Control

You are out at lunch with some family members, rather large group that you hadn't seen in awhile...while you're laughing, joking, smiling, and reminiscing, you get a text from me.

Curious, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, open it, and it reads, "You wanna play?" Your thoughts rush back to the night before...where you laid me down, softly took control and rewarded my full submission.

You're confused...kind of scared, kind of excited, mostly intrigued. You're not used to surprises. They make you feel unprepared...naked and exposed. You told me that from the beginning. No surprises.

Despite the little wave of panic in your chest, your curiosity won out. You replied, "Play what?" Thinking more, "What are you up to?"

You wait, nervously looking at your phone every 5 minutes for a reply, just in case you'd missed something. You hadn't.

Reluctantly, you put your phone back to it's pocket, and try to rejoin conversation, however, you're only half engaged, as you can't seem to get my cryptic message out of your head.

"Wanna play?" What could that possibly mean? You rack your mind and come up with an infinite number of possibilities, your head wrung with ideas.

At last, lunch is over, and you must part ways. You wait in line to pay the tab, still conversing with a family member, and you receive another text from me.

It states: "My game." You're partially aroused, yet still nervous, as you fumble with some cash, dropping it on the floor.

Thoughts collide inside your head, you can't wait to get out of there to send me another text, searching for more information...something, anything that would clue you in on what I was talking about, planning, no idea what was to unfold.

You sit in your car, and catch a whiff of my perfume. You look around frantically, knowing that I'm there somewhere, half wishing that I'd cut it out and get it over with already, half wanting to continue this game of cat and mouse.

Your thoughts turn back to the phone and my message. You try to call me, and hear my message on the phone...personalized for you..."Not so fast, mister. You have to play by my rules, this time."

You type, "What game? What's this all about?" Again, no answer.

You drive in traffic home, unable to rid your mind of my scent or my game. You come inside, and get another text from me. This time it's a picture.

You greedily accept it, curse the phone company for being so fucking slow. Don't they know the urgency that sits in the pit of your stomach?

After what seems to be like an eternity, the message reaches you.

You open it up and see a picture of my hazel eyes with "I" typed underneath, followed by my soft, pink lips biting into a piece of green apple, a spot of juice by my freckle on my chin, with the word "want," typed underneath.

"God, do you know how much this is killing me?" you say, as if I were standing there in front of you. Your cock throbs as you yearn to lick the rogue juice from my mouth.

The third slide flashes a picture of you sleeping. It states "You." You search, trying to think of a time when you were asleep, when I was not, and it drives you crazy that you can't.

You try to call me again, and get a new voice message, "Nope, James, now I told you, this was my game...we can play yours later...but tonight, you belong to me." Despite your anxiety, this turns you on even more.

You start looking through the house, scouring every nook I could be hiding in, looking behind every door. Nothing. You decide to sit on the bed and wait, and plot the dirty, unforgivable things you want to do to me, you know how to make me beg...and you drift off to sleep.

You awake to the door closing, and your nose is sweet with Clinique: Happy, my signature fragrance. You sit up scanning, once again, but all you see is a note on the chair, written in my loopy penmanship.

It says, " Get dressed."

Your eyes distinctively look to the closet where you see I've laid out a pale green shirt, with a shiny off-white tie, your dark jeans, and my favorite black pinstriped suit jacket-decidedly dressed down.

You let out a belly laugh when you see a new pair of red Chuck Taylor's hanging from the handle of the closet.

"Go figure...she always has to toss something else in there just to make it her own." You go to put them on and find another note stuck in there.

It says, "Meet me at the studio."

A wave of relief passes over you, as you get to finally talk to me to see what this is all about...but then just that thought hits you, and your relief is replaced by intrigue, arousal, and there's always that small little panic, greedily gnawing away at the base of your skull.

You hop in your car, and are once again, greeted with the olfactory confirmation that I've been there. You shake your head, as this foreign hunger fills you. You're pissed that I'm playing with you like this...like you're my goddamn puppet, little children's plaything.

Yet, you also are strangely intrigued as to how long I'd been planning this, how I could have kept it from you, what game I'm talking about, what you might be walking into once you get to the studio.

My scent snaps you back to reality, and the fucking traffic that is keeping you from getting to the meaning of all of this.

You arrive at the studio, a charming 2 story Victorian with a Widow's peak and multicolored hydrangeas in the front, and pull to the back, park, and sit in your car for a few seconds, you see no one else's car, and the studio is dark. Naturally.

"How else would it be?" you think, as you pause to collect yourself, allowing the rage slip away, in your controlled, regimented way.

You decide that you will play along...to a point...you still don't like the idea of walking into something you don't know, and that strange, panicky, urgent arousal threatens to escape as you stop to pick me some roses, lilacs, and lavender with the gardening shears that just happen to be laying there...

You fumble for your keys, taking the shears with you, and find a simple, hourglass-shaped cobalt vase sitting near the sink. You now know that the shears were not there because I merely forgot them.

You realize at that moment that I'm into your head. I know you, almost more than you know yourself, which both scares the shit out of you, and gives you this odd, satisfying, sense of relief all at once.

You finish cutting the flowers and you're sick of all of this nonsense that keeps fucking with your head, and you're ready to see me...finally.

You wash your hands as you meticulously retrieve every piece of greenery out of the sink into the trashcan.

You carry the flowers and arrange them in the vase, leaving them on the table.

Fixing one stray, uncooperative lilac, your eyes focus on the vase, and you think back to the last time you ran your fingers down my fleshy, ample form, lingering in the curve of my waist, How your fingers traced the fullness of my hips, and you find yourself absentmindedly stroking the side of the vase, getting hard, once again.

You snap back and realize that as soon as you find me, your fantasy can become reality. The urgency returns, boiling low in your gut, increasing as you find a trail of the pinkest rose petals-the exact hue of my lips you long to kiss- as you descend the stairs, deciding to follow it.

It leads you to the great room, dark, and deserted, except for my large, white backdrop on its stand, and in front of it...your chair. A smile crosses your lips as you remember the acts performed on private display in that chair, how you bent me over and took control, once again, watching my face in the mirror, as you filled me, asking for my submission, which I freely gave on that night.

As you creep nearer, you see a 2 pairs of handcuffs, sitting there. Beneath them, you find a note.

It says, "I've submitted to you time and again, freely, willingly, greedily. You have opened my eyes to so many things. But tonight is your night to surrender yourself to me. You must do this first, willingly, in order for this night to progress. Do I have your submission? If so, I'll know when you fasten these handcuffs, first to the chair, then to your wrists."

You suck in a breath and freeze. Your eyes scan the room, looking for somebody watching, and find no one, but once again, the slight hint of my perfume ignites your senses. The internal struggle is enough to make you scream. You want to finish what I've started, this burning, aching in your groin, but it's murder for you to give up control...and I know it.

You sit in the chair, curiosity winning out, and no sooner than you'd sealed your fate with the last click of the cuffs, a blinding light pierces the darkness. You shut your eyes, reflectively and suck in a breath. You hold it for a second, and are suddenly aware of a flickering light. Startled, you realize it's reflecting off the sheet in front of you. You open your eyes and see that it's a silent, black and white 8mm home movie.

I'm blowing kisses at the camera give it a quick wink, and pull a man's hand from out behind the camera. You see me walking to the bedroom, playfully kicking off my patent stilettos, smiling and laughing, you know in an instant that the hand you saw was not familiar.

You are instantly hardened as I wiggle my hips, the way I always do, to get out of my black pencil skirt.

Bending over, I kick it off, following it to the floor, revealing my famous boy shorts, lace, lavender and sheer this time.

I pause and give the camera a wink behind me, allowing it to survey my perfect, round ass, before drawing myself back up to work on the buttons of my black silky, polka-dotted blouse, complete with bow at the neck, which allows the blouse to be held up, as it's sleeveless and bares my shoulders, revealing the indentations of my collarbone.

I slowly pull the tie loose, and the silk yields, falling open, exposing the top of my cleavage.

I sway and smile as I start to undo my buttons, slowly, one at a time.

Your cock aches to be released, as I've created this entire seductive dance just for you; but not quite, singly. There is the matter of the man behind the video camera, undoubtedly hard, as he watches me silently strip for you.

The thought that he is watching and wanting turns you on even more, and you look down as a trickle of blood flows down your left wrist. You wince, as you didn't realize you were pulling so hard on the cuff.

I slowly remove my blouse, revealing a string of pearls that skims the top of my navel, and a lace demi corset that makes my tits look the most fantastic you've ever seen them look.

God, what you wouldn't do to rip the arms off the chair and run to me, tearing off my corset, and fucking me like the little slut you know I am, with him watching. But, the chair doesn't yield as easily as your tender flesh.

The camera gets set down on top of the dresser, and the videographer reveals himself. You recognize him instantly as the voyeur from the gym.

I instantly back him up against the wall, kiss him hard, and turn my head, looking at you, directly into the camera as he kisses my neck and discards my corset, grabs my pearls and pulls me again close, for another hot, wet, impassioned kiss, before I fall to my knees, licking my soft, pink mouth, greedily, as I hastily unfasten his tight dark jeans, revealing his hard upturned erect cock.

I slowly drag my tongue up the base of it; he lets out a small yelp as I slowly linger on the tip, my mouth washing over his desire for me. I turn back to the camera as I'm fondling him with my tongue, and give you a wink, which once again, ignites your senses. You've never been this high before.

My lips slowly fall over the entirety of his form, using my hands as a guide, I slide his cock in and out of my mouth, him even more excited that the tables have turned, that you're watching him this time.

You see his body start to tighten, his abs and legs clench, he grabs his hair, and digs his palm into the wall.

God, what you wouldn't give to watch him bend me in half over the footboard and fuck me.

Just when you think you cant stand it anymore, he explodes, filling my mouth, spilling out of the side, and your mind darts back to the text of the apple, as he yanks my head back and licks the cum off my lips, we both give you a knowing look into the camera, as his tongue outlines my chin, and he pulls me into him for one more kiss. You let out an audible groan. You wanted to be the one licking his hot, sticky cum off my lips as he watched.

The camera goes to fuzz and the room goes black. Again, you're greeted by my scent. Such a great name, you think, they must've known the instant reaction it would have on men.

Again, you squint as a light is flipped on, this time, a spotlight from behind the sheet. Centered within the spot, your cock jumps as you instantly recognize my form.

My full, round, breasts, my ample, perfectly shaped ass, my hips, which balance out my tits so nicely, and my small, hourglass waist.

You see my profile and focus on my full lips and notice my tousled hair, framing my face right beneath my brows, but where is the rest of it? You lift your eyes and realize that it's tucked up under a fedora. You love it when I wear a hat.

I undo the tie from the form-fitting trench you had missed that I was wearing, so caught up in the moment, instinctively licking your lips and swallowing, as to catalyze the events set into motion by me.

You look down and see the precum gracing the front of your jeans, and you ache to unzip the zipper that holds your desire captive.

It drops to the floor, and suddenly, you flush, anticipating what's to come.

You feel your temperature and hardness rise again as I take off the hat and shake out my hair, and instead of stripping, you see me slip out of my shoes, and watch me slowly put on a pair of stockings, and notice the roundness of my ass and see the little ruffle on the back of my panties.

You think about the time you bent me over the chair, the very chair that you are sitting in.

Your senses scream, and you are suddenly aware of the sweat rolling off your brow, and you wish you could loosen your tie, use the cuffs on me, cuffing my hands to my ankles, yanking the ruffle aside, not even bothering to remove my panties...just urgently, needfully, greedily, taking me as I'm pulling the stocking up my thigh.

You realize that I've finished with the stockings, and have put the stilettos back on, and you appreciate the swing of my hips as I walk toward the sheet, tear it down, and toss it to the side as you visually devour my black corset, much like the one in the movie, and black panties with white polka-dots.... and always, the sexy little ruffles on the back. You see the stockings are black and have the pin-up seam up the back, and notice how much heels really accentuate my strut. If it only weren't for the fucking cuffs, you would have had me by now...

As I come closer, my scent is stronger, and you suddenly feel no pain, sweat, heat, only adrenaline, and the electricity running through your groin. You notice that you're not the only one wearing a tie...mine matches yours, and you long to pull it-me toward you-anything to get closer to me, to touch me, feel me smell me, be one with me, devour me.

I am finally before you, devilish grin in tow, lapping up every second of your agony. You had no idea I could be such a mean little cock tease, but that's only the tip of the iceberg.

You try to touch me as I start to unfasten your belt. I lean in, just out of your reach, and whisper into your ear, "Remember, this is my game...and the rules are no touching." You flash me a hardened look and set your jaw, letting out an exasperated sigh, as you begrudgingly grip the armrests.

I continue to unwind your belt from your waist, your cock jumping at each loop I exit. You lean back and watch my face as I undo the button on your pants, excited as a kid, on Christmas morning, opening up my presents, you know how much I love your cock.

I loosen your tie, and rip open your shirt, buttons flying in all directions, revealing your sculptured, chiseled chest. I then finish your pants, slowly watching you squirm as I unzip them and slide them down your hips, to your ankles and cast them aside.

Seamlessly turning on a dime, I take my own panties, and slowly slide them down my hips, watching your face, as I bend over and step out of them, baring my glistening, neatly shaven pussy, inches from your tongue that begs to bury itself in me.

I turn around, and straddle you on the chair, feeling the outline of your hardness throb beneath your boxer briefs, willing it inside my hot, wet slit sitting on your lap.

I lean toward you and dodge your kiss. Instead, I grab your hair, you softly moan as I bare your neck and trace it with my tongue, stand up off of you, dropping to my knees, while I start toward your erect nipples, you brace yourself for my tongue.

I only come close enough for you to feel my hot breath tracing its way down your body, pausing at your boxers, licking the wetness we both created on your underwear.

You squirm as you silently will me to take them off and take your cock in my mouth, and you rock your hips so I can take them off, which I do...ever so slowly and patiently with my teeth. You shudder as you can feel my breath on your tight, perfectly erect cock, for it is me who wields the control tonight.

Your are reminded of your helplessness when I spot your wrist, and the fresh, red life oozing from it. I pull the cuff aside and lick the salty blood. You draw in a jagged breath at the hurt mixed with pleasure as your cock bounces in agreement, once again.

I hover above you, straddling you in the chair; just to where the head of your precum covered cock can feel the heat of my pussy.

Your senses scream, as you want so badly to be in me, thrusting as deep as you can go.

But I don't let you. Not yet.

I lean in to you, you nuzzle your face into my chest, and I let you suck at my nipples a bit, quivering, chest heaving, pulse quickening, as this is the first time I've let you touch me all night.

I pull back, and the head of your swollen cock makes contact with my equally aroused wet little clit, and watch your face as I slide it slowly down the lips and in, just the head.

Every nerve in your body screams as you writhe to make it go in.

"Just a little farther," you beg me with your eyes, but again, not yet.

I come close to kiss you, once again. Just breathing on your lips sends a shudder through your body.

I allow you to kiss, but on my terms. I retreat when you try take control. You submit, and allow me to dart in and run my tongue down the length of your bottom lip, instinctively parting them.

You smell me again, a heady mixture of perfume and sex, as I lean close to your ear and say, "How bad do you want it, James?"

You moan in response, "God, I need you right now."

"Beg."

"Please...God I can't take it anymore, just fuck me, hard."

I give you a wink as I pull your head to the side and kiss you hard, on the mouth, my tongue exploring yours, and I continue to tease, lightly stroking the head of your hardness with my wetness.

You reflexively reach for my hips and slam them down onto you, realizing that while you were begging, I relieved you of your restraint.

I throw my head back and moan in pleasure as I allow you to take control, doing what you do best, for I got what I wanted this evening: your voluntary submission, and I made you beg.

I willingly submit to your demands and run my nails up your arms and into your hair, our breath is in perfect sync as we both explode, exchanging our fluids, and collapse into a sweaty, exhausted, entangled heap on the chair, embracing, both still shuddering, drinking in each other's kiss, with you still inside me.