Friday, September 07, 2007

Secret Desires

Ties that Bind...

As with so many others, her guard dropped as her arousal increased. He found that exciting her was the most effective way to learn more about her. Not about the mundanities of her life - what she drove, where she shopped, who she drank with after work. Such matters were of little, if any, interest to him. He wanted to know about her. The secret her. The sensual her. The sexual her. The desires that she harboured, both realised and nascent. The experiences that had pleased her most. The fantasies she hardly dared to vocalize.
In the midst of one phone call, she makes a flippant, insolent remark to him.
"I ought to put you over my knee," he growls.
There's the briefest pause at the other end of the line. "And just what would you do with me, if you were to have me over your knee?"
"That's easy. I'd pull up your skirt, yank your panties down to mid-thigh, and give your bare arse an almighty slap with the palm of my hand."
"Would you?" Again, the slight pause. "How hard would you spank me?"
There's something new in her voice, something he hasn't encountered before. Something quivering and expectant. He sits forward fractionally in his leather chair, senses questing like a predator's.
"Hard enough to leave the red imprint of my hand across those creamy cheeks of yours. Hard enough to make your skin tingle and burn."
"Really?"
"For sure."
"Promise?" There's a weakness in her voice now, and a need. A fervent need.

He smiles. Another secret revealed.
They talk, for days, weeks, months, stoking their mutual lusts ever higher. The schedules of their everyday lives conspire to limit the expression of their desires to emails and IM windows and stolen telephone calls. The elongation of time frustrates him, infuriates him. Ultimately, his fevered libido can no longer be satisfied by fantasies of vanilla couplings with her. He can't prevent himself from thinking of all the debauched ways he wants to excite and satisfy her flesh, from conjuring a catalogue of corruption. And when he finally reveals his plans to her, he finds that she's a more-than-willing accomplice to his decadence.
One day, he calls her in the afternoon, as he's pulling into the driveway after a day at the office. He knows that his own house will be empty when he steps inside, but he's taking a chance on calling her at such a time. Disconcertingly, that knowledge excites him too.
"Hello?"
"It's me. Can you talk?"
"Yes. For a while, anyway."
He turns the key in the front door and pushes it open. The parcel is waiting obediently for him on the oak floor. His eyes gleam.
"There's a parcel for me," he tells her.
"What is it? A present to yourself?"
"Very much so."
By now, she knows instantly what the tension in his voice means. She can hear the crackling of the package being opened. "Tell me about it."
"It's made of black leather, soft and supple to the touch. There's a collar, about two inches deep, maybe a fraction more. It fastens around your neck, and it's secured in place with a small padlock. There's an adjustable strap, a foot or more in length, running down from the back of the collar along the line of your spine. At the end of the strap are two wrist cuffs, positioned one atop the other. They're fastened into place with small padlocks as well." He pauses, calculatingly. "Anyone wearing it would be quite, quite helpless."
"Oh." The word sounds small and lost. "Is this something you've bought for your wife to wear?"
"No. It's something I bought for you to wear."
"It is? Really? Honestly?"
He ignores the pleading questions. "First, I'm going to undress you. Very slowly, very deliberately. Then I'm going to place you on your knees in the centre of the bed, blindfold you, draw the collar into place around your neck, and snap the lock shut. And then I'm going to do the same with both of your wrists."
"Oh, God."
"You can just kneel there and listen to the sound of me undressing. And then you'll feel my warm hands on your arse, a palm cupping each cheek, gently moving them apart, opening your cleft to my gaze, to my lips, to my tongue. I'm going to lick you from your clitoris to your rosebud, over and over and over, until you're squealing and writhing. I'll have a vibrator with me, one that I bought a fortnight ago, thinking of you. It's smooth and slender, and I'm going to oil it until it's glistening and then slowly slide it inside your arse and switch it on. And while it's buzzing and throbbing inside you, I'm going to flicker my tongue across your clit until you're literally dripping onto the bed sheet."
"Oh fuck."
"And then I'm going to spank you for being such a wanton slut. A fresh hard slap of my palm against your arse for every groan of pleasure, and another for each drop of your nectar that splashes onto the cotton sheet. I'm going to count aloud every single drop I see, and your arse is going to sting and burn each time you hear me speak."
"Oh fuck, yes! Yes! Please!"
"And then I'm going to fuck you. My pace, my desire. You're not going to be able to stop me. You're not going to be able to influence me. You're just going to be used by me. I'm going to fuck you for my own satisfaction. My cock deep inside your cunt, and the vibrator deep inside your ass. If you should whine, if you dissent, I'll take the vibrator from your ass and use another one, a thicker one, one that's at least as thick as my cock. And I'll fuck you like that until I'm satisfied." He waits. "Do you understand me?"
"Oh yes. Oh yes."
"You'll do as I say? As I want?"
"I will. You know that I will. I'll do anything." A brief silence. "Anything."
"Then all you have to do is provide me with a date…."


Reminds me of Quasimodo.
Reading this turned me on, so bad.
I need a good seeing to.

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