by Adira August
Yes, you did. You touched yourself and made yourself come.
He moved the comforter aside and perched on the side of the bed. "Don't talk. This is hot tea and honey." He handed her the mug. "You're going to be hoarse. It'll help."
She sipped. It was green tea with jasmine, delicious. When she swallowed, she felt it burn briefly, then it did soothe her throat. She relaxed back, enjoying the heat of the cup and the aroma of the tea. She closed her eyes.
The mattress moved. He shifted more toward her and his hand disappeared under the edge of the comforter. She looked up into his heated gaze.
"Drink," he ordered her. She licked her lips, already panting slightly. His hand slid over her thigh to the inside of her knee. He pulled her leg toward him, opening her.
"You're not drinking," he said in a softly dangerous voice. "Do you mean to disobey me?"
Her pelvis flexed and her knee pressed his hand. She shook her head. As she lifted the cup, his palm slid up the inside of her leg under her nightgown. When the cup touched her open lips, his fingertips found her plump, wet slit.
The edge of the cup rattled against her teeth as the warm sweet liquid filled her mouth and she felt him graze her clit and press two fingers between her pussy lips against the already engorged wings of her clitoris.
"Hold still."
She froze with the tea in her mouth. His fingers opened and massaged, pressed and slid, slowly. He made her feel every exquisitely arousing millimeter of the journey to her aching core. She swallowed, and moaned and suddenly … oh no …
She came hard against his fingers, hips bucking, hands pressed to the mattress … how? She realized he had plucked the mug from her fingers just as she came. Like a baseball out of the air, she thought and … giggled.
"Yellow!" She gasped. "Oh, God, yellow!"
He withdrew his hand and sat quietly at the side of the bed, a bemused expression on his face. Waiting her her to speak. Apparently 'yellow' didn't make him hide in the kitchen. She was glad.
And her voice was hoarse, but not painful. She reached for his hand, but stopped short of touching him.
He had altered in the space of a few seconds. Not that he'd gone unDom, but somehow she wasn't the university instructor closing in on thirty to his twenty-year-old student. Instead, his undeniable air of authority and experience made her feel like a supplicant in the presence of a much older and more experienced mentor. And she wondered if he was ever not-Dom? At that moment she knew it wasn't a role he played, but who he was.
He took her outstretched hand in both of his, rested them on his thigh. "Tellme."
"You're too perfect," she said. He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. "You aren't angry about what you saw?"
"You mean making yourself come?" He asked. She nodded. He shrugged.
"I wasn't even in the room as far as you knew. I didn't give you an order not to touch yourself outside of my presence or anything like that. Besides, you weren't touching yourself for the first orgasm, were you?"
"No. I was just thinking about last night and it happened."
He closed his eyes for a moment and a slight shudder went through him. "You are the sexiest fucking woman …"
"You have an erection" she whispered. Her hand twitched in his with the need to wrap her fingers around his hard length.
He grinned. Two dimples. "I've had an erection around you for three years now." He stood up. "C'mon. There's biscuits and gravy and scrambled eggs keeping warm in the oven. If we're taking a break, it's a good time to eat."
His erection tented the front of his gray sweats. Wait … He was wearing a red and gray school hoodie.
"You're wearing sweats," she said, appreciating the bunch and relax of his buttocks as he walked to the door.
"I had stuff in the truck," he said. "Ten minutes."
He went outside? What truck?
In the bathroom, Janet washed between her legs. She'd never before had an issue with too much lubrication. Now, she had to soap halfway down her thighs. Her hair was … appalling? A calamitous cataclysmic disaster? Words failed her.
Her long black and very damp hair had dried during the marathon head-thrashing during her delicious agony. It was an untamed testament to every moment of ecstasy and agony and lust. She put her head in the sink and wet it down, combed it back and tied it up.
You restrained your hair. More giggling.
She put on some pretty underwear, the panties actually matched the semi-lacy brassiere, but rejected her own set of school sweats in favor of the rich burgundy silk flannel found on sale at Overstock, decadently soft and thick lounging pajamas she'd never worn before. In her life, school sweats had been good enough. But now she had someone to be soft and seductive for. And the blizzard raged on and time had dissolved into a haze of endorphins and darkness.
She called out to Ben, "Can I have a couple more minutes?"
"Yeah, but just a couple."
She ripped out her hair ties on the way to the bathroom and used the dryer and big brush to make her hair into a lustrous curtain that lay along her shoulders and rivalled the expensive fabric underneath.
Ben was stirring something that bubbled gently and smelled deliciously savory. It made her mouth water and she realized she was starving.
"You cook," Janet observed, pausing at the entrance to the kitchen.
He glanced over at her and his wooden spoon froze mid-stir. A long beat. He went back to stirring. "My mother taught me some basic recipes. To save me from the bachelor horrors of fast food and take-out."
"What can I do?" she asked. It was a narrow space for two people to work in and she didn't want to crowd him.
"Open the curtains. I'd like to see the storm." He began filling two plates he took from the oven. "Let's eat on the couch."
She went to the front door and was startled to see he'd re-arranged her furniture. The sofa faced the window and the TV was in the corner next to it.
"I'll put it back before I go," he said, passing her with the two plates he set on the coffeetable already holding glasses and silverware.
She opened the long drapes that covered the large front window. Holy shit. Her building was only two stories and had exterior walkways and stairs. She was in a corner and a huge drift covered the stairway entrance, the wall next to her window and about a foot of her window. She could barely make out the parking lot through the horizontal blasts of snow, but what she could see were only lumps of white under the lights.
"How on earth did you get to your truck? And, by the way, what truck? I thought you didn't have a car?"
"Come on, before it gets cold," he said.
"Now you sound like my mother," she told him, but did as he said. She sat cross-legged on the sofa and he draped an afghan around her and put a few paper towels across her lap.
"You think I'm a real slob, then?" she asked.
"I have them, too," he said, settling at the other end and showing her. "Better than napkins when you aren't at a table."
She started in on her breakfast. She moaned with pleasure at every bite. Giant biscuits covered with browned sausage in white sauce laced with pepper and … allspice, she decided. Fluffy soft scrambled eggs and a huge glass of orange juice. Carbonated?
"It's lime soda water," he told her when she asked. "I think straight orange juice is too sweet, too heavy."
She shook her head. "Perfect."
"You said that in the bedroom," he told her. "Maybe now you should tell me what it means and what it has to do with 'yellow'."
"You watch the storm," she said. "I want to clear the table and get some coffee before we talk."
He watched the storm and let her work, as if he sensed her need to be alone. After a while he heard the hum and thrash of the dishwasher and she appeared with two cups of coffee.
"Black, still?" she asked, handing him one. He nodded, taking the cup, his eyes following her as she sat at the other end, her back to the armrest, feet on the cushion. She pulled the afghan over her legs and re
sted her arms on her bent knees, sipping from her mug.
Her expression was serious. "How did you get to that truck?"
He seemed surprised at the the question. "I've waded through a lot of blizzards," he said. "It was only around midnight, not that deep, yet. The wind hadn't shifted. And I needed my bag." He dropped his hand to the side of the couch and came up with his gym bag. He dropped it back out of sight. "It's a lot further from my parents' house to the barn than from the stairs to the parking lot."
She thought about this. It would be the natural thing to ask him whether it was a farm or a ranch or something else. To ask about siblings and childhood and hear the tales of angst and triumph and how he'd become what he'd become. Janet allowed herself to wish fervently, for just a few moments, that they could have that conversation. That she should have it. But she knew better.
She watched the storm. He watched her.
"How long do you think it will last?" she asked.
"Wind's supposed to die off at dawn. The worst of the snow will go with it. They can get the plows out, then." He studied her closely. "You want me to leave."
She cringed as if he'd slapped her and dropped her head.
"Because I'm perfect?" he asked.
She nodded. "I want you to never leave," she whispered. "So, yes. I need for you to go, but … I want you to stay." She turned to him then, longing and need clear in her eyes. "At least until the streets are clear."
"That might not happen for another day." He waited but she didn't answer. "I'm not perfect, you know. I made mistakes with you. I'm learning, too. I've never been with a submissive outside of the clubs. Never been with a submissive who wasn't experienced."
"But I'm not," she said. "There were things I thought about and read about and wrote about. I just wanted to have some of those things, but, I'm not a submissive," she spit out the word like it was a rotten bit of fruit. Putting her cup on the coffeetable, she wrapped her arms around her knees and put her forehead down.
He barely heard her next muffled words. "And you were perfect. For me."
"Why?" He moved down the couch toward her, faced her, one leg bent under the other, his arm along the back, stretching to her. But didn't touch her.
"Because you did everything I wanted and more I wanted and didn't know. Because every fucking thing you did, every reaction and response and your obscenely hot body and …." She shook her head. "Perfect," she repeated, hopeless.
"I haven't done everything you want," he said. "We only just started."
She shifted slightly. "I don't - I'm not what you think."
He scooped her up suddenly and she gasped. He turned and laid her back, her head on the padded arm of the couch. He braced one foot against the coffeetable and she slid firmly against him.He grabbed a handful of her silky hair.
"Trust me, now."
She stared up into his beautiful face with the shadow of beard and his perfect hair lying in waves and his mouth, sculpted, lips parted and his chest and … "I do," she whispered before she knew she was going to speak.
He found the elastic waist of her pants and slipped a hand inside. "Open" he said and she spread her legs apart a little. "Foot on the floor," he ordered.
She dropped her foot down and he cupped her entire pudendum. But he didn't use his fingers, he didn't press her. He was just there, and she waited for whatever he would do to have her swollen and wet and needing again.
"Stay still and listen. I haven't come close to giving you everything you want," he said.
She opened her mouth as if to protest and he shot her a warning look. She subsided.
"Good girl," he said her breath caught in her chest. "What you want is to submit," he went on. "What you want is to defy me. What you want is for me to spank you."
Her eyes widened and she shook her head but her stomach went hollow. "You know that, and your body knows that." And he slipped two fingers easily into her vagina, but he kept them still. "You're wet now. You weren't when I put my hand between your legs." His hand fisted in her hair and he tilted her head back.
The soft whine that escaped her brought a satisfied smile to his lips. He laid his thumb along the smooth crease between thigh and pussy and the fingers not inside her curved around the bottoms of her ass cheeks. But he held still.
"Your body will contradict you, Little Sub," he said, capturing her again with that hard dominant stare, not allowing her to look away by will instead of word.
"It's you who is perfect. The most perfect natural submissive with an extraordinary depth of arousal. You want all of it. Not just to be punished, you want to be owned. So you'll disobey and I'll make you fetch me one of the wooden spoons or your hairbrush"-she groaned deeply on the word 'hairbrush-"and put it in my hand.
"I'll make you lay yourself across my lap and I'll order you to reach back and push your own pants down. I'll get hard watching your ass wriggle and shake while you squirm making it happen.
"And then I'll paddle your fine, plump buttocks over your panties with your wrists clamped in my other hand so you can't do thing one to stop it or escape it. I'll keep paddling your quivering ass until you cry and beg and tell me how much it hurts and what a very bad girl you've been."
She was panting hard, harsh, guttural breaths with her eyes closed, the skin of her face and neck suffused with pink. Ripples of energy course along her core around his fingers.
"I'll only stop long enough to make you reach back again and pull down your panties to expose your pink bottom to me so I can use my hand on your bare skin. You'll try to refuse and beg me to stop there, but that won't happen and you will do it. I'll use my hand until you're a deep rose and I'll make you come while I do it. And you'll love that and hate it and want it and crave it.
"That is what you want, Sub. The proof is on my soaking fingers and your clenching cunt trying to drag them inside you."
She was panting openly, the fire he built with his words spread between her legs and raced to her pulsing anus. Her cheeks tightened and he smiled again. His thumb dove into her tissues under her clit. He grazed it lightly with a fingernail. She cursed and cried out.
But he wasn't done. She shut her eyes as he bent his head to her ear, the deep rasp of his voice inescapable. "You want me to bend you over the end of your bed with your arms wide, and your cunt dripping because you know what's coming. You want me to feel my hand flat on the middle of your back, holding you down so hard you cannot move when I spread your ass cheeks and massage you with lube.
"You want every bit of the humiliation, knowing I can see everything when I open you. You want to feel the hard head of my dick slide so slowly, so far into your ass. So far in."
Her core was in continual spasms now, a testament to her need for everything he told her he would do. She groaned and her pelvis rocked trying to get more of him inside, but he moved with her, controlling her.
"You want to be completely controlled, unable to move with my cock shoved up your ass without risking serious pain. You'll lie perfectly still and I'll have my fingers on your nipples and your clit and make you come again and again and again and you'll feel every bit of me stretching you open with every spasm of your tight burning ring. And you'll scream again because you never imagined it could feel that good, and I'll make you beg me to fuck your ass and you will because you want so badly to feel my hot cum- "
She came. On his still fingers and his teasing thumb that never pressed, she came with a hoarse shout "You bastard, you, oh god, son of a bitch, you son of a bitch!" He held her head motionless while her body roiled and writhed and finally went limp. He took her hand and shoved it inside her pants and over her pussy and pressed her fingers against her mound and slid them down. Then he withdrew.
"Again," he said. She obeyed him and came again, the sudden aftershock of climax, rippling through her. He ripped down her pants, panting as hard as she, transfixed by her fingers spreading herself while her middle finger stroked her swollen, deep rose clit, with slight, steady movements.
"Do not stop and do not come again until I tell you, Sub," he growled and pulled her top up and pushed her cups down.
"No," she begged him. "Please."
He ignored her. "I love your tits, they're perfect, too. Round and plump, like the rest of you. Firm and swollen with excitement. And these…" He took both nipples between finger and thumb and rolled them slightly back and forth, tightening his grip a little more each time.
She bowed her back as if she could avoid him and struggled to rise, but his forearms and hands on her chest kept her down.
"I can't - I can't stand it," she gasped. "Please, please oh, please let me -"
"What are you?" he asked used three fingers now, her nipples elongated and bright red.
She shook her head and keened.
"What are you?"
Her fingers kept moving over her clit and tears ran from the side of her eyes. Head back, mouth open, chest heaving, she panted as if to herself, "Ican'tIcan't...can't...can't.. stand it."
"Tell me what you want," he said. "Tell me what you are."
"I want - you fucking prick, I want it, everything you said, I want it all. I want you to own me you - oh God!"
He'd sucked one nipple in between his teeth, using the edges to scrape her. He lifted his head to change sides and clamped the one he'd left tightly in three fingers. "You don't come until you answer the question."
"Submissive," she whispered. His mouth engulfed the second nipple.
She howled in rage and pain and need. "Submissive," she screamed. "Please, please, Sir, please, I - please - I'm submissive."
"Now."
As the orgasm took her he thrust three fingers deeply into her clenching core, spread them and finger fucked her though the spasms, his wrist pressed over the hand against her mound.
And when it was over, she turned her head away from him.
"I hate you," she said.
He finger-combed her hair gently back from her face. And straightened her clothes. "I know, Little Sub," he said. "I know."
But when he turned them both and laid her on top of him, front to front, and told her "Suck me off," she obediently slid down his body, pulled down the front of his sweats and took the head of his cock into her mouth. As he expected she would.
