I know you’ll tell me to ‘relax’ a thousand times. And I’ll smile and snicker a little at myself, and tell you I’m fine; I just can’t believe you’re right there in front of me. And, Ican’t believe how much I want to touch you.
Yes, I will be too chicken to say it out loud. But I’ll be thinking it really hard. The question is, what am I going to do about it? Nothing. That’s up to you. It’s not that I’m passive. My decision has already been made. The rest is your call.
Maybe you can start by sliding your hand under the table to still my bouncing knee.
That will probably be all the encouragement I’ll need. The skin that you cover with your hand will sizzle, even through my jeans. The heat will radiate from your palm, up my thigh, and swell and linger, before rushing into my lungs and forcing itself out as a gasp.
My eyes will roll closed for a second. Will you be expecting that reaction? I wonder what you’ll do?
That’s up to you, too. But in my image, when I look at you again, maybe I’ll put my hand on yours, or maybe we’ll just get up and leave. Real quick. Yes. In fact, let’s hurry.
You drive. I don’t care where we go.
Oh, wait. This is my town, isn’t it? Well, take me to your hotel room. Because that way, you’ll be in your own territory, temporary as it may be.
What will we say to each other on the ride over? I don’t think we’ll talk much. The air in the cab of your truck will be too thick with anticipation and urgency. It’s going to be awkward in the hallway and outside your door. Still no talking, just half smiles and shy glances as you slide the keycard and get the green light. But as soon as we step inside and the door closes behind us, I’ll stretch my arms up around your neck and we’ll kiss.
And that’ll be it for us, I think. We’ll be frantic.
Yes, let’s be frantic. I don’t need romantic eye gazing and heartbreakingly slow foreplay. We can do that later. I don’t even care if we make it all the way into the room, or just end up on the floor outside the bathroom door. Let’s just wrestle out of our jeans and connect as quickly as possible. I may even grab hold of you the second you spring free of your zipper, and tell you to ‘get over here’, and lead you where I want you. Which is right here, inside me.
How many thrusts will it take? I know it won’t take me long. I know I’ll be thrusting back just as hard. I’ll grit my teeth and grab your ass, and raise my hips to crash and grind against you. And I’ll be on my way.
You can raise yourself up to your knees and angle my hips, and I’ll arch my back and try not to buck you off. I’ll be all tremors and thrashing, and gasps and cries, and I’ll probably bite your neck when you lean over me.
After that, I may even be able to hold myself still, enough for you to get just the right friction in just the right places, and that’ll put a hitch in your breath, and soft groans in the back of your throat. I like those. They jolt right through me.
Your body will be rigid, and tremble above me as you slam into me until you finally explode. That may even put me over the top again.
Then we can collapse on the carpet, and the tension will be gone, and we’ll be able to laugh comfortably.
Speaking of comfort, let’s move to the bed. Let’s snuggle and watch a movie or something. I’ll go easy on you. You’ll have had a long drive. We could even sleep for a bit. That would be really nice.
If I can keep my hands off you long enough.
Hurts Syndrome
A foray into the world of BDSM. More of the mind than the body.
She trembles with excitement at the sound of boot heels striking the concrete outsideher door. The latch disengages with a delicious click, and she quickly closes her eyes,rises and perches on the edge of her mattress, her heart slipping into overdrive as thefootsteps draw near. Her nipples swell and harden. She feels Him looming closer, anda smile parts her lips.
“Three months tonight, pet.”
She grins all the wider and reaches for Him, clasps His hips and presses her cheekto His belly. He stands rigid for a moment, but then His body curves around her, andHe bends to stroke and kiss her hair. “You are so precious to me, my little one. Andyou’ve done so well and come so very far.”He stops to take her chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilts her face towardsHis. “You make me happy, and you make me proud-so very proud, pet. And with allyour hard work and exemplary service to me, you have earned a reward.”His hands move to frame her face. His thumbs brush lightly across her eyelids. “Doyou remember, pet? Do you remember ‘Mariah’?”
***
The clock wouldn’t move fast enough, yet Mariah didn’t have time to complete what needed to be done. She had a huge pile of files on her desk, and several more in a drawer beside her, all of which required immediate attention. She just couldn’t seem to get to the point where she closed more files than she opened. There was constantly another phone call, another email, another V.P. standing over her, expecting her to drop whatever she was doing to deal with whatever he or she had on their mind at that moment. Whatever praise she received was hollow and short lived, and only led to higher expectations.
At home, life was no better. The clutter of someone shutting themselves off from the world-bags of garbage, dirty laundry, books, crusted food containers-were stacked and piled in front of the doors, and circled around the couch to leave only a narrow path from room to room. Distasteful, but Mariah found comfort in the disorder, in the way it made her house close in around her. Clutter offered no false encouragement.
Chores and hygiene were obligations Mariah could refuse. She should get the garbage into the can and out to the curb for pickup in the morning, and she should do at least one load of laundry so there would be something clean to wear tomorrow. She should shave her legs. She should get a haircut.
But she chose not to do these things. And therein lay the power-the power of ‘No’.
Huddled in her untidy cocoon one night, Mariah flipped through the channels, trying to find something she hadn’t already seen. She paused to light a cigarette and almost dropped her lighter because of the noises coming from her television: a man’s murmuring voice, followed by a sharp slap and a gasp of pain.
Awe-struck, Mariah’s mouth fell open, and she leaned forward, attention riveted to the screen. A nude woman was secured in medieval-type stocks, her body pinned at the neck and wrists. A shirtless man circled her-murmuring questions, waiting for her breathless nod-then cracked her back with a cat-o-nine-tails. The woman cried out, yet strained towards him when he lightly caressed the welts growing on her bottom.
The camera zoomed in on his fingers, which slipped up and down the woman’s exposed labia and paused to jiggle her clit. Mariah felt a stirring in her belly, and slid to the edge of the couch.
The man moved around in front, holding his dick in his hand. The woman turned eager eyes to him and nodded vigorously. He drove his cock down her throat, crushed her face against his pelvis and held her there-until Mariah was gasping for breath on behalf of the poor girl on the TV screen.
Muffled throaty groans and gurgles accompanied murmurs of encouragement and pleasure. The man pulled out of the woman, leaving a milky string of drool dangling from her gaping mouth. She whimpered and stretched her neck in an attempt to snare his cock with her tongue, her lips. He plunged into her again, this time pumping back and forth while pinching her nose shut. Her eyelids fluttered down, but he slapped the side of her head and demanded that she look at him. Her eyes flew open, and after that, she didn’t even blink.