Monday, February 21, 2011

She's an 8 Ball

As she walks up the steps, I pull open the front door, revealing my dining room cloaked in darkness. She leans down to kiss me, and I shift up on my toes, pulling her face down to mine. Connecting in. I like starting in a comfortable place, a calm place. She drops her backpack at my feet, and I let her grasp me around the waste, her lips still reaching for mine.

I pull away from her with a left ball change, and my body stiffens. She reaches for me again, leans toward me, but this time I rock back again slowly, cautiously. It's subtle, but she doesn't miss it. She stops, midway. Reaches for me with her hand, questioningly, but my body fluidly moves backward out of her reach.

"May I?" her voice is strong, not demanding, but confident.

I lean in to kiss her, but stop an inch from her lips. She comes back quickly, but I retract. She bites her bottom lip, cocks her head to the side, stares hungrily. I love the power in her stare. I love pushing her down, holding her there, watching her eyes as she gives way into yearning. The power is still there when she begs me. But there's something else, too -- a touch of fear mingled with the raw need for submission.

I move toward her once more, stop before she can reach for me to kiss me. She can't have me. She can't touch me, she can't kiss me. I lean it, catch her bottom lip, and bite it softly. She hesitates before kissing me back. She hesitates again, leans in to touch me. I pull away, ending the kiss.

"May I touch you?"

"No." Low and soft, I find my voice. It has the feeling of a familiar weapon, the handle of a old knife I haven't palmed in a long time. "I don't think so."

I can feel a shift in her. My voice takes her aback. I'm not sure when, but I know it has hit her that the room is dark. All the lights are off, which is unusual -- I always leave one or two on, click them off in a row on my way up to bed.

"Follow me." I take her arm, lead her though the dark rooms, into the stairwell. She doesn't know what to expect, and I'm going to thoroughly enjoy toying with her.

I stop in front of the stairs, midway into the house. "Kiss me," I order her. We dance for a minute, again, as I pull back from her kisses and she reaches in for more. I find pleasure in training her to follow my movements. She's intelligent, catches on fast. It's a mind game at this point, a psychological power play.

I find her hands in the darkness, put them on the waist of my jeans. "Take my pants off."

She giggles nervously. "But you'll be cold..." It's half question, half statement.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" I pause and lean in, my lips right next to her ear. "I told you to take my pants off."

"Yes, ma'm," she whispers.

"I'm glad you're listening." I don't have time for bullshit.

She undoes the button on my jeans carefully, slowly pulling the legs of my jeans down my thighs. I have the feeling she wants to touch me, but I haven't given her permission to. She knows better.

She stands back up and waits for my next command, nervously.

"What can I do for you?" she asks. It's one of her favorite questions. She's pulling what she knows, trying to apply it to the situation to make it more familiar, more comfortable.

"Whatever I tell you."

She giggles again, and a part of me wants to reach out to her as she navigates this space outside her comfort zone. But I haven't pushed her into anything she can't handle.

"Take off my panties."


"Don't question me." She moves slowly, carefully, working down my body. Her face is inches from my cunt.

"Stand up."

I can feel the cold air hitting my body. I guide her hand to the desk next to me, where my robe sits. She picks it up. "Put the robe on me."

"Yes, ma'm." She gingerly sets it on me. I lean in and bite her neck, bit her lip. Run my hands across her chest. She's bound, tight, but I find her nipples anyway. I want to pinch them, but that's not possible. She groans softly when I touch her.

"May I touch you?" I let this question sink in.

"What do you want?" My response is low, cold.

"May I touch you, please?" God, how I love to hear her beg.


She is accustomed to my consent. "Please?" But my body is stiff and cold as my voice.

"No. Follow me."

I lead her through the curtain, into the kitchen. The only light is a street lamp glinting through the window over the sink. In the middle of the kitchen I pull her into me roughly, nails digging into her neck, and kiss her. Her uncertainty is almost tangible.

I snatch her shirt in my fist, back up into the counter top, and pull her into me. Her hands rest on the counter.

"Do you know what I want?"

She shakes her head.

"Answer me."

"No." Her voice is so small, awkward.

"Do you feel this countertop?"


"Yes, what." It's not a question.

"Yes, ma'm."

"Lift me onto it." She cups her hands under my ass, and I pull my body up as she lifts me. I lock my thighs around her waist, bend over her, and kiss her. Her hand touches my thigh, cautiously. I pull away sharply from her lips.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

She hangs her head. "No."

"No, what?"

"No, ma'm."

"Then why are you touching me?"

"I..." She's stuttering. "I wanted to feel you."

"Don't touch me unless I tell you to. Do you understand me?"

"Yes... ma'm."

"Good. I made that pretty fucking clear."

I wrap my hands around her cheeks, pull her in close to me. I can't see her eyes in the dark, though I want to.

I shift my legs open, spread wide across the kitchen counter. "Do you know what I want?"

She shifts nervously but doesn't answer.

"I'm going to tell you what you're going to do. You're going to lick me until I come all over your tongue. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'm."

I push her head down roughly between my thighs, lean back, and let her cup her hands under my ass and lift me to her face.

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