[NOTE: The character named Anamaria in the first chapter has had her name changed to Arianna. Often in the course of writing a long story, a better, more appropriate name suggests itself as the character develops. Such was the case here, as 'Arianna' conveys a womanliness and level of sophistication that the more youthful 'Anamaria' doesn't suggest.]
*
There's something that goes on between a man and a woman that's deeper than sex, maybe even deeper than love, and possibly even deeper than words can express. It includes love and sex, but also something more, a kind of magic that changes our world and realigns our stars, and makes us bloom in colors we didn't even know we had. It's something built into us as human beings on a fundamental level, as deep as our sense of self and deepest, unimagined desires.
It's a longing, a need. You might say it's a need for love, but that doesn't do it justice. We long for the opposite sex like the dark longs for the light and like fire longs for fuel. I don't want to disparage the gay world, and those who find what they want in the same sex, but n my case, at least, I long for the feminine, for the world she represent and the quality she supplies. God bless gender equality, but thrice bless those gender differences that make masculine and feminine possible: a man's hardness and physicality and even his oafishness; a woman's nurturing and comfort and welcoming softness.
But finally it was too much. I don't know if it was her technique or the sight of her angel face contorted into that look of cock-sucking trance, but suddenly I felt the rush of semen charge my balls and electric pleasure run up the backs of my legs. I grabbed onto the base of my cock with one hand and squeezed and with the other hand pulled her to her feet and just about flung her onto the bed.
"No! Inside you, Arianna! That's where I want it!"
She landed on her back and bounced on the mattress, dizzy and disoriented and still in the grip of her oral high, and before she could come to her senses I had my clothes off and was kneeling between her legs.
I paused for just a second, just to see if there'd be an objection, a refusal, a plea for more time or a last minute grab for shredded dignity, but there was nothing. Arianna lay with her legs apart and eyes closed, the loser, this time, in that eternal struggle, awaiting the loser's fate.
Or was it really like that at all? Arianna had brought me to the edge of sexual madness, poised above her with my dripping cock aimed right at her juicy little hole, almost crazy with desire. And she'd done it all by not really doing anything, by simply not refusing me. All she'd done was be herself, and let me make her into what I wanted.
Yet isn't that the most powerful kind of love? Is there anything more powerful than a person turning themselves over to you to be used as you desire? To be your pleasure and your toy and your dream object?
I didn't stop to think about it. I plunged into her and Arianna wailed and raised her knees till they gripped my ribs, opening herself entirely. Her response was complete, automatic, and instinctive, as if she were climbing a tree. That little cunt was swollen and tight and filled with a sucking emptiness my cock rushed on to fill till my pubic bone hit hers and there was no space between us. I know I hurt her with that savage entrance, but that was part of it too: this last bit of hurt, the anguish of love and the pain of giving yourself. And then she wrapped herself around me, legs over my ass, nails in my back, and clung to me as I began to fuck her.
Sparks flew; thunder and lightning. I couldn't tell if we were two beings trying to become one, or one being trying to split into two and free ourselves into our own separate existence. She was so tight and swollen with excitement that my cock could hardly move. Her sheath held me so that despite her slick wetness her whole sheath seemed to move with me, up and back and around. This was nothing like the last time we'd fucked, tentative and wary. This time we were down in the depths of those feelings I spoke about, with no conscious thought, no caution or barriers. We fucked in a space of blood and juice and flesh, gasping and biting and tearing at each other like animals.
I dug my fingers into her ass and lifted her pussy up to me like a target, like a ship I was torpedoing again and again, trying to make her explode, trying to shatter her into a million pieces. Arianna started coming and didn't stop. I could tell from the way she shuddered and twitched in fits, one after another, her vaginal muscles squeezing me in paroxysms of release, like a throat swallowing again and again.
And then I was there, shocks an d tangles possessing me till there was no holding back and I let my body take over and do what it wanted to do. Instinctively I grabbed her wrists and held them down against the bed as if to keep her from getting away. I plunged deep into her, arching my back to thrust my cock home, and at the last second I saw her eyes gazing up at me, cloudy and unfocused in the thrall of orgasm, then clearing and staring at me with penetrating wonder and intensity as my cock throbbed and jerked inside her and the semen spewed from me in thick, heavy gouts. It was more than just a sexual release. It had the blinding force of life seeking life, a drenching, saturating ejaculation that brought with it these deep, primal feelings of fertilization and creation.
It was a sacred moment there and totally unexpected and it seemed to go on and on, Arianna open and totally still, and my hips punching into her spasmodically with every fresh launch of cum.
When it was over I just collapsed on top of her, her wrists still in my hands, and we just lay there for a long minute or two, gasping for breath. At last I felt her moving beneath me, shaking as if she were laughing, but she wasn't laughing. I raised myself up enough to hear her quiet sobbing and see her eyes brimmed with tears. I didn't have to ask her why.
I rolled off her and took her in my arms and held her close as she continued to tremble and sob, and it was all right. There was no need to talk or explain. It was like I was holding a piece of myself, and the tears and the crying were from me as well as her, and from a very precious part of me.
Above us the heavens stood still and the stars and planets realigned. This had been more than sex. A new constellation had appeared and the pieces held each other close in my small, messy bed.
To Be Continued...
The difference between male and female isn't one of status or ability. It's one of quality, such that either consciously or not, we all divide the world into masculine and feminine, and yearn for that which we don't have.
All this came to me during my dark days after I'd lost my job, when things between me and Dana hit the skids and I spent my time immersed in magic and mythology, searching for a way out of the prison of rationality and reason. The differences between male and female saturated the pages of what I was reading, the longings and conflicts and complex relationships; the division of nature into him and her, light and dark, positive and negative, aggressive and receptive.
And the more I studied, the worse things got between us. I needed for our love to be deep and our sex even deeper, complete and impassioned. That was more than the kind of routine vanilla affection Dana and I'd fallen into. I needed her to be the archetypal female to my male, and to be respectable yet seductive, pure but whorish. I needed her to fill this hollowness I felt and with warmth and acceptance, faith, trust, and giving.
But that was more than she could give, and probably more than I could accept at the time. As I said, those feelings are beyond words and therefore hard to grasp. They're best expressed through the language of sex, through the pleasure and pain and longing and violation, the tenderness and healing that speaks to us more directly than words. But by the time I realized that, Dana and I were finished. Our well had run dry.
And now I was involved with a girl I was sure was fluent in this language, even down to the dialect she spoke. Our one sexual encounter had been brief and unplanned, but even so had given me a glimpse of Arianna's hidden passion and an intensity of feeling that I desperately wanted more of. This was the language I wanted to speak, and this was the woman I'd been waiting for, I was sure of it. She only needed to be prodded and provoked and taught how to release this energy and there'd be no telling how far we could go. I couldn't let her get away.
Everything I'd learned of her said that Arianna Zamora was sexually submissive, but in a state of denial. That's not surprising. As I said, those feelings can run deep and strong and are often fiercely repressed, to the point where a woman might bury all erotic feeling rather than expose these threats to her self-image.
The significance of her being submissive wasn't that I could use and exploit her. The significance was that Arianna contained an entire, unexplored world of repressed female sexuality that no one had as yet tapped into or even begun to reveal. She was a stranger to herself and only marginally aware of those things locked up inside her, things that I perhaps possessed the key for. And that sense of erotic potential was enough to invoke that bigger change in me, realigning my world and stars and offering me a path back into the land of the living again.
But I'd have to be careful. I'd have to be tender with her. I didn't want to shock her or scare her off. The sexual part of this relationship still meant less to me than the friendship part. That, I didn't want to jeopardize.
I gave her a couple of days, then called. Nothing about the sex and what had happened, just a friendly call to see how she was doing. I didn't mention that night, and she didn't either. She'd been busy, looking for a lawyer to handle the divorce, and also beginning the search for an apartment so she could move out of her parents' house and start her new life as a single woman.
And on top of all this, there'd been her Christmas shopping. She still hadn't found the right gold bracelet for her mother.
"Well then come down here," I told her. "There's jewelers and import places all up and down the street. I'll be your guide. I know just the place."
I did know a jeweler who made gorgeous stuff, but my real reason for asking her was of course to see how she felt towards me now, and whether she'd come or keep her distance.
"That would be great David, but I couldn't do it tonight. Maybe Friday?"
I smiled into the phone. "Friday night? Sure."
"I'll come over about seven? Is that okay?"
"Perfect."
"Great! I'll see you then."
I know that in most stories of dominance and submission, the dom just takes control of the sub by virtue of his compelling presence and commanding personality, but I assure you, that's not how it works in the real world. BDSM is just like love, only more so. And unless she's just playing or showing off, you're going to have to earn her submission by establishing bonds of trust, respect, familiarity, and affection, and those don't just happen overnight, no matter how good your Svengali face is.
It can happen, though, that breaking through someone's defensive shell can trigger a reaction that's way out of proportion to the deed. Sexual repression takes a lot of energy, and the repressed sub can be like a straining wall or a baited bear trap, ready to spring. Remove the right brick or touch the right trigger and you can set off an avalanche of feeling and freed emotion.
That's all I could figure when I met Arianna that night. I went down to meet her when she rang the bell, not wanting her to come up and revisit the scene of the crime until I could gauge her mood. It was a good thing too, because her mood was something I'd never seen in her before. She was actually happy, even almost a little giddy as we dodged shoppers on Clark Street, chattering away about everything she saw. She clung to my arm so we wouldn't get separated, and for once that aura of constant sadness seemed gone.
Part of it might have been the excitement of Christmas shopping and all the people and decorations. But part of it was something else, something inside her. She felt like a person who had a future again. And she was wearing a skirt too. Her little pink knees were visible between her coat and her suede boots, something I couldn't fail to notice. I'd never seen her wear a skirt outside of work, and that seemed significant to me.
"You seem in an awfully good mood tonight." I pulled open the door to Kramer's Jewelers so she could enter. "What happened?"
"Happened?" She smiled cryptically as she breezed past. "I can't imagine. Maybe you can tell me?"
And then we were inside and she turned all business, as if I wasn't even there, until it was time to model a gold bracelet on her slim wrist for my opinion.
Maybe it was the heightened perception she evoked in me, but I'd never been so aware of the message a bracelet can send before. Or maybe it was just that I wanted those messages to be there to fulfill my own fantasies. But the bracelets Arianna tended to like all seemed to be slave-like, either chains or bands of woven gold. She'd try them on and push up her sleeve, then raise and lower her hand so I could watch the bracelet slide on her arm and get caught around her hand.
I was supposed to be looking at the bracelet, but several times I noticed a coy, self-satisfied look on her face as she watched my reaction.
But it wasn't till the third place that she found what she was looking for: a delicate yet dignified bracelet suitable for her mother, totally unlike what she'd been trying on. She managed to get the jeweler to knock off thirty bucks and promptly bought it, a smug, satisfied look on her face as we walked out the door.
It was a strange night out, an unusual warm snap despite the snow on the ground, and not expected to last. But while it did, the air was full of mist and fog that made the whole street look like a smudged pastel drawing, all soft grays and deep blacks and misty pinks, with halos around the lights all up and down the street.
"Where to now?" I asked her. "Dinner? I'm buying."
Arianna pointed down the street to a sign. "Cajun Jimmy's. Isn't that the chicken place you told me about? Why don't we just get some chicken and take it back to your place?"
I stared. "Yeah? Yeah, sure. That would be great."
Eight o'clock on a Friday night and Arianna was inviting herself to come home with me. It was almost too good to be true. We got two chicken dinners and carried them back to my apartment and climbed the narrow stairs.
Inside, Arianna took off her coat and threw it in a chair, and for the first time I got a good look at what she was wearing: a short but not scandalous black leather skirt and a black sweater over a white silk blouse.
I stared. She looked incredible.
But of course she wasn't posing for me. She'd already gone to the kitchen cabinet and pulled down some dinner plates, then opened the right drawer to collect some silverware, as if she'd been living here for years. Ms. Domesticity. No questions asked.
I stood in the kitchen still in my coat and scarf and watched her as she began to set the table, rather shocked. She put down the plates and silverware, laid down paper napkins, and got glasses from above the sink.
When she finished, she turned to me and grabbed both ends of my scarf like I was a little boy. "Aren't you staying, David?" she teased. "Why don't you take your coat off?"
This was a side of Arianna I'd never seen before, or even suspected, playful, flirty, and surprisingly bold. All I could do was stand there and stare.
Of course I'd been hoping she'd come back to my apartment and that we'd end up in bed again, but I hadn't expected to be actively seduced. This was too weird and outrageous. If she'd gone into the bedroom and started taking off her clothes I couldn't have been more surprised.
"Arianna? What's going on?"
She pulled herself closer, so close that I automatically put my hands on her hips to maintain a modicum of personal space.
"You asked me before what'd happened," she said. Her eyes were wide and deep and looking right into mine. "I need to ask you the same thing. What happened? What did you do to me the other night? I asked you then and you said it was nothing. But it wasn't nothing. It was something, and I need to know."
I wasn't sure what to say but her face was close to mine, so I thought maybe I'd just kiss her, but she wouldn't relent. She pulled her head away and continued to press me.
"No one else has ever made me feel like that. Is that what Ethan meant by responding? It is, isn't it? Now I can see it."
When I still didn't answer she impatiently flicked the two ends of my scarf as if they were reins and she could make me go. She said louder now and more insistent, "Why do you have those chains on your bed? And those things on the wall in your living room, those brackets, like for tying someone up? What do you think I am? What did you think you were doing to me?"
I lost patience then and grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands from my scarf. I pushed them up so they were against her chest and forced her back against the table. It was supposed to be a joke gesture, but the ease with which I took control of her had an effect on me.
"I didn't think anything, goddamnit," I said to her. "I wanted you and we made love. I took you. And don't tell me you didn't like it! You came like a little slut, didn't you? Over and over. Unresponsive my ass!"
Her eyes suddenly blazed fire and for a second I thought she was going to slap me, but she didn't attempt to move her hands. I could feel her anger and outrage, but I could feel something else too: a wall starting to crumble, a spirit trying to break free, but frightened of what she might find. A woman begging to be forced.
And suddenly I understood. Arianna was trying to provoke me. She was trying to call forth the fierce male lust that had led me to ravish her the other night. That fire in her eyes was desire, not anger. She wanted to be ravished again.
"Come with me." I said. I backed off but held onto one wrist and led her into the living room.
"David? What are you doing? David?"
"We're going to play a game. I want to try something with you."
"What do you mean? What kind of game?"
"Take off your sweater. I need it off. Do it!"
As I said it was warm out. It was warm in the apartment. Arianna kept her eyes on me but she lifted her sweater off over her head and let it drop. Her silk blouse was white and shiny like a pearl, and with her sweater off, made her look even more radiant and ethereal.
I turned her around and took off my scarf, then wrapped it several times around each wrist, leaving her about a foot of slack between them.
"David! What are you doing?"
She pretended to be surprised and a bit irritated, as if she didn't know what was happening, but she wasn't fooling me. She reminded me of a feral cat I had once, who was too proud to admit that she liked being petted. She'd come around, trying to act casual when what she really wanted were strokes.
In the same way, Arianna'd come over on the pretext of Christmas shopping, when it was fairly obvious that what she really wanted was to feel what I'd made her feel the other night, and the scarf was part of it.
I sat down in the same chair I'd sat in when I'd played with her hand, and I pulled her down into my lap. I caught her by surprise and she fell heavily, stiff and a bit awkwardly, but she didn't resist.
"The rules of this game are this," I said. "I can touch you but you can't touch me. You're not allowed to move unless I tell you to. Understood?"
"What? Why?"
"Because that's the way this game is played. You're my prisoner, and those are the rules."
"I don't understand."
"No? Well then that's why we're playing this game. Just don't let go of that scarf."
I pulled her tighter against me and she gave a little gasp. Her skirt slid up a few more inches, and I had a sudden vision of us together in that chair and our age discrepancy. Arianna was very young and fresh and as yet an unknown quantity, and I was well-flecked with gray and old enough to be her father, holding her in my lap with her arms tied. We might have been some sort of wickedly perverse Santa Claus and little girl, but there the similarity ended.
She sat tense and expectant, excited at being held helpless, but frightened too that her real desires might be exposed, and not yet sure what they'd be. But there was something in the tension in her body that told me that being held in just this way was something Arianna wanted and wanted badly, whether she was aware of it or not.
"David—"
She squirmed a little, already sensing danger. I reached up and caressed her face, causing her to close her eyes, then let my hand slip down over her silky blouse to her breast. The blouse was thin and smooth and made her breasts maddeningly tactile, living sacks of human treasure. Their soft weight and gravid mass made me moan out loud when I felt them.
I popped the buttons on her blouse and pulled the tails from her skirt, but the real excitement wasn't her revealed flesh, but her tense acceptance of what I was doing, her willing helplessness as I undressed her. If she was going to pull away or try to stop me, she would have done it now, but she didn't.
I threw the blouse open, exposing her snowy white bra, and I plundered her breasts, my hand greedy for her, violating her, selfishly gorging on her flesh. I showed her through my touch how I wanted her and what I wanted to do to her. She couldn't help but move now, her body twisting away, her shoulders coming up to protect her breasts.
She was lush, over-ripe, swollen with the years of her husband's neglect, and despite her instinct to protect herself, I could feel her body begging to be taken and used for what it was so obviously made for. I felt her arms moving behind her back but she wasn't freeing herself. She was wrapping the scarf tighter to restrict her freedom even further. She was getting into this game. She was learning that she liked it.
I pulled her bra down and revealed nipples already peaked with excitement. Arianna whimpered and gasped and her writhing took on a different character. No longer trying to escape or protect herself, she began to twist and turn in response to my touch, jumping when I touched someplace ticklish, pushing back or leaning into me when I touched someplace where she wanted more pressure. I played with her nipples, running my fingertip lightly around them and then seizing one and slowly pinching till she began to whine and grind her ass into my lap. I could feel her go from demure resistance to the hungrier urgency of feeling herself used for my pleasure: despoiled, ravished, and molested.
I pinched her nipple harder and she tried to pull away.
She wasn't used to being treated like this, like a common slut or sex toy. My rough treatment shocked her but excited her too despite herself, and she began to thrash and pull at the scarf.
"Did I tell you to move?" I asked. "Did I give you permission?"
I released her nipple and gave it a little slap to set her breast bouncing, grabbed the back of her hair with my other hand and tilted that angel face down to mine. Her grimace of pain from the slap faded quickly and left her with lips parted and eyes half-closed. She'd turned on with amazing speed.
"Kiss," I said. "You may kiss me."
No words, no comments. Her lips came down on mine soft and molten in a begging, beseeching kiss, her breath shaky in her throat. I knew what had happened: the pretty girl's first taste of disrespect, her first realization that her looks wouldn't save her. I took her nipple again and tweaked it, rolled it in my fingers, worried it like a terrier with a bone, and her kiss just got hotter and more desperate, melting over my lips like hot butter, her voice full of little sounds of helpless submission.
I was learning her. I was learning what she liked.
I released the kiss and turned to her breasts, lifting one to my mouth and sucking and kissing the nipple I'd just tormented and Arianna leaned back so she could stare down at me nursing on her with a look of wild fascination on her face, enraptured by the sight of her body being violated, her breasts devoured. Her arms were still behind her back so she was helpless to stop me and could only watch.
When I released her breast her nipple was hard and shiny with my saliva. When I pulled her down for another kiss she opened her mouth wide, inviting even further depredation, moaning with the thrill of it.
I was amazed at how quickly she turned on. A pinch, a slap, an attitude of disrespect, and suddenly it was like she couldn't get enough. She turned into a little she-beast there in my arms, beside herself with lust.
I slapped her breasts again and she shuddered. I could see in her face that she was shocked, scandalized that anyone would treat her so crudely, but at the same time her eyes lit up with fire; the liberation of being mistreated, the thrill of being forced.
Finally I could wait no longer. My hand found its way under her skirt and crept up her thigh to that cloyingly soft and tender flesh right next to her sex, that warm and humid triangle. I felt her freeze in anticipation and quiver.
"Remember, you're not to move, Arianna. You remember the rules?"
"Oh, God yes, David! You're evil! Don't tease!"
Her affirmation was hardly more than a strangled little whisper as she awaited my touch, not daring to move a muscle. I was too excited myself to smile at this capitulation, or even take any pleasure from it. The fierce seriousness of male sexual desire was on me, and smiling had no place in it.
I pushed the crotch of her panties to the side. She was wet and warm and sticky, her labia swollen with impatience. She jerked spasmodically when I touched her but I didn't go far. I just opened her furrow with the tip of my middle finger, then inserted it only to the first knuckle. My finger just parted her labia and poised at the entrance of that secret, mysterious hole, and despite my injunction not to move, Arianna's mouth came down on mine in a fierce, sucking kiss that told me just what she wanted my finger to do. And when begging wouldn't do, her fine white teeth sunk into my lower lip and bit down, trying to provoke me into a savage and punitive response.
But I wouldn't give her the penetration she was begging for. Just the tip. Just my finger tip barely opening her and waiting at that nerve-saturated vestibule. Her legs opened and closed, clamping down on my hand. Her kisses became desperate, wild and chaotic with her need and frustration.
"More! Oh David! Please! More!"
She whispered feverishly between kisses, but still I refused. Want and need, control and denial. We were locked in a tight little ball, Arianna in my lap and half hunched over, arms still bound behind her. Me with my face in the tangle of her bra and breasts, pressed against the hot and fragrant flesh of her tits which were filmed with sweat and smelling of her perfume and her softness and her rising sexual musk. Inside her I felt the autonomic muscles of her pussy gripping me like elastic bands, trying to suck me in.
"Listen to me, Arianna," I told her. "New rules. You are not to orgasm without my permission. No, change that. You are not allowed to orgasm until my cock is inside you. Until I'm fucking you."
"God!" she whispered. Her pussy continued to pulse on my finger tip. "What are you talking about? David, I can't do that!"
And now I smiled. With my face pressed against her tits, maybe she felt it.
"Well you'd better learn." I pulled my head back so I could see her face, flushed, worried, hungry with lust, she was genuinely concerned. "Because only a slut comes from being fingered like this. Only a hot little fuck-toy. Is that what you are, Arianna? Are you my little fuck doll? Is that pussy going to cum on my finger so hard you can't even stop it?"
Arianna whined, my lewd words hitting a nerve. I began to move my finger tip, withdrawing, pushing back in, circling around that tight little hole, distending her, stretching her, but never past the first joint. My thumb found the hood of her clit, that eager little pearl, and I slathered it with her own juices so I could slide around and over it and press and make her moan.
Hand jobs are underrated. There's something deliciously degrading about being brought off by someone's hand, as if they couldn't be bothered to give you a good honest fuck or suck. Handjobs are demeaning, and maybe that's why they get such bad press. But that's also why they can also be wonderfully intense, especially for a newbie trying her best not to cum because she believes it might mean she's a slut.
Arianna was through with one game. I felt her untangling her wrists from the scarf as I held her and teased her with my finger and thumb, and soon she had her arms wrapped around me, holding on for dear life.
"Oh God, David, I can't! I can't! I can't stop it! Please! Please!"
And then she just broke. A strangled whine, the feel of her pussy spasming madly on my finger, the hot gush of her release in the palm of my hand as she clung to me, chocking, sobbing, cumming.
I slid my finger from her and held her as she caught her breath and stopped shaking. But as soon as she'd gained some level of equanimity she pushed herself up off my lap sand backed away, crouching protectively and holding her open blouse closed over her breasts.
"David, what are you doing to me? I'm not like this. I'm really not."
I was shocked, stunned. "What are you talking about?"
"The chains you have in the bedroom and on the walls in here. They're for sex, aren't they? You're one of those men, a dominant, and you think I'm a submissive. You think I'm going to be your slave."
"Arianna, I don't think anything. And I'm not 'one of those men'. Come back here. Sit with me."
"I'm not going to let you do those things to me, David. You've got to promise. Give me your word."
"Don't be silly, Why are you so upset?"
"Promise."
I sighed. "I promise I won't do anything to you that you don't want. Ever. What do you think I am? Now come back and sit with me."
She looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then meekly came back to the chair. I didn't think having her sit on my lap would be appropriate, so I moved over in the chair so she could squeeze in beside me. I put my arm around her.
I was still hard and needing relief, because Arianna had turned me on fiercely. But I had to be cautious now, because she was clearly spooked. She'd agreed to my game and played her part perfectly, but now her feelings of shame and regret were almost tangible.
"What's the big deal?" I asked. "Why the labels?"
"I just want us to be clear. That stuff scares me, David. It turns me off. I worked hard to get to where I am today. I know I look young, and everyone treats me like a girl. But I'm a woman, and I'm strong and capable and my own person. I'm not someone's slave waiting to happen. That disgusts me and turns me off. I just don't want any misunderstandings."
I nodded sympathetically and said nothing. My mind was racing.
Arianna brushed her hair out of her face and did her best to pull her bra up and arrange herself. She nestled in, pressing against me and the side of the chair and making herself comfortable. Her blouse was still unbuttoned, but closed over her breasts. I thought of several things to say. I could point out that she just came like a little banshee from the very things she said she hated; or that labels were silly and meaningless; or I could ask her what was so horrifying; or I could just remind her that I still hadn't come and she owed me a lover's debt.
But she beat me to the punch.
"That's what those chains are for, isn't it?" she asked. "When's the last time you used them David? Is that what you used to do with Dana? Was she a submissive?"
I laughed bitterly. "Dana? She was as vanilla as they come. No. We never used them. I kept them up hoping, but she wasn't the least bit interested."
"So you are a dominant? You like to order women around?"
"No!" I exploded, tired of this nonsense. "I don't know what I am. I don't label myself, and I don't know why you should. I make love how I make love. I do things I like. What's the big deal?"
"Okay, David. Don't get mad. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
She kissed my cheek.
"You remember Renee, my best friend from college I told you about?"
I nodded.
"I told you how amazing she was and how she inspired me. She was absolutely gorgeous and smart and funny and could have had any guy she wanted. When we got out of school she had all these job offers. She took a job with DDF&B in New York, the big advertising firm, and at 22 had the world by the tail.
"But then she met this guy and he was a dom, and she became like his slave. It was awful. We used to talk and I saw her go from this beautiful, successful woman to a complete burnout who cared about nothing but pleasing her master. Master Ron. That was his name. That's so stupid. He got her hooked on cocaine and then crack and meth and he was cheating on her right and left, but she couldn't tear herself away. She followed him all the way down. It was horrible."
"And you're afraid that's going to happen to you?" I asked.
"No!" she exclaimed. "I'm not a submissive. I'm not like that at all. I looked into it, you know? I looked at these web sites and at the kinds of things they do and they turn me off. I don't want to go near that stuff."
"Well, I have no intention of getting you hooked on crack and meth, believe me," I said. "But may I point out to you, Ms. Zamora, that you just had a rather marked sexual response to having your wrists tied as you were fondled. So apparently there was something in it that appealed to you."
She squirmed in the chair and pressed close to me, slipped her hand inside my shirt and touched my bare skin.
"That was different," she said. "You were showing me something so I let you. I wanted it. You weren't forcing me. It's totally different."
I turned as far as I could in the close confines of the chair and looked into her eyes to see if she was serious, and she was. I wasn't about to get into some sort of semantic argument with her at this point, but it was obvious that that Arianna had some very weird ideas about force and free will.
The bottom line though, was that she'd done what I said and enjoyed it. Enjoyed it greatly. All the rest was academic.
"Ethan used to tell me what to do. I guess I was shy—I still am, a lot—so he'd tell me what to do. But it was nothing like this. He just used to make me feel stupid. With you it's different."
Yeah. I knew why it was different: it was the difference between ordering a woman to service you, or just taking from her and being thrilled to the marrow by her willing compliance. One way makes her a slave; the other way makes her a woman.
I pried myself out of the chair and stood up. "Come on, then. Let me show you another game."
Arianna's no dummy and she could see the powerful bulge in my pants. She knew what was going on and she gave me a mischievous little smile as I helped he to her feet.
"In the bedroom," I said.
My bed is high. Just about ass-level for me. I led Arianna to the side of the bed and stood her in the middle of the floor, then I sat on the mattress and confronted her.
"I want you to take your clothes off for me," I said.
"What?!"
"It's another game. I want you to undress in front of me. I want to see how it makes you feel."
Her blouse was already hanging open, suspended on the hillocks of her breasts, with a little slice of naked tummy showing beneath. But I'd done that myself when I'd unbuttoned it in the chair. Making her undress before my eyes would be a whole new experience with a whole new meaning and a whole new set of feelings.
And she could pretend it was just a game or a preparation for love or anything else she wanted, but I knew that making her strip was a very dommy thing to do, and would probably provoke some very subby feelings inside her.
I liked watching her as she stood before me in some considerable doubt and uncertainty. On the one hand, Arianna was a very proud young woman and had the confidence of someone who knows she's attractive and desirable.
On the other hand, undressing cold like this, while being observed, was something no woman could do without considerable deference and ill ease.
She flushed slightly but managed t keep her poise, and hesitated only slightly before leaning back against the wall and starting to unzip her boots and take them off.
"Can I tell you something and you won't get mad?" she asked.
"What is it?"
She pulled off a boot and started on the other one.
"I like the fact that you're older," she said. "I don't think I'd do this for anyone else. But seeing the gray in your hair and your voice... I don't know what it is."
I said nothing but I felt the thrill of her words. There aren't many positives to getting older. Your body starts to fail, your mind isn't as sharp. But some of us develop an air of authority that comes from a lifetime of experience of separating life's wheat from its chafe, an appreciation for the more subtle yet important things.
And I could understand what she meant. I couldn't imagine her doing this for someone her age, a lover or peer, a competitor. My age made it safe; even exciting.
She finished with her boots and socks and stood up. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall and I saw those beautiful, curvaceous legs. She was a strong little thing—ballet lessons when she was a girl, she'd told me, until her boobs got too big—and her calves were just a little chunky. I knew the power in those smooth thighs, though.
She folded the skirt and laid it over a chair, then slipped off her blouse and folded that too, taking her time, determined not to be rushed. I could almost hear her telling herself to act as if I wasn't there, as if she was home alone getting ready for bed.
She was blushing slightly, but there was nothing hesitant or self-conscious about her moves. She might have been undressing at home.
"Everything?" she asked.
I nodded. "Everything. How does it feel?"
"Honestly? Honestly I'm kind of embarrassed. Nervous. But also so excited I think I might pass out. What are you going to do to me afterwards?"
"You don't worry about that. Just do as you're told."
That was a violation of the rules of the game, but she said nothing, and this was obviously not a game anymore, nor had it ever been. Arianna could understand it any way she wanted, but I knew what was going on.
The fog was pressing in against the windows. The world outside was hazy and dim. Thankfully there aren't any buildings opposite me, or someone looking in would have seen this beautiful girl standing there in the middle of the floor and undressing.
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, lowered her arms and let the weight of her breasts push it off. Now, breasts fully exposed, she blushed. She colored deeply but kept her face calm and impassive. She stood and rolled her panties down her thighs and stepped out of them and laid them carefully on her skirt.
She stood up naked and faced me, and swept the hair from her face. I studied her, deliberately taking my time and letting her sweat. There isn't a woman in the world who doesn't know her body's every flaw and shortcoming, and none of them like being stared at this way. Pride and shame fought within her, and I wanted the shame to win. I wanted to let Arianna stand there long enough that she'd be willing to do anything to make me stop looking at her.
"Get on your knees," I said, and meekly, she obeyed.
I stood up. I was still fully dressed and she was naked. I took a step towards her and stopped. I pulled down my zipper and fished out my cock, still hard from our session in the chair and dark reddish-purple from all that congested, excited blood.
"Open," I said.
Arianna obediently opened her mouth and her tongue came out as if she were receiving communion. I slid my hands into that long lustrous, hair and gripped her as I fed my prick into her mouth, and Arianna's initial protest turned into a visceral moan of oral satisfaction.
With my prick halfway in she raised her hands to my thighs but I brushed them aside. "No. Hands down. That's not allowed. This is a lesson, Anna. This is instruction. Now suck."
It was beautiful. Just gorgeous. This naked, over-ripe pixie kneeling at my feet with her mouth around my cock. I wouldn't let her touch me, so all she could do was kneel there with her hands on her knees and her mouth open and give it to me. She gave it as best she could but she was no expert and no submissive. She curled her generous lips over her teeth and used her tongue on the bottom of my prick, but it was high school stuff. Beginner's oral, cautious and tentative.
"No, baby! Open. Wider. Open your throat."
She mewled abjectly, not sure of what I wanted, so I showed her, holding her hair and pushing even more into her mouth till I hit the cartilaginous soft palate at the back of her throat.
Arianna choked and gagged. She started coughing and spittle flew from her nostrils and the corners of her mouth. She grabbed my thighs to stop me.
"No! Hands off! What did I tell you?"
She pulled her mouth off. Strands of saliva mixed with pre-cum and throat mucus trailed from my cock to her lower lip
"I can't! I can't! You're too big. I can't do it."
I tightened my hands in her hair and shook her. "Don't give me that shit, beauty! You can do it if you want!"
I tilted her head back to force her to look up at me, and I gazed down into eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.
"Do you want to, Arianna? Do you?"
There was something about using her name, something about applying the name of that sober and respectable young woman to the naked, abject slut who knelt at my feet that thrilled me deeply, as if I were merging these two aspects of Arianna that she seemed to work so hard to keep separate.
For now, though, I think she had no doubt as to which she was. The chair, the undressing, the mouth-fucking had put her firmly in the slut camp, and it was only now, when I'd asked her to do something impossible, that the straight Arianna reappeared,
"Please, David, can I use my hands just a little? Just to keep from gagging?"
I looked down at her. I had everything I wanted. Why should I deny her this small consideration? I was Zeus, Poseidon, Atlas, standing astride this young goddess with my cock and balls looming over her like some heavy, massive threat.
I nodded. "Go ahead."
There was no question now as to who Arianna was. The sober yet curious young bank officer who'd first sat in my lap and let me unbutton her blouse had given way to this fully operational and obedient little submissive kneeling naked before me with my cock in her mouth. And judging from the way she dug her nails into my thighs as I set up a lewd and punishing rhythm, she was every bit as excited as I was.
I could just tell—and how is it you can tell?—that she'd been aching for this kind of rough love for a very long time, wanting it so much she couldn't even allow herself to think about it. But the way she clung to me, bobbing her head this way and that to take my cock in different parts of her mouth, the way her tits swayed and wobbled from her exertions, and the soft, urgent sounds she made in her throat all told me this was just what she wanted.
Her throat was like butter. Her mouth was hot and wet, and sucked me like a swamp. Chills ran down my spine as she tentatively let me into her throat a little bit at a time, gradually learning to suppress that gag reflex and open her epiglottis. And the deeper I got, the more excited she became. She stopped bobbing her head and just concentrated on keeping her throat open, and the saliva and pre-cum that filled her mouth spilled over her lips and hung in lewd, viscous threads that broke and landed on her swinging tits. Her stiff nipples brushed my knees.
"Good girl," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "Good, good girl, Arianna. Your mouth is fucking heaven."
I didn't know what was with her and her fear of being labeled submissive. I didn't know, but at the moment I didn't care either. She was giving me everything I wanted, and even better, she was trying to give me more, concentrating on keeping her throat open so my cock could slither over her windpipe like a snake into a hole. I could hear the slushy sound of my prick churning up her saliva and her low moan of obsequious pleasure as her throat was violated again and again.
But finally it was too much. I don't know if it was her technique or the sight of her angel face contorted into that look of cock-sucking trance, but suddenly I felt the rush of semen charge my balls and electric pleasure run up the backs of my legs. I grabbed onto the base of my cock with one hand and squeezed and with the other hand pulled her to her feet and just about flung her onto the bed.
"No! Inside you, Arianna! That's where I want it!"
She landed on her back and bounced on the mattress, dizzy and disoriented and still in the grip of her oral high, and before she could come to her senses I had my clothes off and was kneeling between her legs.
I paused for just a second, just to see if there'd be an objection, a refusal, a plea for more time or a last minute grab for shredded dignity, but there was nothing. Arianna lay with her legs apart and eyes closed, the loser, this time, in that eternal struggle, awaiting the loser's fate.
Or was it really like that at all? Arianna had brought me to the edge of sexual madness, poised above her with my dripping cock aimed right at her juicy little hole, almost crazy with desire. And she'd done it all by not really doing anything, by simply not refusing me. All she'd done was be herself, and let me make her into what I wanted.
Yet isn't that the most powerful kind of love? Is there anything more powerful than a person turning themselves over to you to be used as you desire? To be your pleasure and your toy and your dream object?
I didn't stop to think about it. I plunged into her and Arianna wailed and raised her knees till they gripped my ribs, opening herself entirely. Her response was complete, automatic, and instinctive, as if she were climbing a tree. That little cunt was swollen and tight and filled with a sucking emptiness my cock rushed on to fill till my pubic bone hit hers and there was no space between us. I know I hurt her with that savage entrance, but that was part of it too: this last bit of hurt, the anguish of love and the pain of giving yourself. And then she wrapped herself around me, legs over my ass, nails in my back, and clung to me as I began to fuck her.
Sparks flew; thunder and lightning. I couldn't tell if we were two beings trying to become one, or one being trying to split into two and free ourselves into our own separate existence. She was so tight and swollen with excitement that my cock could hardly move. Her sheath held me so that despite her slick wetness her whole sheath seemed to move with me, up and back and around. This was nothing like the last time we'd fucked, tentative and wary. This time we were down in the depths of those feelings I spoke about, with no conscious thought, no caution or barriers. We fucked in a space of blood and juice and flesh, gasping and biting and tearing at each other like animals.
I dug my fingers into her ass and lifted her pussy up to me like a target, like a ship I was torpedoing again and again, trying to make her explode, trying to shatter her into a million pieces. Arianna started coming and didn't stop. I could tell from the way she shuddered and twitched in fits, one after another, her vaginal muscles squeezing me in paroxysms of release, like a throat swallowing again and again.
And then I was there, shocks an d tangles possessing me till there was no holding back and I let my body take over and do what it wanted to do. Instinctively I grabbed her wrists and held them down against the bed as if to keep her from getting away. I plunged deep into her, arching my back to thrust my cock home, and at the last second I saw her eyes gazing up at me, cloudy and unfocused in the thrall of orgasm, then clearing and staring at me with penetrating wonder and intensity as my cock throbbed and jerked inside her and the semen spewed from me in thick, heavy gouts. It was more than just a sexual release. It had the blinding force of life seeking life, a drenching, saturating ejaculation that brought with it these deep, primal feelings of fertilization and creation.
It was a sacred moment there and totally unexpected and it seemed to go on and on, Arianna open and totally still, and my hips punching into her spasmodically with every fresh launch of cum.
When it was over I just collapsed on top of her, her wrists still in my hands, and we just lay there for a long minute or two, gasping for breath. At last I felt her moving beneath me, shaking as if she were laughing, but she wasn't laughing. I raised myself up enough to hear her quiet sobbing and see her eyes brimmed with tears. I didn't have to ask her why.
I rolled off her and took her in my arms and held her close as she continued to tremble and sob, and it was all right. There was no need to talk or explain. It was like I was holding a piece of myself, and the tears and the crying were from me as well as her, and from a very precious part of me.
Above us the heavens stood still and the stars and planets realigned. This had been more than sex. A new constellation had appeared and the pieces held each other close in my small, messy bed.
To Be Continued...
This story was written by user dr_mabeuse
Header picture by BDSM fetish, Angel Art