by Adira August
"Let me," he said, and undid the satin ties again and lifted the nightgown over her head. He peeled her panties down her legs, dropping to one knee. She stepped out of her slippers and the panties with one hand on his shoulder, on the trapezius that had first mesmerized her in the classroom.
"You are so fucking hot," he said, his hands sliding up the backs of her thighs, taking one of her cheeks in each hand, hands almost big enough to cover them. She felt his fingers between her buttocks, squeezing, separating. Her hips undulated against his hands and she made a sound of deep satisfaction in her throat.
Janet knew she wasn't that hot. She was too short, too hippy, her breasts too small. But at this moment she felt like a goddess when he stood suddenly and she saw his cock hard and red against his abdomen, his face suffused with undisguised lust.
"Not too fast, I don't want to come, yet," he told her and led her into the shower.
She surrendered to the warmth of the water and his slightly roughened hands, soap slick, running over her body, feeling her. He turned her away from him, his front pressed to the back of hers, palms against the insides of her thighs skated up, fingertips teased her swollen labia apart, but moved quickly back down her thighs and he lifted her off the floor.
Pressed to the wall, her arms spread out and she felt his cock, a burning steel rod between her buttocks sliding up and down between them, as he lifted and lowered her. The sheer strength it took to control her so perfectly made her pussy weep.
She scrabbled at the slick tile with her fingers, but she had no purchase. Her hard nipples slid against the cool surface and her clit throbbed with every lift and drop and press of his body. Then he was holding her still and fucking her, not in her, but with steady thrusts between her cheeks, his searing flesh rubbing against her anus.
"Ben, Ben, please, I can't -" She wanted, needed, she had to come. One hand slipped further under her until her thigh lay over his wrist and his fingers closed on her pussy, pressing over her hyper-sensitized clit.
"Yes, ah - ah -" Her body bucked and her legs kicked and her fingers clutched as the waves of her orgasm rippled through her. He pressed her harder against the wall and came hard, burying the feral sounds of his climax in the flesh of her shoulder, the spurts of his cum, hot on her back. He held her until she went limp against him and on him. And as she panted and waited for the after ripples to subside, she had a vague realization that at no time had she feared he would drop her.
She'd never been with a man who could just own her like this, physically as well as mentally. And Ben hardly seemed taxed. As she panted against the tile and felt his breaths through his body along hers, she wondered what it would be like if she did let herself sink into him? If she did let herself disappear. He'd keep track of her, wouldn't he?
With one arm around her body he allowed her to slide slowly down until she was firmly on her feet. He'd stop if I said the safeword. But would I? Would I even remember I had one?
After he washed her hair, he'd quickly soaped himself and rinsed them both off. Later, in her bedroom, he led her to the bed, pulled back the down comforter, tossed away her pillows and took her shoulders to lay her down.
"Wait," she said, resisting. He instantly let her go and dropped his arms to his sides. She laved him with her eyes, following the drift of dark hair under his navel - a sleek dark arrow pointing to his cock, stirring again against his thigh under her open appreciation.
She licked her lips and her hand lifted toward him - she hesitated. Looked up for permission. The unspoken question lived in her bright eyes and tightly furled nipples.
"What do you want, J.J.?" he asked, keeping his tone as normal as possible considering the turgid column seeking the hand that had reached for him.
I want you to stop calling me J.J. But he was doing it to keep her in - in whatever you called it when you weren't altered by brain chemistry gone wild from an overwhelming need for … He was giving her what she wanted. He was trying not to trigger her. She was transfixed by his steadily growing erection.
"I want you to sit in my chair and … and then let me do what I want," she said. The chair she waved at was a low upholstered barrel chair. It was supposed to be for putting on and taking off shoes and socks. It mostly served as an "almost dirty but may be wearable one more time" repository for her clothes.
Without hesitation, he went to the chair and moved the pile of clothes to the floor next to it and sat down, his arms stretched out along the top. He reclined somewhat against the back, his feet apart, legs open. He was naked and rock hard and still a king holding court.
She dropped between his legs and stroked her hands up and down his thighs, inside and along his quads and up the outsides. She leaned forward, eyes on his face, always asking approval, knowing she would be mortally humiliated if she started and he stopped her. But he only held her gaze with black burning eyes, pupils blown wide.
She laid her cheek against the silky, fiery skin of his cock and stroked her against him. He groaned, but did not move. Her hand cupped his sac and she felt his balls shift. He dropped his head back and his hips tilted forward. Her core clenched hard. She wanted to - she wanted to devour him, somehow. Engulf him.
Pushing up she laid her body along his erection, the shiny red glans between her breasts and undulating like languorous cat, rubbed herself over him. A hoarse rasping sound escaped him, and he clutched at her hair, still damp from the shower. She could feel his need to control her, to tighten his grip and shove her mouth onto him, but he only held her hair and the sound of his suffering escaped him again.
She twisted against him and trapped one of his legs between her own, and ground her wet, swollen tissues against him, and he groaned aloud and poured precum until her chest and breasts were slick and his cock slid freely between the small round globes that she pressed together over the underside of his cock.
His pelvis rocked hard, desperately seeking release, and she dropped her head and took the wide slick head into into her mouth and sucked hard and laved him with her tongue. "Jesus!" He swore and pulled out, away from the delicious agony and, compelled, thrust up against her again and between her waiting lips.
This is the thing she could give him that the willowy blonds and statuesque redheads could not. Her short stature allowed him to push up and into her mouth again and again, his drive to come made him pull back and plunge in and neither movement provided enough pressure to bring him the release he so desperately craved.
Then his hands left her hair. He rose, his arms under hers and lift-dragged her to the bed where he fell on top of her, spreading her legs with his knees, one hand cradling her head, one on his cock, finding her core.
No, not not like this. "Green." The strangled cry made him hesitate, his feral half-mad with lust gaze locked on her face. "Green," she whispered. "Please. Please, Sir."
She felt his body shudder. The honorific came from need, without intent or choice. And she knew that this time, she had triggered him.And a strange feeling of peace and power came over her.
He froze, chest heaving, his eyes cleared somewhat. But his face hardened, and he pushed up and shoved her hands behind her back, capturing and binding her wrists in one hand. Her back bowed and her breasts thrust up. With the other he grabbed a fistful of hair, tightening and twisting, and tilted her head back. He was still between her legs, keeping her spread. He owned her.
He held her still for long moments, looking down at her, helpless, restrained, waiting for him. And closed his eyes. When he opened them he was Ben and he was with her, but he did not loosen his grip.
"Take your time and think. You don't choose this in the midst of sex play," he told her sternly. "Are you sure?"
She automatically tried to nod. She couldn't move a millimeter. "Yes," she gasped."Yes, Sir."
He looked her over again. "You realize I'm going to make you pay for the chair."
Her pelvis shifted at the thought.
"Answer me when I ask you a question, Sub," he said.
"Tell me what scares you, what you don't want."
"Tying, the tying," she said, and the very thought caused her to come up a little from the depth of her arousal. "Any of that, handcuffs and - you know."
"You don't want to be restrained," he said.
She pulled a little against the bonds of his fingers wrapped so securely around her wrists. He didn't loosen his grip. She licked her lips, panting.
"Not - not with things," she said.
"Then you will obey me, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"If you disobey and I can't restrain you, what will happen?" He asked. "What will I do?"
"Oh, God," she breathed as her cunt clutched and her core spasmed. "I - you - please, Sir, um - "
"Answer me, Sub, I won't tell you again."
"You'll ... spank me," she forced out, and she came. He held her still as the waves of energy coursed up through her vagina and into her belly and chest. She cried out, the orgasm fading, unsatisfying, her legs still spread and her clit throbbing harder than if she had not come at all.
He let go of her and got up, standing at the side of the bed. "Reach up and slip your fingers under the bottom of the headboard." She did, easily. Her mattress wasn't tall, there was a gap her hands easily fit through.
He examined the connection and nodded. "Don't he let go until I tell you," he ordered. She nodded. "Answer verbally, always. We have to be very clear with each other."
"Yes, Sir," she said.
He adjusted her legs so they were closer together but still spread.
"Do not move your legs. At all. You may stiffen or relax but you will not widen or narrow the gap. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Yes. Sir," she answered. He leaned over her, hands on either side of her head depressing the mattress. He spoke directly into her ear. "You're going to regret your no restraints rule."
She didn't understand, but she felt a thrill of something like fear mixed with anticipation, sure he'd make her understand.
He rooted around in her dresser and came back with a thick pair of clean white socks he folded in on themselves. The very socks she was going to put on her feet after her shower.
"Open your mouth." She did and he fitted the sock ball inside, in the front. "You can breathe?"
She nodded. He removed it, but left it next to her.
"You have neighbors. I don't want anyone calling the police if they hear noises from here they aren't used to." He looked at the window, completely obscured by snow. "Not that the cops could get here."
"I'll put it in later and you can spit it out if you need to use one of your safe words. But only then. It's to your benefit, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir, I-"she stopped, not sure she was allowed to speak.
"Go ahead," he said.
"I wouldn't have thought of it, thank you."
"My job," he shrugged. "You have birth control pills in your bathroom, are you current?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I haven't been with anyone in a few months, and I got a clean bill of health from student services last week. I have condoms, but I was not intending to use them. Do you object?"
"No, I - I'm glad."
His face softened a little and he smiled. "Glad?"
"I want to feel you come," she said.
His eyes darkened again. "That won't be a problem. Now, it's time for payback."
He put the sock gag into her mouth and proceeded to work her over thoroughly. He teased and squeezed and sucked her nipples until her head thrashed and she screamed into the gag and her legs shook violently with the effort to keep them in place.
Oh how she wished for something hard between her knees to press against when she fought her need to close her legs and twist her thighs against her pussy a until she found the pressure she needed to come.
He stopped, finally, and brought her water and held it for her, as if she were cuffed to the headboard. And then he put the gag back and placed a pillow next to her head.
"The gag might not be enough. You have permission to use one hand only to clamp the pillow over your face. Do not move. Listen to me, Sub, you're new to this, so pay attention. Disobey me and after I spank you, you'll be right back where you were but with a very sore ass. And we'll start again. Relax and accept is your best strategy. You will submit," he told her.
She clutched the headboard, already panting from anticipation. He leaned over and with his hands under her armpits, slid her up the bed. Her arms bent, her head touched the headboard. Then he propped her legs up with pillows and a rolled towel under the knees. She was more open than she had ever been. Her whole length of her pudendum displayed for him.
He laid down next to her, sliding down for easy access to her still puffed labia, wet with her juices. With the fingers of one hand, he spread her.
"I do so love a woman who has a real body, soft and rounded." With his other hand, he touched her. "A thin girl has a pussy like flower petals, thin and delicate. But you're like plump, ripe fruit."
Delicately, his fingertips followed each secret furrow, each engorged ridge. "I'm going to suck the juice right out of you, and you'll always have more for me."
She was panting, mouth wide, her tongue out, to open her throat. His touch was exquisitely, unbearably exciting, but she had to bear it. Humiliating, but she loved it. Her hips undulated slightly, seeking more, more pressure, more torture. And he gave it to her.
He nestled deep into her flesh under her clit, teasing the hard hot nub from underneath and she grabbed the pillow and screamed into it, a guttural howl, up from the depths of her being. Her thighs quivered and he slowed - pressing both sides with his pads, finding the engorged wings of her clitoris under the slick puffed tissues and stroking down to her opening and back, always taking his time, stopping to circle her vaginal ring, tease inside and retreat, and journey back to her white hot clit.
And then he used his mouth.
Her body quaked and she keened and wept. She begged, but the words were incomprehensible. She did not move her legs. She did not let go of the headboard. She did not utter a safeword. All of her consciousness was on that small territory between her legs and the connection with him. She could visualize her own anatomy perfectly from the feel of him drawing his fingers and lips and teeth and tongue along and over and inside her.
She screamed and begged until she was hoarse. And she came. Legs open, as he'd promised, with his touch near, but never on, her clit. He filled her with more heat and pain and need than she could bear and the release wracked her body. He stroked her folds to extend her climax and slid his little finger into her while she came. She keened her suffering while her core clenched and pulled and found not enough.
And after, when she lay spent, believing she couldn't possibly sustain another assault, couldn't be coaxed to another orgasm, he'd get a handful of soft snow from outside and use it to cool her. She'd plead and writhe -("I decide, Sub.")-but it worked to calm her excited nerves.
And then he'd begin again.
At last he tossed away all the pillows and removed the gag and massaged her shoulders. He covered her body with his own and slipped his raging cock into her at last. Into her heat and slickness and swollen tightness and he fucked her - slowly, steadily, stretching her, for she was small. He pulled up on her thighs and she circled his hips and he fixed his mouth in the hollow between neck and shoulder and sucked and thrust and she came one last time with him.
He was so big and she so tight, so sensitized, she felt the violent pulses of his cock as stream after stream of hot cum shot into her and he roared into her pillow.
After, when all she wanted to do was sleep, he made her drink water and take some pills. She swallowed without bothering to ask what they were. He knew. That was enough.
He dressed her in her nightgown and found an
other pair of socks to put them on her feet. He tucked a pillow under her head and the comforter around her and kissed her hair and lay behind her, his arm over her waist, whispering to her how amazing she was.
She fell asleep snuggled against him to the howl of wind outside and the feel of his breath as his body gentled hers with each measured respiration. The last of her rapidly disintegrating thoughts being - Perfect. Ben was perfect.
After the Storm
It was about six in the evening when Janet fell asleep. She'd stumbled to the bathroom sometime, but didn't remember the return trip. At 3:30 in the morning, by the clock on her dresser, she came fully awake. The howl of wind continued, muffled now by deep layers of snow on the roof and window ledges. The bed was empty.
The small lamp on her nightstand was glowing. There were sounds from the kitchen and harsh fluorescent light outlined her open bedroom door.
I should get up. But the bed was warm and the sound of the wind and things metal and ceramic clinking from the kitchen where there was a big man awake, made her feel safe and relaxed. He was perfect. It was as if her train of thought had continued unabated while she slept. The afternoon replayed itself, not in a logical sequence, but in snippets of awareness. Hands and skin and warmth and words and her hands under the headboard and his cock at the entrance of her vagina and … her head drove back into the pillow and her hips lifted and shifted as she came.
I cannot believe that happened.
She let her tightly clenched thighs fall open. Her fingers found her pussy and pressed. Another spasm shook her. Her heart began to slow and she opened her eyes.
Ben Hart filled the doorway, backlit by the light from the kitchen. He'd been watching her, a steaming mug of something held in one hand.
"Sit up," he said.
She slid back.
"In the center."
Janet scooched over to the middle of the bed and arranged the pillow behind her back against the headboard. Tracking him warily as he walked around to her nightstand and set the mug down, she braced for his response to what he'd seen. Should she tell him she hadn't been doing anything but thinking? She didn't disobey him.
