by Mj Fields
Tremante.
I put my hand on the material of her blouse, but not touching her body.
“There is a deep pull between your thighs, and you want to squeeze your legs together to ease the pressure that is mounting. But you know that if you do, it won’t be enough. Your pussy is wet and getting wetter by the minute.”
Her eyes grow heavier, lids fluttering.
Bisogno.
“You want my touch as badly as I want to give it to you, yet you resist. You want to touch my cock, but are afraid to touch me because you know what I can do to you. You’ve seen it with your own two eyes, and you are afraid that after you’ve had me, you will crave more. I promise, you will. I will touch parts of you that no one ever has. I will show you places on your body that will drive you almost insane. I will turn your sweet, wet pussy into a raging inferno. Every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had about me while you finger fuck yourself, at night, lying in bed, dreaming of my touch, will become a reality.”
She is panting for it, now. Her back is arching and her nipples are pushing against her shirt. I hear a slow deep intake of breath, and I know she is ready.
Suscitato.
“Tell me why your clothes are still on.” I push her with my words. “No, better yet, take them off now, Melyssa. Before I grow too tired of this game. Before I decide I would prefer to tie you up and pump my cock in my hand, while you’re on your knees denying yourself. Until I come all over your face.”
Esposta.
She whimpers, and her eyes roll slightly.
Orgasmica.
“I am going to make you come, Melyssa. Present to me.”
She reaches down and begins to unbutton her blouse. I take a step back and sit down, watching her prepare.
Ho bisogno di questo.
She presents herself to me.
He could have told me to leave, when he caught me outside. He could have made me feel ashamed. He could have, but he didn’t.
Instead, he told me, in the crudest possible way, that he wanted to fuck me.
No man had said those words to me before—not in the heat of the moment, or otherwise.
Sabato looks expectant, and his eyes are less masked now that he is in control.
I close my eyes as I fumble with my buttons. I allow his sexually arousing words to continue to replay in my head. They don’t just make me hot. They make me feel sexy. They make me hungrier, needier, than I ever have been.
I am quivering.
He sits and watches me, and slowly unbuttons his pants. I remember the light sprinkling of hair beneath his zipper. He pushes his hand inside his pants and squeezes himself. I don’t hold eye contact, because I can’t. He feels this too. I know he does.
I am in need.
I reach up and tug at my sleeves. My shirt falls to the wooden floor. I hope my movements are sexy, teasing, and not just rushed and desperate. I want to be sexy. My hardened nipples push against the fabric of my bra. I ache. I want him to touch them.
I am aroused.
I pull my white, lacy bra straps off my shoulders. I don’t look at him. I can’t. I have never been totally naked in front of a man. To calm my nerves, I think of what he said. I focus on the sensual sounds of his words and how they felt even more arousing, because of his accent. I kick off my flats, then I unbutton my pants and shove them down.
Sabato stands. I finally look up. He pushes his pants down. His cock is hard, and big, and beautiful. He nods, and I know he is waiting for the last piece of fabric to be removed. I push my panties down and step out of them.
I am exposed.
He reaches out and the feather light touch of his finger circles my left nipple.
I cry out his name. “Sabato!”
I am orgasmic.
He runs one finger up my chest, to my collarbone, across my neck and finally allows it to rest against my lips.
“Shhh.” He steps into my space. I feel the crown of his thick, warm cock as it nudges my belly, in exactly the place the knot rests. I bite my lip, trying to remain quiet.
“Bella,” he whispers. His lips hang centimeters from mine. They are not touching mine but I feel their weight.
I need this.
Finally, I gain the courage to lean up into his lips. But he pulls back and shakes his head, no. He steps back, holding his hand out to me. I take it. The electricity of our touch is jarring and his steps falter momentarily.
He needs this.
He leads me to the cross. I know what it is. I’ve seen it before, and not only here in this room.
I am not afraid.
Sabato stops and turns around, reaching for me again. His fingertips move from my hipbone up my side slowly. I watch his eyes appreciatively take in my naked form as he lightly rubs up my rib. I giggle, and he gives me a stern look.
His head bends forward and without warning he clamps his mouth down on my nipple. I cry out and reach for him to brace myself. He grabs both wrists and pulls them above my head. He turns my body in one swift move, until my back is against the cross and his body is pressing firmly against me. He sucks hard on my nipple. I thrust my pelvis against him, seeking pressure against my throbbing, sensitive spots. When it’s not enough, I pull on my hands to get free. But he holds firm, pushing my wrists against the hard, cold wood as he continues sucking and biting on my nipple.
When it’s too much, I test his strength by allowing my body to go limp. He catches me with his weight against the cross. Then I surprise him by wrapping my legs around him. He releases my hands and takes my waist. I wrap my arms around him, as my now passion-possessed hips grind on him. I cry out and my head falls back.
I’m going to come, Oh God, I think I’m going to—”
“Stop,” he growls, and pushes me back.
“No,” I challenge, holding tightly to him.
I have no idea where this voice is coming from, this need is coming from. But stop now? No way. Hell hath no fury like a twenty-four-year-old woman seeking her first real orgasm.
He grips my hips tightly and forces me back. I look at him angrily. He drops me. I scramble to keep from falling to the floor, grabbing the cross for support. He steps away, folding his arms.
Humiliated and naked, I pull myself to my feet.
“Well, I guess I’ll just be going.” Blushing, I try to walk past him.
His hand catches my elbow. “Did I dismiss you?”
I feel a chill run up my spine, but I don’t answer. He grabs my hips from behind and once more I am slammed against the wood. He is like a jungle cat, fast, sexy and efficient. He has my arms spread against the wood and his lips are touching me, ever so softly, behind my ear.
He growls dangerously, “Did. I. Dismiss. You?”
I don’t answer, but I look up as I feel leather cuffs wrap around my wrists. Before I can say a word, his head is between my legs. But not the way I want. One ankle is shackled in leather, then the other.
“There is no other way with you,” he grumbles. I watch him walk away, circling off behind me.
I hear drawers open and shut, and anticipation mingles with desire and adrenaline. I try to look back behind me, but I don’t see anything.
“Sabato?”
“Not another word.”
He is behind me. I feel a sharp, stinging spank to my ass. Then his hand is kneading the spot he just hit. “You need to learn control. This is not what I need tonight, but it seems to be what you need.” I feel him against me, and I feel material on his body. His lower half is no longer exposed.
His hand reaches around and cups me, and I jump in surprise.
“Sabato.”
He nips my ear. It stings and he sucks on it.
“Bagnata.”
I don’t know what it means, but his finger is now between my folds. Oh god, yes. My knees shake with desire, and I’m so close. But then he moves his hand away and steps back.
“Pazienza.”
I can’t see him, but I can hear and feel his hot, heavy breath on my neck. I
arch back, hoping to get closer. He sighs heavily, and I strain to look back at him, out the corner of my eye. He looks angry.
“Eyes forward.”
“Why?”
“Focus,” he growls.
“Focus on wh—Oh, god!” I look down to see the flogger in his hand.
He rubs it up and down my side and I am overwhelmed by the sensation. His hand comes up to cover my mouth as he shoves his finger inside.
“Show me what you will do to my cock.”
I suck greedily on his fingertip. His lips are on my neck, his tongue caressing my ear. He moans.
My legs spread apart and I rub myself against the flogger’s tail. He flips it and pushes the handle against me. My body tenses up. He pulls his fingers from my mouth and moves them between my legs. He is rubbing my clit now and I am on fire. He pushes the leather handle further inside me.
I try to close my legs. No, this isn’t right. I want him, not this.
“Stop!”
And he does. Suddenly, he isn’t touching me at all.
Before I know it, my ankles are removed from their restraints and then my wrists.
I turn to see him shirtless, glowering, pants undone. The tip of his cock peeking out, laying against his belly button. His arms are crossed, and in his hand is the black leather flogger.
I take in a deep breath, digging deep to grasp the courage I need—but then I realize, I don’t need it. Desire trumps all feelings, all thoughts and all insecurity.
I take two steps to close the distance between us and reach out, running my hand lightly over his bulge, letting my thumb stroke over the head of his beautiful cock.
Sabato doesn’t change his expression, but I hear a deep rumble in his chest. I look up at him, leaning in until I am centimeters from his lips. His expression is still unchanging. I wet my lips and push up on my toes. We are nose to nose, eyes looking into each other’s eyes. His chests rumble intensifies and I know he is going to kiss me.
I want his kiss, more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone. Knowing somehow that his kiss won’t disappoint. I take his arms, and with a little effort, I move them so they are at his sides.
I am in control now. I am filled with desire. I am in ready to give it up. I press my lips to his and feel them tighten underneath mine. My tongue is denied access to his mouth.
I won’t allow this to stop me.
I lick his lips, then down to his strong, square jaw. I open my mouth and slowly move my lips down his neck. My tongue traces his Adam’s apple, down to his chest. I nip at his skin, licking his hard, muscular abs.
Then I am on my knees and I look up at him. I yank at his army green cargo pants and his cock springs free, to hit me in the lips. Without thinking, I sweep my tongue across it.
His jungle cat-like reflexes kick in then. He crouches down, roughly grabbing my tits, squeezing my nipples, pushing them together. He rams his cock between them. I gasp. He doesn’t stop. He rolls, pinches, and tweaks my nipples as he fucks my tits. His eyes are half-closed and I see fire in them.
He is relentless.
His hand grips my hair. “Open.”
Fear rages through me and his eyes widen as his cum hits my chin. I am shocked and enthralled. He immediately releases my hair, then takes a step back, looking stunned. After a moment, he regains his composure. He reaches to the floor and grabs the flogger.
“Present,” he snaps.
I am unsure what this means. I try to think as I wipe his cum from my chin.
“Lay back Melyssa and spread your legs. I will make you come now.”
Desire’s embers are still burning through my self-consciousness, so I do. I don’t care about holding back, not anymore. I want to give this away.
Sabato drops to his knees at my side and spreads me by pulling my knee onto his leg. He leans over and holds the flogger so that the beaded tassels dance against my sensitive skin.
His wrist flicks. Gently, he swats my pussy with the flogger. It doesn’t sting, but it burns. Not where he strikes, but deep inside. The embers of arousal erupt into flames when he does it again.
My hips gyrate and he flips the flogger in his hand. The handle is at my opening. I try to close my legs, and he holds my knee and he rubs the flogger up and down my slit, applying pressure against my throbbing clit. Over and over, he taunts and teases me until I am delirious with desire. He is watching me squirm, quiver and practically convulse under his sex-pert moves.
He has brought me to a place no one ever has before. I’m trembling inside, knowing I am going to come—finally—I am going to come. I arch my back and his mouth surrounds my nipple. He tugs, sending me spiraling over the edge.
“Yes, Oh god! Oh god, yes!” I cry out.
Pain shoots between my legs.
“NO!” I cry out and pull away from him.
“No?”
“No.” I sit up and look at him.
The look on his face is stunned, confused, almost...hurt? Oh god, I think as I collect myself. What did I do? I stand up off the cold wooden floor and dart to my pile of clothing.
“What the hell just happened, Melyssa?” He follows me as I pull up my pants, pocketing my panties.
“Answer me, damn it!”
I can’t look at him. I grab my shirt and throw it on as I shove my feet into my flats and walk quickly to the door.
As I reach for the doorknob he blocks me, while buttoning his pants.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
“I wanted you,” I try to explain, through my hysteria. “Not, not....” I feel tears threatening and I clear my throat. “You can keep your silicone and strap-ons, Sabato. That’s not...I’m not into that. Now, please excuse me.”
“It was Italian leather,” he says, sounding offended, “not silicone, Melyssa. My equipment is of the finest, all-natural materials.”
Obviously, he doesn’t get it. “I want to leave.”
My head is held high, eyes blank. I know he’ll let me.
“I would like to understand,” he snaps.
“You didn’t kiss me, you made no attempt to.”
Sabato looks incredulous for a few seconds, then he closes his eyes. With his thumb and forefinger, he massages his eyelids. When he finally opens them again, he is angry.
“I never asked you to come here.”
I nodded. “Okay, well, I am asking to leave.”
“Fine,” he hisses. “Don’t come back.”
I’m not prepared for that kind of response. It hits me like a kick to the gut. My eyes sting, but I don’t let him see.
“I won’t.”
Once I’m alone in my car, I let the tears flow freely. I start the car, back up and drive to the lot opening, waiting for a break in the passing cars.
I wipe the tears away and look to my left, toward the club. Sabato fills the doorway. His shoulders are slumped, hands buried deep in his pockets. He no longer reminds me of a jungle cat. Now, he’s definitely human.
As I drive home, I decide he is even less than that. He’s just a number. Number 21 on my list.
Once back at the hotel, I run a bath for myself. It’s late and Paige is asleep. I am nervous the sound of running water will wake her, but I feel dirty and I don’t want to wait. I step in to the hot, steaming water and sink down until everything but my nose is covered. Floating, I try to clear my head.
But I can’t. I think of all the feelings I experienced tonight. Everything was in vivid detail, etched in my mind. All the smells—fresh paint, wood, leather, musk and mint—all the sensations, all the need. Everything I have fantasized about for years. But nothing like my fantasies, at the same time. At the time, it wasn’t ‘dirty,’ it was erotic. Not for one second did I feel like it was wrong.
What’s wrong with me? Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m what’s wrong with me.
I am dirty.
I scrub my body, too hard, until the buildup of emotions finally explodes. Hot tears trickle down my face for the second time within an hour. I sob
silently into my hands, until all those emotions dry up.
When I step out of the bath, I notice the mark on my neck. It’s not a hickey, per se. But it’s definitely a mark. I try to be angry. I even scowl at myself in the mirror, but it’s my first mark from a man. I look down and my left breast is marked as well.
I am a dirty, dirty girl.
So why do I feel better, on some level, than I ever have before?
*.*.*
I tell Paige I am sick and stay in bed all the next day.
We watch television and she dotes on me. I reschedule my interview with Cornel and am once again warned it’s not a guaranteed spot. I can’t tell them what I’ve come down with, because this illness is more a deep-seated, mental kind of sickness. They allow me to reschedule for the next day.
I have taken enough classes on human behaviors to know that this is pure, indulgent, narcissistic self-loathing, at its finest. I am allowing feelings and reactions to my experiences run me, and they are running me into the ground. I just need to find a new focal point—something other than feeling bad about my body, my sexuality, my newly-acquired and less than stellar personality traits that have made me start to question who I am. Before this, I was never indecisive. But now, even just looking into the hotel closet and trying to figure out what to wear to the interview, I realize that I am bordering on true depression, not just sadness.
Somehow, I get it together enough to attend the interview. I even manage to convince them that I am sane, that I am normal. That I am not fundamentally broken.
A few days later, I find out I’ve been accepted into the program, which should put me on a high.
But it doesn’t. Instead, I find myself looking over my shoulder, wanting him to be there. A few times, I want it so much I even delude myself into thinking I feel him, watching me.
But then I am reminded by the more sensible side of my brain, the one attached to Elsa’s darkest urges, that he has banished me. Dismissed, with no more sexy Italian requests to ‘present myself,’ or promises to do things that make my head spin, and all because I preferred to have him inside me, instead of that sinful—yet sensual—tool.
