The Quiet One


My tongue slips out over my lips again, when I think of his chest and his arms, and I wonder at the taste of him. Salt sweet? Hot or merely warm? I want so much to touch him. I see myself kneeling before him, his hands on my head, using my teeth to undo his pants, seeking out his cock with my tongue. I see him binding my hands and asking me to please him, and I want to. I want him to come back in here and tell me what he wants.

My cunt is still throbbing, how long has he kept me like this now, but I no longer care about me, I want to see him again, want him to lift my head and let me memorize him. Sharp eyebrows painted over dark eyes, that delicious mouth, the husky expanse of his shoulders, the strength in his arms. I fight my hands, which are desperate to pull at the eraser pearls of my nipples, I send him mental images, begging him to come inside and without ceremony, thrust his cock inside my cunt, slam into me until he comes, and take me with him, nothing but slick velvet heat. Does he know how much I want this?

My breathing is ragged, though I am motionless, I can feel the air rattle through my lungs and I moan softly, please. But it is even later that I hear the door open, my senses heightened to his arrival. Three steps, the quiet sound of the door shutting, then locking. I squeeze my eyes shut, my fists, I hear the sound of his belt zipping through the loops, and my cunt squeezes open, shut, in a tiny spasm at the noise. I cry out quietly at the sensation, frustrated that I cannot run to him.

"Quiet One," he says, and I don=t know if it is an order or a caress. I hold my breath, waiting to hear the sound of buttons, zipper, and fabric hitting the floor. It does not come. "Quiet One," he says quietly, firmly, the sound tickling up my spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. "Yes," I say no more than a breath. He moves until he is standing behind me, laces his fingers through my hair, the electricity of his touch makes me shiver, makes me nearly cry out again. I anticipate his move to pull me up, but he pauses instead, letting my hair fall from his fingers, pressing his palm against my back, tracing my shoulder blades, his fingers across my ass, and then only two fingers, in a v, across the outside of my cunt, not touching the lips, just laying there. "Don't," he says again. "Move.”

When he removes his fingers, I jump, and then his hands are in my hair again and he pulls me up to look at him, my back, and my muscles shrieking in pleasure from the stretch. He is smiling, and I smile back, reflexive, agreeable. "What do you want, Quiet One?" he asks. What does he mean, what do I want? I want everything, I want it so badly I cannot vocalize it, I want it all, I want my tongue and my teeth and my hands all over him, I want to make him want me as much as I want him and I want to make him come harder any other woman has made him come, watch his cock throb, let him shoot his semen wherever he wants my tits, my cunt, my ass I don't care as long as he lets me bring him there and as long as he makes me come and not my old weary vibrator.

"It's alright," he says, still smiling. "I know what you want." He lets my hair fall again, strokes it softly. "Turn around." I move awkwardly on the bed until I am kneeling, facing him as he stands before me. He cups my face in his hands and pulls me forward until I am touching his chest, and he lets me explore. I spread my hands wide, touching his arms, burying my nose in his hair, letting my tongue dart out, hungrily flicking at his nipples, kissing my way down his flat stomach. When I have made a tactile map of his torso, I pull my hands back around and reach for the button on his pants. With that feline speed I have already come to know so well, he grabs my wrists in one hand, pinning them together, and with the other hand, pinches my nipple sharply. "No,” he says firmly. I tremble at his touch. Still holding my hands, he reaches behind him and deftly opens a drawer, pulling out small strips of fabric. Before I can examine them, he wraps the lengths of midnight velvet around my wrists and then releases them. I pull at them experimentally, but my hands are locked together as if in prayer, in plea.

"Now," he says, and he moves his own hands to his pants, unbuttons, unzips, lowers. My mouth parts involuntarily when I see his cock, proudly swollen, throbbing, pre come at the tip and I am so hungry for it, it makes me moan, makes my nipples ache, makes my cunt start the drumming again. I reach for him, and he grabs the restraints. "I said no," he says, and unties me. "Put your hands behind your back," he orders, and I do, my lips moving as if to object, but no sound appearing. He steps up against me, his cock is throbbing angrily against my tits, but he has me immobilized as he reties the restraints so I cannot touch him.

"Please" I say again, when he has stepped away, and I am fixated on his cock, his balls, the muscles in his thighs, I want to lick him until he comes, let him use me, fuck my face, I don't care, but I want it so badly. "Do you like my cock?" he asks, and reaches down and strokes it once. It throbs in response, my cunt matches it. "Yes," I breathe. "Do you want to suck it?" he asks politely. "Please," I say. "Do you want to beg me for it?" "Please, let me suck your cock," I say, and my cunt is really thrumming now, my nipples vibrating with electricity. "Please, Master, let me suck your cock," he says, mocking. "Please, Master, let me suck your cock,” I repeat, not caring if he makes fun of me. He strokes his cock again, catches the bead of moisture on the tip of his index finger. It hangs there, sparkling like ambrosia in the dim light, and he reaches for me, I open my mouth for it, and he lets me taste it. I suck hungrily, desperate to show him how I would suck his cock if he would only let me, working my tongue on the underside, pulling my teeth back, looking up at him. "You want it in your mouth?" he asks, and I nod, childishly enthusiastic.

He smiles at me, bemused adult. I open my mouth expectantly, like a baby bird. "No, no, no. Not yet," he says, taking pleasure in denying me. I sulk, and he pushes me back onto the bed so I am lying there, open for him. He moves up, spreads his legs to climb over me until he is straddling my chest. His cock throbs impatiently, and a thrill chases through me as I realize that it is for me. "Look into my eyes," he says, and I tear myself from the worship of his cock. He touches my face. "Beautiful," he murmurs. "Just like that.

He leans forward; I keep my eyes locked with his, swirls of heated chocolate. His cock touches my chin, my cheek. I part my lips again, anticipating. "Don't you dare," he says, wagging his finger at me. I close them, he brushes the swollen head over my mouth, and I am stunned by the heat of it, hot poker, feverish, and the heat between my thighs seems just as unbearable. Over my cheekbones, my jaws, up to my hairline so I can really smell him, hot, sweat, the unmistakable new smell of a man, and I love it. The hair on his thighs is tickling my breasts and it makes me squirm. He moves back down, relaxes, his thighs rub my nipples, he leans forward and his cock rests against my neck. "Very good," he coos. "Now what do you want?" "I want to suck your cock,” I moan, twisting my hips, rubbing my thighs together, begging for some release.

"Open your mouth," he demands. I look at him, puzzled. Like this? Not on my knees? "Open your mouth," he repeats, holding my head still. I lick my lips and open my mouth, and he slides his cock inside, hotter in there than on my face. I flick my tongue around the head, tasting more of his pre come, thirsty for it. He flexes his hips and begins to fuck my mouth.

The fear strikes me that I will feel as ashamed about this as I do the morning after an extended masturbatory session, waking up in sheets that reek of my cunt, melted ice dampening the blanket, my vibrator purring weakly under the bed, books of erotica lying open, their spines irreparably bent; That moment of cold separation from ecstasy, cleaning up; The morning after. But that fear is subsumed by the fact that a man, with an amazing body, true eyes, and a soft voice, wants to use me like this, and that I will not wake up alone.

He pulls out, sits back. I am gasping for air. His cock is even more swollen, his balls tight and high and heavy. Doesn't he want to come? Was I doing it wrong? "No, baby," he says, chucking me under the chin, reading my mind. "You're perfect. But I want to taste you, and then I want to fuck you. I shudder, relieved that my orgasm is finally imminent. He climbs off of me, bends over, takes one of my nipples in his mouth. I buck at the sensation as his hand finds my other breast, pulls the other nipple taut, pinches, squeezes. He sucks, hard, biting occasionally, pinching harder, and as hard as he does it I want it harder. I want it dirty.

I'm writhing against my restraints, miserable that I cannot pull his head to my breasts, make him hurt me with those fingers and teeth. He moves his mouth to the other nipple, slides his hand down my side, down my thigh, back up. I shiver with anticipation, feeling his cock throb against my leg and my cunt answers. His fingers tickle their way back up, tease the lips of my pussy, so swollen it hurts, and then he slips one finger inside me, thrusts, a second finger, thrusts, a third, stretching me wide, slamming in so the heel of his hand hits my clit and my body jerks in a tiny climax.

He moves his head from my breast pushes my legs apart, lies between them. His tongue hovers above me for a moment, and I hold my breath until he finds the bud of my clitoris and flicks it ever so lightly, once, twice. I moan, struggle against my bonds again, push my hips up, and he finally humors me, stroking his tongue along my clit harder, faster, fucking me with his fingers, and I'm crying out for him. It only takes a few minutes, and I am coming, screaming, writhing, my cunt squeezing his fingers again and again, and the release after such denial so perfect. He waits for me to finish, pressing his tongue flat against my clit until it stops pulsing, the aftershock of the quake settling around his fingers, and then he pulls himself up, pulls me up by my shoulders, and unties me.

"Roll over he tells me, and I do, drawing myself up on all fours. He pushes my knees out with his, and kneels between my legs, poises the head of his cock at my weakly shuddering cunt lips, wraps his hands around my hips, and pulls me back. I settle over his cock, so stiff I can feel it, iron like inside me, feel every ridge of my pussy as he pushes in. He sets the rhythm using my hips, pulling, pushing. We are groaning together, his fingers are bruising my skin when we move faster, the sound of our bodies smacking together filling the air. He pulls one hand around, rubs my clit, pushes me to orgasm one more time and as I start to call out, howl into the air with my head thrown back, he pushes off me, forces me over onto my back, wraps my hand around the shaft of his cock until it throbs. I push back once, tightening the skin, and it happens, as my cunt is still pulsing from his absence, his come shoots out, the way I wanted it to, on my tits, my stomach, my face, my tongue reaching out obscenely, begging to taste it as it pools, warm and white all over my body. Panting, we stop our movements, the throbbing subsides, recedes. I lie beneath him and watch his chest rise and fall, his face lifted to the ceiling, my hand still wrapped around his softening cock. He looks down at me, slick with sweat and his come, and smiles. "Good girl, he says softly, and I smile. Calm. Unembarrassed. Quiet.

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