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Choice.

February 19, 2012

Quietly, she sits, though her posture betrays her tension. The legs of the old, wooden, school room chair that she rests on, grind against the oak floor with the shifting of her weight. Trying to ease her mental discomfort with a physical movement.

Her head is bowed, but those big, green, liquid laden eyes are directed at me. Always at me. the sound of our breath, laboured with anticipation, expands to fill the room as I match her stare. From here I can see almost all of her. The shirt that she threw on barely covers her. The deep ‘V’ of the unbuttoned fabric only covers half of her breasts and the soft hair and wet folds between her legs are visible through the cloth. However much I might want her, right now I have to give her time.

I pace the room, testing her gaze and smile, satisfied at its unwavering intensity.Perhaps there is more feist in her than I thought. I light another cigarette and sit down, cross-legged on the floor opposite her, awaiting her response to my question. I survey the scene, and I can’t help but wonder why she is still here. The twisted, come soaked sheets on the bed where we fucked just hours ago, serving as a reminder of how I essentially violated her.  The old pine chest, the key for which now rests in my open palm, is the new focus of her gaze.

Tiny fragments of dust weave through the air between us. They are lit briefly as they twist through the occasional rays of light that break through the shutters here and there. She pulls at her bottom lip as she thinks things over. No doubt she is thinking about what I did to her and, more importantly, how she found herself responding to that.

So far, the fucking has been…nice. Vanilla, but nice all the same. Today I gave her a taste of the pleasure she could know, were she to allow me to push her boundaries just a little. It was a mistake, a lapse in concentration. I hadn’t meant to show her this way, I wanted to get her agreement first.  But I found myself overwhelmingly  frustrated by the sameness, and craved a taste of something more, I gave in to the feral need that was gnawing at me.

I  held her arms above her head, gripped her nipple tight between my teeth, The shock of the sudden pain making her cry out. I forced her thighs apart with my knees and penetrated her with three fingers, pushing my thumb against her clit. Her tension at the pain from her breast ebbed as I fucked her, slowly, muttering obscene encouragement and kissing her deeply before my mouth moved to her neck. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should stop, but the feel of her, the taste of her…

Her gasping turned to a soft whine as I bit down hard on the soft flesh of her shoulder, and I pressed harder against her clit.  Her hips rocked, rhythmically fucking my hand into her with each movement. My minds eyes pictured her, shackled and broken and beautiful, come soaked thighs and sweat beaded skin, sated after our game was over. Only it wasn’t our game, not yet.

Holding her hips to restrain her movement, I moved over her, slowly sliding my body down the length of hers, feeling her fight against my grip. My right hand, slippery with her wetness, left a cooling trail across her skin as I held her down. I paused, my lips just millimeters from hers “Are you going to be my dirty girl?” Our breath mingled as she sighed, and I gently bit her bottom lip as she nodded, those big green eyes reflecting her inner confusion.

“Now, you’re going to come for me” I instructed, as I kissed my way down to her stomach. My tongue found the taste of her on her hip and I hungrily licked her clean. Her body, arching feline towards me, was urging me to fuck her, though she said nothing. With my arm pressed across her hips, again I stifled her movement as my fingers pushed between her cunt lips, easily sliding deep in to her well lubricated hole. I wanted to tie her there, restrain her with rope so that my hands were free to use her.

My mouth connected hungrily with her mound, sucking her clit deep in to my mouth. Then, repeatedly grazing her clit with my teeth, I pushed my knuckles against her g spot. Releasing her hips, I reached up to pull hard on her nipple, finally allowing her the freedom of movement that she craved to writhe against my hand. She called my name, shuddering as she came, harder than she had ever known was possible.

She is brooding and fretful now. She looks sweet and fragile and far too brittle for the likes of me. She is all pigeon-toed and tangled hair. I see her picking through the muddle of her thoughts. In a sick way, it quickens me to watch her. I am enjoying her turmoil.

A very small part of me hopes that she will tell me to go to hell, where I probably belong. The rest of me is poised, waiting for her to yield, just like all the others. But free will is a very tricky little monster. She is a nice girl, and ‘nice’ girls aren’t supposed to want to be fucked that way, are they?

I have furnished her with the facts, the intricacies of my want. Offered to open the chest for her. She knows me now, or at least, she knows what I want from her.  She has a choice.

The question is, how far will she let me go?

From → Erotica

2 Comments
  1. christ, it’s so good to see your writings again! delicious as always, darling.
    and don’t ever be fooled by them “nice girls” 😉
    XXX

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