Yes

It has been too long, beloved, since I have tasted your submission on my lips.
It has been too long since your eyes have darted from mine, shy and downcast.
It has been too long since you have bitten your lip, your voice an aroused, embarrassed whisper: "Yes, Ma'am".

Your body stretched across mine, across my lap with your hands in the small of your back, wringing nervously but your cock warm and half-hard trapped between my thighs. My hands rubbing your rounded ass, teasing you while tiny whimpers and moans escape your lips and your hips move against me whenever you can't quite help it. The first blow- not too hard but your jerk and low moan are symphonic as I'm getting steadily more aroused against you. The next, harder, and the next. Backing off a little, rubbing and teasing and stroking your perineum until your wriggle and shiver before another flurry of spanks. Your ass reddening against me, heating up, your sounds becoming more anguished and yet your body relaxing against me, submitting to my hands to my touch, to my will.
You have no idea how beautiful that you are right now, no idea how much I want you just yet.

It is later, and the toys are set aside, the bed cleaned off, and you have licked the cum from your fingers with embarrassed, pleased eyes and hidden your face against me.
It is later and you are still sticky against your belly and the ache in my cunt is threatening to turn to pain as I lie back, beckoning your face between my legs, dragging your head where I want you, placing you against my engorged and throbbing clit.
Your eager obedience thrills me, as always. The avid hunger with which you approach me, tempered with the strength of your desire to please me and slowing you down to approach as I prefer. The kisses up my thighs, cheeks pressed firmly against the ticklish skin, heated breath against the hyper-sensitive flesh until I am moaning in wanton desire. Quick flick of your tongue, teasing and hungry as you taste my arousal, taste the soaking proof of my desire for you. Your groan louder than my own moan as you press into me, licking and sucking and kissing and teasing my clit with flicks of your tongue and gentle touches of your lips.
Your tongue sliding between my engorged lips, pressing deeply into me, circling my lips until my fingers curl around your neck and press you into me in clear demand.
Your lips against my clit, your tongue circling me until I am moaning and arching into you and it isn't going to take much longer, my love, before......

Yes.

Yes, this.

Your face pressed between my legs, your tender submission in my hands, your head resting on my thigh in complete surrender as I shake and moan against you, riding waves of pleasure and need and love and desire.

Yes, my love.

Yes, this.

In Praise of the Vulnerable Man

This is just made me cry.
This is my husband. This is my Rush. This is my Mate, who is not afraid to cry in my arms.
This is the man I love, whose strength to be vulnerable allows me to give the same to him.
This man who trusts me enough to be vulnerable, is the man in whose arms I can be.

You are the bravest man I’ve ever met 
You unreluctant at treacherous ledge 

You are the sexiest man I’ve ever been with 
You, never hotter than with armor spent 

When you do what you do to provide 
How you land in the soft as you fortify 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 

You, with your eyes mix strength with abandon 
You with your new kind of heroism 

And I bow and I bow down to you 
To the grace that it takes to melt on through 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 
This is a thank you for letting me in 
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man 

You are the greatest man I’ve ever met 
You the stealth setter of new precedents 

And I vow and I vow to be true 
And I vow and I vow to not take advantage 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 
This is a thank you for letting me in 
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man

I love you. I trust you because you trust me.
You are my safety because you understand the courage it takes to bare your soul. 

Quiet Night In

We have been teasing, toying, and playing all day.
Text messages and pictures, low laughter on the phone. I know that you want me, and it is mutual my love.
But first, there is life to put to rights: cooking for the rest of the week, caring for our child, cleaning up the house, a shower and hair dye for me, shaving with long, slow strokes of the razor until my skin is pink and smooth and as soft as massage oil can make it.
There is the shower for you, and clean sheets for the bed, dealing with the small mountain of clean laundry.

But finally, finally, there is me, and there is you and there is nothing else.
There is your body against mine, the wild-shy look on your face and the predatory glint in mine.

There is my low chuckle, "I think you've missed me, sweetheart," and your whispered affirmative.
My order to welcome me back, by kissing every inch of my body.
Long, slow moans as you obey, beginning at the arches of my feet. I am infernally ticklish, and detest being tickled, but in the years we've been together you have learned to touch me without my most dreaded response, and my low, throaty sounds are entirely those of pleasure tonight.
Unsurprisingly, you linger at the juncture of hip and thigh, teasing my warm pussy with tiny kisses and heated breath, before following orders and moving on.
Across the flat planes of my belly, in the hollow of my hip and curve of my waist, along the sensitive undersides of my breasts and gentle teasing kisses to my hardened nipples.
Long, slow caresses of your tongue to my neck, until I grab your face and drag you in for a kiss of my own. Your almost-innocent smile of pleasure, thrilled at pleasing me and my answering grin of delight.

Kneeling across my chest now, giving me the show I requested. My hands roaming your body, teasing your nipples, stroking your thighs, toying with your balls as you stroke your cock. My fingers in your perineum, tongue flicking across your cockhead, your indrawn breath.
"Cum on my breasts, love," my quiet order.
Your moaning assent, head thrown back and eyes closed. Your body spasming, heat splashing across my breasts and trickling along my throat. My soft sound of pleasure.

Your body, lying across mine now, cooling cum sticky on our pressed-together chests. My body moving against yours in demand.
"You're not finished yet, love." The words alone enough to harden you again, but not so large now, not so thick.
I am 120lbs and built to proportion. I love to be fucked hard, but my cervix can't take another round of rough sex tonight, not when I seem to only ever attract well-endowed lovers and my Rush is certainly no exception.
We have learned, though, that the second erection is not so long, not so hard, and much easier on my still-sore body.

"Ride me, my love. Fuck me until I cum."
I love the eagerness on your face at my words, love your joy in pleasing me, in pleasuring me.
I love the ease with which you slide into me, no stretching now, no soreness or pain. Only the warm weight of your body inside of mine, the joyful fullness of your cock in me.
Your hips moving, face intent, my fingers finding my clit almost unnecessary because you keep hitting that spot, keep stroking me over and over as you kneel up with your hands on my breasts and your hips pounding into me but there is no pain now, only pleasure, and soon I am spilling over the edge and moaning against you as I shake and cum and cry out your name.

Solitary Intimacy

All that Rush wanted for Father's Day was for us to ride together.
We just bought him a motorcycle, and we finally got my love running again. Finally.
Saturday was a clusterfuck of love and pain and joy and sorrow and deep, deep grief.
But in the end, late that night, after joy and companionship in the brightly lit garage with the scent of brake fluid and laughter, I rode her home.

Sunday morning, I slipped to my knees so that Rush could place the collar around my neck. On these days, we are in service to one another: one Mother's Day & my birthday, he to me. On Father's Day & his birthday, I to him. It settled around my throat, cool and slightly heavy and a joyful reminder of my promise to the man I love.

An hour or two later, we hit the road together for the first time.

I have never ridden with a partner, and only ridden with another person twice. A random friend in Florida, and my roommate in Alabama. That was nearly 7 years ago. I have always ridden alone, for the nearly 10 years Skya has been mine.
I have not even been on her in 2 years, and it took a little while to remember basic lane discipline, to return the muscle memory of throttle and clutch and front brake, rear brake, shifting with my feet, leaning and turning and bracing against the highway wind.
Rush rode behind me, his faster bike and more recent riding deferring to my cruiser and long time away from the road.

We had our fits and starts, a clog in the petcock and her determined slowing despite everything I had on the throttle and a desperate slap to the choke before it abruptly cleared and we shot forward into the sunshine with Rush fast behind us.

The highway is my least favorite riding: cars and hot asphalt and traffic inching too close to my fenders and wind shoving me along the lane and nothing worth looking at for hours on end. But at the north end of 400, off of exit 17, GA-9 opens into a beautiful, curving path to my favorite mining town of Dahlonega.

It was bliss to ride again, and a new type to ride with the man I love, my best friend.
Riding together is a solitary form of companionship. You are together in an incredibly intimate manner, depending on one another for direction, leadership, protection, and laying your life in your partner's hands. You follow them into curves and across bridges, trusting they know the route, trusting they will not lead you astray or into danger.... and yet it is also solitary. We do not have the fancy new helmet with the CB radios or bluetooth phone access. We ride solitary with only earbuds playing our separate music and the singular thoughts passing across our eyes. We check on one another in mirrors and with quick turns of our head, but every curve is taken alone and every dapple of sunlight hits only our eyes as we ride together.

Solitary intimacy as the wind passes around us, against us, as each curve leans ahead of us and we judge alone at what speed we can take it. Singular companionship as we choose the route together and ride alone along it, every one of the million split-second decisions required on these curvy mountain roads decided alone and yet weighing into the decision of the other.

Pulling up beside one another at stoplights, stop signs. A nod, a grin, hand signals our only communication and yet we are as in sync in this moment as in the throes of sex.
It is almost a disappointment to arrive in Dahlonega and park our bikes side by side in the space, despite my aching back and vibrating ass. It is almost a loss to regain speech and lose the solitary intimacy of riding together.

Fortunately, we have another 4 hours of riding ahead of us...

(Stopped for a picnic on the way up)

Loving and Fucking

You taste like sweat and the indefinable scent of hot engine. I can smell the motorcycle on you, smell it on myself. If I were a girl, if I were fastidious, if I cared, I would probably be repulsed.
I am not a girl, I am not fastidious, and I was raised by bikers. This scent is comfort to me, and thanks to Wolf it is sex as well.

I have not smelled this on a lover in 10 years, not smelled the mechanic scent of hot metal and engine grease in the skin of the man I will fuck, and it makes me a little silly, a little giddy.
Oh, you are not Wolf, thank Goddess. You are not the man who was once my lover and who broke my heart as only a child's heart can be broken.
You are my husband, my Mate, the man who has chosen to stand by my side through sickness and health, pregnancy and breastfeeding, wealth and poverty. You are the man whose hands are in my hair but my heart is in your teeth and I no longer fear that you will bite down.

We are playing in the bed like children- teasing, nipping, kissing, and laughing. This is what I forgot once that sex could be like. This is what you taught me again. My teeth in your shoulder, your mouth on my nipple. My gasp, your moan.
The taste of sweat on your skin, the weight of you against me.

Your mouth between my legs, long-anticipated. Squirming, moaning, joyous and laughing and loving.

Your hands pinning me, changing the tone, my laughing, biting response.
Your body inside of mine, instinctive arch and moan against you.

Your body pounding into mine, my nails deep in your back. Every stroke slaps my cervix but for once it feels almost good and I do not shift my hips away.

Your hand on my head, lifting me, forcing me to watch you fuck me, watch your cock slide in and out of my so-willing pussy.

My breasts bouncing with every thrust, almost aching with arousal.

My hand on my pussy, teasing my clit as you fuck me, fast rising sharp shaking crest of orgasm with you deep inside me.

Pressed face-down now, your hand between my shoulderblades holding me down, your body slapping against mine, your free hand teasing my ass until I squirm and moan against you.

Your rhythm increasing, your thrusting harder until I squirm from pain as much as pleasure but I want this, want this climax, wants your body spasming inside of mine...

Until finally, together, we come down, curled together, sweating and tired and sated.

Morning Pleasure

Morning. Waking is slow, hazy, full of snoozes and press of naked warmth.
Grey dawnlight slowly filling the room, and the curl of your body against mine.
Skin to skin, back to beating heart, breasts lying heavily on your arm, drowsy half-hard heat against my ass. I am warm and safe and loved in this nest of pillows and high-thread count sheets, down comforter over me and your body tight to mine.

I almost don't remember it happening, it seems only natural, only normal, for your arm to wrap around the curve of my waist, stretch between my breasts, press into my sternum, and your fingers to wrap around my throat gently. It seems only natural, only right, for your hand to find the base of my throat and squeeze a little. And of course, it is only natural that my breath escapes in a rushing low moan, and my entire body arches back into you. It is only right that my legs part, ass grinding into you in reflexive plea.

I love this feeling- the heat of your body against mine, the langorous hum of my arousal infiltrating muscle and vein and wire-tight nerves. When your cock hardens against me, it's simple reflex to roll my hips against you, positioning you against my already-wet slit. When your hand tightens in my throat, it's automatic for mine to find the bedstead and cling there as though tied. And when your teeth find the back of my neck, there is little that could stop me from pressing back into you and pulling you inside of me hungrily.

Oh, I know that we will be running late soon, know that we could be interrupted any moment by a waking child, know that the slow easing of darkness presages a frantic morning... but right this moment, with your teeth in my skin and your fingers pressed into my throat, I cannot bring myself to care. Nothing in the world is as important right this moment as the fuzzing of my brain, the brief temporary quiet in my too-busy mind. Nothing in the world is as important right now as the slow slippery slide down the rabbit-hole into peaceful submission.

And then I am stretched tight around you, back arched away, connected only at your cock deep inside me and your hand wrapped around my throat. Every stroke seems to reach deeper like this, and I am wetter than I have any idea how I’ve managed so early in the morning, I who dislikes morning sex. But the slickness between my thighs gives lie to my usual disdain for it and my panting moans are hardly noises of contempt or impatience.
When you flip me onto my stomach, thighs tight against you and ass pressed into your hips, my entire body surrenders into yours. This position, physically comfortable yet completely helpless, is my hands-down favorite. I love the depth you reach inside of me, the inability to escape your hands, your body, your searching mouth and biting teeth, your cock heavy and full inside of me. I love the helplessness, love the angle, love the sensation of you filling me against my tightened pussy.

...and then, without warning, you are gone from me and there is only the lingering memory of your teeth in my skin as you whisper in my ear that you will finish this tonight, and far less gently.

Friday Night

Curled at your feet, the sense of comfort and safety is enough to allow some of the previous week's stress to slowly fade. Your hand in my hair, awareness of the rest of the world fading away like the tide retreating under the moon. Soft skin over hard muscle, your thigh beneath my cheek. Gentle weight of your tumescent cock against my face.
I can hear the TV in the background: Irish accents, gunshots, and a woman's voice. I can't bring myself to care. I can't bring myself to notice anything except the softness of the fleece beneath my knees, the weight of your hand in my hair, and the taste of your cock just outside of the reach of my lips.

The warmth of kisses, nibbles, and nips to your groin. Not touching your cock, not yet. Slow sucking kisses to your balls, rolling them gently around in my mouth. Leisurely toying with you; there is no hurry tonight. Nuzzling your cock, enjoying the heat and half-hardness against my face. Gentle nips to the crease of hip and groin, slow licking strokes to your perineum.
It is a slow, pleasant eternity before I take your cock into my mouth, suck you in slowly. Even this is gentle, leisurely. We have all the time in the world tonight, and I am tired and more interested in this focus on you without haste or urgency.

Your kilt is up around your hips now, my chemise brushed aside in your eagerness to toy with my wet pussy. You know what sucking you does to me, know the wetness you can expect without having ever touched me.  Your fingers are eager against me, skimming across my outer lips until I moan and rock my hips in wordless plea. Fingertips barely touch me as my inner lips part for you, allowing you easy access to my slippery center and coating your fingers with my arousal. A single hard press and your fingers are inside me, stretching me, and I am arching into you and screaming, low and wordless, offering myself, begging for more. When your fingers stroke that spot in me, my knees go weak, and I fall forward onto the table, only braced arms catching me in time. The sudden loss of you inside of me pulls me to my feet, whimpering inarticulately and starting to turn to you in confusion and loss but then your hand is in front of my face, fingers sticky with the scent of me and I am licking them eagerly, dragging your fingers into my mouth and sucking them clean with something close to desperation.

Bent back over, your hand between my shoulderblades a silent command as you enter me and I am writhing, whimpering, trying to be still but stretched so full and aching with it. Arched like this, your every stroke strikes my cervix and it hurts but with your hand pressing me into the table and your legs forcing mine open wider I almost don't care; I just want to please you.
Your hips are rough against mine, and I am losing my balance on my toes, arched to keep you inside of me. But every time I start to fall forward your hands are on my hips, dragging me back relentlessly and I am opening to you, arching into you until you drag me back... you sprawled on the couch and my body bent backwards over you. Your hand on my throat, on my breast, voice rough as you whisper into my ear to fuck you, please you, and my hips moving desperately to obey as I am stretched helpless and open to you. The utter helplessness of it drags me further under, and the burn in my thighs, growing soreness in my pussy: they are irrelevant against your pleasure and this delicious satisfaction of being completely used.

Finally, I am on my knees again, choking on you and my arousal is running down my thigh as I suck you. My hand is tight to my lips and my teeth are cutting into them, but it doesn't matter against the sounds that you're making. Somewhere far off, I know that I'll regret this in the morning, that I'll be sore, but I don't care right now when your hand is in my hand, urging me deeper and faster until I am choking on you with every stroke, deep throating you as often as I am able. With my free hand toying with your balls and stroking your perineum, I can feel you tightening, readying, and I am hungry for you. Speeding my own pace and deepening every stroke until my throat burns and my neck aches, I finally feel you arch into me and press me furhter down until my only choices are to swallow or choke and I swallow you eagerly, pressing myself as hard onto you as I can to simulate the last, deep stroke inside me as you cum.

Finally, I feel you start to come down, and with a secret smile, I stroke my tongue over your frenulum gently, softly, teasing the last shuddering ripples of pleasure from your orgasm before laying my head on your thigh and looking up at you with teasing innocence. "Feel better, Sir?"

I Want.

I am hyper and bouncy today, and I want to tease you.

I want to stretch you out and tie you down and make you helpless beneath me.
I want to drag my body down yours until your eyes go wide and sapphire dark. I want you to feel the tips of my breasts against the skin of your chest, want to trace my nipples across your face while you writhe and strain and beg wordlessly beneath me.

I want to make you helpless.

I want you to arch against the ropes and try to reach me while I laugh and nip at your open mouth.
I want to slide your lips against my own and suckle them gently, then nip you and giggle at your flinch. I want to breathe along your cheek until you shiver and run my fingertips along your jaw and down your throat. I want to wrap my hand around your neck, closing it until you fight me instinctively. I want to press my fingers in until your face goes tingly from the blood backed up in your brain.

I want to make you fear me for a moment.

I want you to see the giggling madness behind my eyes; the part of me that doesn't care if you're wounded at the end of my fun, the part that will lick your blood of of my fingers with something like glee.
I want to watch you flinch when I close my teeth on your windpipe, want you to remember the strength of the human jaw from those anatomy classes so long ago. I want you to taste the copper of fear on the back of your tongue while I revel in the memory of blood.

I want to make you want me.

I want to ride you, want to feel you inside of me whle you writhe in helpless lust beneath me, merciless against my whims. I want to roll my hips against you in a belly dancer's  tease, dragging you almost outside of  me and then rolling back down until you bottom out and fill me up. I want to move against you, teasing and torturing and opening myself for you. I want to taste your sweat on my skin, and I want to lean down and close my teeth in your throat as you fuck me.

Predator Sex

The predator is pacing, restless in the cave behind my eyes.
I've been giving her small outlets with teeth and hands and the taste of your neck beneath my lips, but she is hungry now and disinclined to wait longer.

Your small moans at every scrape of my teeth are plenty to keep her attention, and she has been just behind my eyes and nipping at my psyche for hours now. Finally, when we reach the bed, she is tired of waiting. The immediate surrender in your face, the slackness of your jaw and the heavy lidding of your eyes drives her to the fore of my mind, takes control of my hands until you are lying  back across our bed and I am atop you and eyeing your neck with a lust somewhere between blood and sex.

There is no gentleness to me tonight. No soft kisses, and gentle nips. There is no kindness in my eyes or softness in my jaw tonight. Only the weight of my body pressing yours down, the pressure of my teeth in your skin. Tonight, there is only the purring satisfaction at your soft sounds of pain and the snarling pleasure in your tiny gasps of fear.
Tonight, there is the taste of your fear on my tongue and the knowledge that in this state it is easy to go too far, to bite too hard.
In this state, the tight pressure of my teeth around your nipple falls so easily into the taste of blood.
In this state, the soft texture of your belly is an almost unbearble invitation.
In this state, the vulnerability of your cock breeds a desire not to pleasure, but to rip and tear.

I know you can tell. I can see in your face, in the tightness around your eyes when you see the hungry way I eye your erection, that she is angry and hungry and wants to hunt.
You are my Mate, but tonight, you are prey.

I can't bring myself to ease the pressure of teeth scraping just a bare increment too hard against your cock. I can't bring myself to stop biting down- more gently than I desire!- on the round bulbs of your balls. I can't bring myself to be gentle tonight with the most vulnerable part of your body, so I finally give up.

Drawing myself back up your body is an exercise in restraint, an exercise in resisting the temptation to take a chunk out of your skin and revel in the taste of meat on my lips. Only when I reach the top of you and sink my teteh into your neck, do I realize that I am wet. Only when I taste the coppery scent of your fear do I realize that I am hungry for more than blood and meat.

Only when I see the barest flinch and low gutteral moan when I fill myself with you, do I allow the predator to slip her chain a little more. Only when I feel the thickness of you sliding inside of me, do I arch myself over you, the tips of my breasts dragging across the skin of your chest with every thrust of your hips.
Only when I am riding you, filling myself with your heat, do I let myself close my teeth on your throat and growl the predator's hunger and lust.
 Only when I feel your shudder beneath me and harden even more do I let myself smile and ride you to oblivion with my hand around your throat.

Prey Dreams

The woods around me are cool and green, but I don’t notice- not today. Rarely am I prey- I have reminded lovers more than once that I am a predator in my own right- but in this moment I am the frightened rabbit Rush named me for, bounding through the woods with fear hot on my heels.

Fear isn’t the only thing. My feet are pounding, bare into the cool earth, and while I know my own steps are loud, they aren’t as loud as those behind me. So rarely am I the one pursued in my dreams, but today, I am. Branches slap at my exposed skin, leaving welts of their own before you even begin to draw close, and every bush I dodge and tree trunk I leap seems to reach out and exact its own toll for passage… or perhaps it seeks to slow or catch me for your use.

I can hear your steps behind me, over my own labored breathing, and a glimpse back is enough to make me stumble. That stumble is enough to be my undoing, slowing me just enough for an animal leap and outstretched hand to force me to my knees, scrambling painfully in the dirt, trying desperately to rise before… but it is too late, and the full weight of your body lands across me, driving the air from my lungs with a surprised grunt.

I’m nearly useless until I can breathe again, able only to draw my knees up in a pathetic attempt at something between the fetal position and kicking you away. Your only response is a growling laugh- as much the beast as the man- and a deft yank at my legs to force them back down while I choke and wheeze and try to curl away from the heat and weight of your body across me. I won’t mention the secret whimpering desire to curl into you, instead.

My breath is slowly coming back, gasps of oxygen slowly drawing strength into my limbs, but my legs are already pinned by your weight and my wrists by your hands. Your face is nearly atop mine and I want to snap and bite like the captive animal I am at this moment, but the snarl on your lips is enough to freeze me in place.

I am reasonably certain that if I call a true halt to this, that you will. Reasonably certain that if I call ‘Red,’ that you will stand, help me up, and all will be finished. But there is a kernel of doubt in my mind, and that kernel  freezes my limbs and wets my thighs.

The ground is hard beneath my back, little sticks and sharp edged leaves cutting into my skin and I know I am bleeding from at least one of the scratches that line my body like whipmarks. I know it in a much more visceral sense when your snarl abruptly becomes a growl, your face lowering to my neck, dragging my wrists as you slowly smell down the length of my bare body, causing goosebumps in a strange cocktail of fear and slowly growing desire. The first bleeding scratch you find is along my ribcage, ironically just below the old barbed wire scar and your tongue is oddly raspy against it. For once, it doesn’t tickle and in fact makes me writhe in pain until you clamp down on my skin with sharp teeth, freezing me again with a gasp and small whimper.

In this moment, I feel more like prey than I may have ever before, frighteningly unsure of what exactly you intend but only certain that I have little to no choice in it. I am embarrassingly grateful that your teeth are relatively gentle, and as your cheek grazes my side, my breathing speeds up again but for entirely different reasons.

I know you can hear the change, and the touch of your face against my skin as you explore my body with the most primitive of senses holds a note of cruel playfulness now, knowing that my body will respond to you despite my mind’s screaming fear… or perhaps because of it. Abruptly, the teasing caress is replaced by your teeth again, this time in the soft skin of my belly. My strangled gasp is closer to a barely restrained scream, and I know you can smell the abrupt switch to fear-scent along my body. Your reaction is clear and completely primal as your body sinks into mine, hands tightening on my wrists with bruising force, and your teeth sinking into my skin with enough force to make me writhe and scream against you in something between need, pain, and utter terror.

Finally, finally, your teeth slowly release the now well-marked skin of my belly, leaving behind a scatter pattern of rounded teethmarks and a faint trembling throughout my body. Only now do you move farther down my body, and the trembling is of a different sort when your cheek grazes my exposed hip and your teeth skim the hollow between hip and mons.

I hear your breathing change now, scenting the steadily growing arousal between my thighs and it triggers a change in my own- high, keening whimpers of fear and desire as my mind flips between desire for your mouth on me and fear of your teeth in the most sensitive skin of my body.

The graze of your teeth across my labia are enough to make me cringe, and your growl is closer to a chuckle now, which is less than reassuring to my panicked heartbeat.Twisting my wrists desperately, I am thankful that you are distracted enough by the scent of my arousal that your hands have loosened, allowing me to yank my hands free and scramble from beneath you when you rear back in surprise.

In a second I am on my feet and moving but fruitlessly. Without bothering to stand, you you simply leap at me before I can run, bringing my back down hard enough to see stars. Even more vulnerable now, prone in the crunching leaves I try fiercely to wriggle away, but succeed only in settling your weight more firmly across my body. Your hands pinning my arms now will leave bruises without question, and as I buck against you, I can feel you growing harder against my exposed ass from the writhing kiss of skin on skin and the intoxication of complete power over me. Redoubling my efforts, I only earn myself the sharp, bruising pain of your teeth in the back of my neck.

The force of your teeth in my neck flips a switch in the deeply primal, feline part of my psyche and I drop limply beneath you in surrender. I can feel your mild surprise and confusion in the increased pressure on my arms anticipating a trick, but there is no trick now. Your teeth in the back of my neck give the most primitive aching corner of my psyche a simple message: He wins. This is earned.

With a low moan, my head drops to the forest floor and I writhe beneath you in blatant invitation, arching my neck slightly into your teeth. Despite the lust I can now smell equally clearly on you, your suspicion remains and my arms are dragged behind my back to be pinned one handed while you lift yourself slightly from my body and drawing a whimpering moan from me. Lifting my hips in primitive request, I am surprised by the sharp smack to my ass until it’s quickly followed by one large hand pressing my face back into dirt when I lift it in startled inquiry. There is a potent reminder in the rough force that regardless of any change of heart, initiative today is unwelcome and control of this moment resides firmly and completely in your hands. A soft whimper escapes my throat as I subside back to the ground, fighting my own urge to press into you. Your chuckle is nearly human now, and the hand that runs caressingly down my side is a clear reward for my obedience, which draw another small whimper from my throat, but this time in gratitude for the gentle touch.

I revel a little now in the vulnerability of my position- naked, prone, wrists pinned in one of your hands at the small of my back, and your body easily pinning mine. The heat of your skin and scent of it rubbing into mine is enough to make me moan and ache to arch into you, even as your legs roughly part mine and I can feel the hard length of you pressed against my ass. No fear of punishment or desire for obedience is enough to stop my hips from rising to meet you, and even your free hand roughly pressing me back down elicits not the slightest contrition.

Finally, finally, I feel the head of you nudging me, opening me, and when my inner lips finally part and you slide inside of me the sound pulled from my throat is matched only by your low sound of satisfaction.

I am physically incapable of stillness now, not with the heavy heat of you inside of me, stretching and filling me, and shortly I am writhing beneath you and matching every pump of your hips. I can feel you stroking my g-spot with every thrust, but your hand forcing my face back into the ground reminds me once more that my input here is not encouraged, and for the moment I am simply prey to be taken and enjoyed. I can’t not rock my hips to meet yours, can’t stop the steady stream of moaning whimpers spilling from my parted and dirt-covered lips. I may not be able to control any of this interaction, but neither fear nor obedience can stop me from responding to it, can stop the steady stream of pleading sounds ripped from my throat as you fuck me.

I have no idea how much time passes, no idea when  my body finishes adjusting to yours and the movement of my hips roughens, deepens and matches yours. I have no idea when the painful pressure of your cockhead against my cervix becomes almost pleasure, or if I just stopped caring due to the endorphin rush. I have no idea when sweat and arousal mixed to create the potent, slippery scent permeating the air around us, or when you released my hands and let me brace myself for your thrusts.

I have no idea when the last shred of control fell from us both, or when your teeth found my neck again. I have no idea how much time passed before I felt the telltale speeding of your hips, the change of your thrusts to cross the line into pain, or the clenching of your hands on my hips. I only know the effect on me, only know the anticipation that rocked my hips to match every painful pleasurable stroke. I only know the tightening of your hands on my hips- another set of bruises I anticipated with pleasure now- and the growling roar pulled from your throat as you spilled yourself in me.

I only know the mini-orgasm that tightened my body as my lover’s orgasm always does, and the heated collapse of your body across mine, spilling me again into the dirt. I only know the tight wrapping of your arms around my body, pinning me close to you and ignoring my half-hearted attempts to move. I only know the chuckling, raspy words spoken with an effort and growled into my ear, “Who says you’re done yet?”