Rent Due Ch. 02byHandsInTheDark©
Work's not going well and I come home angry and frustrated. You're cooking a small dinner and laid out the table, and because I have required it, you wear a short skirt and a sheer blouse, and high heels. No panties or bra.
As I enter, I smile somewhat darkly. You're simultaneously apprehensive, and feeling a sudden warmth in your belly.
I walk up to you and my hand is suddenly in your hair. Sometimes this is when you get a kiss, but not this time.
I bring you to your knees. You give a soft whimper, and your fingers are already on the buttons of your blouse, even before I can remind you. You know that sucking cock is done topless.
I remove my belt, loop it and put it around your neck.
I jerk my zipper down, and the pants slide down. I take it out. You are already burning to lick and suck it, but I start by rubbing it across your face, against
your lips. Smell and feel come before taste. You need permission to open your mouth and suck.
I harden quickly, watching your lips twitch in need. You know you can please me with your mouth... and you ache to. Your one comfort is that from the way I'm acting you won't have to wait long. Your blouse slides away and your nipples are hard.
The belt has become a leash, and if you pull away it chokes. Not that you'd ever pull away, you've never even wanted to. But the symbolism of your body being leashed and obedient gives me pleasure, and deep down it makes you more compliant, more able to give me whatever I demand, no matter how shameful it feels. The leash reminds you that you are mine and you don't have choices.
You do, instantly. You're relieved I'm not asking you to masturbate this time; it's too distracting. You just want to please; you need this to be about me.
I growl softly; your lips feel good on my cock, and your tongue presses up against the head of it in a way you know I love. Looking down at your petite, sensual body reminds me of my power over you, how I can simply demand and in the end you will always obey. I take comfort in that, but also very deep arousal. You are mine. You will please me. In the end, you can't help yourself.
Leaning against me, your nipples and then your thighs press against me. I'm panting now.
Suddenly I haul you up and for a moment your eyes look towards the bedroom. The windows expose too much and the bedroom is private, secure and safe. But when I pull you to the table you realize I'm uninterested in secure and safe. All I'm interested in is Right Now.
Then you're on your back on the table, dishes shoved aside, one glass broken on the floor. I pull your legs apart and my cock forces in, roughly. Your body convulses, and shudders. I'm demanding and rough and merciless, and you barely had time to get wet. But you quickly get slippery, and my thrusting triggers a warmth and need in you you can't ignore. I want you. I take you. It's simple and perfect and it gets you shaking every time.
One hand pins your wrist to the table, the other goes over your throat. Anyone watching through the uncurtained windows would think it was rape, except for the eager and alluring rocking of your hips, as you try to milk my orgasm from me.
Your legs stroke mine, lightly, sensually, almost shyly; you want me to come so very badly. But it's the whimpers and half sobs you make that get to me most.
I'm going to come and this time I want it in your mouth. I pull you back off the table and now you are tasting yourself on my cock; it reminds you again that you must please me with all of your body. You suck frantically, and then I grip your head, thrust, snarl and pour out into your mouth. "Swallow it all," I snap, gasping.
You know you must. Neither one of us likes cum in your rich, black hair. You drink me down, aware only of one thing: you sated me, you pleased me, you gave what I demanded and needed.
I melt as the pleasure washes over me, and then I walk us to the sofa and bring you into a curl, half-naked and beautiful, against me. The anger of the day is gone. You're small and soft and warm and there's a small, secret smile on your face.
You haven't come for a few days, and you won't today. I like to save that for more... planned times. It's not complicated. You get orgasms when you do something specially pleasing, but I never tell you what it was you did. It might have been a sudden smile earlier in the day, or a kiss you offered unexpectedly, or even the way you looked walking away from me in high heels. By not telling you, I teach you in unconscious ways to be ever more pleasing.
Except for the days I just torment orgasms out of you because I love it when you beg and writhe. Call it greedy or heartless or dark; sometimes I just want your body as my plaything.
"You have rather ruined dinner," you say in that sweet accent of yours, and I just smile.
"Sometimes a man wants dessert first."
I'm stroking your hair, and you melt against me, tighter, warmer, sweeter. You might well want an orgasm, but you won't ask. You consider it wrong; it's a cultural thing with you. It's impossibly endearing.
"Do you always get what you want?"
"From you, yes."
"I like that," you whisper, softly and shyly. "Some women would find you selfish. But for me, it's a comfort to know that you know what you want and you take it and expect me to provide it. Sometimes I don't want choices. You have taught me that that's acceptable, even proper."
"You begged to be taught. I smell smoke; what was dinner to be?"
"I don't remember. If I remember, I'd have to get up and run to the kitchen and then you'd see me cry and fuss and even dare to blame you. But it does not matter to me; I just ate."
"That doesn't quite count. Up, now. I really do think I smell smoke."
You rise gracefully, but your hips seem a little wobbly as you walk. You're tiny, and my rough pounding... but the little smile is still on your face.
I close my eyes. Who needs food. I have you.