Sunday I went to his house in the afternoon while my son was with friends. I didn’t really have any expectations for the afternoon except to fill out some paperwork for a local event we are attending. When we had finished that, however, he stood up and asked me how much time we had. My stomach did that flutter thing–what did he have in mind? Probably not too much, since my son could call at any time. Still, I never know with him. Fifteen minutes could be more than enough time.
I told him my best guess on time and he nodded, then gathered up some things while I went to the bathroom. Then I followed him upstairs.
Once there he didn’t say a word, just turned to me with that look he gets, kind of purposeful, like he’s figuring out how to make a puzzle fit together, or solving a problem. Then he took off my blouse and bra. Just reached over pulled my blouse over my head and undid my bra, without saying a thing. I love being with someone that simply does things to me. For his own reasons, no explanation. I love it that he gets that he owns me that way, that he can do that to me. And that he does. There’s something to be said for being told to do things, that’s hot, but there’s something else to be said as well for being treated as a thing to be manipulated, moved around, stripped or hung up on a hook or written on or used. Oh yes.
Then, still without explanation, he tied my wrists together in front of me (pretty white rope around my wrists, I think about that image sometimes when I touch myself) and then above me to a hook above his doorframe. And there I was in my jeans, naked torso and breasts, hanging in his doorway. He ran his warm hands over my skin, which had begun to cool a bit and then, with a “Damn, I thought I could get away just this once without needing to take a picture,” he headed back downstairs to get his camera. “You’re just too hot like that, I have to take a picture,” he said, and snapped away.
He says the nicest things.
And for awhile, what followed was this: measurements, notations, making a pattern, fitting rings around my breasts. Along with some pulling and twisting of said breasts, just for good measure. He’s a funny guy, my Mr. Mean Mad Scientist Guy. It is all toward the greater good, however, all this work he does. Greater good for him, when he builds some new device to torture me with, greater good for me when I get to experience said device.
And then…the Mean Guy kissed me. Hands and mouth and tongue and lips and I forgot I was standing there in his bedroom doorway tied up, and that he was probably going to hurt me at some point. I just wanted to breathe him in and taste him and melt into him. It had been two weeks or so since I’d seen him last, and I try to be Ms. Not-Clingy, Ms. Unemotional, but I can’t help it, it’s all there. I missed him. I wanted to wrap myself around him and cling to him and kiss him and hold him. Of course tied wrists are not conducive to holding, but I managed to get myself wrapped around him as much as I could.
He pulled away for a moment to untie me. And then, again without a word, he pushed me back to sit on his bed and pulled my face down to his cock. My hands were cool and tingly, but I wrapped them around his warm, hard cock, warming them. I buried my nose in him, breathed in the smell of him, the smell of his cock, and took him in my mouth to taste him.
Again he pulled away, but only long enough to flip me over onto my stomach and pull down my jeans and underwear. And then he was pushing inside me, my pussy first, and I was pushing back against him, greedy, wanting him inside me, fucking me. But he pulled away almost immediately and I knew what he was going to do. I couldn’t help it, I whimpered, I tightened up, even as I felt his hands on my ass, spreading my cheeks, even as I felt his cock pushing against my tightly-closed asshole. I love ass sex, but it always hurts at first, and I always resist. I try to open myself, I try not to resist, but it just happens.
He pushes into me anyway. He doesn’t let me get away with resisting, he hears me whimper, he knows it hurts, and he does it anyway.
And that does it, that trips the trigger, somewhere in this fucked-up submissive head. One minute my body is resisting, my mind is resisting, I am saying no no no and my asshole is tight and he is having to force himself through that tightness, and the next I am opening to him, and in my head I am begging him to fuck me, fuck my ass, please even as he does it, thrusting into me, his cock hard and thick in me, stretching me, breaking me open, and I am wet there, in my ass, and I am pushing back against him, driving against him, and then…there it is, jesus, there it is…pain and pleasure mixing, building…and I come, surprising myself, gasping and whimpering now with something other than resistance.
And later, holding me while I get my head back together, he says, “Sorry, I couldn’t wait,” referring, I think to our date scheduled for later in the week (today in fact.) And I shiver in happiness because he couldn’t wait.
Damn, he just says the nicest things. Oh yes.
