tagBDSMBliss Ch. 04

Bliss Ch. 04

bywanderingmindgames©

We spent that first weekend just kind of hanging out at his place. Getting take-out, playing Parcheesi (Parcheesi!), watching the original Godzilla. And talking. Looking back, it was a perfect way for Malcolm to show me what I was getting myself in to. What he expected of me. It was a time for me to learn. To question. And question I did. I questioned him and myself and what I felt and what was happening between us and the way my whole being responded to him. He must've thought he'd taken up with the daughter of 'The Riddler'. But he didn't seem to mind. Like when I asked if he would take me home to pick up some underwear, he refused. He told me I wasn't allowed to wear panties when I was with him. "I want to know that when I reach under your clothes I will touch nothing but you. No knickers between me and what I want," he said plainly.

It was new, and exciting. And also frustrating at times. I'd never been with a man who forbid me to wear panties; I found that both arousing and irritating. And the fact that it irritated me aroused me even more, that Malcolm assumed such control over me to presume to tell me what I could and could not wear got me so hot for him I couldn't stand it. I wanted to fight him on that, I really did. But I knew it was only to save face, to save the idea of myself as a fully liberated woman of the 21st century. So instead I gladly agreed, the idea that he had such unfettered access to me too tempting, that he had that much control of me too enticing.

Okay, maybe 'agreed' is the wrong word. I gladly obeyed. I think, in looking back, those couple of days were also the beginning of a re-training, or a re-conditioning, of sorts. It was almost 'Pygmalion-esque', really. You may think I'm looking back through rose-colored lenses, but I'm not. It was never threatening. Not once did I have any fear of Malcolm. (In fact, I can't remember ever being afraid of him. I've been afraid for him, but that's different.) He never raised his voice. He never coerced me to do anything, to accept anything I didn't want. He pushed my boundaries, my limits, for the first of many times that weekend, but I was – and I remain - a willing party to it.

I was supposed to meet Tony for brunch at Glo's that Sunday. I had called him the day before Malcolm and I left Houston and told him everything that had happened so far, and I knew he was anxiously waiting to hear how it all went. I didn't want to break the date. But I also didn't want to cut short my time with Malcolm. Stupid, I know, but remember everything was still so new with him. I considered asking Malcolm to join us, knowing Tony wouldn't mind as he was already dying to meet him, but decided against it. I wasn't sure – at that time – if it was my place to ask him. So instead, I simply told him I was supposed to meet Tony for brunch on Sunday, and told him when.

"I suppose I should have you home in plenty of time to make your date then?" he asked, giving me a funny smile. It was Saturday evening, and we were sitting around the coffee table in his living room, eating cold pizza. "You will, after all, want to wear some knickers."

"I...umm...yes, I...I will..," I laughed breathily. I was suddenly very aware I was in Malcolm's Chelsea FC t-shirt and nothing else.

"Does it make you uncomfortable to be so exposed? To know I can touch your cunt anytime I wish?" he asked quietly. I shook my head, staring at his lips as he spoke as if mesmerized. "No? Does it excite you? Does it make you wet to know I can play with your slutty little cunt whenever I want to?" I nodded, feeling the heat between my legs increase. "Answer me."

"Yes," I whispered.

"Yes." He looked at me closely. "In fact, you're getting wet right now, aren't you?"

"Yes."
He suddenly leaned forward and swept off the coffee table, pushing our napkins, water bottles, the pizza box, a book and some magazines to the floor. I jumped at the noise it made when it hit. He patted the table in front of him, looking at me. It took me a minute to realize what he wanted. I slowly stood and walked to him, standing in front of him for a moment before sitting on the edge of the coffee table facing him. I kept my legs together and pulled his t-shirt down over my thighs. Malcolm surprised me by leaning forward and softly kissing each of my knees.

"Ass on the table, poppit," he said. I looked at him for a moment, then leaned forward and lifted my backside a bit, pulling the hem of his shirt up and sitting back down. "Good girl."

He sat back, leaning on his hands behind him, looking at me appraisingly. His eyes roamed with that greedy look to them, like a child looking through a candy shop window, and I could feel my heart speed up a bit.

"Open your legs." I let my knees fall open a bit, and his shirt fell between my thighs. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Spread your legs as wide as you can." I did as he asked, his t-shirt still between my legs, as if keeping me modest against my will. I slid my legs open until they were in front of the table legs and I was nearly doing the splits. My hands rested on my thighs as I watched Malcolm's gaze run up and down my legs. "Very good, poppit. Sit tight, I won't be a minute," he said, standing and walking out. I could hear him rummaging about nearby for a brief moment.

When he came back in he was carrying something that looked a lot like a tripod with a video camera on it, but at first I refused to believe that's what it was. When he set it up at an angle to the table, just off to my right, and began fiddling with it, checking through the viewfinder and making slight adjustments, I had to acknowledge it.

"What the fuck are you doing with that?" I asked. My voice sounded shrill. I was seriously stunned and more than a little pissed. I stood up, watching him.

"Do you really need to ask?" Malcolm said, coming over to me and putting an arm around my waist. He stroked my hair, smoothing it back, with his other hand. He meant to soothe me, I know, but it didn't work.

"No. I won't."

"Won't what?"

"I won't be filmed."

"Why not?"

"I just won't," I said. I put my hands on his chest, meaning to push away from him, but he moved, putting both arms around me, pulling me close. He held me tightly, my hands still on his chest, my lower body pressed against his. I leaned my head back and looked at his face.

"What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing," I lied.

"Then why are you trembling?" I shook my head, dropping my eyes. I didn't know why the camera scared me. I just knew it did. "Look at me." I met his eyes again, the tenderness I saw in them making me weak. "I will not show this to anyone. I give you my solemn promise on that."

"Why?" I squeaked, wincing a little at the sound of my voice.

"I want to watch you come." He kissed my brows softly. "I want to watch your eyelids flutter while you twist about." He kissed my cheeks. "I want to be able to watch your lips pout and nipples flush whenever I please. I want to be able hear you moan and say dirty things when you're not here." He kissed me softly, his tongue lightly tickling at my lips. I opened my mouth to his with a sigh. He moved his hands to my hips and gently pushed me to sit on the coffee table again.

"Please-"

"I love to watch you come, Melody. You are so achingly beautiful when you do." He dropped to his knees in front of me, kissing my neck. "I just want to be able to see that whenever I wish." He gently spread my legs and ran his hands up and down my calves. "I am the only one who will ever see it." He moved his lips back to mine and kissed me deeply.

"Promise?" I whispered, looking in to his eyes. He nodded, meeting my gaze. "Alright. But if this ends up for sale on the internet, I want a seventy-percent cut." He gave a small laugh and smiled, pulling the t-shirt off me and tossing it on the sofa before sitting back.

"Lovely," he said quietly, unleashing his eyes again. I could feel my skin erupt in gooseflesh as his eyes wandered. "Are you wet?" he asked, his voice low. I nodded, looking down and chewing my lower lip. "Show me."

I spread my legs out as before, turning my head to the left and closing my eyes. I felt almost dizzy from excitement and nervousness.

"Yes, you are quite wet, aren't you?" I nodded, my face still turned to the side. "Do you like showing me your cunt? Displaying yourself to me like a common whore?" I sucked in my breath at his words, shifting my hips to expose myself even more fully to him. "Yes. I can see you do. I can see it excites you." I watched out of the corner of my eye as he took his cock out of his shorts and began stroking it. His cock looked impossibly hard, with come oozing out of the tip in small amounts.

I thrilled to think looking at me did that to him. That the sight of me naked and open before him made him that hard. I leaned back on to my hands, turning my head to face him and opening my legs a little wider. I could feel my wetness run from my opening down the crack of my ass to pool beneath as Malcolm watched. I shivered a bit, getting more excited.

"Touch yourself. Play with your cunt for me." I had never done that before, never masturbated in front of any man, but I didn't even hesitate. I moved my right hand, running two fingers from my opening to my clit and back down. I arched my back, sliding forward a little to the very edge of the table, my fingers slowly running up and down, watching him stroke himself. "Do you like that? Do you like to play with your cunt while I watch?"

"Yes."

"Feed it to me," he said, getting up onto his knees between my legs. I held my hand out to him and he sucked and licked my fingers quickly, almost frantically, making me moan. He pulled my fingers out of his mouth and put them back on my pussy. "Keep playing with your whore cunt for me."

"Yes, Sir," I moaned, rubbing my clit in a circular motion, my hips moving.

"Do you want to come? Do you want to come all over your own hand like a slut while I watch?"

"Ohhh...yessss..." I cried, getting close.

"Do it. Be a good little whore for me and come." I leaned back further as I got closer to coming. Malcolm stood up, his shorts falling to the floor as he stroked his cock. "Are you my dirty little slut?"

"Yes, yes I am!" Pleasure washed over me, taking me by surprise as I came.

"Tell me!" He was standing over me, stroking himself quickly. I could see the muscles of his forearm working. "Tell me who you are!" His thighs clenched and I watched his cock spurt his come on me. It landed on my face and neck and breasts, the heat of his creamy, iridescent liquid a shock on my skin.

"I'm your dirty little slut, Sir," I moaned, watching him milk his cock as I felt his come slide down between my breasts. He dropped to his knees between my legs and put his hands on my shoulders, pushing at them. I laid back on the coffee table, feet planted on the floor. I could feel Malcolm's come cooling and getting tacky on my skin and it made me feel unbelievably sexy.

"I have to eat you," he croaked, hooking his arms around my thighs. He leaned forward, lifting my legs and blew on my slit. He started at my ass and lightly licked his way up, his tongue teasingly lapping at my pussy.

"Yes. Please. Yes, eat me," I gasped, running my fingers through his hair. Malcolm's tongue danced on and around my clit as he sucked it, quickly making me wild. "Oh god. It's so good. Please don't stop." I grabbed his hair and started thrusting my hips at him shamelessly, reveling in the freedom of being his whore, fucking his face as he tightened his grip on my thighs. He shook his head from side to side, like a shark tearing at its prey, pulling my flesh with him and I went over the edge, coming all over his face and begging him to stop.

Malcolm slowly untangled his arms from my legs as I lay there catching my breath and shaking. He gently put my feet back on the ground and leaned forward, kissing the inside of my right thigh softly before laying his head on it. His hands wandered up and down my legs.

He sighed, a great, heaving sigh, and I felt his fingertips trailing lightly up and down my pussy lips. "Shhh," he whispered in response to my moaning. He started slowly finger fucking me with two fingers, using his other hand to spread apart my pussy lips.

"Oh god, what you do to me..." I whispered, curling my toes against the pleasure I was feeling. "So good." I felt him lift his head and suddenly felt him snick my clit, making me cry out.

"More?"

"Yes." I gripped the edges of the coffee table as he kept snicking at me. He changed the angle of his hand and his finger snapped against me with more force, making me jump a little. It hurt, but the pain was it's own pleasure. It felt like he was touching the very center of my soul, like he was communicating with a secret part of me, every time his finger made contact. My legs twitched as if they would close and I had to force them open. I loved it.

"Oh yes! Harder!"

"You want it harder, baby? You want me to spank your slut cunt?" his fingers still moved inside me.

"Please," I cried.

Thwack! I felt something hit me hard along the length of my slit, making my knees jump as I squealed. I glanced down and saw he had rolled up one of the magazines he had knocked to the floor and was using it as a makeshift cudgel against my pussy.

"Oh god," I moaned as I shifted, hooking my feet around the table legs. My ass was almost completely hanging off the edge of the table. I saw him lift the magazine and closed my eyes.

"Do you want it?"

"Please." Thwack! "Oh god. YES!" Thwack! "Harder! Please!"

"Who's my dirty little slut?"

"I am!" Thwack! "I'm your dirty little slut!" Thwack! "Harder!" THWACK! "Oh god! I'm going to come! I'm going to come!"

Malcolm got up on his knees and quickened his blows, swatting at me rapidly with the magazine in his left hand while swirling the fingers of his right around inside me. I went rigid and screamed through clenched teeth as I came, gripping the table tight. I shuddered with the intensity of my orgasm hard enough to bruise the tops of my feet.

Malcolm stilled his fingers, dropping the magazine to the floor, as I eventually stopped spasming. He caressed my stomach, removing his fingers slowly as my body relaxed. I could sense him moving, leaning directly over me, and I felt him kiss me gently. The tenderness was such a contrast with what had just happened, and I could feel tears running down the sides of my face.

"Look at me," he said quietly, brushing his fingers through my hair.

I just shook my head. I was burning with shame over my behavior.

"Come here," he said, caressing my arms and slowly working my fingers off the edge of the table. He got up and sat on the couch, pulling me with him to sit on his lap. My head rested on his shoulder, my face buried against his neck as he rubbed my back. It was soothing, and I couldn't stop the tears. I wasn't weeping, I didn't sob or make any noise, and it wasn't even for very long, really. I just silently cried, my head on Malcolm's shoulder while he held me with one arm and rubbed my back.

"Are you alright?" he asked as my tears stopped. I gave a shuddering sigh and nodded. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I said quietly.

He turned his head and softly kissed the tip of my nose before gently helping me off his lap. He stood up and took me by the hand, wordlessly leading me upstairs and into his bedroom. He sat me in a chair in a window recess and went in to the bathroom. I put my face in my hands, elbows on my knees, and leaned forward, fighting a sudden urge to get dressed and run out. I heard the water start in the tub and sat up.

"Come – let's have a bath," Malcolm called from the doorway. I sat mute for a moment before going to him.

"OK," I said meekly, moving past him to the huge tub. He had put some oils in the water, making the steam fragrant. I picked up the bottles from the ledge. Chamomile and lavender.

Malcolm got in and lowered himself in to the water, leaning back against the tub. He took my hand and guided me in to sit between his legs, my back to him. I bent my legs, wrapping my arms around my thighs and resting my chin on my knee. I felt him shift behind me, the water splashing at the sides of the tub like waves against a ship's hull. He gathered my hair and put it over my right shoulder.

"Talk to me, poppit. Tell me what's bothering you." He picked up a soft washcloth and began sponging my shoulders and back. I sighed as he squeezed the cloth, making warm water cascade down my spine. He scooted forward a bit to sponge down my arms, and I could feel the damp hair on his chest press against my back, feeling like silk. I let go of my legs and put them straight out in front of me. He dropped the cloth and pulled me back to him, scooting himself to lean against the tub again, my head leaning on his shoulder.

He slid his arms around my waist and nuzzled my ear. "Why are you upset?" he murmured. He sounded so forlorn, not answering was not an option. Still, I sat for a minute, thinking, before I did.

"I'm embarrassed," I said, my voice shaky. He kissed my ear but didn't speak, allowing me to continue at my own pace. I took a deep breath and held it for a moment before I did. "I acted like a bitch in heat." I closed my eyes and chewed on my lower lip, not wanting to cry again. Malcolm tightened his grip around my waist and kissed my neck to reassure me. "And isn't that what you do to a bad dog? Swat it with a rolled up magazine?"

"Is that what has you upset? The means I used?" he asked. I thought for a moment before answering. It wasn't the only thing that upset me, but it was a rather large part of it.

"Yes and no." I rested my hands on his thighs, noticing for the first time how muscular they were. "I'm trying to figure out... No, wait. Not figure out. I'm trying to understand... I don't know why I am so...drawn by this, to this, to you, to what we're doing. Does that make sense?"

"Of course." He moved his arms, wrapping them around my upper chest, effectively pinning me to him.

"Why does my body respond to you like it does? Why do I feel like a long-seated ache I didn't even know existed has been soothed? I feel as relieved as I do embarrassed. That's just...off," I sighed.

Malcolm nuzzled my cheek and gave me a squeeze. "I need to speak freely, alright? And I need you to listen. No questions. No 'but' or 'what about' or 'what if'. Not until I've finished."

"Alright."

"I understand what you're going through, poppit. I really do. I went through it myself. All I can say is that it just is. For whatever reason, you're built for this. You're just...made this way. There's no other reason. It's in your DNA. You're built to submit to me, to domination and to pain, to respond sensually and sexually. It's just part of who you are." I raised my eyebrow skeptically at that but remained silent. "It's no different than people who can do physics in their heads. Like Stephen Hawking. His brain is wired to do physics. Your brain is wired to submit. Neither of you are right or wrong for being the way you are. It is only when you try to repress it, when you try to go against your true nature, that it becomes wrong."

"I never was like this...before you," I said.

"Hmmm? Think back to what your former lovers were like. Did you tend to choose men who seemed to be strong only to find they were blowhards? That they were bullies or buffoons? Think back to your college boyfriend – Kevin? – and what happened with him. Did it end because it frightened you? And maybe frightened him?" I remained silent, thinking about that, but shrugged. He was closer to the truth than I was comfortable with at the time.

"I know what you're going through. The self-loathing, the shame, the doubt."

" Doubt is a germ, Melody," he said, his tone serious. "If it is allowed to grow it will quickly overrun its host with disease." He squeezed me slightly, pressing me even tighter to him as I felt his cock start to grow a little against the small of my back.

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