chest and the other grabbing at my hip, and fuck every last breath out of me until you finally explode with a roar, your hands twisting in my skin in that intensity, hard enough to bruise it.

As you collapse onto the couch to catch your breath, gently lay me down beside you, cradling my limp, exhausted body in your arms as you first take out the gag, then untie my hands and finally push the blindfold out of my eyes. I will still be coming down from the high that you transported me to, so I will clutch at you like a life-raft, my head against your shoulder, my parched lips tickling your neck. Stroke my hair and give me water in mouthfuls, whispering encouragements and praise, until I finally blink and smile at you, back in my own body and mind at last.

Want, Circa 2014

When you have me at your disposal, I beg this one thing of you - don't touch my pussy. Ignore that part of me. Show not the least bit of interest in it.

Take the rest of my body and ravage it. Stand me in front of a mirror, your arm wrapped around my torso, holding me to yourself, my hair bunched in your fist as you tilt my neck back to take in a whiff of my perfume. Trace your possession of my body in minute detail, your hands and fingers claiming my eyes, my lips, my nose, my tongue as yours. Trace lines over my thighs, my hips, my stomach - but don't pay any attention to the valley 'twixt my legs. Bind my hands behind my back with your belt, making me shiver at the feel of leather on my skin. Only bother to run your fingers over my panties when you slide them off my ass to squeeze and fondle it.

Bend me over the couch with your hand at the small of my back, positioning me just so to receive the blows I deserve and crave - deliberate, unyielding smacks that turn my ass cheeks warm and red, my cries muffled by the gag you've casually shoved into my mouth. Don't stop until my upper thighs glow just as brightly, and all I can do is squeal unintelligible things as my legs tremble from the sensory overload.

Ignore my aching cunt because it's not time for it yet, but grab me by my restrained arms and pull me onto your lap, still just short of being able to grind against your erection. As you undo the belt, kiss me, consume me, own me; pull my hair, devour my breasts, whisper your intentions in my ear, and call me out on all my wicked behaviour - make me feel the burning river of shame and arousal trickle all the way down to add to that pool of damp heat.

Make me so wet, so desperate for you, that my sodden panties make a mess on your jeans. When you notice it, set about punishing me for being so needy, so lustful, by hauling me to the bed, tipping my head back over the edge, and giving me a throatful of cock to choke on. Tell me how wanton I look lying there with your hard shaft pumping balls-deep into my mouth. Tell me how you can hear my moans as I suck and slurp at you. Tell me how good it feels to feel my throat convulse around you. Watch me squirm, watch me try to touch myself, slap my hand away, and watch me buck against thin air, my whine making itself felt as a humming against your cock. And just when my throat is starting to feel raw, pull out and come on my breasts and my face, my gasps spurring you on.

Lie down beside me to catch your breath as I catch mine, one hand idly clutching my breast, absently pinching the nipple hard enough that my pleasure/pain receptors short-circuit. Even now, ignore my cunt and its stream of wetness, even as I futilely attempt to gain friction against the sheets, my hands, your body, anything. Hold me down as I struggle, denying me still. Describe how needy and desperate I look as I do this. Hear me moan in response, a continuous feedback loop to infinity. Make me beg for your fingers on my cunt before you even begin to consider it.

Some Like It Rough

There is a fierceness to desire that I love. The burning heat, the urgency, the moaned excitement, the little noises of arousal and intensity - all these markers of want drive it up for me a few notches and make an already good scene superlative.

I want to drive a man so mad with want that he leaves impressions of that madness on my skin, in bruises where his thumbs dig in while we writhe together, our bodies feeding off each other's reactions. To hear a shuddering breath and feel my own pulse quicken in response, to bring his hand to my throat and let my racing heart reveal itself in veins quivering against his grip. To let my fingers speak my intentions, let my nails graze sensitive flesh, let my palm curl around hardness and heat in ways so intense and so demanding that incoherent cries are all that he can give me as I give him deliverance. To moan into sheets as I feel hot drops splash onto my breasts, to feel marked and owned by the hands that rub that seed into my skin, leaving me with reminders that I can wash off but never let go of. To be held hard and tight, arms wrapped around me, holding me in place, to be fucked with an appetite so large that I am sated and begging before he comes on my face.

Seven Days (Part I)

Thursday

They had just received the keys to the apartment from their landlord that morning, and had spent most of the day just bringing their various belonging over and trying to find a place to fit them. The place was sparsely furnished – a double bed and built-in wardrobe in the bedroom, a plain square wooden dining table with three chairs to go with it, and a built-in hob and chimney in the kitchen. In the style of most Bombay houses, the nearly-floor-level windows were barred, with sliding panes to make maximum use of the space available. The bathroom was compact, but clean. It was enough.

When moving into a new place, one’s belongings seem to take up every available space. And with the knowledge that the kitchen appliances and the washing machine would arrive soon, the two of them knew that they had better get organised, and quickly. They had come armed with cleaning supplies, so they wasted no time in getting to it.

 He got rid of all the dust and dirt in the bedroom and the living room, wiping down all the furniture as well, while she set to work in the kitchen, cleaning each shelf, then laying down newspaper before unpacking and stacking the utensils and dry goods they had managed to purchase.

She unpacked and put down her maroon rug next to the bed. He carefully mounted his framed pictures on the walls of the living room, saving his painting for the spot on the wall opposite their bed. She unpacked and set up his lamp next to the bed, then positioned hers next to the dining table in the living room. He unpacked her curtains – they both agreed that new ones would need to be bought, but that privacy was more important at the moment – and strung them up in the bedroom and the living room. A mattress had been bought and snuck up to their apartment on the 15^th floor through the lift while the watchman was away, and now occupied the bed, inviting the tired couple to just take a couple minutes’ rest, lie down for a bit, what harm could it do....but no, there was too much left to do.

The microwave, fridge, and washing machine arrived in the early afternoon, just as they were wolfing down kaathi rolls from the hole-in-the-wall around the corner, and were installed under his watchful eye. They would have to wait a month or two before buying a TV.

And the unpacking continued. Her speakers, his football kit, their clothes, linen, shoes, pillows, hangers, drinking water bottles, laptops, phone chargers, you name it.

At 8 pm, they stopped, exhausted, and decided to call it a night. All that remained to be unpacked were four cartons of books, which, lacking a bookshelf, they decided to hold off on. He stepped in for a quick shower, too tired to even ask her to join him, while she fried them some eggs and bread for dinner. When he came out, hair wet and shiny, drops of water still running down his body, she was already tucking in, her i’m-sorry-i-was-hungry face on. He shook his head with a smile, tut-tutted, and settled down next to her on the bed, proceeding to demolish the food on the plate before him with savage hunger. It was simple, fresh, hot food, and the best thing on the planet at that moment. He took the dirty dishes to the kitchen to clean up while she went in to bathe. By the time she was done, he was already sprawled on the bed, dead to the world. She dried her hair with a smile on her face, making a mental note that they needed a mirror in the bedroom, and lay down beside him. As she settled down to go to sleep, curling up on her side, he stirred, his arm snaking around her middle, his chest coming up against her back, spooning her perfectly. “G’night,” he mumbled. “Goodnight,” she whispered back.

Friday

When she woke, his morning wood was pressing into the curve of her ass. She lay there a few moments, smiling to herself, as it become apparent that he was still fast asleep. Perfect! She carefully disentangled herself from him, making sure he didn’t stir, before padding into the living room to find her little bag of toys. Thankfully, it was in one of her half-unpacked suitcases, so she grabbed the things that she needed and tip-toed back into the bedroom. He was still asleep. Excellent.

She climbed back onto the bed, positioning herself by his knees, and bent low to the task at hand. His boxers were tenting, his erection out of sight but very apparent, and she quickly slipped them lower down his body so that she could lay her hands on it. She took his cock by the base, her right hand encircling it, and quickly took as much of it in her mouth as she could comfortably manage. Then slowly, she started moving his cock in and out of her mouth, pumping her hand up and down in tandem.

He awoke with the sensation of her wet heat surrounding him, as she squeezed and sucked and massaged his cock with her mouth and hands. She picked up the pace when his half-gasped “wha-?” told him he was finally awake, and his drowsiness quickly turned into a low groan, his head half-raised off the pillow to take in the sight before him. He threw his head back into the pillow, eyes open, breathing shallowly, as she worked him up, her right hand now playing with his balls, now squeezing and pumping his cock, her tongue now licking  up and down his shaft, now drawing lazy circles around his balls before she took them in her mouth one by one. His hand reached down behind her head, pushing her further down and his cock, his hips starting to thrust reflexively in time with her movements.

This was what she had been waiting for. She tightened her grip on the base of his cock so as to retain some control over how deep she let him go, then relaxed her throat and let him slide in as far as she could take him, his cock hitting the back of her throat and his grip in her hair tightening to a painful extent. She could feel her own wetness pooling between her legs, starting to leak out from between her now puffy lips, but ignored it – this was about him, and she had to focus on the way she was making him feel, despite the aching in her loins. He wanted more, she could tell, but she had to ease into it to prevent herself from gagging. Removing one finger of her right hand at a time from around his cock, she slid her mouth lower and lower, taking him deeper in her throat, half-inch by half-inch, till her nose was being tickled by his pubic hair. Her throat felt stretched, but the months of practice with her toothbrush had paid off – her gag reflex hadn’t kicked in yet.

Her little moment of triumph was interrupted by the feeling of him thrusting hard into her mouth, his hand at the back of her head holding her pinned while he started to fuck her deep in her throat. Despite the deep breath she had taken, she knew she would have to come up for air soon, and so tapped him firmly on his side to signal that she needed him to relent a little, which he did – enough for her to breath in through her nose while she continued to lap at him with her tongue. He had raised his head to look down at her as she did this, so she made a show out of it, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock and licking up the underside of his shaft in slow, long strokes, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Take off your clothes. I want you naked,” he said, his voice hoarse but firm, as he sat up to take his t-shirt off, shrugging out of his boxers with equal speed.

She leaned back to rest on her heels as she took the sight of his body in. Three months apart and it still looked just as gorgeous as the last time they’d been together – his chest smooth and hard, his arms strong and sinewy, his stomach flat with little wisps of hair at his navel that she loved to stroke, and his perfect, sculpted ass and muscular thighs, all of them ticking all the right boxes in her mind.

He adjusted the pillows behind his back so as to be more comfortable, then looked at her, clicking his tongue in impatience when he saw that she was still dressed.

“What are you waiting for?” he said, leaning forward and grabbing her the bottom of her thin t-shirt, dragging it upwards while pulling her forward at the same time. “Get this shit off. Now.”

As she hurried to comply, her t-shirt halfway over her head, obscuring her vision, he said something that brought a rush of wetness to her pussy – something that she had never thought she’d hear him say.

“And then get your mouth back onto my cock. I want to fuck you in the throat.”

This certainly wasn’t the same man. This aggression in bed was new. And she liked it. Very much.

Trying not to grin, she quickly wriggled out of her shorts and panties, and fell upon his cock like a starved child, preparing to deep throat him again. His hand quickly rose to the back of her head, pushing her further down faster than she could accommodate, and she began to gag, tears springing to her eyes as the head of his cock went deeper down her throat than it had before. Despite the discomfort and the fact that she couldn’t breathe, she realised that this was turning her on even more, so she let him continue to fuck her face, using her mouth and throat as he would her pussy, his hand holding her in place while his cock sawed in and out of her open mouth. This was the scene that she so often masturbated to – being forced to suck on a cock, to take it deep in her throat, with tears pouring down her face as she was mercilessly skull-fucked, used and abused in the most degrading way. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding, and could feel her arousal building from the humiliation of it all, and wondered, even as his thrusts became less frequent, but harder and deeper, indicating that he was close to coming, if he knew what he was doing to her. As he thrust into her throat one final time, grinding his crotch into her face, before spurting his seed deep down her throat, she resolved to ask him at some point.

When he was done, she eased her now-sore throat and mouth off his cock and sat back on her heels again, eyes still closed, slowly wiping the spit that had spread over her jaw with the back of her hand. She took deep breaths and swallowed to clear her mouth, trying to will her heart to stop racing, the tears feeling cool on her flushed face as they dried. When she opened her eyes, he was leaning back against the pillows, staring at her with an indecipherable expression on  his face – half-satisfied, half-alarmed, and half-something else entirely. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, the distant sounds of traffic from the streets below echoing in the half-empty room.

“Was that-?” she blurted, at the same time as he said, “Are you-?”

They both fell silent again, watching each other.

Finally, she decided to give it another go, and said, “Was that good for you? Did you like it?”

He looked at her strangely, then said, “Yeah, I did...but...you’re crying. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to thrust so hard, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to hurt you, it just felt so good that I couldn’t stop, my eyes were closed and I didn’t realise that-”

She interrupted him with a vigorous “Nonono! You haven’t hurt me, love, don’t worry. I mean, I might be a little sore, but...you see...I liked what you just did. I’m incredibly turned on right now, because I love the way you used my mouth – it’s what I fantasize about so often, and to have you do that was just so amazing...”

She broke off as he was staring at her in disbelief.

“What?”

“You are one strange woman. You’re crazy. You liked that? There are tears flowing down your face right now, and you tell me that you liked that?”

“I’ve told you before that I like pain, and humiliation, and being used. You’re just too much of a gentleman to do any of those things. I don’t think you have it in you to disrespect me in bed. But the way you held me in place just now...I loved it, and loved you for doing it. I was surprised, yeah, but I wasn’t about to stop you and ask why you were doing this now, of all times. I just went with it. And I’m glad I did.”

“Well...it’s strange, and I certainly didn’t mean to do it. I wouldn’t want to force you in any way.”

She sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of. But it’s okay. Don’t sweat it. I like it when we do vanilla stuff just as much.” She hoped that he wouldn’t see through the lie.

She quickly kissed him on the lips and, before he could say anything, climbed off the bed, taking her clothes with her, not really wanting to continue the conversation. She shut the bathroom door and began to brush her teeth, a little disappointment welling up inside her, at the same time mirrored by a growing fount of resignation. She decided to snap out of it – there was so much to be happy about that she really didn’t want to let this bring her down – and felt much better as she splashed some water on her face. She dressed in the privacy of the bathroom, thinking about what they could eat for breakfast – there was milk in the now-functioning fridge and she was sure they had picked up some cereal the day before, besides which she fancied a cup of tea – and was just walking through the door, putting her hair up, when he stepped in front of her, holding her bag of toys in one hand and the vibrator that she’d left on the bed in the other, his eyebrows raised.

Fuck. She’d forgotten to put them away in her rush to get away from the conversation. Fuck fuck fuck.

A little respect

I dress up for you, in short, not-quite-slutty skirts, in heels that elongate my legs and make my ass and tits jut out, in tops that give you unparalleled views of the valley between my breasts and leave my collarbone bare and inviting, in underwear that you like seeing my ass packaged in, in lingerie that you’ll love to rip off. I dress up for you so that your eyes can drink me in and give me that intoxicating sense of power over you. I dress up for you so that I can watch you undress me with your eyes.

I want you to undress me with your eyes. I want you to be that bold. I want you to unashamedly want me, and to flaunt that desire to me, so strongly that I can neither deny nor ignore it.

I want to be powerless in the face of your want.

I want your lust to overwhelm me.

I want not to know when you are going to make that want known. I want you to take me by surprise, push me up against a wall, hurt me with the urgency of your mouth against mine.

I want you to leave me breathless. I love it when you do that. I want you to know that that means that I’m ready and that I’m yours. Always.

I want you to say the words.

“Suck my cock.”

Say them. There is a direct link between my brain and my pussy, and those words, delivered right, will trigger a flood the likes of which you haven’t seen yet. So, I want you to say them. I want you to take my mouth. I want your fingers in my hair. I want you to gather it and pull at it, to push at the back of my head, to direct my movements. I want to feel your cock on my tongue. I want to find it difficult to breathe. I want to choke on your cock, unable to deal with how thick it is, how it fills my mouth and throat up. I want that more than I can express. The urge, the need to be filled up, and to have you start with my mouth, is just too powerful to deny. 

I want you to order me around. To toy with me. To make me wait on your words, unsure of what is to come next. I treasure helplessness. I want to be able to let go, to let you direct the show. I want to know that I can trust you enough to let that happen.

To hear you say the words, sounding for all the world like you mean them.

“Bitch.”

“Slut.”

“Whore.”

I want that rush.

I want you to respect me enough to disrespect me in bed.