Meet Me in DC Pt. 03

The weekend is coming to a close and so is our time together. To finally get to meet and see if 'this' is real, just to turn around and have to let it go. The push and pull of it all, is so bittersweet.

I let the cold water of the shower wash over me as I lean my forehead against the cool marble. I run my hands over my breast, down my stomach, and helping the cold water find my sex. I am sore, bruised and still as wound up (if not more than) as when I arrived.

I shut the water off and step out of the shower and walk over to the vanity. Last night comes rushing back: the wax, the strap-on, him inside me against the wall with my legs wrapped around him, and me bent over this vanity with him taking me from behind- watching in the reflection.

It was worth the wait to have him inside me. So achingly good to feel that first push of him, as he stood that the edge of the bed, me laying across it, with my ankles held at this chest, he never broke eye contact as he pushed every throbbing inch of himself into me. My body clenches and pulls just thinking about it.

I towel off and wrap my short silk robe around me to cut some of the chill from the temperature shift of the master suite. He is in bed still sleeping, tangled up in the sheets. I will miss this view- the man I adore with this powerful city as a backdrop.

I quietly make my way over to the bed. At the foot of it, I lift the sheet and begin to slowly crawl up over his body, letting my soft kisses graze his skin. I gently bite at his inner thighs, hearing him stir from his dream. Before he is fully awake, I take him into my mouth- wrapping him with warmth and wetness. I hear him groan in pleasure as he realizes what I am doing and feels me begin to suck.

I can't find the words to describe how much I love the feeling of him go from soft to hard in my mouth. I feel powerful with this tall, strong man, lost in sensation and need. He grabs my long. blonde, hair, and starts pushing and guiding the pace. I stop sucking and look up at him. My eyes, smiling, he looks at me desperate and pleading for me to continue, still trying to push and pull at me to begin again. I ignore his physical requests and slowly, so, so slowly, slide my mouth down over his shaft again, but stopping the moment he tries to control the pace.

Frustrated he pulls me off of him, his hand still grabbing by the hair, and gets up from the bed. He pulls me off the bed, my hands and knees hitting the floor. And he pulls my head up to look at him. He says nothing, but his free hand wrapped around his cock, tells me exactly what he is thinking. He pulls back my head so far that I have to open my mouth. He brings the tip of himself to my lips and rubs all of the pre-cum leaking across my mouth.

My nipples are so hard, and the robe is no longer leaving anything to the imagination.

With his hand still rubbing his cock over my lips, he growls, "I am going to let go of your hair, and you are going to stay kneeling, like a good girl, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir," I whisper with a hint of venom.

"What's that? You are displeased with me?! You! You wake me up and rather than being good and sucking every, last, drop out of me, you tease me. And YOU are displeased with ME?!" He fumes.

"Yes, Sir," I bite back. My heart is pounding. And I don't want him angry. Okay, perhaps I do.

He released my hair and immediately gives a grazing slap over my raw and hard nipple. Then again, more on my breast. His cock is leaking uncontrollably. He grabs my face, then releases it to give me a light slap, grabbing my attention.

"You are going to take every inch of me. You are going to take every drop I give you to drink. Do you understand?" he growls.

"Yes."

Another slap stings my face. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back again as he leans down to whisper in my ear, "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Daddy..." I say with a wry look. I know he doesn't want to be called that.

Rather than arguing with me, he pushed his dick into my mouth and with both hands, holds my head as he pushes himself as far as he can. He can hear me choking and gagging on him, but he doesn't move. In fact, he pushes and rocks into me more. He then pulls out a bit and then begins slowly thrusting into my mouth.

"Look at me," he says.

I do as I am told. Tears are streaming down my cheeks from the intensity of him going that deep down my throat.

"You are going to take all of It," he reminds me in a coaxing tone- the lust and need begin to take over.

He starts pumping into my mouth faster and harder, loving the sound of me choking on him as I struggle to accept more and more of him down my throat. But then I start to try to increase the pace, and the intensity. I begin to swallow every time he is deep in my throat, closing all around him. He cries out in pleasure. I continue with the increased pace, loving him losing his mind as he fucks my mouth. I know all I have to do is start playing with his balls or probe the entrance to his ass to send him over the edge. God, I want to watch and feel him lose control. I love giving that to him.

I look up at him. He's staring at me with hooded eyes, drunk in the feeling of watching and feeling himself inside me. I run my hand up his inner thigh, I have to touch him. I want him to surrender everything to me. His moans are getting louder as he is trying to maintain control, but can't, knowing exactly where I want to touch. He spreads his legs apart just enough for me to find the entrance to his tight ass and start to push against it. He is panting in desperation and need. He is mine. And as I feel his balls pull and tighten more against his body, I push into him and in the same moment, he explodes into my mouth, down my throat, giving me a declaration of his surrender in every hot spirt.

As he stands there, his legs and body struggle to keep him upright, he sees our reflection in the mirror. Me on my knees cleaning every drop from him. And him, powerful- the kind of man that claims what he wants.

"You are mine..." he whispers.

I look up and smile at him. I stand and he leans down to kiss me, tasting himself on my tongue and lips. He sits on the bed, no longer able or wanting to stand.

"Actually, you are mine." I correct him. "You see, it doesn't matter that I call you 'Sir', or 'Daddy', or let you call me 'good girl.' It doesn't matter if you are in me, or I am in you, or you have me on my knees. In fact, you can play the Dom or the Sub, and have or release all the control you'd like. And you can do that because whether in here, the club or anywhere in the world, at the end of the day, you know that you belong to me. And that you wouldn't have it any other way."

I kiss him softly and go shower, knowing I have to catch my flight soon.

Later, in my window seat, having said our good-byes, I know we won't see each other again. We are married and what was meant to be just fun has crossed too many lines. The choice to continue this affair or to leave it as a fond memory seems to be the only two immediate choices. We both have people and responsibilities at home we are tied to.

Power, trust, and vulnerability are intoxicating aphrodisiacs. But love, love has no safe-word to tap out- to prevent heartache when you've played with fire. It is one mark that lasts long after the bite marks and bruises heal. And it is what will have us forever bound together.