“What do you want?” he asked, softly, the words tactile as his breath caresses my ear.
I want to put in a butt plug and use you as a fuck toy while I jack myself off, I think. I want you to tie me in double futos and fuck me until I can’t think straight, or at least until I’m saying I’m done. I want you to flip me over and fuck me slowly from behind until I’m begging you for more.
What comes out of my mouth is nothing, the pressurized silence of words trapped in my throat and the frustrated growl that does little to ease the pressure- or answer the question. Why can’t I just force these words out instead of laying here shaking, making incoherent sounds that make him chuckle?
“Things,” I say, “and stuff?” He laughs.
“Like what?” he says, “Tell me one or two things happening in there.”
Fuck. I’m not getting out of this one.
This started hours ago, watching a movie as I tried not to break his wrist while he fucked me, hands slipping under my sweatpants, building the small bursts that could go for hours. Starting to think about dinner because I have that bad habit of forgetting to eat, but he reminds me that we should. My mouth by his cock while we talk about options.
“I’m not terribly hungry,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh no?” he says. I laugh.
“Well… not for food, anyway.” I kiss the heavy fabric of his jeans, taut where his cock is hard just beneath, but then hesitate. I’m still so cautious, still uncertain, still unsure.
“For what, then?” There he is, with that wry tease and sardonic smirk. I give him A Look.
“Use your imagination,” I say, stealing his line. It’s not like it’s not painfully obvious.
“Well, then, use your hands,” he responds. I take that as an invitation, unbuckle his belt, pull his cock out, and blow him while he watches Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It’s a good background movie for giving head.
He reminds me that we still need to eat. Teasing, I point out that I just did, but relent and we settle on a place. Paper Moon, a good staple diner where he can get protein and I can eat breakfast. We’re almost dressed when he pulls out the small, remote control vibrator.
“Wanna make dinner more interesting?” he asks.
I’m aching for this. Yes, yes, yes, everything in me is screaming, so why do I pick now to get bashful? My body seems to be working at cross purposes with me, but I laugh easily and say, “Oh sure, why the hell not?”
Thank god the diner is loud; I can feel the pulsing and buzzing vibrating through my legs and into the chair. He doesn’t take it out when we finally get home, but I can focus on the sensation there and, god, it makes me ache.
I stare across the room at the rig he built earlier today. He follows my eyes.
“Well,” he says, “who’s going up first, you or me?”
I look at the rig, considering. I’m too in my head to tie him; it already makes me nervous at the best of times and I am far from my best at the moment.
“I’m trying to decide if I feel like being selfish right now,” I say.
“Which means…? Who goes up if you’re being selfish?” he asks.
“Oh, me.” I said. He nods.
When he asks me what I feel like doing, I give an enigmatic collection of answers, some of which run together, a few standing out: challenge. pain. hard. He looks at me, and then at the rig, and nods.
“We can do that,” he says.
I’m playing around under the rig, having just stripped down to my underwear when I hear the click of a camera. I turn, confused and embarrassed.
“Where did that come from?” I asked.
He smiled. “You said you wanted a challenge.”
He starts to lay the lines. I’m familiar with them now, can anticipate their placement as he wraps around my arms and pulls it taut behind my back. I sink into the feeling but I’m nervous about that camera. I asked for hard. Can my body process what I asked for?
Up is familiar, a hip harness and a TK. I’m trying to ignore the way my stomach is folding, trying to ignore the roar inside of my head when the pulsing starts.
That damn vibrator is still inside of me.
His face, that sadistic, gleeful smile makes every twitch of my hips worth it. Until I realize those are single columns going around my ankles, attached up to the corners of the rig. Until my body tips as he pulls and drops the chest harness. Until he drops the hip line and I am hanging by my ankles, inverted, spread open, my cunt pulsing.
Is he going to photograph this? This is hard to hold but I can do it, so long as I can hide my face. I’m thinking, considering, anticipating what happens next.
I didn’t expect the Hitachi.
I have never writhed so uselessly against anything before. I’m about to cum but my legs have nothing to push against. I’m about to cum but he pulled it away, briefly, just long enough. These sounds are inhuman. My ankles are on fire. I check the pressure, holding until I only have a couple minutes of endurance left, and press the words out to let him know. I don’t want him to stop but I can’t hold this much longer.
When he brings me down, there is a reticence in me fighting against something feral. I want to fuck him but I can’t force the words out; all I have is this body, brimming with ache and grasping, kissing, pulling him closer to me. He laughs as we tumble into bed, leaving rope strewn everywhere across my floor. My hands are on his hips but I am still holding back. He leans forward, lips to my ear.
“What do you want?” he asks softly, and we are back where we started, these frustrated growls clenching up from inside my chest. I couldn’t be more trapped, stuck between a body that is pulsing and shaking with desire and a mind that cannot force the words to bring desire to fruition. His hand slips down, pulls the vibrator out and I groan as his hands softly hit my clit. Fuck.
I’m hiding my face as he touches me gently. Whimpering as his hands grasp at me, pull me toward him. Clutching the sheets and gritting my teeth and trying to find a way to make my vocal chords work. The effort hurts, more than I remembered that it could, shredding me from the inside out with desire and shame and frustration, different parts of my mind screaming at each other while my body writhes helplessly.
Then pain, sharp and clean, his teeth on the side of my neck, a clean golden light breaking through the hazy fog inside my brain. It burns through the mess; the dark shadows inside my throat recoiling away, loosening up. I’m about to speak when his teeth release and I can feel the clench welling up again.
“Fuck,” I say. “Goddammit. Do that again. Back of my neck. Please.”
He does, and the light comes back, and words start tumbling out, mumbled up in a pillow, gasping and breathless and barely audible, but there. He cannot hear what I’ve said, but it doesn’t matter; I’ve said words now, and it makes them easier to repeat, slightly slower, slightly louder, slightly clearer.
So when he lays back with his cock deep inside of me and begins to press his hips forward, I tell him to stop.
“Don’t move,” I say, grabbing the vibrator. “Don’t you fucking move.” I want to cum around his cock and it’s only going to take me a minute and I need this, for me, to hold my own desire and need and ache. I need to cum the way my body wants for the simple pleasure of doing what I want. I want to guide and hold my own desire that I have fought so long to claim.
And later, after the torrent has passed and I tell him he can move again, I keep slowing my hips as he begins to whimper, not letting him cum but also uncertain again in my movements. I see the build on his face, so close, frustration and pleasure palpable.
“I want you to cum in my mouth,” I say, half shocked that I have said this, suspending that part of my brain that remembers to be ashamed. He nods, a tight movement, and I smile, slowly sitting up to feel the movement of his cock sliding out of me, pull the condom off and bury him deep inside my throat.
Sharp intake of breath. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes and his hips press up, his hands clench, tangled in my hair and pressing me deeper, and I taste the flavor of him, warm and slightly sweet spilling into my mouth. Oh fuck indeed.