Sit on My Face, Tell Me You Love Me

Contains British English and two loving women in an implied dom/sub relationship. A short, sweet story; includes descriptions of needle play and fisting.

***

"Louise! You made it!" I greet my occasional girlfriend, who didn't think she was going to be able to attend this conference. We hadn't seen each other in four months. Family commitments, caring for her frail dad in particular, tended to scupper any plans we ever made to meet. Or she would be floored by illness, or she'd have a work crisis.

To be fair, I had just as many of the work reasons. Lab science is a bastard - either your experiments don't work and need to be repeated, or they unexpectedly do work and you're there for hours documenting the results. We tend to manage two or three successful dates a year, despite aiming for every two or three weeks. It is what it is. After several years, I'm just about confident she loves me anyway.

"They were about to give your room away!"

"Glad they didn't. Are you free now?"

"Yes, I've got a couple hours before the next session I need to be at. You?"

"No, I'm going to be. very busy. Come to my room with me."

She knows I can never resist her. I follow, happily. I fall under her spell every time I see the woman.

"I didn't have time to pack," she says. "Literally, all I brought is the clothes I'm in." She pulls her leather coat off and drapes it over her arm. "I'll have to borrow some clean clothes if I stay overnight."

"No problem," I assure her.

"Fine. You come to mine. Come along." As soon as we're out of the main atrium, into a corridor sparsely populated with strangers, no-one we recognise, she continues, "And let me kiss you. It's been too long."

It's always too long. We don't live that far apart, but Lou and I both have family members to care for, and hers specialise in emergencies every time we plan to see each other. Over the last few years we've learnt never to get our hopes up, but simply snatch any moment we can get.

Given the public place and the gossipy nature of scientists - two women together is still gossip-worthy, annoyingly - her kiss is disappointingly chaste, a touch just to the side of my lips, but a hug is reasonable, plausibly deniable that much else is going on, and she accepts my enthusiastic embrace. After a couple minutes in each other's arms, breathing in the scent of each other like it's a drug, me leaning down to nuzzle my face in her mass of curly chestnut hair, her turning her face upwards, looking misleadingly young and innocent, we separate enough to continue walking to the apartment she's in.

No-one else is around the accommodation blocks in mid-afternoon. We hold hands as we go up in the lift. Being able to make circles on her palm with my thumb, such a small intimate gesture, is beautifully satisfying. Once in her room - typical student accommodation designed for conference guests in the vacations, single bed, dimmable light, all-in-one plastic-moulded en-suite cubicle, all clean and comfortable if not at all luxurious - we catch up on each other's busy lives. Most of our meetings are like this - grabbing precious minutes in the same place at the same time. At some point I express disappointment that she's had to leave her toys at home, as did I.

She strokes under my chin with one finger, and smiles sweetly - always a sign of evilness. And impending doom. "We'll just have to improvise then, won't we?"

Lou reaches for the front of my T-shirt, then pushes me down to the bed while the front of the T-shirt goes up and over my head. Then it's carefully pulled smooth, down over my upper arms. Two layers of fabric now pin my shoulders and arms in place by my sides. I want to reach out and hold her, but when I turn sideways to try, she pushes me backwards so I'm lying on the bed. She pulls my bra upwards so it adds to the bulk of cloth around my neck, blocking my view, making my exposed tits feel even more vulnerable.

She's going to have ideas now, and I'm going to go along with them. That's pretty much how our relationship always works, to be fair, but this time I really have little choice. I'm not actually complaining.

She's unbuckled my belt, pulled it free, and is tapping her hand with it, thoughtfully. I wait.

She tosses the belt aside and climbs onto the bed to straddle my thighs. My jeans are a bit loose now, but she leaves them in place as she reaches a hand inside, fondles the front of my pants - not nearly as far down as I'd like - and yanks them upwsrds, hard. They ride up my arsecrack, separating my bum cheeks, which in turn reminds me of how soft and tender my arse is, that she will probably use my belt on soon...

"Close your eyes," Louise orders. I'm reluctant, despite not being able to see much of what the woman is doing anyway. She tuts, rips off her own vest top, and knots it round my head. My eyes and nose are covered by the stretchy ribbed fabric. I relax into her warm smell, forcing the fear in the back of my mind away. As she didn't bother saying on this occasion, she's going to enjoy hurting me, and I'm going to like it. It's how it goes. I struggle to stop thinking about what she's plotting, and just accept.

I hear some rummaging in her backpack. In a moment it becomes clear that 'just' grabbing a bag and going, for her, just happens to include a fortuitous length of climbing rope, which she's now wrapping round my ankles to hold them together. She pulls to make my feet sway from side to side, as she muses where to tie them to. The foot of the bed. It's always the foot of the bed - there's never another robust-enough place.

Having got me unable to escape, she makes a happy, satisfied purr and climbs onto my thighs. The heat of her inner thighs against mine, even through two pairs of jeans, is impressive. She really is hot, in every sense. She starts to play with my breasts, pulling at my nipples, pinching and squeezing my tits, scratching all over. It gets painful quickly and I try to push her hands away, but as I can't move my arms above the elbow, this is pretty futile. I'm waggling my hands ineffectually, like a T-Rex. I bet Lou is finding that hilarious.

She does take pity on me, starting to mix a bit more pleasure in with the pain, or rather, applying pain that I find pleasurable. Pinched nipples and clawing my chest is more like it, sending tingling straight to my cunt. She shifts to kneeling with one leg between mine, which means I can start pushing against her, trying to rub my clit against her. My tits are burning and my cunt is throbbing, dripping, and horribly empty. She'd better give me more soon, the bitch. I try to reach round her leg and hold her still with my knees. It fails.

She gets up and leaves me, laughing as I whimper and then swear a lot, insulting her, her predilection to maternal incest, making comparison to a female dog, and confirming the fact that she is the most fiendish cunt this side of the Atlantic.

"Ooh, you need to watch your mouth," she says, stroking up the underside of my chin with one finger. I reply with some classic swear words. She tuts, and slaps my tits a dozen times. By the time I've caught my breath, my nipples are burning in agony but the rest of each breast is warm and throbbing and feeling fantastic.

"Now, are you going to be a good girl for me?"

I have no idea what she wants or whether I am or not, but that's not important. The message is that I'm still her girl, no matter how seldom we see each other. Probably always will be. I mumble something.

"Don't move."

I don't know if she can see me roll my eyes under her vest, but she meant it sarcastically anyway. I feel one breast being held, skin stretched. There's a sharp prick, a scratch. She's sliding needles under my skin. I'm never clear whether I like needles or not, but I love her playing with my tits, and she loves needle play, which is good enough for me. And means needles do now turn me on. A circle of eight round each breast, each surgical steel point removed from its individual blister pack, then slid under and over and under a few layers of skin, before opening the next. Then another circle within that, closer to the nipple. The first circle is mostly pressure and endorphins: the second adds pain to the mix of sensations. Repeating it on the second breast somehow makes it even more intense as I start to feel symmetrical. Now it's not just my nipples burning hot; it's the whole of each breast. My cunt is so wet my pants are soggy. The fact that there's nothing anywhere between my legs, let alone penetrating me, is a fucking travesty. Or, y'know, not.

She steps back, admiring her art. There's some shoving my bra to the side and some clicking of phone cameras, before she returns to kiss me and whisper in my ear, "You were ever so good, darling."

Well, of course. It's implied. I stay quiet.

Lou chuckles to herself, knowing too damn well what I'm thinking, and asks, in a quiet, sweet voice, "Which would you like now - fisting or face-fucking?"

I moan. I want - need? - her perfect slender hand balled up inside my soaking wet cunt, pushing me in and out. My arse tilts up at the very thought. But the idea of her sitting on my face, being able to pleasure her, that wonderful scent and taste of all the juice from her pussy, her hot thighs wrapped round my ears...

"Both?" I whimper, embarrassed but there is really no way to choose. She chuckles, but kindly.

"All right, sweetheart. Lick me out and I'll make it up to you."

There's a delay, and I remember she still had boots as well as jeans on, so presumably is removing them. After far too long a wait, the mattress shifts under me as my muse comes to kneel across my face and lowers herself gently, to let me suck and slurp as much as I want - and believe me, that's a lot. It's so obvious why oysters are an aphrodisiac - the taste and texture of them and a clean, product-free woman are pretty much identical. Only she's warmer. I move one of her labia around between my lips in my mouth, sucking hard, and feel my face getting more squashed as she loses control of her legs slightly.

I take a deep breath while I can, and that warm wet air, tasting of her cunt, reeking of sex and desire and wanting me, has me practically coming beneath her. I stretch my tongue out and manage to get her clit in my mouth - now there's a pearl, all right - and try some gentle lapping of it. So beautiful. My hearing is muffled by those wonderful smooth inner thighs pressed against my ears, but that definitely causes some squeaking, I think in a good way. I headbutt upwards so I can take another breath, and suck her whole clit when she falls back down. My lips and jaw ache a bit from keeping teeth out the way and holding her in my pursed lips, but that can be sorted later. Right now I can only get tiny bits of air into my nose, but it will have to do because I am not moving from here, even if I could. I've got her, and try swallowing with her clit in my mouth. There's a cry, a long moan of pleasure. I smile, which presses my cheeks into her wet lips even more, painting me with her juice. More swallowing, some quick, deep sniffing to catch more air, and there we go - I have successfully achieved distracting my goddess from her work, her daily life, and everything, except for how good her cunt feels and what she's planning on doing with mine.

I can't see anything, which is a crying shame, but I can feel her bodyweight rocking against my face as she yells out, probably bruising my chin, definitely bashing her cunt on it, and I feel more smug than ... something. I'll worry about similes later and just enjoy this exquisite moment, hot soft flesh of her inner thighs gripping each side of my head and riding me as her clit bumps past my nose and mouth and back again, and I drink from her as salty water squirts into my face, gasping for air whenever I can. It's not that I'm happy when Lou moans one last, long, time and sits back on my belly, but it is a relief; inhaling lots of air is a really good thing. Though, after only a lungful, I'm missing her weight pressing over my face already.

I shake my head and her vest falls off my face enough that I can see her. She gazes, smiling, into my eyes and chucks it aside. "Beautiful baby," she tells me. "And you were good. No humming."

"Would I?"

"Yes, you would, if you'd been able to get a breath. I know you."

"Wouldn't."

"So would. Yes, I'd still love you. But just don't."

I blow her a kiss. And manage to blot the Monty Python song (Sit on my face and tell me that you love me) out of my mind, by gazing happily at her wonderful body. Pointed breasts, small to fit her frame, perfectly formed and poised above my mouth. I can't reach them, though, sadly.

Lou wriggles backwards and steps to the floor, kneeling over me. "Hup," she commands, tapping my arse. Feet flat on the mattress, I raise my bum off the bed as best I can - must do those pilates exercises more often - and she yanks my jeans down to my knees. She tugs my pants down by the front - they bunch under my thighs but I don't complain. It's nice to have the damp fabric away, but it doesn't stop me feeling moisture dribbling out of me and down my leg. . Without any preamble, she slides two fingers into my vagina. "You are soaking," Lou observes. "Aren't you a desperate little slut?"

I nod and smile, merrily agreeing. Guilty as charged.

"My little slut," she says, and I'm a molten puddle of pleasure.

Then she slides her other two fingers in too, and I start to really feel it - her hands are small and I'm as wet as a river, but the width of a palm will always make an impression. Knuckles bump against my entrance - it's intense and a bit painful but I love it. Feeling filled always makes me feel so right, like all's right with the world. Though I'm starting to want more, long before the time when, finally, she folds her thumb inwards, bends her fingers, and slowly pushes her hand even further into my cunt so she can make a fist.

Feeling her finger knuckles pushing near my cervix, gently but firmly pushing my vaginal walls, is screamingly intense; her hand balling and stretching me open around it even more so. When she starts to slowly, gently, slide her fist down and up, I know I yell out in reaction to overwhelming sensations - and emotions. The mental picture of being a puppet on the end of her arm, played with by her fingers, being manipulated by her, is shocking but at the same time so pleasing I never want this to end. I tighten my pussy's grip on her forearm - I think I can feel the hairs on the slightly rough side and that beautiful smoothness of her inside arm, both pulsing in and out of me in a firm, slow rhythm.

I push my cunt upwards to fuck against her hand as Lou fucks me, pushing myself up and down around her arm. It's a slender arm to be sure, but more satisfying than any cock. She speeds up. I speed up. Her arm motion gets stronger until she is punching into me with her fist and I'm squealing and moaning and screaming incoherently, just as she likes me to be, totally out of control. I whimper when it gets too much, but she only needs to dial down a tiny step to restore me to yelling fractions of obscenities and knowing I never want this to end, ever.

Though, as all good things must, it ends, with both of us exhausted, lying still as Lou collapses with her head in between my breasts. Her forearm is still trapped in my cunt. "I'll need my arm back," she whispers.

"OK," I reply, trying to relax for the withdrawal. It's a bit bruising against my vaginal walls, but she slides her hand out easily, with some very loud squelching noises and a puddle of juice. Lou wipes her hand on the duvet, but I get pretty sticky anyway.

"Poor messy baby," she tells me sarcastically, smiling.

" And whose fault is that?" I ask.

"Yours, of course. If you hadn't been so irresistible, or not so wet for it, you wouldn't be in this state now."

"And what would be the fun in that?" I mock-grumble.

"Exactly. Now I need to trot off in 20 minutes, to give my presentation in the last slot today, so let's get you up. I'll have a quick wash while you check all your bits work."

She unties my legs, and, with some effort, pull my T-shirt down my arms and off, so that once my arms cease being stiff, I can take the bra off too and stop it dangling annoyingly under my chin. Louise nips next door to tidy herself up, and looks less flustered by the time she returns to collect her clothes and put them back on. The formal fitted suit suits her. Her knickers were soaking too - just as well she brought fresh ones in that bag she didn't have time to pack. The dirty ones are mischievously thrown at my face as I stretch out on the bed, having no desire to move. I love that scent even more than her skin.

"You stay here and relax - your session's tomorrow, isn't it? I probably have to leave tonight." She bends over and kisses me, and I kiss back, mindful of needing to keep her looking respectable, however much I'm wanting more. I suddenly realise something.

"This must be the first successful date in years where I don't end up with a red arse!"

You look slightly affronted. I worry that I've upset her, reminding her she can't give me the commitment we'd both love. But no...

Her wicked grin isn't even aiming to look innocent as she replies, "Of course, dear. I wouldn't want you to be sore for anyone you play with during the rest of the weekend!"

As if. Chance would be a fine thing. I came here alone, apart from colleagues whom I'd never consider any such thing with! "This is a work conference! It's not... 'KinkCon'."

"Really? Could have fooled me, all these years, all these young scientists- spending so many hours on fiddly experiments with so much time to fantasize and plot during the repetitive bits - you'd never noticed? I must run, darling."

A final, too-brief kiss, and I'm left alone to get dressed. It occurs to me that only she would pack her presentation materials plus spare knickers, yet just happen to find some piercing needles in the bottom of her bag. She must have left them there so they would always be to hand if an opportunity arose - I suppose they don't take up much space. Fiendish woman...

I shower, only using one of the thin towels provided in case she does manage to stay over.

I'm dressed and about to venture out to the afternoon plenary when I get a text from Lou. "Talk went well. Have to run. Here's some people you may want to discuss collaboration with:"

There's half a dozen names, three of whom I do recognise, but let's say our labs work in very different fields and would be most unlikely ever to publish work together.

It takes me a minute to twig what needs these people might be able to assist with, confirmed when a second text arrives: "Tell them I suggested it. Love you."

I wonder how to start those conversations in a crowded poster hall. Perhaps, "My girlfriend Dr Louise Nicholson recommended your skills in specialised manipulation"? Or just show them the texts?

The conversations in the bar that night prove much more interesting than at most conferences.