Control

The slightest of grazes across her inner thigh sent a ripple up her spine that ended at her neck. Soon she would give up any and all power over her body, her mind, and her situation. She had to get it back. She was a woman with needs, but she was a woman mature enough to know not to give away too much. Overexposure was vulnerability's ugly cousin and while faking vulnerability was an important weapon in a woman's arsenal, the actuality of it threatened her control.

His tongue flicked the inner part of her thigh again and she passed her hand through what hair he had left. An action seemingly to let him know she was enjoying it, but with the subtle objective of pushing him back down her right leg. He would start the slow ascent once more and give her a chance to regroup herself before he again knocked on the door to her pleasure and, unfortunately, her liability. Different methods would gain him partial access, but with his head buried between her legs and his tongue darting like a snake's, he had found the way to shatter her will power as if it were glass.

She must gain it back—the control over her basic of instincts, her raunchiest of feelings, her dirtiest of thoughts. She focused on the room. Bland ceiling, striped wallpaper, desk as bland as the ceiling, chair that clashed with the wallpaper, odd stain on the left curtain draped completely across the double windows. It had a weird shape. She couldn't seem to make it out from where she was laying. Tilting her head, she squinted closer. It was a...hands! No, not hands, it was a dog. She shut her eyes and let her head hit the pillow as he encircled her tender nipples with each of his outstretched hands.

Wreathing her body side to side, heaving her chest up and down, she shut her eyes so tight she felt her eyelids wrinkle. Involuntary movement followed; the curling of her toes, the grabbing of her hands at his sweaty hairy back and sparsely covered head, clenching her ass cheeks, her calves. She held her jaw shut tightly, so no sounds escaped. Gain the control back, she thought—stoic in the face of emotion.

She began to daze, rods and cones dancing on the inside of her eyelids. His body weight lifted off her, albeit temporarily. His hands untwisted her nipples, his tongue escaped from its client between her legs, but another tool of pleasure, the tool of her eventual demise soon replaced it. This was the beginning of the end for her.

He entered her slowly and a moan got past the watchful guard of her grinding teeth and quivering lips. The sound was but a whimper and a huff, but to her it seemed to echo and reverberate off the walls. It came back to her ears sounding of bittersweet surrender.

Sound, she realized, her last play. She tried to release her mind from his bulging member filling her insides and the feel of his lips and tongue breaking through the last defenses of her mouth. She tried to isolate the noise in the room. Her ears were the last sense she had. Her eyes would never be open again if they believed this intense pleasure came with every closing and her mouth would never close again if every time it opened his tongue stroked its insides like a paintbrush. Her hands scratched from his back to his ass and grabbed it urging him to enter her rougher, longer, slower, and deeper.

Isolate the sounds, she thought, her shallow breathing, which now was only possible through her nose, his heavy pants that rhythmed each thrust. They had left the television on; tonight's weather forecast. There was a slight almost indistinguishable vibration coming from the side of the bed. And moans, loud deep moans, but from who? She knew the answer. His tongue encircled hers, his hands had found her erect nipples once more, and buried deep inside her, he had hit the spot. Her body exploded. Pulse after pulse shocked her and her back steeped and cracked in the process. Something she would be feeling later, but for now her adrenaline was balling up her pain and pleasure and tossing it down the lane like a bowling ball. She slumped back to the bed and was immediately flipped.

His hands found her ass and he never left the warmth inside her. Still pumping, she resigned herself to her fate. She moaned and screamed and stripped off her inhibitions, much like he had stripped off her bra earlier, revealing her melon-sized breasts that now bounced freely with the rest of her body. They were slightly sagging from this position, which is why she preferred the bottom.

Her arms gave out and her head hit the pillow again. Her back now sloped down to the bed at a steady decline and her breasts smooched against the crumpled up floral comforter. Two more sessions of her electroshock therapy and the purple pill he had taken before their romp was beginning to wear off and with it the edge that gave their lovemaking its prowess and intrigue. Impaling her one last time, he released inside of her allowing the condom to complete the task for which it was made. She collapsed forward onto the bed as her legs joined her arms in a union of exhaustion. He pulled out and gave her one last kiss on her static-infused black hair, the unofficial end to their session and the signal that life could once again return to normal.

She gathered her black bra and lace short panties and made herself decent enough to bend over and pick up her purse from the floor. She opened it and checked her phone.

'Missed Call: Michael' it read on the screen. "Ughhh," Clarissa exhaled, "My husband called me. I wonder, why would he be calling me this late?" She asked sarcastically.

"You know what's weirder," Don said extending his phone for Clarissa to see, "he called me too."