I want to spoil you.

June 16, 2012

I want to be with you in a city, strolling with your hand on my waist. We walk just faster than your usual pace, your fingers dig subtly deeper into my side. Although we don’t speak, I can feel your hunger growing as you focus intently on getting us home. I breathe audibly and earn a sideways glance, a luscious smirk, and a small shove.

—

You climb the stairs behind me, your fingers pressing into my lower back. Although you don’t rush, there is an air of urgency. I reach the top and step to the side so you can unlock the door. As it swings open I wait for you to enter first but instead find myself knocked to the floor.

“Go to my room. Meet me in the kitchen when you are ready.” I move to stand but receive a swift kick in the ass.

“Crawl.”

I bow my head and wait for you to pass.

You brush by then pause, turning:

“One more thing pet: my boots are dirty.”

—

In your room, I remove my clothes, fold them neatly but hurriedly and stack them in a corner. I hope the cat doesn’t decide to nest there. I leave on the small belled cord around my ankle; since you tied it on the soft noise has been a constant reminder of your presence and my servitude. I pull out cuffs, a crop, and a flogger and line them up on your bed. Your favorite tool is the one circling your hips, but I figure you’ll appreciate my forethought. I know better than to set out lube. Last time I did so I received a swift punishment for my presumption of reward.

I turn toward the door and realize I need the box on the shelf in the closet. I can hear you in the kitchen, likely making tea, and I’m nervous to be caught standing but there is no other way to reach the box. I wish your closet was sturdy enough to climb. Instead I quickly leap up and off my feet to pull the box down, accidentally sending the rag and a brush skittering across the floor.

I hear you pause, listening, but when you resume whatever you’re doing I gather the spilled brush and rag and tuck the box awkwardly under my arm. Eyes forward, body growing tense, I crawl to the kitchen.

—

You are sitting back in a chair by the window, feet on another chair, eyes closed. Music is on, playing low. A cup of tea steams in your hand, your head rests against the window.

“You okay, slut?” you ask. I nod but realize you haven’t opened your eyes.

“Yes, Sir, I’m okay.”

“Good. Come put your head in my lap.”

You have subdued your previous sense of urgency, but under quiet expectation I sense your cautious heat.

I set the box down and rush over, careful to contain my energy. Feeling me beside you, you set the tea on the table and I press my face into the warm spot it left on your thigh. Your eyes are still closed. As I burrow into your lap you stroke my hair; your calm settles on my skin and fends off my impending wiggles. I crave your attention but now isn’t the time to ask. Now is the time to feel good by focusing on your pleasure.

You nod toward the box I left just behind me; I don’t want to leave your lap but I pull it over.

“Just a quick one today, pet, so they aren’t put away with city grime.” I shift to kneel in front of you, pull out the rag and lift your foot to my knee. I swish the rag around your boot, my forehead pressed against your shin. After a minute or so you tell me to take it off and switch. I finish your other boot, remove it, and pull off your socks. Watching me now, you hook your heels on my shoulders and smile as I work to stay still; I quiver with excitement. We hold each other’s gaze, full of longing and affection. Slowly, I calm.

—

After a few minutes you tell me to undo your pants. I light up, over-enthusiastically slip between your thighs and pause to collect myself before I delicately pull at your belt, then button fly, with my teeth. I hear your breath catch. You are as filled with fluttering excitement as I am but remain contained. You set down the tea you’ve been intermittently drinking and lift your hips for me to slide down your pants and briefs. Your cunt is glistening, your clit hard. I want it. Your soft smell hangs thick in the air.

“May I, Sir?” I ask, licking and biting my lips.

“May you what?” Fuck you I want it.

“May I please suck on your clit Sir?” I didn’t mean to sound pleading.

“Have you been good today, pet?” Please, please, please! You know how much we both want it.

“Yes Sir” I nod with furrowed eyebrows. PLEASE!

You smile at my obvious impatience and adoring eyes, reach down to take my chin in your palm. I look up to meet your stare. Your eyes are soft, your smirk gleaming. The hardened guard you wear has shifted open. You quietly invite my affections.

“What was that crash earlier?” you ask. I explain—I was being silly—and you nod.

“Yes slut, suck on my clit. Be gentle.”

I lean forward and wisp my lips up your inner thigh, pausing to breathe tantalizingly close to your clit—you twitch—and down the other thigh. I draw my tongue as light as possible up your lips, dancing across the sensitive skin. My forearms rest on your thighs, my fingers sense you tense and relax. I delicately wrap my lips around your clit and you groan, instantly wrapping your hands in my hair and pressing my face deeper into your folds.

“Suck it.”

I bury in your light musky scent, gently hook my tongue under your clit and pull it into my mouth. With soft teeth I hold you there as my tongue explores down your slit. I feel you fighting vulnerability and respond by gradually pulling your lips into my mouth. You shift your weight, lean heavily against the chair back. The tension of your hands in my hair reveals your emotions; with each tightening tremble I back off, and you relax. I’m learning your trust.

I long to wrap you up and tell you you’re safe, but with you my words will never soak through your skin the way my touch does. Instead, I gather and release your stress through this small, handsome nub of your body. I dig my fingers into your flesh to see beneath your skin, sense your muscles flinch. I feel your blood flush and bloom, race and soothe.

You shove my head down further and I dive my tongue into you, pressing in deeper as your noises increase. You hand tightens in my hair; I return to your clit. I gather and flick and lap a bit too eagerly. Your guard snaps closed.

“Gentle!” you sternly correct. I lighten and you relax again. Mentally I wrap you with affection.

“Good slut,” you murmur.

You start to stroke the back of my head. I close my eyes, nuzzle and purr into your cunt. I slip a fingertip into your wetness to rest at your opening. I won’t go any further unless you say.

Your pelvis rocks, softly at first but building until I have to grip you tightly to keep my tongue on your clit. You want it but you’re fighting yourself to trust me. I do my best to hold you, to act as a vessel in your moments of vulnerability. Our power play has become about healing. Though I am proudly your sub it does not mean you stand on your own. I am here handsome, and strong for you. I breathe in, drawing calm to us both. I’ve got you, sweet boi.

Slowly, your breath finds safety within the walls of the kitchen. Your eyes close and your hands loosen their hold of my hair. I wrap my arms up your back as far as I can reach. Knotted muscles call to my fingers, but that’ll be worked out later.

Focusing my concentration allows you to release your own. Heat and wet erupt silently in the moment before you gasp. I freeze as you grip tight fists of my hair, but I don’t back up. After a minute passes, my breath heavy and moist, I kiss your sensitive clit and pull myself up against your chest. I feel your heart, your arms drawn snugly around me.

—

The kitchen smells of sex. When we finally stand, we open the glass door and move out to the porch. Though initially we had other plans, I’m entirely content to snuggle for the rest of the evening. It’s warm out; the sky is a dusty pink and there’s a breeze carrying the scent of flowering trees over from the arboretum. An ambulance shoots by. I catch your eye and you smirk, eyes bright. Your cockiness has returned to overtake lingering vulnerability. I walk to the railing. You follow, arm around my waist. The way you stand so firmly close ignites my giddy excitement. I kiss you. I’ve kissed you endlessly already today but can’t help it, I adore you. I’m drawn in by your quiet, smug smile. I pull you close and bury my face in your glittery hair.

You reach for my hand, lean toward the door.

“Come on pet. Your ass needs a whoopin’.”

1:56pm | URL: https://tmblr.co/Zyl1EwNWDB1n

(Notes: 13)