Lunch Lesson

You have done well at keeping silent knowing that the camera I hold will capture you at your most wanton, your most vulnerable.

“Look into the lens” I command

You do so, with eyes unclouded through lowered lids. Your bottom lip is pulled in, your teeth pressed firmly into it.

Click.

You take a deep breath, your breasts tighten against the sheet and your nipples send a sharp pang to your belly button as they shift against the cotton.

You watch as my right hand raises, your eyes closing as it descends. The slap, directly against your full lips, sends a small earthquake rolling up your back and slamming into the base of your skull. Your jaw drops and I hear the gasp that I am hunting.

Click.

“Immortalized in the pleasure of agony. You are truly beautiful.”.

“Stand. Go to the icebox and bring me the red wine.”

You wobble a little at first and your vision seems fuzzy, but you manage to return with the wine as your senses clear.

Taking the bottle, I direct you.

“Lay on your back, close your eyes and open your mouth.”

As you comply the friction of the sheet against your thighs and buttocks seems less harsh, almost a painful tickling sensation.

You hear me uncork the bottle.

“Slap!”

You feel my hand slam into the outside of your left thigh pressing it closed.

“Close you legs, must you always beg so obviously?”

You close your thighs immediately, blushing. You don’t like feeling that you are needing, craving, even begging for this, but you desire whatever comes next, and whatever is after that…you cannot conceive of an end to this now. Your meeting is long forgotten.

You squirm and shiver as the first splashes of wine pool around your bellybutton, trickling down your sides. Soon the pool overflows into the cleft at the top of your thighs. The cool, wet , almost velvet texture is not so different from the liquid warming your inner thighs and trickling down into your bottom. You almost giggle as the stream of wine trails up the middle of your chest pooling between the cords of your neck and pouring around the curve of your breasts. Your mouth opens wider, expecting to receive the bitter red liquid.

Click.

The image you may never see has burnt itself into your retina in black and white. Puddles of darkness settled on your flesh, outlining each curve and recess finding every fold. Your hardened nipples strain upward from the taut skin of your breasts. Your thighs are clasped demurely, your womanhood obscured by the opaque black pool slowly draining onto the sheet below.

The hard cold wood pressing against the top of my head.

The cool dark liquid coating the skin on my stomach, chilled, quivering.

The smell of sweat, burgundy, and my sex rushing through my nostrils.

I stretch my right hand above my head dragging fingertips across the rough wood of the headboard, searching for a handhold, something to grip tightly. The muscles of my arm are aching from the tension.

How many hands have gripped this wood in ecstasy, terror, and release?

Did her manicured nails chip scratching in vain against these cold boards on prom night?

You set the camera on the nightstand, your hand curling around the stem of a wine glass, strong fingers, and solid hands. You clear your throat, the sound causing me to jump. You take a deep drink. My toes are getting cold and you just sit there examining me, committing every curve, mark and flaw to memory for replay at some later date in your own private venue. I open my mouth to tell you they are getting chilly, almost forgetting myself. You glance quickly at my mouth, then up to my eyes. You hear me exhale, my throat is tight, and your look implies that you saw my intention.

You make no move to cover my toes. I understand this and the phrase repeating in my brain illustrates it. “As you desire”, the response you taught me on our first date immediately after the safe words.

The throaty rumble of a new Harley cuts the silence. It sounds so close, right outside the room. The clack of hard heeled boots against the pavement echoes off the thin glass of the window. You are up and to the door like a starter pistol fired.

I grin and bury my toes under the sheet, claiming the body heat you left behind. You order me to the bathroom, to “clean up” and brush my teeth. Sometimes I forget that you don’t care for my smoking.

The porcelain tile of the bathroom floor presses into and chills the inside of my arches raising goose bumps on my calves. The faucet squeaks and water sputters out. The front door is open, I can feel the cool draft and hear you in a low voice talking to someone.

“she’s all yours ...be gentle” I hear. But was it your voice?

The slam of the door and roar of the bike follow shortly after.

I finish brushing my teeth, and run a washcloth over my body. I’m sad to see my petal-spots rinse down the shower drain. The wine has left lavender stains around my breasts and at the tops of my thighs. Running my fingers over the welts, thick and raised stinging to the touch the crisscross my ass. I brush my palm against the hard rubber splitting my butt. I want to twist it and plunge it, when did it stop stretching me and making me ache? The hardness and fullness of it inside me is no longer foreign, only reminding me of your will. My breasts are full and heavy , normally lazy nipples throb and are swollen to the size of my pinky tip. I bring my fingertips to them almost in a trance when I hear you clear your throat. Quickly with my hands behind my neck and eyes down I walk to the bed.

Your cold hand is pressed firmly in the middle of my back pushing me down face first onto the maroon bedspread amidst the unidentifiable purple flowers.

You made the bed?

My elbows are yanked back and cinched almost before the pain shoots between my shoulder blades. You fist closes in my hair and pulls until the back of my skull is crushing the top of my spine. I am a little nervous now, glad the biker left, my neck is feeling soft and exposed. I feel the subtle bite of leather across my throat, as it snakes around the front under my chin pulling tight against my flesh. The snap digs into the back of my neck as you secure the thick leather strap.

I feel fingers curl around the plug tearing it from me, leaving the cold air to rush in. The groan that rips from my throat does not please you. I feel your cold rings as your spread fingers smack down on top of the welts covering the bottom of my ass and tops of my thighs, harder than the belt it seems. Even as my eyes fill with tears and I suppress my scream, I wonder. Rings?

Again I feel the palm and spread fingers sear my wounded rear. The burning spreads to my thighs and the muscles at the base of my spine coil like springs. I pull away for a fraction of a second. Realizing my mistake I quickly push back. The bed moves and I hear the familiar sound of leather slide on denim. I know what’s coming next, and then nothing. I hear the water run for a minute. Cordlike fingers grip my ankles like a vice, pulling me back toward the edge of the bed. My pelvis screams as my hair is pulled lifting my hips off the bed, sliding a pillow under them.

“Honey you’re mine for 8 more minutes, so don’t hold anything back now…”

I can almost hear her say “I hope everything was to your satisfaction miss.”

That thought is obliterated by the rough leather and hard steel studs laid straight down my back, licking against my most sensitive of lips. Flame shoots inside me and back up my crack burning along my spine. My response surprises even me.

I moan and shudder, sparks are all I can see. All breathing stops.

My body reacts by soaking the pillow and her cupped palm. My sent is thick in the room and I can hear her inhale slowly and deeply. I am blushing at this blatant display of my depravity.

I am deliciously ashamed, Incredibly exhilarated.

The bed shifts, I turn to look back as her hand encircles my throat over the hard leather of my new collar.

“Show me your appreciation, clean my hand.”

My scent is so strong I almost gag as her palm presses against my lips. I should have hesitated, I thought I would have hesitated. My tongue immediately extends and laps the warm liquid from her hand. The taste is musky and familiar. I clean each of her fingers by taking them deep into her mouth. I can tell she is pleased.

Her hand relaxes and tips my chin up, as she searches my eyes. Her kiss is soft and almost loving. The lips pressing delicately as the tongue cleans more of my juices from my mouth.

This sensual kiss is so out of place and unexpected, I moan and push my tongue into her mouth. She pulls back a little as I press forward. Her tongue presses mine back into my mouth as she slowly sucks my upper lip between her teeth. Her firm pressure sends sharp little shocks into the roof of my mouth. She releases my lip and I feel her tongue caress it’s tender inside running along my gums pressing into the soft pockets on each side of that thin pink membrane. This is such a private place and her swollen tongue roughly stretches the thin walls reminding me that no part of my body is safe.

Something round and bumpy pushes against my entrance. I strain to gauge it’s size, a golf ball, maybe bigger. The hand squeezing my collar slips three fingers between the rough material and my adam’s apple cutting off all but the shallowest of breaths. Using this new handle she twists me until I face the ceiling, my left shoulder is almost aligned with my chin. My hips are trying to turn also , but the hand guiding this ball through my slick soft skin does not allow my thighs to move. My side begins to burn from the stretching caused by these forced contortions. A hiccup in my abdomen takes my breath as the ball passes into me, no temperature shocking my inner walls like the ice earlier, but a constant stretching from this coarse round object.

My nerves fire as her hand smacks wetly against my now closed lips. Small beads inside the hollow round shell rattle and vibrate against my stretched insides. Vibrations rush upward into me carried along by my shuddering muscles. Another ball is inserted into me firmer and faster than the last it passes my stretched entrance and bumps gently into the first. The two balls shiver and jiggle massaging my stretched womb before settling down. The third pushes the first two farther back, taking that full, swollen feeling deeper into me. I feel stuffed with these three shivering twitching balls each rattling against one another. The fourth presses lightly against my opening turning rubbing caressing, humming slightly as the beads inside roll around.

My stomach leaps and my hips jerk higher into the air as my thighs press together around the thumb that jams the four balls deep into me. As the first hits my cervix it shudders with a life of its own. Each ball in turn carries these tremors back to her thumb. The low rolling groan that pours from my throat gets louder as she slaps the fourth ball rhythmically sending wave after wave of vibration crashing against my cervix.

It’s happening without thought, my tightly closed eyes fill with sparks against the fiery red backdrop of my lids. My teeth draw a hot salty fluid from my lower lip and my hands curl into cruel claws, nails biting into my palms. Each slap is met with a whiplash like reaction from my hips. My groans undulate with the rolling vibrations carried deep inside me. I am lost in the raw sensations, my muscles spasm clenching the four shuddering balls taking each vibration deep into my belly. My breathing is in gasps and gulps, a sweat breaks out on my forehead and the backs of my shoulders. The sensations are almost painful now, too intense, too raw. The slaps speed up and grow in force. I hear her cackle as my cries rise in pitch and I hear myself begging her to stop. Abruptly the slaps stop and her cold hand presses against my opening rapidly shaking my pelvis from left to right. The balls crash against each other and slide from side to side, the friction is too much, my hips fall to the bed my cries become screams. A wrenching pulse of pleasure churns through my stomach, My lips pulled cruelly apart as the fourth ball audibly pops from my body. I gag as two more are ripped from inside me, rapidly in succession, mini tremors rattle along my spine. Tears roll down my cheeks as I gulp for air. She pauses and slowly I feel the last ball spread me wide, the cool air hitting the flushed flesh of my inner lips. My cries are softer now and the muscles of my lower back and thighs twitch uncontrollably. I feel her fingers meet my flesh as she pulls the last one free. I collapse crying totally drained, no thought in my mind.

The door slams.

An alarm goes off somewhere in the distance.

I slowly lift my head on a weak and shaky neck to see an envelope sitting on the clock. It wasn’t there before. Minutes pass before I shut the alarm off and pick up the envelope. It smells of motor oil, gasoline, sweat, and fading CK1. These are your scents.

The note reads

”The meeting starts in 15 minutes.”

Reality

As I pull into the first of the lot entrances I realize that I have no recollection of the drive over.

I wince as I move to step out of the car. The worn denim of my oldest jeans chafes my burning thighs like sandpaper. The edge of the seat presses into the welts on my ass and I automatically swallow the squeal that wells in my throat. God my nipples ache. For the second time in 10 minutes I wish that the shirt I chose this morning was thicker, looser, and didn’t require this awful bra.

The 300 yards to the revolving doors that lead to the lobby were excruciating. My ass feels empty, the emptiness that comes from being filled so completely and left wanting. My walk is slower and more deliberate than usual, but I would never give you the satisfaction of showing the cause in my gate. Reaching for the revolving door drags the seemingly soft material of my shirt across the cotton of my bra. I bite my lip and feel the faintest rush of pleasure along with the pain in my nipples. Ordinarily I would take the stairs to the 3rd floor conference room. Today it’s all I can do not to sit in the elevator, although that would bring its own accompanying problems.

In the elevator the second floor admin eyes me curiously as I lean against the wall and shift my weight from foot to foot.

On the 3rd floor I try to stand a little straighter and regain some composure. I glance at my reflection in the chrome of the elevator doors. Not too bad. I tuck in the blouse and brush some stray from my eyes.

I open the door and make no eye contact as I head to my chair. The standard opening conversations of company stock and internal scuttlebutt engage most of the room’s occupants. I take the chair and most heads turn to focus on me.

I clear my throat.

“As most of you know in this changing economic climate we may need to further evaluate our overseas resourcing…” Blah, blah, blah. I hate giving this direction. No-one likes to cut headcount. I pause to open the folder in front of my chair that outlines my plan for headcount reduction both here and overseas. The red petals are caught in the updraft as the folder opens. They flutter eight to ten inches above the table in an impromptu floral fountain before settling on and around the open folder. The dark red of the petals starkly contrasts the three black and white photos framed each below a single quote.

“As I Desire”

The end.