One Kiss

A/N: If there is interest I may continue this story. Feedback is more than welcome.

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"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Ask me nicely."

"Please may I kiss you, Mistress, please?"

Her laugh was rich with cruelty, her lips mere millimeters from his, close enough so he could feel the hot puff of her breath against his pleading tongue.

"Oh, I love it when you beg."

He strained his neck, reaching for her lips, which she easily kept just out of his reach, as desire turned to desperation.

"Please, Mistress..."

"Oh, poor baby." Her voice dripped with mock-pity. "So close to the thing you want, but having to wait for permission. It must be so hard for you."

Her double-meaning was not lost on him as she pressed her hips more firmly into his, trapping his, indeed, quite hard cock between their bodies just as his wrists were trapped between her firm grip and the wall behind him. She brushed her lips against his, feather-light and lightening-fast, expertly teasing him while he struggled for more contact until finally, with a sob of frustration, he slumped back against the wall.

"Yes Mistress." he agreed.

"If you were any kind of man, you'd just take me," she said, grinding her hips into his, using the friction of his own clothes to torture him. "You'd throw me down on that bed, tear off my clothes, fuck me like a wild animal, make me scream. But you're not going to do that are you?"

His mind swam with the images she had created; her body twisting under his as he pounded into her, the sounds she would make, the feel of her in his unbound hands. He could do it; he was taller than her, probably a bit stronger, he could break her grip if he really tried. She might even let him, she was unpredictable enough, she might let herself be overpowered, be taken and fucked. He squirmed under her gaze as the evening's first wave of delicious shame washed over him and he knew that he would never, ever dare. When he answered her it was barely a whisper.

"No, Mistress."

"Do you know why?"

"No, Mistress."

She snaked her head around his, nipping at his earlobe hard enough to make him gasp, as if to be sure she had his full attention before whispering in his ear.

"Because you're no kind of man. You're my little whore and you need to be treated like one. Don't you?"

He shuddered both at her words and at the wet heat of her breath against his skin, but the answer spilled from his lips without any thought or hesitation.

"Yes, Mistress. Please, Mistress..."

Her sultry chuckle was both sensual and terrifying.

"Oh, more begging already? Such a good boy."

Her hands trailed down his arms to settle on the hard peaks of his nipples, clearly visible through his t-shirt, flicking and rolling them between her fingers. Her touch felt almost as good to him as her praise. He kept his own hands pressed against the wall, held just as firmly by her will as they had been by her grasp. His answer came on a moan.

"Thank you, Mistress."

"You're going to let me do depraved things to you tonight. You're going to let me abuse your mind and your body. You're going to let me hurt you and violate you. You're going to beg me to do these things and be hard the whole time, aren't you?"

As she spoke, her grip on his nipples had gradually tightened. By the time she finished he was gasping in pain, sending little shockwaves of need directly to his cock.

"Oh god, yes, Mistress!"

"Would you do that if you weren't a whore?"

Her tongue started to trace the shell of his ear, the light, teasing touch in perfect counterpoint to her vice-grip on his nipples. The pain and the pleasure muddled in his mind until they became something else and all he knew was that he wanted more, more of whatever she would give him, that he would say or do anything to please her.

"No, Mistress."

"So, what are you?"

The hot flush of his shame was just another sensation now in his stimulus-soaked brain.

"I'm your little whore, Mistress."

"Good boy."

Her hands flew up to tangle in his hair, holding him still as her mouth devoured his in one searing, possessive kiss. He balled his fists against the urge to wrap his arms around her, to kiss her like a man and instead pressed them back into the wall, desperate to please her with his obedience.

Just as suddenly, she stepped back and away from him, but he stayed where he was; eyes closed, cock hard and aching, trapped in his jeans, lips wet from her kiss, arms up by his head like a cramped crucifixion, every nerve in his body alive with wanting her touch, waiting for the order to move. The orders would come and he would obey. It would be terrible and wonderful. There would be pleasure and pain, tension and release, and when it was over, she would hold him, and tell him he was good, that he had borne it well and she was proud of him, and he would fall asleep against her soft body.

For now, though, he waited.