She looks distracted. Fuck, who am I kidding – she looks scared. My arms are on both sides of her shoulders and as I look down at her she is looking everywhere but directly at me. I whisper her name as quietly as I can and she makes eye contact….
Tonight has been an experience already. We’ve been kicking this happening around for more than a year now and we’re both expecting it. I wouldn’t use the word “planned” but the doubt has faded away through hours of conversation and occasional frustration. One doesn’t expect to watch TV in a poorly lit hotel room for long.
When she looks at me, I can feel the reservations; I can actually feel the anxiety coming off her in waves. All I can hear is the blood rushing through my ears. I want to tell her that it’s okay or that we can stop – anything to get her to relax – but she already knows and she certainly isn’t the type that can be coerced.
I think we both knew what was going to happen when I stopped massaging her shoulders and slid her shirt over her head. She held it there, covering herself, for a long time while I continued to knead the muscles in her back and shoulders. She’s very tense but that isn’t too unusual. I wonder if it’s situational.
I brush her hair back from her face and she nods to me; a nearly unnoticeable movement, the slightest imaginable, and I move away.
When her arms dropped to her sides I knew she was mine for the night. As the shirt slipped onto the floor I leaned in close enough for her to feel my breath on her bare skin. If she wanted out, this was the time. I entwined her hair in my fingers and pulled while bringing her body closer to me. I kissed her lightly at first along her neck up to her ear. I can feel her tense against me, can feel the struggle already.
I move my hand down to her stomach; l linger there while I try to read her expressions. When I unzip her zipper she looks away quickly. I’m balanced on one elbow but can reach her hair with that hand. I wrap my fingers in it to gain her attention. When my other hand slips into her jeans, underneath the fabric, I hear the sharp intake of air and realize she wasn’t breathing.
I run my teeth along her skin for a moment letting her know what’s coming and when I bite her she barely flinches. Her hair is still in my hand and now I pull harder, gauging each reaction as it comes from her. When I sink my teeth into her again she makes the slightest noise in her throat and tries momentarily to pull away. I look at the teeth marks, slightly reddened now and look for a new spot.
She is already slick with anticipation when I finally touch her. I repress a smile. Her body is stunning, perfect. And I want to see more.
The next time I bite her she is expecting it. As the pain increases she leans back into me instead of pulling away and I know she’s okay with progression. I let her hair go but she doesn’t move her head back. I bite hard into the pale flesh of her shoulder right along the muscle. She flinches and I can feel her wanting to move away but she doesn’t. I’m almost impressed. The blue-black circles are beginning to form, contrasting against her skin. It’s getting darker in the room but I can see clearly see each bruise, each mark left. I run my hand along the light welts forming in a row across her shoulder and then grasp it firmly and guide her flat onto the bed. I push her forward and she lies out evenly on the bed. When I drag my nails down her back I watch for the lines to appear. I use her arm as leverage to turn her over, to face me. That’s what this is all about.
I sit up and navigate myself on top of her legs and wait until she looks at me. I hold each side of her jeans in both hands and just watch her. She’s a bit harder to read than I had imagined and I’m unsure if this is what she wants. When I start to pull them down over her hips she raises them toward me, an almost imperceptive movement that allows me to continue. I pull them off and drop them over the side of the bed. I’ve been waiting for a very long time and I can barely even breathe. My head is blazing with thoughts and I am forced to purposely take one breath after another.
She still looks a little distracted.
And she still looks kind of scared.
When I finally reach out to touch her again she closes her eyes. I lower myself onto this ugly plaid comforter and all I hear is her breathing coming harder and faster when I lean in to taste her.
She jerks when my mouth touches her, as if it was unexpected and I grasp her tightly to limit her movement. I don’t begin slowly; give her no time to become accustomed to this. Her hips match my movements magically and I realize how wrong I was about being able to know what she wants. She’s amazingly responsive and makes it very easy to know what to continue. I play into every shift and every noise. I match her readily letting her set the pace for now. I note every movement and noise for reference.
When she moves more slowly I alternate between light and then increasingly aggressive strokes along the entire area she shares with me. When she moves more quickly I flick my tongue against her most sensitive spots until she at the edge before drawing her back down. I don’t want this to end but I can sense her frustration – in the way she turns her head repeatedly to the sounds she makes. All I can hear is her voice as I allow her to get off. My eyes are closed but I can tell she is thrashing around a lot and I hold her tighter so we don’t inadvertently lose contact. When she’s done she becomes still and I give her some time to come down. I’m completely overwhelmed and tell myself to breathe. Relax.
I move to the side so we are parallel like stair steps to one another. When my hand begins to wander I sense a possible protest but she is quiet even as I slide it between her thighs. She turns her head when I look at her but makes no effort to stop me as I put two fingers inside her. I hear her take a deep breath as I enter and begin to explore what she likes. I initially touch her slowly but her reaction escalates and forces me deep inside her. I push hard and she allows me more space to move. I alter my patterns to see how she wants to do this. If I go slowly she grinds against my hand and makes the greatest sounds and when it’s faster she drives her hips in perfect sync with the rhythm I set. I feel all of her muscles tighten around me when I put my thumb against her clit and add another finger. I know the masochist in her can take more from me but for now I let her grind her way to orgasm with me buried deep within her.
I touch her lightly with my free hand to distract her from her thoughts and she turns and looks at me for a moment but I can’t retain the gaze for long. I need to connect. We’ve made it here against the odds – smashing the probability of such an occurrence as we’d seen it even a year ago. She’s always so reserved, so focused. I’ve got to get in…step through.
I give her no indication before I put my mouth against her again. She startles momentarily and I press my hand to her shoulder to hold her down against the bed. I push myself into her with some force, sinking in to the noises she makes, her scent, her overall response. I move my hand in the same rhythm as my mouth; pushing, pulling, licking, sucking. Her excitement is slick on my skin allowing it to move freely within her. Before the climax has time to build too much I slow everything down. When I add the fourth finger she inhales deeply but remains silent. I note an expression I can’t identify and decide to check in.
“Are you okay?”
She looks at me for a long moment and then nods her head yes.
We’ve joked about it in the past and I think she knows what is about to happen. I recall her threatening to punch someone if they ever tried to touch her in the same way. I’m up for a challenge. She does look nervous though – maybe even more than she did several hours ago. I know she is wondering whether she should call it a night.
She is stretched around my hand nearing my knuckles and I try carefully not to further hurt her while giving her some time to think. She’s looking in the opposite direction.
I whisper her name, attracting her attention and forcing her to hold it.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask. “We can wrap all of this up right now if you like.” It’s more for me than for her. I know she’ll go on – she needs the control. The desire. The submission she thinks she loathes. The pain.
She shakes her head affirmatively, again refusing to speak the words.
With that I lay my free hand on one of hers and consider how peculiar she must perceive this gesture. When I have her in my mouth again I work hard to ease the tension she feels and to add pleasure to the pain about to be inflicted. As I begin to push my hand into her she immediately tightens her grip on the hand holding her own. I have to be able to accurately judge how much I am hurting her versus how good I can make her feel. It’s such a delicate balance to precisely measure each action, each breath from one moment to the next. If the balance is off the experience could be ruined for her. The closer I get to the largest part of my hand the tighter her grip on me. I try to increase the pleasurable effects by concentrating on her clit but I am getting the feeling she is starting to panic. If she asks me to stop we’ll never make it here again. Her breathing is just too fast, too shallow. She clutches my hand hard enough to injure something and I don’t mind whatsoever. She’s beautiful like this and I squeeze back just enough to let her know I am listening to her cues and understand. I decide in an instant to go ahead and push past the worst part of this and slide inside her. When she cried out it made me actually stop and look up at her – her head bent back, sheet clutched in the hand not containing my own, back arched sharply, eyes closed tightly. With my hand curled tightly within her, I become perfectly still, knowing everything will start to feel better in a moment. The initial jolt of pain will subside quickly, easing into a stinging sensation she won’t forget for days. I allow her time to gather herself together and she begins to relax.
Her breathing rate slows and the tension in her entire body is decreasing. I try not to move my hand at all as I use my mouth on her again. When she begins to really respond to the offering, I clench and unclench my fist producing the smallest movement possible. The sound of her breath is short but not labored so I continue, moving a little more every couple of minutes. Turning my hand at the wrist within her produces a symphony of sounds from her and I try not to get her off too quickly.
She was certainly no longer distracted and the fears had fled as well. I left us connected like that for as long as I thought she could take it – cracking the shell she lives in every time I pushed myself into her. When I allowed it to end she was loud enough to wake our short-term neighbors in their adjoining rooms. The pressure of the contractions to my hand was relentless; pain pulsating its own pay back on me.
Afterward we lay there silently; her eyes closed, breathing heavy in her chest. I replay the night as it has gone by, locking each sound into my memory. It wasn’t how I thought it would happen, though I’m ashamed to admit I’ve already had her in every way imaginable in my head. I’ve forced her to surrender though my words and under my hands. She’s struggled against my restraints while being opened up and revealed; fucked well and been driven to the edge. She has belonged to me for hours blurring the lines of pleasure and pain, control, tension and fear. The sting on knotted leather is craved because she knows that when the pain subsides I’ll be inside her, taking her to the next level. In my own moments of weakness I’ve already imagined how she could get into my head. How she touched me like she had a right to my reaction. Stifled screams and unintelligible languages that tumble from my mouth teach her all the secrets so few know. In reality, we part ways with the first kiss we’ve shared together and for once, I’m completely relaxed with her.
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