a Kinkster is Born

The overhead fan is beating through the heavy summer heat, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. My room is stifling. The afternoon sun glaring on my windows isn’t helping – but neither are we. I’ve got her down on my bed, my hips holding her captive. She slides her hands under the oversized men’s cotton polo shirt I’m wearing; her fingers feel cool against the heat of my skin.

I stop kissing her, pull away. “Will you take your jeans off?”

I’m making her nervous. I can tell. I’m always a bit surprised when this happens, especially when I know for a fact that I’m younger, less experienced. But I suppose everyone isn’t quite so brash, completely sober and determined to get laid in the middle of the afternoon.

“I don’t know…”

“Please?” I keep pushing, foolishly, because I’m young and aggressive.

But she clearly isn’t going to oblige. I flip around, climbing off her, and fall into the bed next to her. She pulls up on her side, leaning over me, pulling me under her.

“Yes?” I’m not trying to be rude, but my response comes off as a cocky question.

“I want to fuck you.”

I look directly into her eyes, unfazed. “You already have. I want to fuck you.”

“Not today, not now.” She’s insistent.

“That’s not fair. I don’t want you to keep fucking me and not let me touch you.” In my head, I rationalize not wanting to start this – whatever this is – as anything but reciprocal.

“Just for today.”

I’m clearly not getting anywhere, and there's a time to stop pushing. I relax and pull her into me. She leans in to kiss me. She wants to get me off. We fucked the day before, and I didn’t come. I had gotten close – so close, then my body shut off at the last moment. It’s not abnormal. Bodies are fickle, unpredictable, changing. An orgasm, or lack of one, doesn’t mean or prove anything, at least, not in my eyes.

We’re still kissing, but I’m pondering the next move. My choices are to let her fuck me or get out of bed. This isn’t a difficult decision. She begins to unbutton my shirt from the bottom, and I follow her lead, unbuttoning it from the top. She slides off the only other article of clothing I’m wearing – a pair of cotton panties – and runs her hands across my body.

She swings her body across mine, holding herself up over me, and pulls the down comforter up and over our bodies. She’s stripped down from three shirts to one by this point, and I’ve got her bra off, even if she’s still holding on to her t-shirt and jeans. She sits up, hips holding me down, and catches both my wrists with her hands, pulling them above my head. I don't expect this, at all, and my body tenses reflexively. But I don't have any time to react. The weight of her body is pushing me deeper into the bed; I can't move. She leans in, lips grazing my ear. 


"I'm going to let go of your wrists. But you're not going to move. Do you understand?"


I'm gulping for air. Between breaths, I nod. 


"Don't say anything. I don't want to hear a peep from you. I don't want you to move a muscle. Understood?"


I'm nodding.


"Say 'yes' so I know you understand."


"Yes," I whisper. 


"If you move, I'll won't touch you." Every muscle in my body is frozen. 


She releases my wrists and moves down my body, slowly, kissing across my breasts, my stomach, my hip bones, the inside of my thighs. It's taking every ounce of my concentration to  focus on not moving, not twitching. She spreads my legs wide; they feel like jello -- I have no control. Her tongue finds my swollen clit, and a moan falls out of my lips. I tense, hoping she didn't hear me. 


She stops. Fuck. "Did I just hear you moan?"


I shake my head back and forth.


"Answer me."


"No. Yes. I'm sorry."


"Don't do it again."


She puts her mouth back to my clit, wraps both arms under and around my thighs until she's gripping me so tight I'm tensing against her. 


I don't have time to think, to process this totally new sensation in my body. I come so fucking fast that it scares me. I couldn't hold back if I wanted to.