Room #8

They always met in the same dark, dated, motel room where the sound of neighboring televisions blared through paper-thin walls and parking spots around back were at a premium because nobody wanted to risk having a car recognized. Every Thursday at noon. For the last six months. Each week Lola entered the unlocked door and stripped down to black lace panties and matching stilettos, just as Michael had instructed when they first agreed to meet. Each week, she felt the breath knocked out of her as her gaze lit upon the curve of his neck sloping into broad, sinewy shoulders. He never turned to take her in. Never watched her walk, her almost naked body taut with anticipation, across the room. Never acknowledged her presence until she sat on the hard, metal folding chair facing him. And then it was only a nod and the utterance of a single word, "Begin."

Though he wooed her with beautiful emails each day, teased her with scintillating messages, awoke a primal beast within her by opening her imagination to acts she had not previously considered, he still hadn't laid a hand on her. For six months, he hadn't laid a hand on her. Yet, she still showed up, hopeful that he would. He had hands, and lips, and based on the bulge she saw in his pants every week, a cock worth waiting for. So, each week, Lola showed up and sat in a cold, metal folding chair and quivered, waiting for him to say the word: "Begin."

For the first few weeks, she played by the rules. When the command was given, she touched herself, caressing the ample flesh of her breasts, nipples ripening to plump, red berries, while delicately stroking her sex through the confines of lace panties. She imagined her hands were his, cupping her womanhood, releasing her juices. Once they were soaked through with the hot, slippery wetness of her pussy, she moved her panties out of the way and placed one finger on each side of her clit, rocking her hips in time with the pulsing of her fingers. Locking eyes with Michael, her owner, her master, even though he'd never touched her, drove her instantly to the brink of orgasm, so she tried to look anywhere else. Coming before he allowed it would be punished with a week of silence, and she could not go that long without reading his words, hearing his voice. So she focused on his lips, his shoulders, his hands, the bulge in his pants, anywhere but his eyes. Until he said, "Come." Then she allowed herself to drown in the depths of his soul and call out his name as her body came undone from the heat of desire in his gaze.

Once, after the first month of playing this game, doing as he commanded, obeying Michael's rules, she tried to antagonize him. Tried to force him to take her. Not being touched, not being able to touch him, was killing her. So instead of sitting and spreading her legs and waiting for his consent, she went to him. She stood before him, shimmied out of her panties and dropped the wisp of black lace onto his lap. Sick of letting him dictate the rules of their meetings, she straddled him, naked but for heels, and brought her mouth to his. And found only unyielding flesh. Instead of returning her kiss, Michael gripped both of her arms, lifted her from his lap and carried her across the room to her chair. Then, without a word, he retrieved her panties from the floor, stuffed them into his pocket and was gone. Though humiliating, it was still not as painful as the week of silence that followed.

The following Thursday, and every week since, Lola had stayed on script, always hoping that Michael would eventually allow their relationship to be consummated.

Though today marked exactly six months since their first meeting, she tried to push aside any sentimental notion that this time would be the time it happened. If Michael wanted Lola to touch herself, to bring herself to orgasm for him every single week for the rest of her life, she would. He owned her.

Already unzipping her dress as she pushed open the door to Room #8, their room, the place of their unsated desire, Lola was rendered immobile by the scene awaiting her. In place of their normal arrangement -- one plush armchair, one hard, metal folding chair, and one untouched bed -- Michael had created a tableau that spoke of passions beyond anything she had ever experienced. The bed, lit from all sides with hundreds of candles, was turned down, ready for use. On the nightstand, Lola spotted an assortment of toys -- dildos of various sizes and shapes, vibrators, bottles of lube, nipple clamps, silk scarves, a riding crop -- it looked like Michael had visited a sex shop and purchased one of everything. But, what stunned and excited her the most was the vision in the center of the room. Michael, shirtless, skin glowing in the candlelight, sitting in his armchair, not with his back turned to the door as it had been every week, but facing her. Looking at her. Seeing her. And wanting her.

Shaken from their usual routine, Lola froze, uncertain what was expected of her. Until Michael commanded, his voice the same unyielding tone she was accustomed to hearing each week,

"Undress."

The authority in his voice left no room for hesitation. Lola unzipped her dress the rest of the way and let it slide down her arms and fall to the floor. Gripped with an inexplicable shyness, she tucked a wisp of her chestnut bob behind her right ear before fumbling with the clasps on her sheer, black bra. Slipping each strap from her shoulders, she felt her nipples tighten even though there wasn't a hint of chill in the air. She stood before him, feeling exposed in a way she hadn't before, as Michael appraised her naked flesh. Though he'd watched her bring herself to explosive orgasm dozens of times during the past half year, the way he looked at her now, drinking her in, felt far more intimate. Her skin blazed everywhere his eyes lit. The pronounced curve of her hips away from the small of her waist, her collarbone where it met the slope of her shoulder, the full, softness of her bottom lip, all felt sunburned from the heat of Michael's overt desire.

Unsure what was expected of her, Lola took a step forward, wanting to go to Michael, make him her lover at long last. But Michael made it clear that, in spite of the new arrangement, he intended to continue running the show.

"Stop." He told her, and Lola froze once more. "Turn. Slowly. I want to look at you."

Time halted as she pivoted, not daring to move more than an inch at a time, having to remind herself to breathe. Even though she could no longer see him, she could still feel his eyes, knew exactly where he was looking, felt as his passion scorched her body. By the time she again faced Michael, Lola was panting and ready to do anything he asked, if only he would touch her.

"Lovely," he sighed, a softness in his voice that Lola had never heard inside this room before. "Come to me, you silken goddess. Come to me and kneel."

Overcome with a level of emotion she hadn't even been aware she felt, Lola went to the source of her desire and knelt at his feet, not caring that the worn carpet bit into her flesh. She would endure any level of discomfort just to be near this man. Arms clasped behind her back, leaving her vulnerable and exposed, Lola met her beloved's gaze. In that look, in her complete submission to this beautiful, powerful man, she claimed him as her own. And then he touched her.

With a gentleness that seemed other-worldly, he caressed the hollow of her cheek, first with only his thumb, then his whole hand as she leaned into his touch, savoring it.

"Do you want this?"

Lola stifled a moan, only able to whisper, "yes."

Michael smoothed a strand of her hair between thumb and forefinger, then ran the back of his hand along her jawline, never wavering from the intensity of their locked eyes.

"Love, you've shown your devotion. But I need to be certain you want this. Because once I take you, you will be mine."

"Michael, I am already yours. I have always been yours. I was made to belong to you." With six months of hunger and desperation lending her voice the reverence of prayer, Lola begged, "please."

Her savior, this man she worshipped, brought his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply, hands tangling in her hair, tongue languidly exploring her. He tasted like warm honey. She wanted to kiss him forever. Michael had other plans.

Pulling her backward by her hair, Michael broke their kiss. Bringing his lips to her ear, Michael whispered, "I'm going to hurt you, Love. I'm going to hurt you, then I'm going to fuck you. And when I'm done, you're going to beg me to do it all over again. Do you understand?"

Eyes closed in ecstasy, Lola nodded, "yes."

Everything that had been withheld from her for six months unleashed by her nod of assent, Michael opened his right hand and slapped Lola across the face. The spreading sting felt like sacrament.

"Do you like that?" he asked, hunger in his voice.

"I do."

"Why? Because you're bad?"

"Yes."

"Because you're a filthy slut?"

"Yes."

"Say it. Tell me why you like it."

"I like it when you hurt me, Michael. I am your dirty, little slut. I belong to you and I need you to hurt me."

For the first time ever, Lola heard Michael moan. It was a deep, overwhelming sound, like the tectonic plates of her world shifting and resettling in unfamiliar locations. Still holding her by the hair, Michael nuzzled the deep, red handprint she knew had blossomed on her face. She cherished the mark that it would leave. Hungered for more.

She heard the glorious metallic sound of an opening zipper, knew that with his free hand, Michael was loosing himself for her. Before she could even beg, the feverish, magnificent head of Michael's cock was parting her lips, covering her greedy tongue in his exquisite saltiness. She opened her throat and slid her tongue down the shaft, taking him all as Michael thrust inside her. A moan that came from deep in her diaphragm vibrated around Michael's manhood. She knew he was big, but the way he filled her mouth and throat exceeded her wildest desires. With Michael grasping and releasing the back of her head in time with his thrusts, Lola swallowed him whole, then, using cheeks and lips and tongue, created an intense suction as she slid back up the shaft that made her lips smack when she released him. Hungry for more, Lola stroked his spit-slicked cock with her right hand while taking his balls into the softness of her mouth, circling them with her tongue.

"Mmmmm," Michael's grip loosened on her hair, "that's good. I love that sweet, filthy little mouth." Pulling her head backward once more, Michael looked into her eyes. "I knew you were going to be worth waiting for."

In one swift motion, Michael rose, leaving Lola on her knees, perfectly positioned to revel in the glory of his thick, glistening erection as he slid free of his pants and striped boxer briefs. Though she could have spent all day admiring his cock, it was not to be. Michael turned Lola's face toward the bed and ordered her to crawl.

With unquestioning obedience, and conscious of his eyes on her ass, Lola arched her back so that her hips swayed as she crawled on hands and knees for her man. She allowed herself a feline stretch with each forward movement, dipping her upper body so deeply her nipples nearly grazed the floor as she tilted her ass upward for his enjoyment.

"I see what you're doing," Michael's voice, while still stern, hinted at amusement. "And there will be consequences."

Oh, good, Lola thought to herself as she arched her back further. Reaching the foot of the bed, Lola paused, awaiting Michael's command.

"You have been very bad."

Though she couldn't see him, Lola could tell from his tone there would be no more playfulness.

"The way you tease me. The way you touch yourself in front of me. Moaning like a whore while you come. Leaving me hard. Unsatisfied." Still on hands and knees, she felt her panties slip to the side and gasped as fingers penetrated her then promptly withdrew. Before she could recover from the shock, Michael -- naked, hard and oozing -- was seated on the bed in front of her. Tilting Lola's chin to look into her eyes, Michael lifted two glistening fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply.

"This is what I did with your panties, you know. All those months before I could have you. All that time I waited for you. I know exactly how your pussy tastes. How it smells. Before you leave here today, I will know how it feels wrapped around my cock." He extended his fingers, shoving them into Lola's mouth. "Taste, Love. You are fucking delicious."

Lola accepted his offering and sucked hard, reveling in the sweetness of her own juices. Her hips rocked, involuntarily, needing to ride him.

"Such a dirty little slut." Withdrawing from her mouth, Michael grabbed Lola around her ribs and pulled her, face-down, across his lap. "Dirty girls need to be spanked, don't they?" His fingertips, featherlight, danced over her skin, impatient for a response.

"Yes," she exhaled.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, please. I need to be spanked. Please."

"I knew you'd beg for it. You are a dirty girl."

Strong hands slid her panties down over her hips, exposing her, laying her bare. Joining her wrists behind her back, Michael bound her hands together with a silk scarf, leaving her defenseless and vulnerable. She lay still and waited for the sting. Mercifully, he didn't make her wait long. She heard the noise before she felt the pain, and what a delectable pain it was. Each smack of her ass harder than the one before, sending jolts of electricity up her spine, marking her as Michael's possession.

"More?" He asked after every spank.

"More." She answered, her voice pleading.

He gave her more. When every inch of her tender, exposed skin was inflamed with need, he spread her legs and delivered one precise, sublime, open-handed blow to the core of her womanhood. White light flashed in Lola's head and she knew what it was like to exist in the presence of God. She did not cry out.

"You did well, Love." Her hands still bound, Michael rolled Lola face-up on his lap. Cradling her with his right arm, he lifted her to sitting and took her nipple into his mouth. Alternately suckling and biting, his attentions to Lola's breast shot her through with pleasure, bringing her close to the edge. Sensing that she was about to shatter, Michael withdrew, a trail of warm saliva stretching like the delicate silk of a spider's web from his extended tongue to her pert rosebud. His hunger momentarily unleashed, Michael buried his tongue in Lola's mouth with ferocious passion. Lost in a deep, probing kiss, Michael ripped Lola's panties from her thighs, the sound of tearing fabric hushed in the fervor of mutual exploration. The heat from Michael's ample erection pressed against her hip making her crazy with need, her clit aching for friction, Lola tried to take advantage of Michael's temporary loss of control and reposition herself to straddle his lap. She should have known Michael would not be taken so easily.

Leaving no time for reaction, Michael thrust Lola from his lap and held her, face-down, on the bed. His hand clenched around the back of her neck, Michael brought his mouth to Lola's ear so she could hear his throaty growl: "I said I was going to hurt you, then fuck you. I'm not done hurting you, yet."

Operating on the most primal level, a guttaral noise escaped Lola's throat as her thighs flooded with sweet nectar.

"Kneel," Michael bid, still pressing her face into the pillow.

Shifting her weight to her shoulders, hands still bound, Lola brought her knees up as Michael re-positioned himself behind her. Releasing her neck and trailing his hand to her lower back, Michael inserted his knee between Lola's thighs, forcing her legs apart.

"God, you are fucking perfect." Two fingers opened Lola's fervid sex, revealing her, tormenting her. Michael's fingers found the hood of her clit, whispered against it, then drove inside her while she pushed back against him. He withdrew, then with each re-entry added another finger, opening her wider, filling her, until she felt stretched to her limit. His entire hand inside her so that even delicate movement felt like torture and a gift, all at once, Michael offered the most exceptional command Lola had ever received.

"Come."

Lola erupted. Biting the pillow to suppress a scream, the walls of her cunt spasmed around Michael's hand, gripping him as an ambrosian torrent poured down her thighs.

"Good girl," Michael purred his approval. "I need to taste you."

Her spasms subsiding, Michael withdrew, lubricating his shaft with Lola's juices, stroking himself as he dipped down to lap at her. He traced first the right thigh, then the left, cleaning her, nipping at her. Still recovering from the force of her orgasm, Lola's legs shuddered as Michael's tongue found her sweet spot. Barely making contact, his tongue was velvet over her engorged sex and she couldn't control herself. Lola squirted again, this time filling Michael's hungry mouth with her mellifluence. He drank her.

"Amazing," he pronounced, before spreading her further and burying his tongue in her slit. His face covered in Lola's essence, Michael lapped at her pussy like a parched wanderer at a desert oasis. Just as Lola felt her inner walls begin to contract yet again, Michael moaned and suckled the tender flesh behind her cunt, then swept his tongue over her asshole, lubricating her with a mixture of their fluids. The unfamiliar sensation was more stimulation than Lola could handle. A bestial sound erupted from somewhere deep inside her and her knees weakened. Tuned to her responses, Michael wrapped his arm around her abdomen, supporting her as her body sagged.

"Ah, you like my tongue in your sweet little knot, Lola. I knew you would." Michael pressed against her, grinding the head of his cock against her rear entry, making her gasp.

"I do. I want it. I want you. Michael, please. I want you."

Michael let go of her and Lola felt the scarves binding her wrists fall away. Powerful arms flipped her onto her back and she was free to admire the alabaster skin and hungry snarl of a man who did not appear to be finished working her over. Reveling in the ability to reach out and touch him, Lola swept her fingertips along Michael's collar bones then over his chest, watching his eyes narrow as she paused to circle his nipples. She made a mental note of the way he responded, wanting to learn all of his touchpoints. Sliding her hands lower, Lola grazed her thumbs over the top of his abdominals. Placing the fullness of her left palm on Michael's stomach, feeling the heat of his body, she began to trace her right hand down the sparse line of hair leading to his cock. Michael stopped her. Threading his fingers through hers, Michael brought Lola's wrists to his lips and kissed first the left, then the right, then examined the marks left on both by the restraints. Appearing satisfied by his work, Michael threw a long, muscled leg over Lola's abdomen and sat, straddling her, bringing both of her wrists together over her head.

"Can you take more?" though steady, Michael's voice betrayed his desire for an affirmative answer.

"I can take anything you give me. Iwilltake anything you give me and I will fucking love it and ask you for more." Lola's eyes became fierce as she fought against the strength of Michael's grip, forcing him to grasp her tighter. "I want all of it. All of you."

Keeping her pinned, Michael leaned forward, bringing his mouth to hover a breath from hers, tantalizing her with nearness. Gingerly, using only the tip of his tongue, he traced the contours and softness of Lola's mouth. Without entering her, he allowed a thread of saliva to escape the length of his tongue and trickle over her parted lips. She extended her tongue to accept the offering.