by Linnea May
Instinct makes me protest when he reaches for the hem of my thong, threatening to pull it down. I reach for his hands, closing my small hands around his strong wrists to stop him. But as soon as I touch the hardness of his tense muscles, I realize I couldn’t fight him even if I wanted to. It’s only my ingrained sense of modesty that makes me resist, not my actual unwillingness.
In any case, he’s not having any of it. Instead of letting go, he pushes me, causing me to fall on my back on the mattress. He follows in an instant and hovers above me, supporting himself with one hand next to my face. Using his other hand, he rips the thong off my body, tearing the cheap material with ease.
I should be angry with him for destroying something that was not his to destroy, but my silly body has other ideas. A rush of arousal washes over me when I’m subjected to his feral need for me.
“Spread your legs,” he hisses, and I obey in a hurry.
I didn’t expect him to be so quick, so eager to touch me in a place I rarely like to touch myself. My heart skips a beat when his hand finds my entrance, his palm resting on my mound and applying subtle pressure while he parts my wet lips with his fingers.
“Don’t lie to me,” he whispers. “Don’t act as if you don’t want this.”
I know I’m wet for him; he doesn’t have to prove it by fondling my throbbing center. He doesn’t have to evoke lustful moans from me and make me squirm beneath him.
But of course, he does. It’s uncanny how skillful he moves between my legs, knowing exactly where to touch me and in what way to circle my hardened nub as I coil with desire.
I almost reach up for him when he stops, once again seeking his wrists but to do the opposite of what I tried before. But he evades me, moving with quick elegance as he retreats from the bed. I don’t dare move, just remain panting on the bed and watching as he walks over to the glass cabinet at the other end of the room. He reaches inside and takes something out, holding it in his hand as he walks back to the bed.
“Sit.”
Once again, his command is frugal with words, but it does the job nevertheless. I scoot over on the mattress and sit up, my legs dangling over the edge as he places himself in front of me, deliberately positioning his hardened length right in front of my face. He’s even bigger now, harder, with the tip only inches away from my face.
“You trust me?” he asks again.
I look up at him, nodding without saying a word in response.
The nod is all he needed. He doesn’t tell me what he’s going to do before he does it. As it turns out, he fetched a blindfold from the cabinet. I’m forced to lean forward when he puts it on, shielding me from what little sight I had left. I can’t see him anymore, but I know that his cock is right there, right in front of my face. I don’t know if it’s wishful thinking or expectation that makes me do it, but my lips part on their own, ready to taste him.
However, he has different plans. An amused chuckle is all I receive in return for my readiness, and instead of pushing himself between my lips, he moves away. Closing his hands around my upper arms, he beckons me to get back on my feet.
My legs are shaky when I follow his guidance, blinded and exposed, as he leads me away from the bed.
10
Melina
This reminds me of something. The scene is not unfamiliar, but it hasn’t happened to me.
It’s something I saw happening to someone else.
He guides me a few feet away from the bed, positioning me somewhere in the middle of the room. His hands leave my body, and I stand there with nothing to hold on to. My body sways, in spite of my attempts to stand still, holding my stance with the same power and confidence as he did when he exposed himself in front of me.
But I’m blinded, and my balance is off. I know it’s not possible, but it feels as if the floor is moving—as if I was standing on a ship, rocking back and forth by the force of unruly waves beneath me. My hands are hovering at hip level, my fingers stretching in search of something to stabilize myself, something to cling to, something to touch.
But really, they are searching for him.
I don’t know where he is, as I can neither see nor hear him. Unlike me, he seems to manage complete stillness, lingering in the room without giving any indication of his whereabouts. I, on the other hand, cannot even calm my breathing to a level that would allow me to listen for him. All I can hear is my own breath, disturbingly loud as I try to cope with the blackness surrounding me.
“Still.”
The sudden noise of his voice startles me, causing my breath to hitch as I freeze, waiting. I hold my breath as I wait for another command from him; something that would help me locate exactly where he’s standing. The order came from my left, and it was just loud enough to drown my harried breathing but not strong enough to suggest his proximity to me.
Or he was just speaking in a very low volume. It could be either way.
I swallow dryly, fighting to keep my heartrate at bay and calm my flustered nerves. What is he going to do to me? Why doesn’t he tell me?
Why don’t I ask? Am I afraid to hear the answer? Am I too shy?
No, that’s not it.
It doesn’t feel right to speak, to ask questions, to show how weak it makes me to be at his mercy like this, to be susceptible to his will, held in place without being bound. His dominant presence makes it impossible for me to even consider any other option than just standing here and letting things happen to me.
It’s frightening, but it’s not a hard thing to do—because it’s exactly what I want to do.
I remain still, finally managing to control myself enough to stop the heavy breathing. Slowing my pulse just enough to no longer tremble with nervous excitement, I hear him move in front of me.
It takes all my strength not to sway with him when I feel his warm presence move around me, a hint of his scent circling me as he walks in deliberate steps. His bare feet travel across the carpet, hardly producing any sounds for me to follow. Everything is subdued in this room—not only the light but also the sound. I’ve been told that the walls are covered with sound-absorbing material below the button-tufted exterior; not enough to drown it out completely but enough to lower the volume of everything that’s happening in it to far below what my ears are used to.
He comes to a halt, his hot breath on the back of my neck telling me that he’s standing behind me and leaning down to me. The warmth of his body shelters my backside, giving me much needed support and closeness. I lean into him, seeking his touch, yearning for his embrace.
But again, he doesn’t follow my desire as willingly as I follow his.
He withdraws, punishing me with yet another moment of nothingness. My immediate vicinity cools as he disappears, moving away from me and leaving me standing alone in the darkness once again.
“Please,” I breathe, unsure what exactly it is I am begging for.
Am I begging for him to touch me? To remove the blindfold? To let me see? To let me touch him?
Of all the possible wishes, the first is probably the strongest one—and the only one he’s willing to fulfill.
A smile spreads across my face when he moves closer. Standing before me, he reaches out, letting his fingers dance across the skin on my arms. He’s only teasing, not really touching me but trailing along my body with the promise of a caress.
My mind is running wild with possibility while my body sways, subtly following his motions as if he was holding me on strings and guiding every sway, every subtle lean, as faint as it may be. I never thought I’d ever say this, but I think I can hear him smile.
He continues to skim his hands along my body just out of reach. Only here and there, the tips of his fingers actually bump against me, tickling more than just the tiny hairs on my skin.
I sigh when he rests his hands right in front of my chest, only suggesting to touch my tits. My nipples are hard with anticipation, and the self-induced graze against his palms when I lean forward makes me jerk with need.
He retreats as soon as I’ve taken this one subtle contact. My heart sinks at the prospect of being left to myself yet again, but he doesn’t let me dwell on it for long. Instead, he surprises me by reaching for my right hand. Not with voracious force as he did before, but with gentle affection, his strong fingers tug at my wrist to guide my hand where he wants it—around his impressive girth.
I inhale a sharp breath, and he lets go of my wrist, not having to say anything to let me know what he wants me to do. My fingertips barely touch when I close my hand around him and slowly start stroking. I thought he was already fully hard when I first touched him, but as I start handling his length, he grows even harder beneath my touch. I’m filled with a sense of pride, smiling as I pleasure him to my best ability.
I made this happen. He looked at me, took in my body with just his eyes, and this is what happened. Being wanted like this arouses me in a way I’ve never known before. Feeling his rock-hard length grow beneath my fingers only adds to that blissful agitation.
I want so much more than this. I want him inside me. I want to know what it feels like for a man of his size to stretch me. Ideas run wild inside my head, wondering what it will be like and how he will take me.
Will it be a brutal assault like when he ripped my thong apart? Or will it be gentle and careful, like he has been these past few minutes? How much longer will he make me wait?
Will he stop me if I go down on my knees to wrap my lips around him?
Before I can put that assumption to the test, he takes a small step back, making me wonder how I’m supposed to deal with this. Does he want me to let go? It doesn’t seem that way. He would have moved with more ferocity and a lot quicker if he was trying to pull away from my touch.
I have nothing but his movements to go by. No commands have been spoken, and the expression on his face remains a mystery to my blinded eyes. All I can read him by is the way he moves, the way he guides me with his body without speaking a word.
I tighten my grip around his member, certain that he would let me know some way or another if I wasn’t doing what he wanted. My lips curve into a triumphant smile when he gives my decision a silent approval by leaning into my grip for a split second before he takes another step back, his cautious and patient way of signaling that he wants me to follow.
Step after step, with my hand still firmly wrapped around his steeliness, I follow him back to where we came from—the silk-covered bed.
11
Rowan
I lead her to the bed, relishing the way her dainty fingers tremble as she stretches them out like antennas. It looks as if she’s feeling the air for guidance, holding on to nothingness while her blinded self tries to find its bearings.
But the support isn’t really needed as she responds well to my lead, following my gestures even when she can’t see them and holding on to me until I beckon her to let go. I suppress a disappointed groan when she removes her hand from my throbbing cock, leaving it out in the open with nothing to answer the need oscillating through my entire length.
I want her so fucking bad. I want to be inside her, to fuck her senseless while she explodes around my cock.
But fear holds me back. Fear of losing control again. Fear of hurting her like I have hurt others. We’re in the blue room for a reason—it keeps me sane.
It’s like we’re underwater, she said. Everything is subdued in the sea—sound, light, and even pain. The serene blue calms my nerves, and the fact that our rapid breathing is the only sound functions like a tranquilizer to soothe my raging body.
She lies on the bed on her back, understanding my will without me having to speak. Her hands rest next to her slim waist, caressing the soft silk as she waits for me. Her back arches when I caress her sides. Placing my hands around her slim waist, I slide along the outline of her curves, down to her hips, where my hands take a detour to the center of her body. I barely meet her mound and the soft skin on her hot lips before I continue along the inner thighs. I don’t have to apply a lot of pressure for her to understand what I expect her to do. Her legs part slowly but steadily, opening like a gate to paradise as she exposes herself in front of me.
She trusts me. She really does.
I cannot betray her.
My cock twitches with craving at the sight of her exposed center, barely perceivable within the blue shadows. But instead of following the urges driving me close to insanity, I lower myself on the mattress before her, approaching her naked core not with the tip of my pulsating length but with my tongue.
She jerks up when I close my lips around hers, my tongue lashing out to taste her hard clit. I’m not the only one tortured by impatient longing, but she’ll be the first to find release from hers.
A moan escapes her lips while I fondle her sensitive skin. She’s wet for me, the sweet taste of her arousal coating my tongue as I circle it between her folds. She coils, moving rapidly and with more vigor as I bring her closer to climax. I hold her in place, my fingers digging into the flesh of her inner thighs as I push her legs down and apart. She’s close, so close. I’m not letting her get away now.
A suppressed yelp flies from her lips just a moment before her muscles clench beneath the tip of my tongue. Her rapture came sooner than expected, overwhelming both her and me. She whimpers as the strongest waves of pleasure recede, clenching her legs around my head. I stop her, forcing her legs to stay apart but allowing her to calm by removing my mouth from her dripping center.
I sit up, watching as she squirms under me, her head rocking from side to side as if her eyes were chasing a butterfly dancing in front of her. But the blindfold prevents her from seeing such things and instead allows her mind to come up with its own version of reality.
There’s so much I could do with her in this state. Ideas keep popping up, ideas to play with her without inflicting physical pain, without becoming the man I hate to be. I could tease her, bind and tickle her, titillate her mind, and make her come in so many ways.
I don’t know if I will get to do all those things with her one day, but I know it won’t be tonight.
Because it’s my turn now.
She’s panting, still enjoying the aftermath of her orgasm while I get up from the bed and walk back to the glass cabinet to fetch a condom. I tear it open, and she flinches on the bed, knowing what’s about to happen.
When I find my way back to her, she’s still lying there, ready for me, with her legs apart and her body quivering with anticipation. I position myself between her legs, grabbing her thighs like I did before but pushing her legs up this time as the tip of my cock parts her wet folds. Just a gentle shove and I glide in with ease, overrun with instant gratification.
Fuck, she feels good. So tight and warm, her muscles clench around me as she accommodates my size.
I can’t help myself. Feral impulse takes over the moment I’m inside her, and I thrust until my pelvis clashes against her core, stretching her with my entire length and causing her to cry out in agony. It doesn’t stop me from fucking her like I mean it, though; ramming my cock in and out of her with relentless violence. She’s wet but so freaking tight and overcharged with my hardened size, her body coiling as she tries to handle what’s happening to her.
To handle what I’m doing to her.
She’s yelping with each shove.
Too loud. Too fierce.
I groan in defeat, knowing I must stop but not without granting myself one last push. She’s whimpering when I lean over and reach behind her back, helping her to sit up while I remain buried inside her.
She understands what I’m doing and straddles me in a swift motion. Just like that, the roles have changed, and I sit on the bed with her impaled on my massive cock. Her arms rest on my shoulders while I hold her by the hips, my grip tightening just enough to let her know she’s in charge now. She needs to take over before I lose myself.
No words are needed for her to understand. A sigh of relief fills the room when she begins to grind on me, moving her hips in rhy
thmic motion as she begins to ride my cock in a way that grants her more pleasure than agony.
Her face is close to mine, and as much as I wish I could look in her eyes right now, it doesn’t feel right to remove the blindfold. Not yet. Not here.
She moans, throwing her head back while she dances on my cock, giving me the impression she’s the one taking now. Her motions are slow, far slower than if I were the one in command. I’m mesmerized by the way she moves on top of me, so gracefully with such patience and delight. A smile is tugging at the corners of her mouth, the only telltale sign that lets me know how much she’s enjoying this—next to the gasps that escape her every time she lowers herself on top of me.
I watch as she takes from me, grinding her hips against my lower pelvis while her body clenches around my pulsating cock. My hips jerk up, the beast inside me asking for more, but her quaint movements silence it. Each act sends a shiver of bliss through me, building to a deep and gradual arousal, unlike the hurry I find myself in when the beast is leading the way.
The gain is so steady and slow that I don’t see my climax coming until it happens. She reaches another high on top of me, her muscles tightening around me and sending me over the edge. But the elation is so different from what I know, the tingle creeping up on me without the familiar brutal burst.
And as slowly as it comes, it also hesitates to leave, causing me to be held in the throes of utmost ecstasy for so long that I almost question the reality of it.
But it is real. All of it is real. The girl on top of me, her beautiful body urging me to join her pleasure and her smile, proving that neither she nor I would want to be anywhere else but here.
I did not see this coming. She cast a spell over me.
And it’s too late to escape.
