A Dynamic

Kurt, i still miss You.

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She stood in front of him, her eyes lowered as she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. He sat casually in his large leather chair, his legs spread, one hand propped against his chin; his eyes narrowed slightly at her nervous movement and he told her to strip herself of all her clothing. He noted her brief hesitation as she stood, thinking, before reaching up tentatively to pull the thin sweater from her shoulders and let it slide down the length of her arms. It fell softly and was followed by a powder blue silk slip dress that shimmered as it slid to the floor and gathered in a small heap at her feet. She was in her bra and panties and stood awkwardly, biting her lower lip as she looked at him. At his raised eyebrow and steady gaze, she stripped of the last two items and moved to cover herself. This irritated him but he said nothing.

He told her to kneel. The word was soft but firm and her breath caught; she lowered herself as gracefully as she could, wanting so badly to please him. He rose from the chair, taking in her kneeling form, walking around her slowly, his boots thudding dully against the floor. Her palms rested lightly on her thighs, her head was lowered and her hair had fallen forward shielding her face. His fingers brushed her neck as he eased her long hair to one side; he wanted to see her. So beautiful. At his touch her lips quivered and the reaction pleased him.

He knew she was uncomfortable, completely naked and vulnerable while he remained fully clothed. In control. Her nipples were pulled taut, little rock hard pebbles. They were begging for the clamps, but he wanted to wait—build the anticipation. However, he couldn’t help reaching down to pinch one of them, gently at first but harder when he felt her pull away. Despite her sharp intake of breath, the pressure of the pinch increased until she accepted it and remained still. Until he was satisfied. Her nipple was red, darker than the other when he removed his fingers and he was sure if he ran a hand up between her legs, she’d be wet. He went back to his chair and sank into it facing her, thoughtful.

Another command resulted in her kneeling with her ass toward him, her forehead resting upon the backs of her hands which were flat on the floor. He lifted his boot and nudged it between her legs, probing the pink folds of her pussy. He felt the moist flesh give way slightly and pushed the tip of his boot a little harder, pressing her forward, making her struggle for balance. She let out a strangled noise and he knew it was because she felt vulnerable and humiliated; though it was her nature to be submissive, her experience was limited and there was much for her to learn, to get used to. Being treated like the property she was for one.

He liked the way her flesh closed around the leather of the boot tip and moved it around a little, pulled it out then pressed it back, deeper. She whimpered softly, her fingers spreading and digging at the floor, making him smile. The silly girl didn’t know herself as well as he did. He lowered his foot and studied the wet leather—he wanted her to see it and to know he saw it too—the honey she left behind. He told her to turn and kiss his boots to remind herself of her submission and when she moved to do so and saw the wet boot tip, her face blushed a dark pink, her gaze darting to his. He knew how hot her flesh must feel and flashed a smile that made her blush even more.

She crawled the step separating them, placed her palms flat on the floor on either side of his boots and bent low, her hair sweeping the floor as her ass rose high in the air. He was pleased. He enjoyed this view, he thought, as he took in her smooth skin, the tapering of her waist, the soft curve of her rear. She pressed her lips first to the top of the left boot, the wet one, then to the top of the right. She paused a moment as if unsure what to do now before leaning back and resting upon her heels. He studied her closely—her pale skin, gentle curves and full breasts. He studied her long auburn hair, her pouty lips and blue eyes that were fringed with long, dark lashes. There was so much he wanted to do with her—to her. Some nice. Some definitely not so nice. Mostly not so nice.

As he thought about it he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants freeing his hardening cock. In a quick motion, he leaned forward, snarled his fingers in her hair gripping it like a vise, and pulled her gasping mouth upon him, lifting his hips to shove his cock deep. He plundered; gave her no choice in the matter as he held her head steady, rocking his hips, pumping her mouth. He heard her whimper slightly but the sound was muffled by his cock pressing toward her throat, mashing her tongue to the bottom of her mouth.

Her hands were on his thighs, pushing against them as she struggled for leverage, but he gave her none. He had warned her. He had told her he would own her; that she would belong to him. That her body was his body and he would use it as he chose. He had told her how he would fuck her, tie her, whip her, use her, let others use her—and still, she had given herself to him willingly. And he would make sure she knew he meant every word he had said. She was his.