It started with his hand sliding between my legs from behind as I lay half asleep and naked on the bed. He’d walked up behind me softly and let his fingertips trail over the soft flesh of my inner thighs, before abandoning my first tingles of arousal to instead trail his teasing fingers over the curve of my hip.
My familiar response? To meow and arch my back, my body unable to resist chasing his warm, clit tingling touch. It had been far too long since our last private flesh and emotion liaison and I was beyond keen to indulge in another.
His hands seem so large and all-encompassing when they are on me. Whether he is using the lightest, gentlest touch to tickle my cinched in waist as I lay on my side, or brushing my hair behind my ear, he ignites the passion in me every time. It’s when he wraps his fingers around my neck, tightly – I am in danger of actually setting alight there and then.
He took his time walking round the bed, as he does nothing faster than the pace he sets for himself. There is simply no rush; despite my body almost screaming out of its own impatient accord, demanding his naked presence next to me immediately.
I know for a fact he feasts upon that frustration. Even left unsaid, the slight curve of his full lips lets me know that he can tell what I’m thinking. That I fool myself into thinking I would like to have him at my mercy, when in fact it is his mercy upon me that I crave.
He stops by the side of the bed and finally he meets my eyes, eyes that have been hungry for the sight of him and are now voraciously scanning his body as he undresses painfully slowly. Painful for me to endure what seems an absolute age, each item of clothing falling soundlessly to the carpet yet resounding in my head like the clatter of a thousand plates on a tiled floor.
His eyes have captured mine, now. Daring me to drop my gaze first, from his endless pools of molten chocolate… the fires of lust building in them and their wicked sparkles glinting like surface bubbles.
He stops then; sits facing away from me on the edge of the bed. A guilty look confirms he is only in underwear now. Hair tied low with a band, the waves of jet black hair on this unknowing vamp cascading in a captured tail down his back.
He is removing bracelets and jewellery, setting them on the cabinet beside the bed.
I can’t help it, call it rebellious brat or testing of equals; I reach out and wrap my fist around his raven locks, around the band, slipping it from his hair and setting the magnificent mane free. Not without a cheeky tug first, of course. I know this will incite something in him, the challenge rising, a call to punish the disobedience.
The final assurance of consequences: my finger nails drawn down his back, from under the warmth of his now liberated hair, down to the contours of his shapely bottom.
He doesn’t do anything for what seems like an eternity, but is probably only a few seconds in reality.
The tension is almost a physical presence in the room, like live electricity crackling across my flesh, entering me with each rapid breath and filling my body with stomach tightening, clit tingling arousal.
He turns to look at me… his eyes are almost black they’re so dark.
“Spoilt. Little. Bitch.”
Each word punctures the barren air with an injection of malevolent threat, the punishment potential washing over me like a refreshing frothy torrent. I could die happy listening to those words. Being called such names. Having him attend to my utter brattiness. Awaiting correction and discipline.
“You know you’re going to pay for that.”
My eyes can’t hold his piercing, accusing gaze any longer. He already knows me, there is nothing more to discern in my eyes other than complete subjection to his will. I look down, my nakedness entering my eyes and becoming even more vivid to my consciousness, heightening my kinked arousal.
He turns and his hand is like lightning, reaching out and suddenly around my neck. I’m flat on my back, struggling to breathe. He’s straddling me and enjoying my sudden absolute suffering. I’m choking and would be begging if I could make any noise at all, but I can’t. There’s nothing but the panic, and the arousal and him. Always him looking at me, measuring my pain. Loving my suffering and loving me enough to give me the suffering I need and want.
He lets go. I rasp in the air, unable to take all I need in one breath.
“Sorry…”, I finally manage to croak.
His finger over my lips. His other hand in my hair, as loose as his now. Wrapping it around his hand and effectively restraining me with it, leaning on to that hand with my hair around is as his other hand starts a flesh exploration.
He’s holding me down with one and his other skims over my flat stomach with fingertips and long, rounded nails that he’s blessed with. Briefly circling my smooth pussy with unknown patterns of torture, before travelling up to the undersides of my large breasts.
Oh no… I know what he has in mind. I’m right, as this free hand of his moves up to pinch first one nipple, then the other. Hard. So hard I gasp out a squeak…
“Shhh….” is the last sound he makes at me before silencing my pained utterances with his hot mouth crashing on to mine, tongue raping every millimetre of tongue, teeth, under and over and everywhere in between. There is no fighting it. The contrast of hot, wet passion mingles in my senses with the sharp, fierce pain in my nipple that he grasps so mercilessly, causing my desire to overload and I emit urgent throbs from a suddenly slippery area between my legs.
I’m set free.
He finally removes that final piece of his clothing. He sets his personal weaponry at my soft spot and penetrates with all the ferociousness of one set to punish with a brutal, misunderstood love.
I am lost in the rapture.
We find each other yet again, meeting on that blissful plain of heightened emotion, where words are nothing and feeling is everything. There’s nothing more to say.
He fills me.
We stay connected with his hot flesh wrapped in mine and my arms weighed down by his above my head. Restrained, in such a moment that I could never be restrained in.
He sets me free as he holds me down. He lets me empty my feelings to him as he fills me with his cum. He punishes me with the most glorious of prizes. He exercises me by exercising no restraint.
The coming climax, a pinnacle of this physically punishing endeavour.
That climax merely a comma in the night’s sensual sentence.