Snippets of a dream

My kitchen, in the house in my head.
You on your knees. My hand on your chest, shoving with words and grief and the sheer power of my fury.

Your arms around my waist, restraining me, forcing my hands to stillness. My fierce almost sobbing breaths against you.

Biting kisses, still as much anger as love. Your hands on my face, my fingers digging into your shoulders.

Pressing you into the table, leaning into you and forcing your body bent back with the sheer force of my desire.

On your back, on my table, golden wood and paler gold skin. My body atop yours, cream and curves and heated slickness.

Riding you, breasts bouncing. Your hands reaching to them, my hands slapping yours away, taking you, using you for my own pleasure and watching your face a study in pleasure and agonizing need as I shake and tremble and cum above you.

Old Memory

Heart racing as you approach, sound of you, sight, and scent in that order.
Knees going weak like they always do the moment you touch me.
Your hands on my arms, fingers twisting in my hair and my breath coming in short, fast pants.

Turning me roughly, pressing me down, confusion and trying to respond but not sure what you want.
Hands hitting the wall, yours gripping my hip and pulling me out to you. Whining moan of anticipation as I realize what you intend.
Your zipper echoes, or maybe that's only in my head. It's taking everything I have not to press back into you, to plead to feel you.

...and then there you are, then you are inside me, filling me, toolongtoothicktoomuch and it doesn't matter because every part of me wants you more than any response from my body can convey and I am whimpering, pleading incoherently and you are dragging me up by the hair, warning me again, "Hush," and I can't not obey but I don't know how to be quiet right now, don't know how not to scream with you inside of me but I know that I can't, know that I have to be quiet and the inside of my head is screaming incoherently in need and pleasure and desire.

Suddenly, abruptly, you are gone and I am whimpering in loss without conscious thought of it, confusion and need and something almost like grief until you force me back around, pressing me to my knees and whisper roughly to clean you up.
My lips are eager, hungry, and almost immediately I am swallowing you, choking and pressing myself further onto you, taking in every inch before I draw back and suck every bit of the taste of me from your cock. I want to continue, want to taste your satisfaction on my tongue, but you are pulling me up, turning me again and I am confused and whimpering and hungry for you but in this space I am almost unable to argue or to disobey so I stand, turn, bend back over and am rewarded by your hungry mouth against my pussy, dragging another moan from my throat that I stifle only at the very last moment. I cannot stop the whimpering, though, and I know you will be angry but I can't stay completely silent in the face of the heat of your tongue against my clit and your teeth against my labia.

Abruptly, you pull away from me, an it takes every ounce of strength I have to keep from falling to your feet and begging you never to stop.

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.

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.

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.

You dreamed

Images you've given me, the dream in your head:
Crowded bathroom from your youth. Broken towel rack, bruised knees, cold wall against hot skin.

My mind responds with images from the home inside my mind. Images from the bathroom I've painstakingly built in my own fantasy world: the sunken garden tub surrounded by plants, 6' glass brick window over it, and granite and glass brick shower large enough for 3, with 5 rain-style shower heads and reclaimed teak benches. The long, waist-high counter running the length of the room, two sinks and a vanity seat comfortable enough to convince even me to wear makeup.

My mind responds with towel racks sturdy enough to use for barre, and soft rugs to ease bruisable knees.

I hear your voice whispering in my ear, the words that started this entire spiral:
"you cornered me in a bathroom and took what you wanted... and I didn't stop you". 

Again, my mind responds with a plot line, details to fill in your bare statement: an image of steam from the shower rising around you. The sensation of tile beneath my feet and the sway of my hips as I stalk toward you. The cornered look in your eye, half fear and half anticipation. Towel held in front of you like a shield from my nudity... or perhaps, from your reaction to mine. The slow, curving smile flitting across my lips- pleasure and anticipation and challenge- as I reach you and wrap one hand around the back of your neck, pressing myself into you as I pull you down to kiss me. There is no question, no offer here. My lips are a demand, and your response merely payment.

My imagination offers a tangled barrage of images: the towel dropping as your hands move to grip my arms, holding me in place against you. Your hands, your mouth, on my breasts, rough and hungry with long denial. My gasp and arch against you at the sharp pain/pleasure of teeth in sensitive nipples. My body bowed back against you, your hand beneath my lower back. 

Low ache of tile beneath my knees, your thighs beneath my hands as I drag you into my mouth. Low growl of contentment at the long-awaited taste of you. Teasing flicks of my fingers against your balls, choking fullness of each deep-throating press of my lips to your groin.

My legs wrapped around you, gripping your waist with the ease of nearly 3 decades of horseback riding. The sharp ache of you inside me, stretching me. The moaning warmth of your teeth against my throat. The dig of my nails in your back, coppery scent of blood in the air. 

In the shower. Hot water running over your skin, reddening it until a part of me waits for Beastie to split through your skin like a bad werewolf movie. The image should disgust me, and yet it doesn't.

Cold tile against my back, your hands gripping my ass. Thighs burning with strain of gripping you and cunt joyfully full. My nails digging into your shoulders, breasts bouncing, and the sheer animal lust on your face almsot enough to drag me over the edge into orgasm.

Outside, steam swirling around the room and the tile floor cold beneath my feet. My breasts pressed into the counter, body bent beneath you. Brief glimpses of your face in the mirror, eyes almost angry and hands rough on my hips. One hand lifting to my head, tangling in my hair, forcing my head back down until I am pressed down and helpless beneath you- your legs spreading mine, your hands forcing me down and over. Ache of my jaw against the cold counter, and the stark contrast of the heat of your skin, the heat between my legs. 

Over and over, the video loops in my head, until I squirm in my seat and fight the growing wetness between my thighs. 

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.

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.

Memory

Scent of you on my skin, catching me off-guard with a smile and knot of arousal as I attempt to fall asleep.

Weight of you against me, sweat on your face and the flickering amusing thought to lick it away.

Hot breath against the curve of my back and buttocks, paired with the pressure of your hands on my skin.

Fullness of you inside me, hand tightening in my hair until I reflexively arch and moan against you.

Brush of fingertips down my spine, teasing hints at what's to come until I shiver against your hands.

Taste of myself on your cock and soreness between my legs.

Pressure in my hair, on my head, forcing me down onto you until I choke and moan and grow wet again.

Sensation of your mouth on me, so close to too much and so deliciously right. Depth of your fingers in me, stroking me to the screaming point.

Burn of my thighs as I ride you, contentment on your face as I move over you, taste of your skin on my lips.

Squeeze of your hand on my throat and burn of your teeth in my breast as I writhe and cum against you.



Today, brief hints of your scent on my skin and residual desire building again for the taste of you.

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.

Bloody Lips

Turn my brain off. 

Wrap your fingers in my hair and shut down my mind. No more thinking, weighing, analyzing, judging. Just the painful weight of my body hanging by my hair from your hands as you remind me what, in this place, I am. 

Just the musky scent of your arousal against my face, the painful mashing of my lips and jaw against your zipper, hard enough to cut my lips and leave tiny spots of blood on the front of your pants. I wonder how, back at work, you will explain that. Will you tell them you cut yourself? Wrap a bandaid on your hand for verisimilitude? Or will you just tell them that you pressed a woman's face to your cock hard enough to cut her lips on your zipper?

Escaping my head

I need you today.
I need you to fuck me, to use me, to hurt me.

I need you to force me to my knees, so that the floor is gritty beneath them and the mild pain resonates with the tearing in my scalp from your grip on my hair.
I need you to force my mouth open with your fingers and replace them with your cock, to rape my mouth and use it as roughly as you want. I need you to choke me with it, to force tears of pain from my eyes with your hands in my hair and your cock in my mouth.

I need to taste you cum in me, hands forcing me against your groin until I am choking on you and my nose is smashed against your skin and I cannot swallow but know I have no choice.

I need you to leave your cock there, to feel you pat my head roughly and tell me that it isn't over, and to suck you hard again. I need the frantic desire to please you, soft tongue wrapping around you, stroking the head of you, aching to feel you harden and fill up my mouth again.
I need to feel that hardening, feel your hips thrust against my mouth as I strain to keep my teeth away from you, feeling them cut into my lips as I take their sharpness rather than inflict it on you.

I need to feel you pull out of my mouth, to see you smile at my little whimper of loss, my eyes widening as you yank me to my feet, turning my roughly and bending me over. I need to feel your hands on my ass, roughly spreading me apart, your feet kicking my legs wide, your cock roughly probing at my pussy. I need the sharp pain of your entrance without prepapration, the wet slap of skin against skin as you chuckle at the abundance of my arousal. I can't quite hear your rough whisper, but it sounds like, "slut"... or maybe that's my wishful thinking.

God, I need to feel you sliding into me, stretching me, filling me. I need to feel your hands on my hips, roughly yanking me onto you until every thrust is its own pain as well as pleasure. I can't help but writhe away from the pain of your cockhead bumping my cervix with every thrust, and my little whimpers of pain and pleasure only cause your hands to tighten painfully on my hips.
This, this is what I need. This feeling of being used- helpless, hanging from your hands, hurting and soaked with arousal and needing more and more.
I need this. Need the bruising strength of your hand on my hip, another carelessly toying with my breasts in an almost absent gesture of ownership. There is nothing here of concern for my pleasure, none of the tentative fumblings of a lifetime of boys hoping for another chance if they're only gentle enough, giving enough. I do not want gentle, and all I want to be given is this- your cruelty, your desire, your cock.

My mind is clear, a blank slate with only these sensations running through me. In this moment I am nothing but a body for you to fuck and it is a peaceful place, a place where I am succeeding at my only goal, and when I feel your rhythm change, speed up, your cock flexing inside of me and your hands tightening on my hips, I know that I have truly succeeded as you begin to cum.
This moment is my reward, this straining, bruising, pleasure of having pleased you, and as you drop your hands from me I can only fall limply back to my knees, boneless with submission and pleasure, my head turning langourously to gently lick you clean as your hands rests, quietly now, in my hair.

Birthday Treat

Yesterday, for my birthday, Boywonder gave me a beautiful gift.

He requested to be in service to me for the day.

He cooked for me, drove, opened doors, deferred to me in everything I wanted to do for the day, and ended the night with a long massage and delicious orgasm.

Afterwards- although admittedly after some discussion as I was too tired to even think about anyone/anything else! LOL- he requested an orgasm and I agreed.

He is beautiful when he is shy, hiding his face in my neck like a little boy, and blushing when I tell him how beautiful he is.

He is slightly ashamed of this side of himself, like so many men, but that hint of shame only makes it hotter for me- reminding him he'd had to 'earn' this orgasm through his service to me that day made him squirm delightfully. Telling him how much I'd enjoyed riding his face until I came powerfully (and loudly!) drew a low moan, and my fingers busy on his nipples and toying with his balls brought a symphony of small, shy, hot noises.

And when I guided his hand back to my groin, letting him feel the heat and reawakened dampness there? Oh, that sound was music.

Finally, after he'd cum, I drew him to me, nestling his face into my neck in that shy position he loves when feeling submissive, and brought myself to orgasm again, letting him see, feel, hear, and smell how hot his surrender made me.

It was a good birthday.

Collaring

I had a ritual planned.

Elaborate, beautiful, formality suiting the depth of my feelings for you.

Candles, ritual words, my hands on your body gentle and harsh and cruel and tender.

But when you came home, like a child unable to hide the sweets from herself, I sent you to find it. When you returned, stainless steel links in hand and looking a little dazed, I could only grin in delight.

I had meant to be stern, formal, but found myself instead laughing like a child.

The links shining in your hand, bright rings of stainless steel twisting, designed especially for you and woven in an intricate and beautiful pattern by my sister.

Mine.

Love and joy reflected in your eyes like candle flames.

Mine.

The soft grunt as you knelt before me, my hand warm on your throat.

Mine.

The clasp closing, silver-bright steel against your golden skin.

Mine.

Your hands on my skin, slowly removing my clothing piece by piece, the disrobing its own pleasure.

Mine.

Your skin against my skin, your body inside of mine, my hand wrapped around your collar.

Mine.

After, we simply held one another, skin to skin, heart to heart, breath to breath.

Mine.

Always.

To be continued

He looked at me with his eyes wide, his lips making that cute little 'O' of surprise.

'But I thought you were still mad at me and didn't want sex?'

I smiled, or at least I bared my teeth. Sometimes, he can't tell the difference.

'I've changed my mind... sort of.'

That was when the first nervousness entered his eyes. The first vague concern, not quite real fear yet. 'So...'

'Shut up, bitch,' I cut him off.

He started a little and fell silent, his eyes getting wider. I'm usually extremely lenient, to the point of spoiling him. This tone, this attitude, was new.

'Get on your goddamned knees, boy,' I told him, and smiled inside as he scrambled to obey, wondering exactly what he'd gotten himself into.

I unzipped my jeans, freeing my cock- 8" of beautiful opalescent silicone- and smiled when he licked his lips.

I love owning whores.

'Suck me, slut.'

I didn't need to say anything else, he was already leaning forward, licking his lips and wrapping his hot little mouth around me. God he's pretty like this! His full lips wrapped around my cock, his whole body arching into every pull of his mouth and throat.

I stroke his head lightly, drawing his attention with the unexpectedly gentle touch. 'Make sure you get it good and wet, baby, because it's the only lube you're getting tonight.'

I watch his eyes widen and feel something like contentment as his efforts at swallowing me redouble.

Such a pretty little whore.

Abruptly, I'm done with it, done with being sucked, and all I want is to fuck him- deep and hard and fast until he whimper and squeals and begs because it's too much.... because it will be.

Image

The image, a week old now, won't leave my mind: you, spread in naked glory across the warm hardwood floor of your home, the sunlight streaming behind you and bathing you in light as you wrap your legs around me and drag me deeper into you. Your mouth, that hot little 'O' of pleasure and need, the small sounds dragged from your throat by the movement of my cock inside of you. Your face flushed with arousal and your eyes glazed in desire...

I can't get it out of my head,and nor do I really want to.

Now

My body stretched atop yours, my cock moving in and out of you while you whimper,moan, and plead in a language I don't know.

My arms around your shoulders, giving me leverage for the fucking of you just as much as holding you close while I do so.

Your face turned half to me, dark eyes distant and turned inward toward your own pleasure... I want to take you and rip you away, rip you away from your pleasure and back to me, and I want for you to feel this, to enjoy this, forever.

You are riding me now, as I rest and let my hip recover from fucking you. Your body moving atop mine, my hands on your thighs and your head thrown back in pleasure and release, your are beautiful.

Your hand wrapped around your cock, lovely little cock, and pumping with the rhythm of your hips fucking yourself on my own, and I can only smile, groan my own pleasure and contentment while you whimper and ride me.

Soon your eyes are wide, begging, your hips and hands frantic as you whisper to me, "Now? Now?...."

Yes, darling..... Now.

Fantasy

He's moving under me, shifting, moaning, whimpering softly. I slow the galloping of my heart and the whimpers form words, moaned and indistinct pleadings, "Please, please don't stop." His small voice hitches. "Please don't stop fucking me. ...please, I need your cock in me." there's real fear in his voice, real need, and my every instinct screams to stroke him, gentle his racing fears, but that's not how to break him.

Instead I growl in his ear, letting months of frustration harshen my already cold voice. "Beg for it, whore. I don't think you're worth any more of my fucking time, but I like to hear you beg."
His response is immediate and gratifying, writhing deliberately now against me, his muscular back against my breasts, his tiny ass cupped in the curve of my hips, the movement not only moving him along my cock but the base of my cock against my clitoris. It feels amazing, but it isn't what I told him so I wrap my hand around his throat and use my weight to press him into the bed.

"I said beg, whore, not try to fuck yourself on my cock."

He whimpers, tries to raise his hips one last time before going limp, defeated. "Please..." he whimpers. "Please..."

It's not enough, not nearly enough, but with my hand wrapped around his throat and cutting off the blood to his brain it's all he can manage and I mock him mercilessly for it.

"More, bitch. Fucking beg me for it," I tell him, slowly arching my hips to pull out.

Desperate gurgles are my only answer, and I open my hand very briefly to allow him a teasing glimpse of air- air he uses to gasp desperately, "Please fuck me!"

They're the last words he'll manage for a while.

Gang rape

Standing, leaning against the wall with the others, watching her writhe, moan. Lewd comments spill from my lips in response to theirs, a growing, building web around her of ideas, expectations, fears, dreams…and soon, of actions.

My strap harness is tight around my hips, lacking only the weight of my cock but I can feel it in the back of my head and resting between my hips, guiding my more masculine stance against the wall, the objectification in my eyes, mocking arousal in my voice.

She is dragged to the room which we have prepared, whimpering, moaning, but not protesting once.

I am thankful for this, not sure that the cautious girl in my head could handle a true rape-scene just yet, and the boy in me is pressing the front of my face, shifting my expressions, ready to come out and to fuck this beautiful woman spread out before us like a banquet.

Only flashes now: pale skin kneeling before me, eager lips wrapped around my cock, soft baby-fine hair tangled in my fingers as I drag her along the length of me.

Dark skin against pale as she is slammed into, moved, a muffled scream of pleasure or pain but I don’t care right now and I doubt any of the others do, either.

My body angled against hers, and suddenly the boy is draining away and I am a woman about to fuck a woman and there is this moment of awkwardness, covered with dirty jokes as I learn the different angle necessary to fuck a woman rather than a man. A fumbling moment of strangeness, and then I am inside her. It doesn’t feel as natural as with a boy, and I am thrown off, missing my rhythm but struggling to find it for her. The angle is strange, the shape of her beneath me different- beautiful, warm-smelling and soft but strange and new.

Later, later, after the kissing, the cuddling, and the low-level flow of love, the strongest thing that I remember is the sense of camaraderie in the room with this helpless girl stretched beneath us. We were there, together, toward a goal and the sense of mutuality and camaraderie is tangible… and, yes, it included even she, our willingly unwilling victim, and the bounty of riches which she offered to us.

Shower sex fantasy

You masturbated today, thinking about me.

The knowledge warmed my groin, tingled in my fingertips, and set my mind to racing.

You were in the shower, you said, letting the hot water soak into your sore muscles and thinking about me.

Thinking about, you said, your hand on my throat, my body pressed between yours and the slick shower tiles.

I can see it, feel it- my breasts smashed into the tile, my cheek tight to the cool plaster, your hands on my hips, my waist, cupping my buttocks, wrapped around my throat and tight in my hair.

There are very few people I trust with their hands on my throat, their fingers in my hair, but in 3 years you have more than earned this and at the brush of even phantom fingers against my vulnerable throat I can feel the almost subliminal shiver running down my spine.

I can feel your hands moving along my body, the steam of the shower opening my skin until I could almost sink into you. I can feel the heat of you, hotter than water pounding into my

skin, against my back, your legs molding to mine and opening them with that casually

assuming insistence which should infuriate me but with your hand on my throat seems only

natural. I can feel the weight of you pressing me forward, my breasts painfully tight

against the wall, my pelvis following yours without conscious thought tilting and opening to

you and to the length of your cock pressed against my ass.

Gods I want this! In even the writing I can feel my body shifting, opening, dampening in preparation for you inside me, and inside my head I can feel the head of you nudging me

open, the slow stretch of my body opening to you, opening for you, feeling you fill me with

that damned patience that I both love and hate about you.

More, more, I want to scream at you- Now! But with your hand on my throat all I can do is whimper and rock my hips back into you, begging wordlessly for you to fuck me.