FFF: Illuminations

FFF Prompt - Stratagem - June 28
 Key Word = Stratagem
Word Length = 700
Forbidden Words = Spy, Tuxedo
Bonus Points - Quote your favorite line (and link to the source in case we don't know it)

She leaned over, rested her chin on her hand propped up on the table, hair cascading to the side, and winked. He cocked his head to the side, unsure what the wink was for.

After all…he was winning.

The city lights shined brightly in sharp contrast to the night sky, just as her nudity contrasted his evening attire. They were both in a suite, sipping champagne, seated at a table playing chess; but he was fully dressed, even wearing his shoes, and she was kneeling on the chair, naked, nipples almost grazing the table. Clearly, they were on unequal ground. He was aloof, clothed in the uppermost formal shield; she was exposed, vulnerable.

Still, a small smile, one corner turned up slightly more in a crooked smugness, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at the chess board. He was puzzled by her reaction.

She couldn’t believe her position. When she normally took jobs, it wasn’t to sit naked and play chess, though she was sure he would have other, more wanton requests. But chess? And then what? Checkers, moving to cards, moving to naked Twister? Or was he too refined for that?

He would want his monies worth, of that she was sure, was just unsure what that entailed for this client. And yet he sat across from her, gazing intently at her, equally focused on the beautiful board between them, and gave an impression of superiority.  Little did he know her stratagem.

She leaned back, pretended concern, and moved. His eyes had drifted to her hands, watched as she gracefully manipulated a small figurine. Her hair shifted slightly to cover one small but perfect breast, the other breast revealing a hardened nipple. She studied the board; he studied her.

But pride would not let him be distracted by her beauty. He moved a piece, and his eyes widened with disbelief when she reached across the board suddenly, and moved to checkmate. She clapped in delight, still leaned over the table, eyes on the winning board; he stared at her, eyes darkening and broadening, leaning back.

She looked up, a smile on her gorgeous face, and saw his expression. Smile vanished. “Would you like to play another game? We have all night,” she offered as reparation.

He casually swiped the pieces onto the floor. “Let’s play the game you were meant to play,” he said, his voice gruff with intent, and passion. He moved next to her, stepping on her dress. She seemed concerned, and he felt his manhood harden. He felt powerful with her unease, and grabbed her hair, ignoring her mewling sound, pulling her off the chair. She fell, not able to get her legs out to catch her descent, and tears were brought to her eyes with violent tugging of her hair.

She made a sound: half whimper, half plea, and situated herself to her knees. She tentatively reached up and unzipped his pants, adjusting his sex through his boxers, and wrapped her lips around his shaft.

His hand still in her hair, he moved his other hand to grip behind and slightly to the side, and thrusted in, until he felt his tip hit the back of her throat, until he heard her gag and almost retch, and watched as tears formed in her eyes.

He chuckled, murmured as he stroked the side of her face, “I think you are losing,” as he watched her continue stroking his cock with her mouth, eager to please, cautious in case he forced her too far again.

She moved rhythmically, glancing up often to gauge his reaction, trying to bring him to pleasure quickly. She felt him tense, throw back his head, and knew he was going to cum. Her fingertips scanned ever so slightly, delved inside, and gripped. She swiftly pushed away when she felt fluid pumping into his base, cum splattering onto her breasts as she rose up, slashing with the knife she gripped across his throat, blood mixing with his cum on her porcelain skin, watched as he now kneeled, hands going to reach his throat, but not making it before dropping with his body onto the floor.

She was dismayed that he bled on her dress and she didn’t have another. She also felt like gloating, stepping barefoot over him, saying, “*wars and temper tantrums are the makeshifts of ignorance; regrets are illuminations come too late.”

 

*Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces, an excellent perspective on mythology, and one of my favorite books. My absolute favorite quote of all time.

Now, this is over 700 words slightly, which I've never gone over. At first I added more fluff because for FFF this is a lot of words allotted this week, and I am not used to it for these prompts. Then the story grew, and I had to trim, but I liked my fluff at the beginning, and couldn't stand cutting out anymore. So it remains. I'd get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness, but I can't guarantee what I'll do after that, so let's just call it even, shall we?

Clear Vision

         She found herself standing in a dark room alone, silence except for the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning from a large window. She fumbled for the tornado radio on a table, next to the front door, hitting her knee in her effort and dropping something before feeling the radio, and turned it on. The radio crackled out a thunderstorm warning for the following counties, hers being one of them.

            She breathed a sigh of relief. Just recently, a neighboring county had been hit by a tornado, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction. She was glad that it wasn’t a tornado warning. And she cursed that she became so consumed in her work that it was now dark, and for all she knew, she was alone in the building.

            She wondered where a flashlight could be located, and reached into her purse, removing her phone. Turning it on, she used the feeble light to move in between the cubicles towards a large window, stumbling slightly from time to time. Through the window, the rain slashed and splattered down, and the lightning exposed the tips of the trees swaying violently, the moon completely hidden above the storm.

            Not just the darkness confused her, but she still felt as though she were in that book that she was translating. The book she simply struggled to render appropriately, as the words mesmerized her with their dark erotic fantasies. She had always felt superior translating, this book left her humble and hoping she eloquently did it justice; it provoked a physical reaction that still left her wanting.  

            Halfway to the large window, a flashlight’s beam shone directly in her eyes, blinding her. She stopped abruptly, squinting. A man’s voice stated with some surprise, “Ah, Jen, I had thought you had left with everyone else.” His accent thick, making him distinguishable even blind, Jen was glad she wasn’t alone in this frightening storm. He lowered the flashlight, but she still couldn’t see anything. Too bad, she thought, he was gorgeous to look at. Recently joining her department, she and other women would cast stolen glances at him when he was near.

            “I lost track of time, I guess.” She shrugged. Spots of lights still flashed before her eyes, but she could see his form silhouetted in front of the window. She noticed that the beam of light was pointed downwards, at a spot between them in the carpet. The light moved forward, towards her, and she looked up to see him closing the distance between them. She smelled his cologne when he was close enough to grasp her upper arm, and she felt like leaning into his smell, becoming enveloped in his scent that it became her own.

            “Are you alright?” the lightning exposed his smile, he was so close that his words were felt on her forehead. She shook her head a little, blaming her current thoughts and predicament on the book she was working on. Of course, there could be worse things than being stuck in a storm with a hot man. He mistook her shake, and wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his hard chest through his suit. “It’s okay, the storm will pass over us soon,” he murmured, rubbing her upper back. She found herself putting her arms around him, holding him tightly. His heat seemed to cocoon her, and she felt so hot all the sudden she was afraid of perspiring. At least she could blame it on the storm, and his assumption that she was terrified.

            “I’m okay,” her voice came out muffled from his suit jacket; she felt oddly calm at the soothing strokes of his hand on her back, the other arm still holding her tightly to him. The hand moved a little lower, to her lower back, and the circles would sometimes reach the top of her ass. She was sure that wasn’t intentional, and decided to not protest it.

            Still holding her but allowing more room between them, he looked down at her face. “So lovely, Jen, even in shadows and darkness.” She was surprised at the words, but more surprised when his face could be vaguely seen lowering, lips came down to meet hers, his hand now firmly on her ass, pushing her towards him again. She found herself kissing him back, his tongue melding with her own, the taste of him unique. “So hot,” he leaned back and murmured, and she briefly felt his hardness against her through the layers of clothes. The hand caressing her butt gripped tighter, the arm supporting her shoulders was suddenly used to turn her around so fast that she was shocked, letting out a little cry, tripping over her own feet and grabbing in the dark a nearby desk. The arm snaked over her shoulder, pulling her up and against him, the other hand lifted up her heavy mass of hair, and she heard him whisper something in his native language, so soft she wasn’t sure what it was, as his mouth came down upon her neck.  She felt goose bumps along her skin, and her body tremored slightly.

She hazily wondered what she was doing, alone in a storm with a near stranger that apparently didn’t ask for permission to approach her sexually. She debated briefly if she would tell him to stop, or do something, but his other hand slowly started unbuttoning her blouse, the palm grazing the newly exposed skin as he unhurriedly went down the row. His mouth moved to the side, the hand still gently lifting the hair up to give him full access. She moaned, and decided that she would see where this would take her. She could always tell him to stop later.

Fingers deftly made their way into her bra, fingertips caressing nipple tip to a hardened point before tugging slightly. He lips and tongue so warm sliding along her jawline, she turned her head to be able to kiss him. He dropped her hair as his mouth seared against hers, his tongue probing and asking of her own passion. Suddenly, he pinched her nipple hard at the same time as he trapped all her hair in his grasp and pulled her head back, away from the kiss. “I wonder if you are ready, lovely,” he questioned to her ear, still holding her head back as the fingers moved from nipple down, pulling up her skirt so quickly and moving aside her panties that she didn’t even think to protest.

She almost felt panicked at his aggression, unused to it, unsure of him, but a finger stroked against her clit, sliding easily along her slickened lips to penetrate her sex. She gasped, and he inserted two fingers. His mouth again moved to the side of her neck, nibbling and sucking, as his fingers moved quickly in and out of her. “So ready for me,” he said.

Yes, she thought, you and the book of words have me mesmerized in fantasy. She felt herself soaking his fingers, tightening around them, and began panting. He withdrew them right before she could clench around them in orgasm. He grabbed her hip, the hand in her hair now between her shoulder blades pushing, bending her. Her hands out, they felt the impact of the steady desk, and she laughed, curious if he even cared if she had smashed into it face first. Her skirt was hiked up above her hips, her underwear yanked down, and his mouth moved upon her clit. He pushed her legs further apart, and in her frustration to have him down there, she untangled her high heel from one side of the undergarment, leaving it like an anklet around the other. The tongue darted against her nub, once, twice; sighing, she felt him sucking on it.  She shifted slightly, bending more fully over the desk, pushing papers out of her way. The thundered boomed, the lightning flashed, and she prayed the electricity stayed off and not waken her to reality.

His mouth moved back, his tongue fucked her, his lips pulling at her lips. She moaned and pushed against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, before he moved, the fingers seeking where his mouth had been, his mouth moving up to licking her anus. The fingers sunk in deeply, curling, fucking her to an orgasm that she screamed more voraciously than the violent storm outside.

“Ready for me?” he panted, moving up to stand behind.

It took her a hazy moment to realize he had actually asked her a question. She heard his clothing shifting. “Oh yes,” she stammered, backing up slightly, bumping into his shadowy form. He chuckled, grabbed her hip with one hand, guided himself to her with the other, before both hands were on the sides of her hips, and he was moving them back and forth, pulling her upon him as he pushed, and roughly taking her to another orgasm, slowly the tempo slightly. She became briefly aware of the rain still pounding down to the earth, very aware of him still filling her deeply, and then thrusting fast again, competing with the speed of the rain, until they both shuddered and groaned.

He stepped back, smoothed down her skirt. He began reassembling his clothes before she even moved to stand up again, feeling wobbly, using the desk for support. She decided to lean against it, and turned, still just seeing him vaguely. She struggled to pull up her panties in the same amount of time that he dressed.

A dream lover, she mused. “My tempest,” he leaned down and kissed her forehead, his accent thicker from their passion. The thundered rolled, but it seemed so far away to her, a relaxing soothing background sound. “You were lovely,” he leaned down and picked up the flashlight, shining it again at the floor.

“What now?” she breathlessly asked. He put an arm around her shoulder, and steered her towards the front door.  

“Shall we get you to your car?” He handed her the purse she had dropped, grabbed an umbrella in the doorway, and continued to move her into the rain. As they stepped outside, the umbrella snapped open, lightning flashed, and the lights behind them were suddenly on again. They laughed as they walked away; she was grateful it was still dark outside. She wanted him to continue being a mysterious dream lover. Tomorrow back at work would be soon enough for her to cast furtive glances of longing or askance at him, translating his mood more than her current book project, amid the papers, chatter, clicking of keyboards, and clear vision.

FFF: Is this Me? And obedient?

Rules: Key Word: Liberation, but not Freedom

Word Count: 199-209
*Accidentally looked at the wrong prompt

 

My mother taught to always be a strong woman. I was fiercely independent - relationships didn't compliment well.

Then I met Max. Instant attraction: tall, dark, handsome, a magnetizing smile. When I pushed for sex, he said wait.

I'm not patient....but I did. When finally physical, we'd already known intimacy, just his terms. It was amazing. As time went on, I began responding to his desires more frequently. He would grab my hair, I climaxed harder. When he told me how to please him, I was excited - not defiant, resentful. I wanted to...

This is where it's gotten me...sitting in an empty room, my back up against the wall (literally and figuratively). He had honestly shared wanting me submissive to him sexually.

So obedient? Dutiful? These words don't describe me! I think... hands pressed together,  knees bent, like in an upright fetal position. I'm not weak, I'm strong. Thinking upon last night, right before bringing me to orgasm, yanking hair - moving mouth to ear, he whispered: "Not weak. Liberation, but not freedom. Submit to me sexually, break free of biases." Then he thrusted in - I screaming and thoughtless.

Still shuddering at the words; I'd made a decision and stood up.   

 

Notes: I checked out the FFF through my phone. I don't know if I found an old one, or a different one to a different blog, but somehow I thought this was this weeks '- oops! Didn't discover the truth until I went to submit it Friday morning. However, I'm proud...I don't want this to not be published and seen, it was challenging to write.
This is such a tiny word count, it's ridiculous. I had to cut out 100 words once I was done with the draft. And the key word isn't a word, it's a damn phrase...but it was also highly inspirational to this story. As soon as I saw it, and the picture, I wanted to depict the inner struggle of a woman faced with this decision, against her own preconceived notions.

Tied and blindfolded

"Tie me." Okay, so I'm not for subtle, or pretty words.

He smiled, indulgently. "Okay."

"And we're bringing the knife, and the candles."

"Okay."

I bounced on the bed as I waited for him to get the ties out of our ammo can (must be a military things). He fastened them to the four bedposts, already knowing that they need to be as loose as possible to compensate for a small female stretched out on a Cal King bed. He lit the candles, grabbed a large towel and draped it in the middle of the bed. I proceeded to flip myself onto the center of it, crinkling the towel so he grabbed the corners and smoothed it out again.

He reached over my to strap a wrist in, and his penis hovered above my face. So tempting, so delicious, and I wasn't tied up yet, so I lifted my head and wrapped my mouth around the shaft, probing the head with my tongue as my lips pushed further up onto his shaft. I started sucking gently, but he moved up further; I increased the suction, but he pulled out of my mouth, smiled and shook his head, then proceeded to tie my other wrist.

He brushed the hair back from my face, gently stroked the side of my head, and then reached back and grabbed my hair at the base of the neck. He forced my head up slightly and pushed his still damp member into my mouth, allowing me to suck a few times, then pulled me back, then pressed me back to suck. He had never controlled this element before, and being denied something I wanted made me want it even more. I would let out a sound of disappointment every time he forced me away. After five or six times, he completely moved away and down to my ankles, tightly binding them, forcing my legs apart.

He grabbed the blindfold and tenderly adjusted it to my face. When we take out ties, we always use a blindfold; I don't recall us ever using one without the other. I love not knowing where he is going next, trying to anticipate, relying on the sounds, smells, subtle movement from the bed. He has more of an advantage than I do - he can reach me without touching the bed, I am too short and he can almost always feel where I am on the bed when he is blinded.

He was still near my face when he proceeded to torment me again with sucking him, his hand back firmly in my hair, guiding my mouth and his cock where he needed, withdrawing and then allowing my mouth back around him. Just ever so briefly, then I felt him remove himself completely off the bed.

"Oh, we have all the temperatures tonight," he stated matter of factly and I felt something very cold and smooth rubbing against the side of my rib. I drew in a breath at the touch of chill, exhaling the breath gradually. Chilliness brushed lower, down the side of the hip and around above the knee, before unhurriedly making its way up to my inner thigh. I recognized it now as our glass dildo. The glass seems to stay arctic for so long. It nudged itself delicately between my lips, rubbed its way up my clit, and then grazed a trail around a breast, rubbing the nipple and making it pucker from the cold. His mouth warmed the cold flesh, a pleasant contrast, soft but wide open kisses to fully cover as much as possible, the tongue flicking the nipple a few times, before pulling up, grasping with suction and tightening on just the nipple, applying a bit of tugging with his mouth. I moaned and attempted to arch up, my pussy clenching.

He inched away just briefly, and there was a small buzzing noise. My other nipple was pinched and forced up, stretched for a nipple clamp to come down on it, the vibrating strong in such a small sensitive zone. He kissed the other nipple again, his hand slowly going down to gently stroke my clit, and I thought he was going to apply the other clamp, when I heard him whisper, "I wonder if you'll like this".

I felt him sit up, and another small buzzing sound, before his fingers played with my clit, rubbing back and forth until it swelled and became more prominent. Suddenly a vibrating sensation was there, and I protested (was it a protest?), "Oh fuck." He inquired if I was okay with that, but before I could offer any other opinions, cold steel touched the side of my breast that did not have the clamp. The tip of the knife point gently scratched its way around the soft globe, the flat of the blade massaged its way across my nipple, and I was breathless.

While I was aware of the shaking clamps on my nipple, and my clit, it became almost background sensation to the cold knife making its way across my body, browsing my stomach, scratching delicately on the inside of my thigh, flat blade almost pressing against my lips. It moved in a slow, icy, deliberate manner. He alternated between the cold smoothness of the blade, pressing it more firmly, chilling my hot skin; and the tip, softer, almost gossamer at points, daintily skimming and scratching the surface.

He set the knife aside, and his tongue flicked the tip of the nipple trapped in the clamp. The tiny little top became so central to every nerve ending, every thought. It felt ridiculously hypersensitive, and amazingly good. He gradually slid the clamp off, kissed the nipple more firmly, softly blew on it, cooling it with his breath. He reached down and carefully took off the clamp on my clit. "Did you like that?" he asked, his fingers massaging the incredibly receptive pearl, before dipping between my lips and discovering how wet I was. "Oh yes, you liked that," he confirmed, and I could hear the smile of satisfaction in his voice. He moved his finger slowly in and out a few times, not to please or press any buttons, but to tease, before he withdrew and I felt the side of the bed give slightly as he shifted away from me.

Suddenly a hot splatter stunned me, and my indrawn breath gave voice to my surprise. It wasn't pleasurable - it was fiery and shocking. Another scalding drop kissed my chest, but being more prepared, it didn't bring me out of any reverie - but it still required my upmost attention. Trickles bit by bit fell, first falling in the center of my chest, then my soft breasts, a few scattered splatters touched very sensitive rosy nipples. My body, already aching, adapted quickly to random drips; the hot drops brought the skin to a heightened sensation, quickly cooled, hardened and left traces with the weight and texture against my skin. I began moaning into it, unable to prevent a twitching every so often at the heat, but always an awareness of my own self and my increasing desire.

He brought the glass dildo up against my skin, skimming the surface where the wax was so swiftly I had no idea what he did with the candle. It was excruciating winter, such a stark dissimilarity, and I writhed as much as the bindings allowed me to, trying to escape the icy glass against some sensitive places and endeavoring to welcome the touch in other places. Slowly, the glass skated across bare skin or raised slightly over the wax, the wax a buffer against the chill in small places. Both nipples were massaged until they were hardened points, then the glass was rubbing against my clit, just briefly. I cried out, wanting...I had no idea what anymore, but just yearning.

The glass parted my lips, and dipped agonizingly slow into my folds, my heated wet passion seemingly an unbearable furnace that felt the onslaught of frosty glass, slithered slowly, sinking, still so cold, my entrance cooling with every new movement inside, my depths aware of the temperature difference but adjusting, warming. Once he moved the dildo fully inside me, he pulled out just as slowly, my folds cocooning, my excitement allowing easy movement. Then down, fast, quickly, and back up to almost the round tip fully out, and suddenly he was fucking me hard with the toy, and my body was so ready for the release, my hips moving as much as the ties would allow, my thighs taunt and resentful of the stinted freedom, and I was screaming into the orgasm.

When I was done, he wrenched the toy suddenly out of my spent body and positioned the head of his penis against my aroused entrance, pausing with just the tip. I let out a moan of frustration, my body greedy already, longing again so quickly for him. Effortlessly slipping inside, but just as slowly as first with the toy, he was so hard, I held my breath and focused on feeling his length slide down further and further into me. He rotated up, patiently measured, and back down, letting out a sigh of pleasure. After a few more times, in his attempt of fully tease me by almost completely retreating before gliding fully in, he shifted too far out. (The ankle ties make sex challenging, as my legs are not a fully spread as he needed for his broad body.)

"I have an idea," he said, and I questioned what. He didn't respond as he released my ankles. I felt movement around my wrists, but I was busy attempting to move my legs around his body to pull him into me. He seemed impervious to my endeavor, and grabbed a hold of one ankle and raised it up to my hand. I believed he was going to hold one leg up and enter me, but felt a fasten around my ankle, attached to the wrist binding. He had used extra ties that were otherwise too short, and I had forgotten even the existence. My other ankle joined up to my other wrist, and suddenly I was spread as open as I've ever been tied up. "Are you comfortable?" he questioned, the concern in his voice.

"Yes, but I feel very open, and vulnerable," and swiftly as I was speaking his mouth was upon my pussy, a gentle suction on the lips and his tongue thrusted inside me. His mouth was unbelievably hot, the suction was amazing, and I tried to squirm against the feelings - a motion that had always been available to me, but suddenly was not. I was splayed, full access to him. And oh my goodness, his mouth was doing the most incredible things with that advantage. He seemed to lick and suck for so unbelievably long, and I felt spent and ravaged. He hoisted up and then entered me, absolutely no gentleness - but my body offered no resistance. I clenched around him, I shouted so loudly that my throat immediately felt raw, but he now fucked me roughly. In the position I was in, he could thrust against me with no boundaries, he went so deeply into me at moments that I felt him hitting a wall, but beyond any sensation beyond orgasm, I continued to scream as he continued to pound into me.

A slight lull, a shifting of his body, after that extreme pleasure that took me to heights and would have kept me until he decided otherwise, and he alternated at a slower pace. It was more controlled, and I could feel the ridge of his head rubbing the inside of my quivering body.

Oh my...and unexpectedly sweltering tormenting rain on my breasts, on my stomach. The wax was commanding my attention, sizzling, startling, focused skin. He persisted to move slowly in and out of me, my body started to grip him tighter, preparing for another orgasm. Suddenly wax poured down the interior of one thigh, still wholly exposed because of the ties, and it burned a fierce path down, cooling and resting about halfway. It took me out the feeling of orgasm with its intensity, but his continual plunging pushed me right back towards that mood to focus on my muscles beginning to tense and shudder, and wax splashed downward again, bringing my concentration back, but my body wasn't to be diverted for long by a lowly thigh, not when the entire core of me was taut, tight, clenching, spasms rippling through that the third time wax was splayed the thigh was rigid and barely registered, consumed by a violent orgasm. I screamed again, forgot to breathe, floated and became dizzy, became aware of his decelerated movements, of his calm withdraw, almost a mockery of the ferocious orgasm just felt.

His mouth was back between my legs, and his fingers and tongue took turns pillaging my already spent but oh so sensitive sex. I sensed a vibrator, and he used my own juices to stroke up against my clit, amid my folds but not quite entering, and then transitioned down to my asshole. "Can I?" he asked.

He could have asked to bring in twenty people just to gawk at me, for all I cared at the moment. I was blissfully happy, exhaustively spent, easily amenable. I gave a shaky agreement - the few times we've tried anal anything with me I didn't like it, and we had only tried a finger, or a small anal toy, nothing that vibrated, and nothing as large as that.

With the same infinite patience that he used throughout this session, he carefully inserted the vibrator into my small hole after using a lot of lube. I tried to relax into it, for once a little easier just because my body was so complaisant after such pleasure. Before I could feel and fixate on any sort of uncomfortableness, he entered me again, not removing the vibrator.

I felt so full, like there was not enough room for me. My muscles immediately reawakened and began a squeezing pattern that was fast leading to another orgasm, but he kept ruining the pace. "It keeps slipping out," he vented, and slid out of me. "Do you mind if we do it doggy-style?"

I didn't mind if he did me on the moon, I just wanted him deep inside of me again. He reached up and pushed the blindfold up, and even the low lighting hurt my eyes, so I shut them. He freed my ankles, and I felt stiff, it hurt my hips to move my legs down and together. Next, my wrists, and then I rolled over, mostly so I didn't lose my nerve again with the vibrator. I pressed my chest flush to the bed, and raised my ass up. He cautiously slid the vibrator in again, and then sank his length into me. A repeat, that feeling of fullness that I was unused to. He increased the pace of his thrusting, the vibrator easier for him to keep in place, and it wasn't long before we reached a peak of pleasure together from this position. Once more, the release was so quick, and made my entire body respond with such force. He withdrew the vibrator first, and then himself. I managed to do nothing more than collapse on the bed, just laying there.

He laughed at my limp form, laid down next to me, and kissed me on the forehead. "You're a mess," he said. I could do nothing other than smile, (and tweet about it the next day).

Switch

I'm a bit on the sub side of life. I play light with masochism. I enjoy being called a dirty slut or a stupid whore in bed. I like to feel the sting of a palm crack against my cheek or my hair being pulled with enough force to induce the watering of my eyes. I like being told what to do, when to do it. I find pleasure in begging for my release before I am allowed to let it flood my body. I want to be tossed around like a rag doll, used like a toy. Most times those lovely little bruises marring my flesh in unseen places feel like a naughty secret memory I carry on my skin. My favorite are the rope marks wrapped like lovely bracelets around my wrists, my ankles, and everywhere in between.
It's not always that I feel like this. I love the sweet and sensual too; just the frequency of those times are far fewer.
Then, there are times when I switch.
Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with a violent need of expression, a need to control, consume, and demand. The first time I was slapped in the face during sex I was so startled, I just grew wide eyed and paused for the merest of seconds... Then I cocked back my arm, swung full force with the fingers of my hand extended. The second my hand crashed into his face I felt the instant rush of adrenaline. Heat flooded through me and I moaned my pleasure into his mouth. I knew then, exactly how it felt to be those people who Dom. It was a heady sensation.
These cravings for dominance and sadism overcome me, and there's really no accounting for why, no trigger I can discern. At the stripclub with several friends, I met a lovely young military man. He was 6'5 to my diminished stature. Almost every man towers over me but this one even more so. He had lovely eyes, a sincere smile and an innocence about him that called to me.
I wanted to hurt him. I could feel my mouth water at the thoughts running through my head at what I was going to do with this boy who was barely legal to consume alcohol. I wanted to switch. I wanted to not only release passion in a violent burst on him, but I wanted it in return.
At the end of the night I saw him outside. He couldn't find his friends so I said, "that means you're coming home with me right?" My head was tilted back so far just to meet his gaze; my chin only coming up to his navel. He looked with wonder into my eyes and nodded. I held out my hand and he grasped it firmly in his as I led him to the car, the same way I was anticipating leading him astray.
Once we arrived at my house, hands were hastily discarding clothing. Mouths were tasting, biting, teasing. He was my jungle gym and I climbed all over him like my favorite piece of equipment on the playground. After some time spent exploring and licking and tasting of each other's essence, I settled myself on top of him. I gazed sweetly into his bright eyes and asked if he'd ever had rough sex. His eyes turned fevered with desire at my question. He tried to speak, cleared his throat and replied, "no".
Suddenly I bring my hand slamming into his pretty young face, grip his chin as I say, "you have now," then kiss his lips softly, almost lovingly, before I slap him again. I look into his eager eyes and inquire if he'd like to try, tapping my cheek with a dainty finger to indicate the target. He tries but is timid, I barely feel the sting. Here is this tall, virile young man and I am a tiny tempest. I bite his nipple hard enough that I hear the quick expulsion of air from his lungs followed by a moaning gasp as I cause his body to vellicate. I dig my nails into his flesh as I ride him hard.
I instruct him to get behind me and pull my hair. I laugh at his first attempt and taunt him, "really? You're a fucking pansy, now pull it!" I'm being pugnacious, demeaning, and pushy. These taunting words are what finally snap through his meekness and I feel my head snap back on my neck from the force of his fist in my hair, and he snarls in my ear, "shut your fucking mouth, you bitch".
Ecstasy. I find my release at his brutish handling and malicious words. He explodes at the tightening of my body around him and we both sink into bliss. I continue throughout the night to introduce him to pain and pleasure, dominance and submission. I lead, I follow, I instruct. By morning I have used this man until I have wrung every drop of energy that he has.
He's eager to tell his friends, I can tell. I'm well put together and elegant when out and he keeps remarking on how he'd never dreamed the night would go as it had. His puppy-like enthusiasm is adorable, but concerning. He starts a statement with, "since I'm going to be over here a lot now...," and I'm forced to cut him off. I laugh in his face, but consolingly kiss his sweet lips as I tell him there was no guarantee he'd be invited back, and that that was very presumptuous of him. I tell him to savoir and remember the night and that perhaps, if I feel the desire again, I'll invite him back for further explorations.

Set Me Aflame

Winter is here, soft snowflakes fall like sugar and dust our shoulders, melt on hair. Returned from our cold journey into our house, we head straight for bed.

Warmth, that is all we seek. You strip naked first, and warm the cool bed for a moment before I brave the air touching my goose-bumped skin for the briefest of moments before sliding next to you. I rest my head on your shoulder, your arm going around me and pulling me in tight. The weight of the blankets, and your body heat, cocoon me in coziness and warmth.

Minutes pass, your fingers lovingly stroke my hair away from my face, and I become lulled into peace by the feel of those fingers and the steady rhythm of your heart beat. Calm, still moments pass before your hand slides to the base of my hairline and suddenly grips and pulls my hair.

 

With head tilted back, my eyes meet your demanding ones, and I feel a pull that has nothing to do with my hair. It is my own heart beat I hear now and the silent promise you are about to set me aflame.