Just Once, For Me

"Make yourself cum for me tonight. Just once. For me. And tell me about it. I look forward to reading in the morning."

He didn't ask me to do this. He ordered it. Why am I even considering this... command?

"Good night. Enjoy your evening and be a good girl for me."

It wasn't even his voice; just text, on my phone. Just words. But I could hear him clear as if he were beside me. That voice, at once calm and commanding. Softly spoken, with an edge of danger that intrigues me.

I scoffed at the messages, closing out the app. He'd never know if I did it. I could lie. There's no way to prove it. I don't owe him anything. I am not his.

It may have been time for him to go to sleep, but I'm a night owl and it was only 8 pm. I ordered dinner. I haven't been eating regularly for months now. My appetite has been lacking. It's little wonder, with all of the stresses the world has been piling on me. But that's a story for another time.

After dinner - and some melted ice cream because my dasher was late - I got into a scalding hot bath. Just the way I like it. My skin turning pink in the water. I can only stand it for a few minutes when the water is this hot. I'm not trying to damage my skin, just remind myself that not all pain is bad. I have to drain some of the hot and add some cool water until the bath is pleasant, relaxing. Then I can soak for a while, wash my hair, my body, examine the bruises he gifted me that first night. Was it really only a few days ago?

After my bath, I sprawl across my bed wrapped in towels. My mind wandering. I don't even know this man. We sent several messages back and forth, where I divulged much more information than he did. I don't even know his full name. But he is learning me intimately.

This is not like me. I do not have rendezvous with strange men. I'm not sure why I am changing. I am not sure if I like the me that is emerging from the hurt of the last several months.

After some time, I return to the bathroom to hang the wet towels, my hair still damp, and I dress for bed: black cotton panties and a black tank top. The colors may differ, but this is my norm. I'm comfortable.

I slide between the cool sheets, and hear him again:

"Make yourself cum for me tonight. Just once. For me."

"... be a good girl for me."

We both knew I would consider refusing, just to see what would happen. To see if he could tell. I could see that look in his eyes, the one he's given me when I've hesitated or refused before. He knows I'll give in. We both knew I'd obey.

I'm already wet - and not from the bath. I slide my right hand into my panties, my fingers moving to my clit. I'm not going to use toys. Just my fingers. I've been doing it this way for years. I want to be penetrated. But by him. So I'll save that for him. It will make it that much sweeter when it finally happens.

I close my eyes, my left hand on my breast, massaging, twisting the nipple before moving across to the other breast for the same treatment. My middle finger rubbing lazy circles on my clit. My lips part on a moan, I hear his voice, "open your mouth."

I think about the first night. I had drifted off while waiting for him. Anxiety - and, I suppose, a half of a bottle of wine - does that to me. Exhausts me. I sleep to escape it. I woke to him pressing me into the mattress. "It's OK," he said. I panicked though. The last man who entered my bed was not kind.

I tried to turn, to see him and he said no. I would see him when he allowed it. His weight on me, crushing me to the mattress as I fought the panic. He whispered for me to breathe. I tried to calm myself. I felt him breathing against me. Warm. Strong.

I consider other ways that night may have progressed. I increase the pressure on my clit, scenarios running through my mind.

##

What if...

He pressed me into the mattress, tied a blindfold to my head and bound my wrists together. Helpless. What would I have done? Unable to see him at all, I would have struggled, thrashed the moment he removed his weight from me. I would have tried to get the blindfold off by rubbing my face against the pillows, the blankets, the mattress, until he took all of that away, throwing it to the floor. He'd sink his hand into my hair, pulling my head up. "Leave it," he'd say. "Be a good girl. I'm not going to hurt you."

I'd gasp, perhaps sob, tense, frightened. He said he feeds on my inhibition, my being scared. He would probably love it. As he released my hair, I'd fall to the mattress, shaking, my mind racing, my heart beating erratically. He would like that, I think. My fear, my anxiety.

He'd reach a hand out, stroke my cheek and laugh as I flinch, pulling away. He'd touch me softly, caress my skin - my arms, my back, my thighs. Just as I am starting to calm, he would deliver a stinging swat to my ass, causing me to yelp and tense again.

##

I knew, when I started this I wouldn't be able to finish. My clit throbbing as I imagine his hands on me. His breath against my skin. His words in my head.

"Make yourself cum for me tonight."

And I do. I'm sure the neighbors heard me. Moaning, hips gyrating, rubbing feverishly at my swollen clit. I pull my wet fingers from my panties and roll to my side, trembling.

"Just once," he said.

Just once... as my breathing slows, my heart rate returning to normal, my body stops quaking. The sweat drying on my skin gives me a chill, so I pull the blankets up. Little tremors still working their way out of my body as I try to get some sleep. I will wear these wet panties all night.

"Be a good girl for me."