To Please Me

She is so perfect for me. From where she kneels on the floor, kind and gentle eyes meet mine, imbued with a subtle steel that speaks volumes of her love for me and her protest against bruised knees on hardwood.

I test the waters by stroking the side of her face, and, encouraged by the soft pressure of her cheek against my palm, I run a calloused thumb along the silk of her bottom lip. There's barely a second for me to register a sharpening of the metal in her gaze before my thumb disappears into her mouth and I feel the soft but insistent clench of her teeth around it. I resist the urge to jerk my hand away and instead relish the tension that seems to radiate from my hand down to my cock, feeding the burn that has been building throughout the day.

"Baby," I say softly, kneeling down in front of her with my thumb still trapped, "if you wanted to play rough, all you had to do was ask."

I kiss her on the forehead and pull back in time to see the curiosity plain on her face. Instead of trying to free myself, I instead slowly force myself deeper into the trap that she had set. The pad of my thumb pushes through her teeth and deep into the back of her throat until I can't go any further. She instinctively pulls her head back, but I reach my other hand around and grab a handful of hair at the back of her neck, bringing her forward to accept the intrusion.

The corner of my mouth twitches, a half-smile, as her eyes begin to water, and she fights to prove how unbothered she is by the obstacle. Her tongue laves the side of my finger, and I back off, just a little bit, and begin to turn the pressure sideways. I hook the side of her mouth with my thumb and stretch the side of her cheek until she complies and follows my lead. I pull and pull until she's staring at an angle towards to floor to my side. Only then do I release her, watch the breath work its way in and out, in and out. She turns her head forward but doesn't meet my eyes again.

Still down on her level, I lean into her with my front knee to her side and the other sharing the burden of my weight with the front of her thighs. Unconsciously, she begins to bend backwards and teeters on the edge of losing her balance.

"Shhh," I say, barely loud enough for her to hear, "Let's try this again."

I return my hand to her cheek and stroke her bottom lip, this time without interruption, while my other arm wraps around the small of her back and brings her body to meet mine. I can feel her delicious heat against my stomach, and I slip my hand beneath her shirt, feeling her stiffen and push further into me as my cold hand meets the soft, warm skin of her back.

"That's better," I tease, and I take a moment to indulge the little victory. I slide my thumb from her mouth and instead grasp her chin to bring her lips to mine. I start slow and careful against her, searching for her desire and wanting it to rise to meet mine. For a moment, though, it feels almost formulaic. The patterns set by a thousand kisses between us in the past linger like a ghost in the lazy set of her jaw.

Frustrated, I pull her even harder against me and begin to grind into her, letting her feel the full extent of what she would be taking from me tonight. I begin to feel a small shift between my arm and my hips, and she finds my tempo and matches it. Suddenly, she is breathing me in, and every exhale feels to be on the precipice of becoming a moan.

I keep pushing into her and forcing her backwards until her shoulders are pressed into the floor, and her body is contorted and curved in such an appealing and helpless way. I raise the hem of her shirt up, exposing an inch of skin at a time. I use my mouth to warm the swathes that grow tight against the cold air. When I finally expose her breasts, my breath catches in my throat, and I want to take her then and there. The tantalizing promise of warmth and soft obscenities from her lips nearly push me over the edge, but no. I want more.

I gather the front of her shirt in one hand and pull her back up onto her knees, and she looks at me, unsure of what to do next.

"Back," I say, gesturing behind her with my hands.

"What?" The sound is a hoarse whisper that barely makes it out of her throat.

I stroke the side of her cheek before following it with a stinging slap that jerks her to attention and brings tears to her eyes. I grab a handful of her hair and begin to lead her.

"Back against the wall," I say firmly with a hit of malice.

She scrambles backwards and forces her shoulders back into the wall, staring up at me with the color in her cheeks melding seamlessly into the reddening site of my blow.

I work my cock out of my pants and stroke my hand up and down the shaft. I enjoy seeing the way her eyes trace my fingers' path, like an erotic hypnosis act.

"Open," there's no mistaking my instruction this time. Her mouth opens obediently, and the tip of her tongue pokes out, begging to taste.

"Yes, baby. Good job," I croon, "Just like that."

The sensation of her mouth first closing around me keeps me from breathing for a moment, and I bury myself in her throat in one fluid motion. As she begins to choke and panic, the spasms around my shaft breed dark thoughts of seeing just how long a woman could go without air. I fight against it and pull back, giving her a moment to breathe before I renew my silent demand.

I fuck her mouth with little mercy, and when her jaw begins to tire, I push her forehead back against the wall with one hand and pry her bottom jaw open with the other. Ropes of saliva run intricate knots around my head, tying it inexorably back to her waiting tongue after every short respite.

I am surprised out of my reverie when I begin to feel moans of her own vibrating up into my stomach, and I look down to find her hand tracing desperate circles around her clit. I pull away immediately and stare at her, expressionless. She wipes her mouth with her hand and stares me down while she continues to finger herself and race to her own climax.

I take one step towards her, and the defiant look falters for a moment, but returns, determined to make a statement. I close the distanced between us and force both of her arms up above her head, trapping her fragile wrists in one hand.

"Whore," I accuse, "This is not for you."

I rub my cock up and down the side of her face, leaving a trail of her own spit in her hair and down her cheek. I palm the front of her face and push it back against the wall, and I start to fuck the space between her and my hand. It would never be as warm or as soft as her pussy, or as tight as her ass, but there was a possessiveness about it that made me feel feral. She is mine. To fuck, to degrade, to pleasure...whatever I want.

I increase the speed of my thrusting, and I can feel a knot tightening in my hips that begged to come undone. I move my hand upwards and lace my fingers through her hairline, pulling her forward onto her hands and knees. I tear aside her panties and thrust into her with abandon. Memories of how tight I pull her hair and the names that I call her will surely be lost to the savagery of the moment, and my pace quickens. I pull one of her hands from the floor and guide it downwards, pushing her towards her own orgasm, daring her to race mine.

With her face and knees pressed into the floor below her, the keening call of her climax finally pushes me to my own, and the spasms of her around me milk every last drop as I bury myself so deeply into her that I may never find my way out. Her name rises, almost unbidden, to my lips, and my head falls heavily onto the heaving shoulder below me.