Lazy days
I look up and a smile spreads across my face. ‘Hey’. With that, my smile gets a little bit wider. I can’t help it, I can feel that desire brewing inside of me. Some days, it’s just up to you to make the most of it.
He’s busy, but that’s okay. I don’t mind. I walk barefoot across the room. The sounds of his computer keys muffling any other sound. I lean down and lightly kiss his neck, I move a little lower, and press my lips to his throat. I can feel him swallow. He tries to give me that look. Not today. I move around to the other side of his neck and leave a trail of kisses as I then take his ear, lightly, teasingly in between my teeth. I tug ever so gently. I flick my tongue over his ear lobe. I look down at his lap and can tell by the results there that my attention is not entirely unwelcome.
I slide down to the floor and climb under his desk. I push his chair that slightest bit away and nudge my head up between his legs. I raise my eyes and smile again. I rub my face against the growing lump of his cock under his trousers. I close my eyes and I remember just how nice that cock feels sliding into my mouth. I can feel myself start to salivate.
I reach my arms up and run my hands up his chest, feeling him just underneath the material of his shirt causes my heart speed up. I start with the top button, and undo it deftly. Then the next button. Oops, did my hand accidentally glide over your crotch. I can feel my hunger start to grow. I shake my head and refocus my thoughts. My hands are a little less certain as I undo the next button. Slowly, so slowly, I undo each one in turn. I push his chair a little further away from his desk. I can still hear his typing, but I imagine that it has slowed a bit.
I rest my elbows on his thighs and slide my hands up his chest and push His shirt down his shoulders. His arms are slightly restricted, but I don’t doubt that if he wanted to stop me, he would. I start at the base of his throat and slowly leave a trail of light kisses down his chest. My mouth moves to the side, seeking out his nipple. I hold it in place tenderly between my teeth as I start to flick my tongue back and forth and I am rewarded by the hardening I can feel in my mouth. I can’t help myself. I bite down hard and I start lashing his nipple with my tongue, then biting down that little bit more and sucking it into my mouth. I smile as I pull back. His typing is most assuredly going more slowly than before. I rain a small shower of kisses across his chest as I make my way to his other nipple. This time, I’m not so kind. I grab his nipple tightly between my teeth and twist. I feel his body jerk momentarily, before the clacking of the keys begins again. I run my tongue around and around his nipple. Flicking first hard then light. I chuckle while I still hold it there. I bite down again and then release as I begin to move down his chest moving lower and lower.
As I reach his waistband, I glide my tongue just along the top of his trousers. I lower my head. First, I run my right cheek up the length of him and then run my left cheek down the other side. I can’t help myself. I run my tongue over His trousers, feeling his cock jump at the feel of my mouth.
I reach up and undo the button on his trousers. Then I grip the zipper and take all the time in the world to slowly pull it down tooth by tooth. I can see his cock there, peeking out of the top of his pants. I feel my hunger kick into overdrive. I slide my hands down his hips, trying to get access. I glance up. He’s watching me, Almost challenging me. I rise up just slightly and take the knob, just barely visible, and take it in my mouth. My nose nudges away the waistband. I increase the suction as I pull and tug at him. Wanting more. I lap at him. Tongue slathering what little I can see. Tasting him is always so damn good. I reach between his legs and start to massage his balls between my fingers. A catch a small sound coming from his mouth. Was that a groan? A curse? I can’t be certain, but his feet plant down hard as he lifts his hips from the chair. Without missing a beat, I grab the waistbands and shuck them down his legs.
I dip my head and take his balls into my mouth. I pull back gently, feeling them stretch and then relieving the pressure as I massage his balls around my mouth. With my mouth full, I pause for the slightest of moments as I take a deep breath. Smelling him, his arousal, his sexuality. It makes my head hum. I reach up with my hand and grasp the shaft of his cock, letting my hand increase its pressure along the back of his cock. Regretfull, I remove my mouth from his balls and finally get to take the full length of his rock hard cock into my mouth. This time, I’m pretty sure the sound came from my lips, not his.
I slide my head all the way down, feeling it hit the back of my throat. Painstakingly slowly, I pull my mouth up and down on him all the while keeping his balls in my hand, manipulating and Massaging them almost absently. As my head slides up his cock again, I scrape my teeth along the back of his cock. I hear a hand slam down on the table and can’t help but smile, but I don’t let my suction decrease. Faster and faster, my head bobs up and down over his lap. I feel a hand grab my hair and force his cock deeper than I thought I could take it. That’s right. Use your fuckhole, please, Sir. I wrap my tongue around the shaft as my head pulls its way back up, only to feel you slam your cock hard into my throat. I can’t help it. A frenzy takes me over. I clamp down and use all the suction I can muster as my tongue flies all over your cock. It so thick and solid and tastes so good. Oh the taste of your pre-cum, just sets me flying. Up and down at breakneck speed. I suck you in. Lash you with my tongue and then pull almost completely back, only to dodge back down again. Hungry for more. The taste, the smell, the pleasure mounting in me as well as in you. My actions become frenzied. I can feel my own wetness soaking through my pants but all I can really focus on is just how much I love having your cock in my mouth. I bob down on one side to then only pull back against the other side. I feel your muscles start to tense. I hear that mutter under your breath. i can tell you’re close and all that does it ratchet my desire up. move my mouth all around your cock, my mouth going one while while my tongue wraps and latches and releases. Not long now. I slow down to try to savour you, but you’re having none of it. You put both hands in my hair and starting mercilessly fucking my mouth. I try my best to keep up but am not always successful. Before I realise, your cum shoots down the back of my throat and I swallow as quickly as I can. I feel your legs unclench and slowly let your spent cock slide back out of my mouth.
I crawl out from under the desk. I look in your direction, walk across the room the residual taste of you dominating all of my thoughts.
I sit up on the sofa, pick up my book and proceed to read. I like lazy days.
Consequences
True. He didn’t say I could. But I certainly know he didn’t say I couldn’t. I mean, c’mon, it’s been at least three days since my last orgasm. What’s a girl to do? I waiver for just a moment. Consequences. The unwelcome word brushes against my mind. I smirk and then a broad smile breaks across my face.
I lick my lips as my hunger rises. I open my knees and spread my legs wide. This one, this one I’m going to enjoy. As soon as the decision was made in my mind, I could feel my wetness start to grow. I take one finger and dip it into my hungry cunt, and let it linger for the briefest of moments before pulling it back out again. I raise my finger up to my nose and breathe in deeply. The smell of myself only serves to increase my hunger. I pop my finger into my mouth and slowly suck down the length of it as I then lick my wetness away.
I slip my finger down to my cunt and gently trace around my lips, feeling the wetness increase. My other hand sneaks inside the side of my basketball jersey and find my nipple there. Slowly, I flick my nipple with my finger and feel it begin to harden. I grab my nipple between my finger and thumb. I pinch down hard and twist my nipple while at the same time, shoving my finger into my cunt. I moan as my arousal spikes. That’s just what I like. Some pain to help bring the pleasure into focus.
I slide another finger in and start pumping. I can feel my desire mounting. My body is so hungry. I brace my heels against the footstool as my hips raise up out of the chair. I hear a voice inside my head, ‘you like that don’t you? You love fucking your own pussy. To sit there and fuck the air. What a hungry little slut you are.’
I answer into the empty room, ‘yes, I do, I know exactly how I like it. Just like that,’ I say as I pull my fingers out of my cunt and slap down hard on my pussy. A moan of pure pleasure sneaks out of me. ‘More,’ I beg. Again my hand rises into the air and cuts through the air as it slaps down hard. ‘Yes, please, again,’ I beg myself. I raise my hand up into the air and prepare to feel it come lashing down when all the sudden a quiet, tinny ping echoes around the room. I grit my teeth and mutter under my breath. Buzzing through my brain, trying to bombard its way through my pleasure is only one thought. Please don’t let it be him.
I glance over at my phone. The message is crystal clear. ‘What are you doing?’ At the back of my head, a voice is screeching at me. No, no, no, no, NO! I let go of my nipple and try to slow my rampant breathing. I close my eyes and try to focus, to think clearly. After all, he doesn’t know anything. He can’t see me. My heart rate slows and I wipe my finger on my leg and pick up my phone.
‘Ummmmmm, nothing?’ I respond. Oh yeah, that was smooth. I can almost hear his voice through the screen. He might not know, but with something as vague as that, he will definitely know something. When will my brain ever learn that you don’t have to put in a text exactly what your mouth might say in the same situation.
Another ping. ‘That surprises me. Are you sure you’re not up to anything? After all, it has been three looooong days. Has it not? So, you wouldn’t be, say, fingering yourself? Or maybe have clothespegs clamped to your nipples?’ I glance to the clothespegs on the shelf next to me. ‘How unlike my very hungry slave. I would have thought you’d be doing at least playing with your clit, but if you’re telling me that you’re doing nothing, then surely that must be precisely what you are doing. Is that not correct, slave?’
I grit my teeth. Fuck! I sigh and pick up my phone. My fingers fly across the keys. ‘Okay, maybe not nothing. Maybe, just maybe, I had a couple of fingers shoved in deep as I was preparing to clamp my nipples. But! I had only just started, and you know, you didn’t tell me that I couldn’t and I know you’ve been busy and so much on your plate and I didn’t want to bother you to ask if I could. I thought it’d be better if I took things into my own hands and just let you get on with it. Ummmm, Sir?’ I roll my eyes at myself.
’Whose cunt is that? I don’t believe that is yours. As a matter of fact, I happen to know it is mine and not yours. You wouldn’t be playing with something of mine without permission, would you? Because, you know, that would just be foolish. Now, I ask you again, what are you doing?’
Crap. This is not going to be good. I type in, I was playing with your cunt, Sir. I shake my head at myself. You knew. Of course I knew. I should have asked, but I didn’t and now, there were going to be consequences.
Tell me, slut, do you remember early in our acquaintance when you were at my home? We all decided to journey to a friend‘s house for a gathering of fun? We made our way to one of the rooms and I reminded you that you were mine. I told you to look around the room and name anything at all that you could see. Anything that you named, I could use as an implement to bring pleasure or indeed, punishment. Do you remember what I did with the stapler you’d selected. You never looked at staplers the same way again, I’d wager. So, slut, look around the room and tell me what you can see.
I look around the small room. ’Well, Sir, there’s the television, my bookcase full of books, my exercise bike, my wet suit, my cricket bat, my blanket, a pillow, and my mug. That’s it.’ I keep my eyes on the three little dots at the bottom of the screen. I hold my breath, but I suspect I know what’s coming.
‘Whore. You’re going to need to stand up.’ I stand up. ‘Now, I know, that as you were playing with my cunt, you will be pretty soaking wet. So, I need you to pick up that cricket bat, and I want you to insert the handle of that bat into that wet cunt.’ I reach over and grab the cricket bat. I spread my legs and slide the handle up inside of me. My legs uncomfortably bowed out from the width of the blade. I feel pulled apart and uncomfortable, but it still feels good. I feel the urge to start pushing the bat deeper. Before I get into any more trouble, I grab my phone, ‘It’s in, Sir’.
’Good girl. Now, what I want you to do is put the tip of the bat to the ground. Once the tip is resting on the ground, I want you to lower yourself down deeper on the handle to the point where your legs are spread wide, the handle is deep inside of you, and it is merely this stance which keeps the bat standing up. I rest the bat as instructed and I begin to slowly lower myself down the length of the handle. My feet are on tiptoes but my body gives me away. I can feel the wetness beginning to encase the handle. ’Now, bitch, don’t move. I know you will want to grind, you will want to ride that handle and pump up and down on it until you cum. I’m not sure I’ll let you do that. It depends on just how good you are now. So, for the next five minutes, I want you to stay in that position. No sliding up and down, no clamping your muscles down, nothing other than feeling violated by the bat. Because that’s what you did. You violated what belongs to me.
I respond back, ‘yes, Sir’. I know this is going to be hard. The first thing to try to give in is that my body wants to slide up and down the length of the handle. I just want to bury it deeper. I want to shove it all the way in, to feel it slam into the back of me. Part of me wonders if it would be more like a cock or would it feel more like being fisted. I don’t really care which. I just want to cum. I bite back the urge and look at the clock. Are you kidding me? Not even a minute has gone by. Okay, this may be a lot harder than I thought. I try to take deep breaths but with each breath, I can feel the bat inside me. Oh hell. Next my muscles start trying to clench. If my legs aren’t going to drive the bay in, then my muscles seem convinced that they are going to suck them in deeper. I clamp my teeth down and try to get my muscles to hold on tight but not to clench and unclench. I take a side glance at the clock. Two minutes down. I don’t even realise it until I catch my reflection in the television screen. My hips are rolling and causing the bay to move around in a circular motion inside of me. I groan as I try to make my hips stop. In the end, I have to place My hands on my hips to get them to stop. What is the stupid time? Had that clock stopped? There’s no way that’s only three minutes. I can now feel my wetness running down the shaft of the handle. The whole room smells of me.
I grab my phone. Just that small motion had me trying to pump and grind with the bat Inside me. ’Please, Sir, I’m sorry. I really am, but I desperately need to fuck this bat. my whole body wants it. To shove it deep inside of me, to slide up and down feeling the handle sliding in deeper and then pulling back out. I want to fuck fast and hard and make myself scream. Please, Sir, May I?’
‘I count that as only three and a half minutes, slut. What I need you to do right now is take a selfie. I want to see a picture of you fucking your cricket bat. I want to see that desire in your face, the hunger in every taught muscle in your body. I want you to know it’s up to me when you cum, when you feel release, or indeed if you do at all.’
This then is the punishment. It was all working up to this moment. I can’t. I really really can‘t. My body screams at me that I damn well better because it is not going to be denied because of my stupid pride. The internal debate rages inside of me. It’s one thing for him to see me like this, another for him to have a permanent reminder of my desperation. As I feel my need rise, I snatch my phone and snap the picture and send it on its way.
‘What a good little whore. Remember, you’re the one who wanted to cum. Next time, maybe you’ll think twice before doing so without asking me. Now, we’re nearly done here, but not quite. You may now pump and grind and slam your pussy on that handle as much as you like, but you will record the sound as you do so. I want you to hear every sound of your hunger.’
Bastard! Thank goodness he’s only on the phone, but really, I don’t think I could hold out any longer anyway. I hit the record button on my phone and instantly I start sliding up and down. A groan escapes me. That is so deep. So fucking deep and so hard. Feel it there. Feel my thighs burn as they squat up and down taking the handle in deeper. Faster I slide up and down. It feels so good. So damn good. My pace becomes frenzied as my hips get in on the action. I hear the sound of the wetness squelching, the slight pop of the suction each time I drive myself up and then down. Oh my cunt. It’s so full and so wet.i pump don harder and faster. ’C’mon bitch, f it, fuck it you dirty little whore. You like doing that don’t you. You’re loving this fucking bat in your pussy. Keep going. Slam it deep. Oooooh!!! Fuck me! Oh! Yes! Yes please! Fuck me! I beg you! Fuck it hard. Slide that dirty little cunt all the way down until you feel like that handles going to pop out through your mouth you dirty, hungry, horny, desperate little whore! A scream tears out of my throat as my orgasm rocks through me. It goes on and on. Oh thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you. Oh yes. Yes. Thank you. Gradually, my breathing slows, my body stops thrashing, I fall back across the footstool and gently, oh so gently, pull the cricket bat out of my cunt. I close my eyes and fall back.
I don’t know how much time has passed when my eyes next open. I reach for my phone. I know what I need to do. I listen to the sound recording. I had no idea. None at all that all of those things weren’t running through my head. I was telling them out at myself. This is going to be more mortifying than I thought. First the picture, and now this. I shake my head and hit send. I sit there, still recovering when an answering ping catches my attention a few minutes later. I look down at the screen.
‘Whose cunt it that?’ I respond back with a single word.
Yours.
When not serving is serving
I know. My own doing. I just had to let my mouth keep running after a day that had not gone to plan. And now? Silence. The absence of anything clanging more loudly than cymbals in my ears. I sigh and shake my head at myself. I mean, really, what did I expect?
I stand up, clear my throat lightly, hoping he will see me. Or choose to see me. ‘How did I get so busy?‘ he says. Even those words cause hope to rise within my heart. I daren‘t say a word. I don’t want to let my guilt and my mouth to get in between us again.
I slowly reach down and grab the bottom of my hoodie and pull it up and over my head. I drop it to the floor beside me. The quiet is so complete that I can hear it hit the floor. I lick my lips, and reach down again to my waist. I grab the hem of my t-shirt and lift it up and over my head and drop it on top of my hoodie. I feel exposed. He knows this is one of the things I find harder than any other. To simply bare myself with no other distraction, with all eyes on me.
I take a deep breath, and grab the waistband of my shorts. I slide them down my legs and step out of them. I force my arms to stay still, to not come up and cover myself. I can feel the muscles in my arms twitching want to move, but I use all my will not to let them.
‘May I come to you, Sir? May I come sit by your side?’ He tells me that I may. I lower down to all fours, and I make my way towards him. I can feel the weight of my breasts as they swing back and forth. So awkward. I slam down my mind on those thoughts. All of this is self imposed. He may or may not be disappointed in me, but I am. I doubted him. One of the few people that I know I can trust absolutely and I doubted I was worth anything to him.
He is busy writing. It’s been a productive day for him. I lean down, kiss each of his feet, then kneel down, and sit back on my heels. I lower my eyes, and I wait. I still feel the absence of him. I want to babble, to explain myself, to defend myself, but I don’t. I don’t want to disrupt him when the writing is going well.
I breathe deeply and steady myself. The mantra in my head begins, ‘waiting IS serving, waiting IS serving’. I know I’m trying to convince myself. Being still is an absolute weakness of mine. I cannot do it well. For him, I’ll try. I feel an excuse to talk to him welling up inside of me. I shake it off with a shake of my head. Deep breath. Again. ‘Waiting is serving. Waiting is serving.’ He has told me this before, but I am not great at passive serving. Want me to entertain your best friend? I’m in. Wish me to please your wife. I’m there for you. Serve someone to show others what service can look like? Happily all day long. But sit? Be quiet? Be still? Wait? Every part of me rails against it. I cannot stand it I find it harder than many other things he may have asked of me in the past, and he hasn’t even asked this of me. I have.
How long has passed? I don’t know. Every moment feels as if it’s stretched thin until every last second is wrung from it. My knees are starting to ache. Still, I persist. ‘Waiting is serving. Waiting is serving.’ It doesn’t feel so angry this time. It feels quieter in my mind as it slowly glides through. I feel calmer.
Quietly, the words sneak out of my mouth. ‘Sir, my knees are sore, May I change my position, please?’ From far away, I hear you tell me I may. I feel wrapped in cotton. Words sliding through to me. I shift and merely sit by your feet. Quieter now, it floats through my mind, ‘waiting is serving, waiting is serving.’
I shake my head. How much time has gone by? I’ve no idea. He works still. A smile quirks at the corner of my lips. I feel I’m pleasing him by not disrupting. Still, I have a small request. Surely, he won’t mind a small request? ‘Sir, May I please lean my head against your knee? The physical touch will help reassure me.’ I don’t think he realises how much I felt I might have lost him, pushed him away. He tells me I may.
A soft satisfied sigh escapes my lips as I lean my head against his leg. I close my eyes. I can feel the smile stretching across my lips. This feels so good, so right. The thought sneaks through, ‘waiting is serving’. I wait. I shut out all else. I listen for his breath. I breath deeply in hopes of taking in the smell of him and remembering. From time to time, I feel a slight pressure on my head as his hand absently comes down to rest upon me. Each time, I smile again. To feel that touch, that acknowledgement of what I am offering him. The knowledge that he knows I’m there.
My eyes start drifting shut and each time, it’s longer and longer before they open again. I whisper quietly, my voice has gone hoarse. ’Sir, I am very tired. I will need to sleep soon.’
‘Of course,’ he says. He continues to work, but I feel the back of his fingers brush lightly against my cheek. He is pleased, I think. With that thought, I curl up on the floor next to his feet. I tuck my arm under my head and I promptly fall off to sleep.
He moves. I uncurl my body, and stretch. I know that look in his eyes. He is pleased. I’ve done well, but more than that, I’ve done well which has enabled him to do the work he needed to do. I lean down, and place a single kiss on each foot and then raise my head and smile at him. ‘Good morning, Sir.’ He smiles back.
It would seem that waiting is serving.
Deputy Duty
The rough road was, understandably, rough on an already dying car. The electric on the damn thing gives out every now and then, when and where it wants to just up and get gone.
"Oh, yeah, nice, right when it really starts pouring." I muttered to myself as a car with brilliantly irritatingly glaringly outright garish headlights pulled out behind me. This weather? My car? My general driving? Cooked. Absolutely cooked. What luck it would have been if those blinding headlights were in front of me - my own personal guiding cop lighthouses.
And predictably, all of a sudden flashing red and blue joined the offensive fluorescent white light.
"Yeah, yeah, let's hope I don't die just pulling over. Don't make me get out in this weather. I'm wearing white, and it's after Labor Day." Bumping awkwardly up and down in my beater for some reason, I flip my hazards on and let myself slowly, slowly, attempt to roll to a gentle stop on the side of the road.
"Oh, okay." I respond to feeling my right side wheels slip off the pavement, high-pointing my car. "I'm also going to have to look like I shouldn't have a driver's license. Cool. Okay." I pop my beater baby in park, knowing she'd stay in place regardless of gear, 'position we were in.
The policeman takes forever to actually exit his vehicle. I wonder if the rain makes it harder to read my dirty ass license plate. I don't even know why I was pulled over in the first place. As soon as that train of thought enters my mind, the policeman exits his vehicle holding a 'matches-the-headlights' flashlight in his left hand and an umbrella in his right.
I lower my window as he approaches my driver side, ready to play polite society damsel in distress.
"Good evening, miss, do you have any idea why I pulled you over tonight? If you do not, I'd really like to tell you." Putting the flashlight to the side, I was finally able to focus on his appearance.
Oh, God. I wanna play damsel in mistress - no ring! Girlfriend?
I couldn't help the thoughts entering my mind as I took in the familiar swank, stature, gentle suave attitude, and built chest with arms to match. Devastating. Just devastatingly, paralysis-inducing beauty.
"No, miss, I do not; I'd really like you to tell me why, too." I can't help but spit out as my face flushes red, noticing the officer's face had been a bit red from the jump. Cat and mouse from the start!? How!?
The officer looked stunned and shocked. Uh, not the intended reaction. Oh, God, I said miss.
"Miss, please step out of the car and walk in a straight line." The officer said with a stern face, and a deep, flat voice. I misjudged. Now I'm in deep shit. Okay, I'm not inebriated in any way, shape, or form.
I open my door, and step out. Immediately, the officer starts towards me and I flinch instinctively, falling back into my car - nearly, as some strong, still familiar, I swear, arms catch me. Well, they catch me, but we both fall back against the car. Stunned, I realize the officer was going to hold his umbrella above me as I did the walk. I am not making myself look good here at all, and I cannot stop. I'm not really wrong often, not on this.
As our eyes meet - my upper chest area is against his chest area. Don't say anything, let him, he's an officer. Oh, God, what if he can't?
He immediately steps back.
"I apologize - I was going to keep you dry during the walk. Your... shirt is see through. I pulled you over because your left rear break light is out, it looks like you have two flat tires, and now I'm gonna need a breathalyze real quick, alright? It's the least invasive way." Reaching into his back pocket, he produces a breathalyzer.
Oh, nice. He had it handy. I drive so well.
I know how this goes, and I blow hard, and long, taking care my face is still pretty during. I can't hold it.
"So, Officer Attractive, it's not also Officer Butch?"
He stares at the sober results, and then slowly up at me.
"How?"
"Oh, honey, I'd know my kind of man anywhere."
"To be clear - what kind of man is that?"
"The one whose name usually ain't Butch, but it gets his attention the same way a dog whistle does a do."
"..."
"...The one that doesn't write me a ticket?"
He seems stunned.
"Miss, I wasn't going to write you a ticket. I was going to see if you needed a ride home. I was going to inform you your vehicle is genuinely unsafe to operate. It would be a public safety concern if I let you get home in your car."
"Oh, what the fuck, no more doublespeak flirting - you dyke or no? If not, I'm really not interested, Mr. Miss Officer Attractive." I fully break the ice and the lesbian fourth wall. Oh, my God. They're almost all like this because that's just being respectful.
"Oh, God, yeah, no, yes, I'm Butch, I'm Dyke, I just - how? Really?" He is truly stunned. How cute.
"Swagger, honey." I smile warmly at him. He needs to be made aware, he must be new - he's going to get just eaten up if he don't wisen up.
"Swagger is helping?" He is even more stunned.
"...Yeah, we'll go with that." Chivalry, dumbass, yeah. Swagger, game, play, whatever, come chase this tail, holy shit how much easier can I make it? "So... I'm not leaving my car. I'm a lady? I'm not like, a car lesbian? How long-"
"-about thirty minutes, then when my two queer handymen show up, it will take them about thirty minutes." He interrupts, sliding his arm gently, slowly, waiting every inch for a sign of 'I want this', making me want him more, oh my God, yes, someone who knows what good foreplay is! Wow! And I just realized he's way out of my league! Cool! How do I even go about this?
Oh, honey, he showed me how to go about all of that.
What a woman!
When it rains, it pours
I roll my eyes to the sky. You have got to be kidding me. I rise from my desk and grab my bag as I head to the loo. Quickly, I strip out of my trousers and pants and grab yet another pair of pants out of my bag. What did I expect? After a week full of play, my clit and cunt are still swollen and in a constant state of arousal. I am constantly soaking wet.
All day long I could feel it, my arousal slowly dripping out of my cunt. As another colleague goes past, I sincerely hope they can’t smell me, because I certainly can. How many hours until I can go home? Touch myself?
Finally, I walk in my front door and just drop my things on the floor. I head upstairs to strip out of my clothes. I slide on my running shorts and a comfy old hoodie. I tell myself, I won’t touch myself today. I need time for my body to recuperate.
I turn on the ice hockey, but as I watch, I hear it. Thrum. I push my attention back to the telly. Thrum. I clench my thighs together. I try to think about something else. Thrum. Who am I kidding. I can feel my cunt muscles clenching, my arousal growing, the telltale wetness running down my thigh.
Just a light touch I tell myself. I let my finger slide up the leg of my shorts, I dip my finger into the juices as it glides up and over my clit. My legs instantly open up. I feel my hips already pushing up from the chair. No! I’m not touching myself today. I’m recuperating. If that’s the case, why has my hand not pulled away? I close my eyes and let my head fall back.
Oh yes, Sir. You like it when my pussy is wet and throbbing. Ready for you to use as you like. I imagine your smile, well, more a smirk as I continue to stroke myself. You knew my resolve would crumble. I try so hard, I focus all my attention and with all the will I can muster, I pull my fingers away.
I look down at my fingers and take them in my mouth. Oh I taste good. I slide my fingers in and out of my mouth suck every drop of wetness off of them. Pussy. I haven’t eaten pussy in far too long. Could I do that for you, Sir. Grace maybe?
As I shift position, I feel my rock hard nipples rub against my hoodie. My breath catches. So sensitive. So ripe. I lean over and open the drawer on the coffee table and pull out two clothespegs. I lift up my hoodie and grab my nipple between my fingers. I pull and twist viciously. My hips fly out of my chair and a hiss escapes my mouth, ‘Yes, oh yes.’ The pain is perfect. I push down harder on the clamp of the clothespeg and pull and twist again. ‘More!’ I demand. Like my demands would ever get me anywhere. I hear your voice in my head. ‘Just for that whore, unclamp your nipple.’
‘No, please, I’ll be good. It feels so good. I promise. I‘m sorry, Sir, so so sorry’. My eyes plead. You raise your eyebrow at me. I sigh heavily and bring my hand down to release the clothespeg. It hasn’t been on there long enough to have that rush of pain and pleasure when blood flows back into the nipple. Instead, I only feel the absence of the peg. I wait. My breathing slows. I know better than to ask, this as much as the removal of the peg is my punishment. My body twitches in restraint.
’Well, whore, do you think you can remember who serves and who is being served?’ I nod my head. ‘Well?’
‘Yes, Sir, I am here to serve you, to please you,’ I try to let some of my indignation go. I can see your smile and with a jerk of your head, I grab for the clothespeg again. I pinch hard on my nipple and pull it and then with practiced skill, I twist viciously. As a shudder runs through my body and a ‘yes’ comes through my lips, I clamp the clothespeg back on my nipple. The pain just triggers my wetness again and my thoughts start to go hazy at the edges.
Without missing a beat, I lift my other breast to my mouth and suck the nipple into my mouth. I flick my tongue across it and feel the hardness solidifying. I bite down on my nipple and yelp as my teeth clench together. I gradually release the pressure and drop my breast from my mouth. I snatch at my nipple and squeeze it between my fingers. I pull it away from my body, stretching my breast out. Just when I don’t think it will pull any further, I twist and it gives a bit more. I snap the second clothespeg in place. I fall down on my knees. I adore the pain that pushes me further and further. I want it all.
I spread my legs apart and sit back on my heels. I stay like that for a moment, trying to slow my beating heart. I feel my arm start to move towards my pussy. I can’t not touch myself at this point. I know I need to cum. I need to push and push until I want to scream for anyone to hear. What do I care? As long as I get to cum, I couldn’t care less.
I squeeze my arms together so that my breasts are trapped between them. That way, every stroke, every thrust will cause my breasts to jiggle sending little shockwaves through my body. I slide my finger over my clit and let it stay there for a few moments, stroking gently, circling, as my pelvis lifts towards my finger, my breasts shake. So good .
I dip my finger into my cunt finally, warm, wet, enticing. I start slowly, sliding one finger in and out. Teasing at first, and then a bit harder, a bit faster. My head falls back. I slide a second finger in beside the first. Mmmmm. My hips thrust. I can hear the squelching of my wetness. I should be embarrassed, but I’m beyond caring. I slam my fingers in deeper. Harder. My breathing echoes in my ears. My nipples can feel the pull as the clothespegs bounce in time to the rhythm of my body. Now a third. You dirty, little whore. What a cunt. And you’re still not satisfied are you? You want more. The words scroll through my mind, as I reach down and shove my fourth finger in. A groan escapes me as I feel so full. My hips fly into the air, my head falls back, i can hear the sound of the clothespegs as they bump into one another. Harder whore, harder. I slam in as hard as I can and as fast as I can. I shake my head as I feel my orgasm mounting, pushing outward, I can feel my muscles tense and I scream as my orgasm hits, again and again. I can feel the water gushing out of me onto the floor. I fall forward and scream again as my nipples and clothespegs brush against the floor. I drag myself back upright. I shut my
eyes and bite down hard on my bottom lip. I raise my hands to each of my nipples. At the same time, I wrench both clothespegs from my nipples. As feeling returns another orgasm shoots through me. I let this one play out and slowly fade away. Every inch of my body feels like it’s throbbing. I lean forward my hands on the floor. I place my head on top of my hands. I whisper, ‘thank you, Sir.’ I hope you will be well pleased.
When the regular fantasies fail
I couldn’t help myself. I was so tired and couldn’t sleep. I’d been playing with myself for the better part of an hour but I just kept coming up to the edge. Having you tie me down for others to use, having people all around me, masturbating over me. None of it worked. I just couldn’t get myself there. I knew what the problem was. I was owned by you and without your permission, I wasn’t going to be able to come. But how? I knew you’d not been on.
The pleasure and the pain at having abused my clit for so long was wearing thin, and I wasn’t sure release would come even if you did. I went ahead and asked. How stupid was that? Once I’d asked, I knew I’d doomed myself. There was no way my body or my mind were going to let me come without your okay. I kicked, I bit through my lip stifling my groans, I was drenched in sweat. You weren’t there. I couldn’t go on but I likewise couldn’t pull my hand away from your clit.
I was aroused by thinking of you dominating me, owning me, and without that permission, I couldn’t. Or my body wouldn’t? Or my mind wouldn’t? I don’t know all I know was I just kept going up to the edge, and the thought of your displeasure would pull me back, no not your displeasure- more knowing that I was denying you the pleasure of having me come for you, being able to take me up to that edge and hold over me that control, that ownership. It’s your cunt, your clit. How dare I try to take that away from you. I couldn’t do that. I had to wait but each minute I became more and more incoherent. More desperate.
I wanted you to just say yes. Three little letters. I wanted to hear it. I wanted whatever I did to be yours. By your hand and of your will. Still the pleasure swelled as my clit got more sore. I can only beg for your mercy. As time creeps by and my body wants to betray you, I tell myself, if you’re not there by half past, then surely you won’t mind. You’d understand. You’d let me. I shake my head. I know better. Had I just done it. It would have been fine. But I asked. The minute I did that, it was in your hands and not mine. I was whimpering out my pleas. I so wanted to give my denial and my orgasm to you. To show how much I am your dirty little slut, how I was such a low little cunt that I couldn’t even come without your say so - and yet, I was so greedy, so hungry, I couldn’t take my fingers away.
I begged over and over again. I just wanted to be filled up, to have a big thick cock pumping into my pussy, taking it, using it, pumping in and out, deeper, harder and faster, until my thoughts just disappeared out of my head. To have that cock taken out as I scream for it to go back in. To have that cock shoved between my lips as another of your holes is filled, licking clean my own juices. I clamp down with my throat and lash around your cock with my tongue. Sucking in deeper. Wanting it deeper. Wanting it everywhere. Anywhere. I am yours to fill as you see fit. Just throwing me around. Filling one hole after another. I couldn’t tell you what you used or how long it went on. I just wanted you to use me.
I’m on the verge of giving in. It feels so good and I can feel my cunt clamping down on my fingers wanting more. I have to come. One more minute. I can’t take one more minute. Please. I am so desperate. I’m going to break apart when three little words appear on my screen. Come for me. The sweetest words. Wave after wave is torn out of mw, wrenched from your over stimulated cunt. Bucking off of the mattress. Gritting my teeth trying not to scream. Liquid pours out of me. My head is spinning and yet. And yet I’m a greedy little cunt and a hungry dirty whore and I want more.
I should be content. I know I should but I’m not. If I ask, either you’ll say yes and I will feel even more release as my body is given over to you. Or. You’ll say no and I will have to live with this torment. This need. A hunger burning with the constant throb of my clit at this point. I have to try as I still can’t seem to drag my fingers away. Again. Please. You respond. I know I’m such a hungry little cunt and often insatiable- always wanting more, but hopefully that serves you well. Maybe I can live up to all that you want me to take. Maybe I have the endurance. The ability to keep giving you what you want. I want to please you. I want to serve you. I want to see just what I can take. I grab a pillow and put it on top of my face as I can’t keep the sound from escaping as another orgasm comes ripping through me. Unbinding me and my whole body starts to shake. My head falls back. I just want to rest in that feeling. That bubble. I am nothing. I am Yours.
When he fucked me, I saw God.
My mood is
indescribable.
A downspout of
misguided
rain freezing
overnight.
A complicated
mountain fold,
its peak
sheltered
by sensitivity
and fog.
Its hardened
crust evaporating
into
sadness.
My desolation
comforted
by his imagery
and love.
Pain is
romanticized
inside
my mind.
Literary connections
found
in pulsating
isolation.
Love me
back.
I am
disconnected
from the norm.
Relieving cuts
pour
blood onto
canvas.
Empty.
I offer
definition
unintelligibly through
matte abstraction.
I am
complexly
overwhelmed by
simple movement.
My mascara
smears like—
A whore.
My legs
spread
wide,
knees bent,
my aged hips
crack with
temporary
satiation.
Heavy
sighs are
my aphrodisiac
into
oblivion.
The warmth
of
the sun
on my face
is my
mother.
Nature
hugs me
with
its splintered
bark.
Gasping
with emotion,
the thought
of him
hurts.
Moved
to tears
when
Mozart's plays
tangible.
A grin
too wide and
too toothy
silently churns.
My stomach hurts
to the tone of
laughing
like a clown.
Names
spelled wrong
hang on
the air
make
me dizzy.
Contradicting
comfort found
in
metaphors
and equation
abandon me
ad infinitum.
Abhorrent
shock at
mass blindness
ruminates.
Raw.
Despair drops
into buckets
of mud
in my chest
when
I think
of you.
Despondency
covers
my shoulders,
my grandmother's
shawl,
when
the chill
of
loneliness comes.
Inner epiphanies
debate
over desire
and
reality.
I stand
still and
frozen in
my existential
existence.
I know
my bravery
exists
but I am
fucked
between
folded linen.
Stale.
And
the closet
is closed.
And my
heart
drops.
There is
no point
anymore.
I am sad
and
I am
grieving
indefinitely.
You are gone.
It is dark
Better to ask permission or beg forgiveness?
’Please, Sir, May I?’ Oh fuck! Where are you? I’ve been masturbating for an hour now and can’t seem to cum. Even when I listen to you in my head, it now only brings me to the edge. So I text you in hopes of help. However, it’s backfired. Now that I’ve asked, I’m not sure I can lay off, but my brain is screaming that I asked so I can’t until you say yes.
Aaaarrggh! My own stupidity! Yet, I can’t seem to stop touching myself. I’m covered in a sheen of sweat. I can taste the blood where I‘ve bitten through my lower lip. Do you know how hard it is to pull my fingers away from my cunt and my clit in order to type to you?
I so want! But I can’t. I want. Oh, I want. Please, be there, read this. Oh fuck! Fuck! How can I not? Please, my cunt wants to cum. My mind becomes scattered. Coherency dissolves.
You’d probably love to see my writhing and thrashing. Watching me lose control. Fighting myself. So desperate.
It flashes on my screen, the sweetest words I could hope for. ‘CUM FOR ME!’ I scream as my orgasm rips through me. Shredding all thought. ’Again, please?’
‘Why? That Cunt isn’t for your orgasm. It exists only to provide a place for my cock. I let you come just to remind you how empty your cunt is. A reminder of how complete my control of you is.’
‘Yes, Sir, but please? I‘ve held off for so long. But. Oh fuck!’ The countdown begins. The numbers slide across my screen. 5, 4, 3. There’s a long pause. Time stills. I can hear my body screaming in outrage. Now! I want it now! 2,1! A roar forces its way out of my mouth as the power of my long denied orgasm slams through my body again and again. My leg muscles tense, I can feel my cunt muscles, grasping and clenching on air. Hungry, devouring. Another wave crashes through me. ‘Oh thank you, thank you, thank you so much.’ If you were here right now, I’d fall before your feet and smother them in kisses of gratitude.
Have I pleased you?
I confess that now my cunt really is throbbing. I won’t be able to hold out much longer, I think, but if I have pleased you, then I hope I have earned that release.
I strip off my running shorts and lay back against the back of the chair. My feet go onto the footstool where I put my feet together and let my legs splay open. I can smell myself. I can feel the wetness inside of me and coating my cunt. For the third time this evening, I reach down and run my fingers around my clit. For the past hour or so, I’ve been ordered to edge, and I have done just that while I envisage the feel of your cock first pressing against me, gliding over my pussy, but more, it has to be more. I plant my knees down as my hips lift off the chair. Yes, yes I do remember, the thickness of you, the weight of your cock in my hand, the way it felt as it penetrates my cunt, or I should say your cunt.
I wish that you could see me here. Mouth parched, lips dry. For hours now I have built to this. I close my eyes and I feel the weight of you on top of me, sliding back and forth against me sliding your cock against your cunt. Teasing, edging me harder. My breathing starts to labour. I am yours. I know that to the core of my knowledge. I push up against your imagined cock. Touching my fingers to my clit and sliding them over the top, spreading the wetness more. I place my finger to my clit. I hear your voice inside my head. ‘Show me your cunt, whore’. I press my legs wider and my hips push higher in the air. ‘yes, sir, see your cunt, your good little cunt, see how much I like to touch myself.’ So greedy, so hungry. My hips start to pump uncontrollably against the air.
Oh sir, can you see your pussy. See what I give you, though it’s yours to take. We both know that’s the truth of the matter. It’s no more mine than the stars in the sky.
I hear again, ‘ You do like fucking yourself, don’t you?’ I can’t deny it. ‘Yes, yes sir,’ is merely a whisper as it passes my lips. I want to please you. I fuck the air, higher, harder and with each thrust, I picture you, but it’s more than that, I can feel your hardness, smell your scent, taste your lips against mine even though you’re not there.
The finger on your clit speeds up. I know it’s not mine, but yours. Yours to command, yours to use, yours to give away should you wish. I can feel the question forming in my mind, but can I chain the words together to ask? For the past few hours my pussy has been thrumming softly, distracting me just in the corner of my mind. The desire building but knowing I can’t let it go. Not yet. In my denial, I know I please you. The more I can give, the more you happily take and that only makes me want to push myself more, please you more, give more than you would ask. Not long now. I know it. Still hold off a bit more. A bit longer.
I shove a finger into my pussy, but have to remove it again. It isn’t satisfying enough after imagining your cock there. I close my eyes and visualise you again. Faster and faster. I can feel the tension building, I can’t hold it off much longer.
There, in my head, I hear it, the slap of your doubled up belt across my pussy. My whole body strains against itself. Wanting that sweetness again. I lick my lips. ‘Another please, sir.’ I push my legs fully open, straddling the chair, my lips open to all. This time I can hear it. The swish as it cuts through the air just before my body strains and I’m sure I’ve felt your belt again. All of this for you, Sir. ‘Please, Sir, May I? I am so very close. Please let me cum.’ I’ve tried so hard to please you. My hips fling themselves into the air, my finger flies over my clit. I’m panting now. ‘Please sir, May I come? Please? Please? For you?’
‘Cum for me, slut’ I hear you say. Come for me, and let me claim you forever. Come for me, and be my property always’. I hear your voice and my speed increases, my orgasm grows. No turning back now. I try to bite back the noises coming from my mouth, but I can’t trap all of it. A wave of pure pleasure shoots through me. My cunt muscles clench and I swear I feel your cock there. Again and again, the orgasms keep rocking through me. Until finally, I fall back against the cushions of the chair. My breathing slows, the tingling sensation buzzing through my body slowly recedes. I open my eyes. And though I’m alone in the room. I know you were there with me. Owning me. Using me. I lie back and smile. Yours.
Officer Shaw watches me as I slowly get out of the van. I quickly close the door behind me, hoping he doesn't see the mess that's inside.
"Do you know how fast you were going?" he asks me.
I shake my head and try to give him my most charming smile. "Why, no, officer," I tell him, "but I'm sure I wasn't going nearly as fast as you were when you had to catch up to me."
He scoffs, a break in his formality, before returning to his stone-cold stare. "I wouldn't have had to chase after your vehicle if it wasn't already violating safety laws."
"Well, we both know that's not the whole truth, officer." I wait a moment before continuing, relishing the confusion written on his face. "You were following me since that gas station I stopped at a couple miles back. I suggest you fess up and drop the sheriff act."
"Do you know that you can do what you do?" he asks cryptically, taking a step closer. "How long have you known?"
"Known what?" I ask sweetly. "That you were following me for several miles?"
Shaw chuckles, taking a step closer until he's leaning down close enough to where I can feel his breath on my face. "That you are special, different. You're a Convincer, eh? One little sentence and everyone's doing your bidding?"
I try to back away from him, but his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You'll be a good addition to the others," he says, more to himself than me. He smiles at me. "Don't you know you want to kiss me?"
Before I can process what's happening, I'm leaning towards him and soon his mouth is on mine. He pulls away and then hops into the front seat of my van while I stare at him like an idiot.
Mindlessly, I get into the passenger's seat. "What was that?"
Shaw chuckles as he starts driving away. "That, darling, was the work of a good Convincer playing off your emotions. You'll learn more where we're going."