Like Wildfire

In the beginning, Eli took special care to make me tremble. He knew the medical wrap bonding my wrists set alarms off inside me, scrambling my nerves and heightening my flight-or-fight response.

“What a strange little thing you are. The way this makes you shake all frightened.” He unraveled the self-adhesive wrap around my wrists. “And my hand,” He placed his palm against my cheek, “Striking your face makes you want.”

“I’m not scared.” I whispered, my voice betraying me to his delight. I felt the heat simmering from his desire, stoked by my anxiety.

“Good. Fear spoils the meat.” His fingertips trailed my face as though trying to memorize the details. Touch traveled down my temple to the peaks of my cheekbones.

When Eli waxes poetic, he’ll marvel at my helplessness beneath him.

“There is something so obscene about slapping a pretty face.” He remarked once. It was meant to be a compliment. It wouldn’t do to woo me without inciting a surge of fretfulness.

His touch learned the contour of my jaw, his thumb brushing over my lips. They parted for him as he probed into my mouth, letting a single syllable drop low in register from his throat.

“Suck.”

His thumb pressed down on my tongue as he studied my face, bathed in amber tones from the candles I clustered thoughtfully on the bureau and nightstand in anticipation of his visit. I felt a prick of self consciousness about them- a silly gesture, as though the night would be filled with love making and romance.

I accepted his thumb like he’s offering his cock to my mouth, teasing it the way I would if he was threatening to fuck my throat. The anchor of this thumb inside my mouth turned my face to profile. He watched my cheeks hollow out and his fingers grazed the skin of my neck, tracing down to my collar bone. He exhaled, as though he carried something heavy, a groan that implied suffering.

“Open your mouth” He encouraged, poking inside, hooking my canine in the pad of his thumb and wrenching my mouth open. He peered inside, studying the pristine bones with one exploratory digit and it invites a cagey feeling, like I was a large cat in a zoo having its teeth checked. I bit down on his thumb and he cursed, I expected him to pull his hands away but he looked down at me patiently, waiting for me to release him. I slowly relaxed my jaw. His handsome face held, more amusement than irritation. His cool demeanor set me reeling.

“I’m sorry.” I offered for my temporary lapse of insanity.

“What are you sorry for?” He seemed delighted with that fact that beneath him I’m quailing.

“I bit you.” I clarified, feeling silly. “I’m sorry I bit you.”

“You don’t like being on display? Don’t like being inspected?” He asked, yanking the strap of my bra over my shoulder. He tore at the cup, pulling my breast out to the cool air. Pawing at the meat of my tit, my nipple hardened at his touch. His fingers lingered for a moment to pinch at it before making quick work of the other strap, pulling my bra beneath my breasts. I let out small yowls of protest at his roughness.

“You like being treated like a piece of meat.” He stated, leaning down to take my left nipple between his teeth, reveling in my conciliatory mewlings. He trapped the small nub between his teeth and pulled back, letting the weight of my breast and gravity aid in my torture. My back arched, my body pushing closer to him, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Finally releasing, he pushed his fingers up against my panties, the last meager barrier of protection against him.

He whispered mockingly, “Sorry I bit you.” as I caught my breath, his rhythmic rubbing of my clit through the scrap of delicate fabric making my hips jolt up to meet him.

“You’re a bad girl.” He admonished, and my breath caught in my throat as he reached down to bite my neck, bearing down on the sensitive flesh.

“Yes.” I conceded, prickling to appease him.

“Such a bad little thing. Doesn’t know how to behave.” He pulled his hand back and slapped the damp fabric of my panties. My need mounted fiercely, a bright peak of desire inside me.

“You never learn, do you?” He slapped me again, hard.

“I’m sorry.” I gasped.

“You will be.” He spat, pulling off of me and kneeling on the bed before me, grabbing my bound wrists and unraveled the restraint.

Laying there on my back, I felt an ache- wishing for his weight on top of me once more. Fingers working quickly, he threaded his grip around my ankles and pulled me lower on the bed, easily folded my legs back, grabbed at my panties, and roughly dragged them off of me. I tried to calm the alarms sounding in my mind clashing with the desire warring inside me. I ignored the compulsion to pull my legs together to protect myself.

“Stay just like that.” His tone unwavering. “You keep those spread.” For good measure he slapped at the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I gritted my teeth, waiting as Eli quickly unbuckled his belt and in a fluid motion, pulled the leather through the loops of his jeans. He doubled it over and paused before swatting at me.

“You’re going to show me what a sorry little slut you are.”

I tempered my breathing, heart beating wildly, waiting for him to strike. He took my hand and pushed his belt into my grip. I searched his face uncomprehending, then all at once I realized what he wanted.

“Eli, please.”

“Please what?” He pushed back. “You like being punished so much, show me how sorry you are.”

“I . . .no.” I shook my head. ” I can’t do that.”

“Do you want to cum for me tonight?”

“Yes.”

Conflict surged in me. I was excited. I could feel myself begin to drip onto the bed sheets beneath me and the heat of the embarrassment on my face. I hit a wall where I wanted to do as he asked, but couldn’t act. That last stitch of resolve remained stubborn. I clung to it, frightened that once it dissolved I might do anything he asked.

“Here, let’s start with one on your left thigh.” He tapped where he wanted me to aim, his tone shifting, seeming to acknowledge my nerves.

I arranged my grip on his belt, testing the way it felt to swing it a little, feeling its heavy heft in my hand.

“Right here.” He urged, pulling back to watch.

I swung the belt down onto my thigh.

“Was that so bad?” he smirked.

“No.” I admitted

“You make things so much harder than they have to be, don’t you?”

I blushed, unable to defend myself.

“Tell me, what was that pain, one out of ten? A “two” maybe? A “three”?”

“Two.” I confirmed.

“Try a ‘four’ on your right thigh. Then alternate between them.” He counseled, nodding in approval as I brought the belt down on my inner thigh and felt him run his fingers over the light sting. He moved his hand away and nodded in encouragement as I brought the belt down, alternating between my thighs. I felt the sting grow more pronounced as I continued on. That smarting pendulous motion became easier as the embarrassment of the act faded.

“Now right here.” He lowered his hand to rub over my wet, exposed pussy. I arched at his gentle touch, fighting the urge to beg for more of his fingers against me. He groaned a little at the feel of my parting flesh under his fingers. “Right here.” He repeated, retreating.

I closed my eyes and brought the belt down between my legs, letting out a gasp at the bright, stirring sting.

“What was that on a scale of one to ten?”

“Hmmph.” The pout was genuine, but I stalled under his impatient look. “Five.”

“Five out of ten isn’t quite a punishment. A little harder.”

A whine escaped, feeling the hard sting of his leather belt catching on my sensitive clit.

“There. That’s where I want you hovering. Right there. Six?” He searched my eyes, brushing my hair out of my face.

“Yes. I think so.” I mewled.

“You keep it right there. You can do it harder but don’t you dare go beneath a six.”

“Eli, please!” I begged.

“You love it you dripping little mess. Now, do as you’re told.”

Despite the humiliation I felt under his intent look, I could feel an undeniable pleasure-pain growing. His hand reached out, rubbing the underside of my thigh, as though he were trying to soothe an anxious animal. I quickly found a rhythm, slapping my exposed pussy, punctuating the painful strokes with a symphony- sighs of sublime suffering.

I watched as he unbuttoned his jeans. The dark denim contrasted with his skin. I admired him, in that moment, the lean lines of his body and the strength to his presence. There were moments where I saw him in his entirety, like I was looking at him for the first time, and felt this giddy flush of magnetic attraction to him. He pulled his hard cock out, gripping his shaft and jerking it off. He had this wolfish intensity about him, energy absorbed in watching me. Trapped in his stare, I reminded myself that I trusted him.

“Again.” He urged. “Again.” His voice was pure lust, he could’ve been calling “Encore!”

“Eli?” I felt a strange panic at the pleasure blossoming. The steady rhythm of mixed sensations made me twist my hips, feeling myself grow closer to the edge.

“Oh fuck.” He rasped. “You’re going to cum like this.” He groaned low from the back of his throat, his hand moving faster on his cock.

“But I don’t want to.” I whimpered.

“Don’t you dare stop!” he spoke through his teeth.

“Please, please fuck me?” I felt trapped there, sustained in that transient state. I needed something, just an inch of friction would be enough to push me over the edge.

“Not yet.” He pressed. “Hurt yourself for me, Sasha. Bruise your sweet little clit.”

My eyes shut tight as I swung the leather back and felt a searing hurt wake me up a little through my lust. I could feel myself grow accustomed to it, pushing through a thin barrier of what I wanted over what I thought I could handle.

“You can take more.” he encouraged, “You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? Cum. Because I want it. Because I told you to.” His voice grew tight.

“I can’t.” My eyes screwed shut in pleasure, feeling my clit pulse. It didn’t feel like pain anymore, not exactly. The pressure and sensation burgeoning, flourished and overwhelmed me. My hips rocked, established in the pattern. The pattern made for an unstoppable force blooming and forcing me to acknowledge it.

I looked up at him, feeling panicked-on the cusp, overflowing with pleasure.

“Listen.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Listen to me! You think you can’t cum like this, but you can. You will.” He locked eyes with me with such ardor that it almost made me look away, like looking directly at the sun. “Ignore the part of you that is scared, the part of you that’s saying you can’t.”

Eyes locked on his, I was in awe of his intensity, his certainty. His conviction held me captive, it was a kind of sexual Stockholm syndrome. Despite my doubts, I began to let go of my trepidations and believed him.

“You’re mine, do you understand? Say it. Say you belong to me.”

“Yours. . . I’m . . . I’m yours.” I felt myself teetering at the edge of something unknowable.

“Damn right you are. Now cum for me!”

I could feel the cry that escaped leaving my throat, something animalistic and raw. A dam burst and I sobbed with pleasure, my eyes shut, unable to look at him. I went blind for a moment, my body trying to make sense of the intensity. Senses awakened to a hyper-sensitive state.

Eli moved in over me, pulling the belt from my hand and tossing it aside, swiftly pushed the full length of his hard cock inside me. There was always just an ounce of pain at first from the thickness of the head of his cock making room for itself inside me, and that twitch of pleasure that tugged at his lips for making me wince.

“That’s it.” His hands gripped my hips, pulling me harder onto his girth and making me cry out again. “Keep on cumming for me, cum on my cock!” He pumped into my tightness, stretching me, working himself in hard, fast, determined. It was as though my mind was trying to shut out the sensation at it all being too-much. With each violent thrust, he kept calling me back, inviting me back into the rush and the sickening thrill of our dynamic. He wouldn’t let me recover.

“That’s my girl. There she is!” He called out, seeing the grimace of need on my face, pulling his cock back to thrust hard into me over and over again. He humped against me, dragging his cock up against my g-spot.

“Please! Please I’m so sensitive!” I mewled, coming back down to earth, the raw, sensitive flesh of my cunt throbbing and the fabric of his jeans harsh against my skin.

I begged him to stop, but felt a sort of relief at his insistence. A bewildering moment, a question of what I could endure. I watched him working into me and anticipated the hard thrusts. With his unrelenting way, I was forced to experience it. Again, I was forced out of my own way and was made to feel wave after incredible wave of too-much sensation until it was one sustained note of pleasure.

“Take it.” He gritted his teeth, moving his hands around my ankles, the grip unforgiving as he drove into me repeatedly. “Be a good girl and take it!” He ignored my squeaks and complaints of hypersensitivity. “Fuck!” He called as he thrust hard into me. I felt him erupt inside, flooding me with his cum. He cursed and praised me in equal measure, holding me tight to his body as he emptied himself inside and collapsed on top of me without pulling out.

I held him close to me, feeling his heart beating wildly and feeling an undeniable swell of affection in my chest. It was exhilarating and terrifying. The vulnerability of being exposed, him dragging me through the doubt and trepidation into something so powerful. It was like he could see something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. I tried to catch my breath and ignore the pang of anxiety that inexplicably washed over me in that revelation. I looked down at him clinging to my body as he caught his breath. He held me tight like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. I tried not to look at him through new eyes.

* * *

I try not to glance at the clock, knowing he’s going to leave soon. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watch him get dressed and admire the way his bones and muscles work under his skin as he moves before he covers himself up.

“You really should unpack your things.” He acknowledges, finding his shirt at the foot of the bed and pulling it on. “It’s been a few weeks. I meant it when I said you can stay as long as you need to.”

“I don’t know, I won’t be here much longer…” I tug at my sock, pulling it back up my calf and folding it right under my knee and adjusting my bra to cover his bite marks.

He glanced over incredulously as he buckled his belt. “You’re passing up free rent in this city?”

I think to remark upon the word “free,” and think better of it. “I’m half sick of shadows.” I quote.

“That’s rather dramatic.” He straightened himself, shoes tied, his lines still sharp. I caught him glancing at his reflection before he walked back to my side of the bed. “You’re a bit much, aren’t you?”

I shook my head a little, feeling exposed.

“Sometimes you’re a bit much even for yourself.” He asserted.

“Sometimes.” I echoed quietly.

He tipped my chin up to him easily in his fingers. Watching my eyes widen, taking him in, waiting for him to kiss me with the fervor and wildfire he brings.

“God in his mercy lend her grace.” He said, instead, with a sense of levity.

He’s in and out, treating his condo like it’s my place instead of his. He’ll knock instead of using the key I know he has next to his own. I accused him once of fantasizing that I was more together than I really was. To hear him explain things, I owe him nothing but my company, but that feels like a farce. He visits and checks in on me, taking what he wants and for my part, I wait for him.

* * *

I met him in a hotel lounge, one of many I snuck into pretending I belonged. It was a talent of mine, infiltrating spaces I had no business being in with nothing but false bravado. I had next to nothing left by way of money, having burned through my savings since moving to the city, and was beginning to feel a sense of desperation about what I would do next.

He took a seat near mine, close enough for me to study his face discreetly if I glanced over the screen of my laptop. Strong features offset by sleek glasses. Though I liked his dark wavy hair and the spray of silver-gray about his temples, the words “carefully tousled” came to mind. I thought him vain, and It made me dismiss him immediately.

“Waiting for someone?” He had a drink in hand, an impractical looking glass. I thought it frivolous, trying too hard.

“Yeah. You.” I shot back, heavy handed with my sarcasm. I was used to being preyed upon, having traveled alone. Standoffish was a second coat I wore, but it lit him up like it was a challenge.

“As if the heavens opened up and your prayers were answered.” He responded, deadpan.

I felt a hitch in my heartbeat, his dark eyes catching mine. He looked like he just came from a conference, dressed to fit the pretentiously hip feel to the lounge. There was a distinctive charm to his features. He had a broad smile that made my stomach twist and a pronounced nose. His light olive complexion seemed a deeper tan in the low lights.

He sampled his amber-colored drink with great patience and won our staring contest. I buried myself back in my laptop screen.

“Elliot.”

He offered his hand and I took it, feeling silly.

“Sasha. You’re very formal.”

“Force of habit when I meet someone new. What room is he in?”

“Who?”

“The man that’s waiting for you.” He smiled, and I caught myself from rolling my eyes.

“Room 418.”

“Well then you must be in the wrong place.” A look of faux concern dusted over him.

I looked up, exasperated. “And how would you know that?”

“The suites here are all named after trees.” He replied simply. “My room, for example, is the Beech Suite.”

“Oh. You’ve figured me out. Congratulations.” I tried to hide my embarrassment.

“Thanks. The view is amazing, you should see it.” He had something like amusement dancing in his eyes.

“So what are you doing here?” I placed my laptop on the seat next to me and crossed my legs, pulling up my black knee sock that had slid down my calf.

“Just here for the ambiance. Beats the minibar.” He took another sip of his drink. “The scotch is good. What are you drinking?”

“Me? A long island.” I said the first thing that came to mind. He fixed an appraising look over me and got up. I studied his sharp corners against the blue light magnified by the endless glass surfaces of the bar. I watched him chat up the bartender, as she worked. I watched her eyes follow him back to where I sat.

“For you.” He presented me with a glass. “Vodka Cranberry, your new go-to drink. I mean, a Long Island? Really? Is this your first time in a bar?”

“Hardly. I just don’t usually drink.” I took a sip. “And thank you.” I remembered my manners, raising my glass.

“You’re welcome.” He radiated a sense of self-assuredness that I admired. I hid in another self-conscious sip.

* * *

“So what are you really doing here?” He emptied his pockets on the counter of the Beech Tree Suite.

“Mostly here for the ambiance.” I lowered my backpack onto one of the tall counter stools hugging the breakfast nook. I walked over to the large picture windows framing the nightscape and took it all in.

I felt his presence at my side, taking in the lights of the traffic and the city’s liveliness muted.

“I remember the first time I took in this view.” His voice far-away with the memory.

I waited for a story to unfold, but it never came.

“What do you think?” I felt his hand on my lower back. It struck me as familiar, but a comfortable closeness I welcomed.

“It’s Incredible.” I turned to look at him.

“Is there someone waiting for you?” He pressed.

“No.” I answered honestly, feeling emboldened by my anonymity. “Now you.”

“What?”

“I told you something no one else knows. Now you tell me a secret.”

“Well. I once gave a tourist the wrong directions on purpose.” He looked guilty, but with a grin.

“No!” I laughed.

“He was a dick!” He shrugged.

“Jesus. Just think, he’s probably still lost out there.”

He took a loveseat and gestured to the nearby couch. “Your turn.”

“Oh I don’t know.” I took the seat closest to him. “I’ve stolen a glass from every bar I’ve been to.” I offered.

“So you’re a thief.” He looked amused.

“Only of hearts and glassware.” There was a pause, I bit my lip. “So is there someone waiting for you?”

He got up and I watched as he crouched and rummaged in the minibar, pulling out small bottles.

“Tiny vodka or tiny whiskey?” He looked back at me conspiratorially.

“Tiny vodka cranberry?” I recalled and he pulled out a bottle of orange juice the size of my hand.

“Settle for the most overpriced screwdriver of your life?” He poured the contents into a mug meant for the single-serve coffee machine on the counter. He settled back on the loveseat and handed it to me.

“Are you done stalling?” I took a sip but locked eyes with him over the rim. I felt a buzz, and it was too early to feel a buzz.

“No. No one waiting for me.”

“Your wedding band makes that hard to believe.” I pointed out.

He looked down at his right hand and the thin gold ring.

“Waiting? No. Certainly not waiting up tonight.”

“So what you brings you to the city? Business or pleasure?”

“For a workaholic? One in the same.”

“What’s work, then?”

“Legal stuff. Nothing so sexy, right now I’m mostly advising businesses on their internal documents, helping them adhere to different regulations. It’s honestly mostly paperwork at this point.”

“Sounds boring.” I teased.

“Thanks.”

“I was a student, but had to drop out.” I

shrugged, feeling lame.

“Girls like you should be in school.”

“Girls like me?”

“Smart girls like you.” He amended.

“That’s not patronizing at all.”

“You’re right, it’s more of a compliment.”

“I think you owe me another secret.”

* * *

As time passed, so with it came the decay of our propriety. His shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie draped over the armrest, my charcoal gray boots unzipped and discarded at the foot of the couch, my legs tucked underneath me. He had a bottle of wine called in from room service. Energy exchanged, inhibitions forgot, words were oil-slick, easy and quick to come. We talked aimlessly into the night. As we meandered off onto tangents, I could feel his eyes lingering on me, atmosphere shifting just so.

We settled into a tense silence. I stole glances at him, he leaned back into the chair, his relaxed posture adding to the casual texture of the air.

“Pour me a drink.” A request with an ounce of something else.

“Do it yourself.”

He shook his head as though it were a mere misunderstanding.

“No, you’re going to do it for me.”

I raised my brows. “You seem awfully certain of yourself.”

“Am I really asking so much of you, Sasha?”

I opened my mouth for some combative quip and closed it again. He extended his arm, holding the mug out to me.

I rolled my eyes, unfolding myself from the corner of the couch to cross the room. I poured some of the wine and he held up a hand to stop me after a splash spilled into his proffered cup and raised it in cheers.

“To chance encounters.” I offered. He echoed the sentiment and drank.

As soon as I was seated, he stood, taking the bottle with him as he walked back over to the counter, placing it there and returned to his chair.

“Now, let’s try that again.”

I balked, a chirp of a surprised laugh sprung from my lips before I saw the look on his face.

“Are you serious?”

“Walk over to the bar. Pick up the bottle. Pour me a drink. Let’s try it without the attitude this time. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I . . . really?” I paused. Certain, suddenly.

“Yes, I really believe you can do as you’re told.” He pressed.

I pulled myself up from the couch and followed his path, bottle in hand. I felt his deliberation over my performance. I watched the faintest smile grow on his face as I filled his mug.

“Good girl.” He nodded.

“Oh, so you’re one of those guys.” I felt my nerves fray despite my teasing tone.

“One of ‘those’ guys?”

“Yeah, one of those . . . guys.” He nodded in encouragement as I navigated my thoughts. “I had an ex who liked being in control. He liked the good girl/bad girl thing, too.”

“And you went along with it, but not really your thing.”

I deliberated, feeling a little warm but level headed. It felt like navigating a landmine, but in a way the giddy transient feel to the night made me bold.

“I liked some of it.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I understand that’s private, but do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Yeah. I mean. It was sexy, but then he turned out to be way controlling, a real manipulative asshole.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Thanks. But anyway, yeah. I liked it, just didn’t like him.”

I felt his energy vibrating madly from his arm chair, a wild pressure closing in and felt the need to shake it.

“So you’re into the local sports team, huh?” I diverted.

“Has anyone called you a brat before?” He raised his brow pointedly.

I shook my head, feeling chastened.

“I have this theory about brats.” His light tone held a slight edge that I worried would cut me if I handled it incorrectly.

“Oh?” I quietly pressed, a strange excitement unraveling in my ribs.

“Brats like to push back because they want someone to call them on their bluff. Like your constant sarcastic attitude—awfully disrespectful, isn’t it? But I don’t think you’d be rude to someone you don’t know. I think you reserve your bratty behavior for someone who will help you manage it and correct it.”

“That’s some theory.” I swallowed.

“It is. Would you like me to help you manage your bratty behavior?” He asked.

I nodded without thinking, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“Come here.”

“No.” It came automatically, before I could check in with myself.

“Then stay there.” He shrugged, not missing a beat. “Tell me about your sort-of-ex.”

I felt a tug of embarrassment at my stubbornness. I imagined what it might feel like to sit on his lap and feel his close proximity. I tried not to stare at the negative space I would have filled.

“He was older than me, a senior when I was a freshman. He was editor of our school’s lit mag so obviously, I was enamored. He was a little standoffish but I liked that.”

I felt him study me subtly as I talked, his look intent- a rapt audience. I felt myself grow a nervous energy with his undivided attention, self conscious about my oversharing.

“So I pursued him and we started dating. He was very demanding and dominant in bed and it was fun and exciting until it started bleeding into the rest of my life. I wasn’t allowed to see my male friends, or had to check with him about what I was wearing before I left the dorm. It was way too intense all at once. It took a while to realize I wasn’t having fun anymore.”

He nodded, sympathetic. “Then what?”

“Well, long story short he graduated and moved back home. The distance kind of took care of things.” I leaned forward and placed my mug on the coffee table before me. I looked for a coaster and settled for a pad of the hotel stationery.

“I’m sorry you went through that.”

“That’s alright.” I took a breath, suddenly aware that I had been holding it.

“Would you like to come here now?” He encouraged, patting his lap.

I moved without thinking, adjusting my skirt before walking to him, feeling a little foolish as I slid onto his lap, my legs dangling to his side.

“Was that so hard?” A patronizing note hung in his voice.

“Yes, actually.” I squirmed, feeling myself blush.

“You’re very in your head about this, aren’t you?”

I nodded. I could smell his cologne from our closeness. A dark mix of citrus, spice and something else.

“But I bet it feels a little bit like a relief to be this close. Feels good, doesn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, running his finger over the sole of my sock and up the outside of my thigh, trailing goosebumps at his fingertips. “See, you’ve gone all quiet. I think it’s because you like it? Or no? Tell me what you think.”

“I do, I like it.”

“You’re not feeling like a brat right now, are you?”

“No.”

“No, you don’t always need to mouth off to get what you want. Tell me what else you like.”

He ran his fingers on the skin just above my knee sock.

“I like your hand on my leg.” I said quietly, struggling to stay still.

“Of course you do. Go on.”

“I like . . .” my voice caught while he ran his fingertips over the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I parted my legs a little more. “I . . . I like. . .”

He leaned in and kissed the side of my neck. His fingers lingered at the inside of my thigh and the other crawled up my spine to pull my dark wavy hair back like he was parting a curtain. He leaned in to kiss my neck again.

“I like . . .” I cleared my throat and tried to focus, but found his touch to be terribly distracting.

“You like the way I rob the words from your pouty little lips.” His voice felt deepened, coarsened.

“Yes.” I readjusted myself on his lap, tugging my skirt down a little but his hand remained undiscouraged.

“It’s a shame because I like talking to you.” His fingers teased up higher, stroking the soft line between my thigh and the fabric of my panties. “I want to keep talking so you’ll have to figure something out. You wouldn’t want me to punish you.” His handsome face was an inch from mine, his breath whispering on my skin. His eyes caught mine and my sharp inhale was met by his lips finding mine in an insistent kiss. A statement to my question.

We came up for air and he assessed me with a sweeping glance. “Or maybe you would prefer that I did?”

* * *

I found straight away that he had a sadistic streak. I enjoyed playing with it, knowing that it got him worked up. It felt like a button I could push and receive instant gratification for the mistreatment that would rain down on me. Harsh words or physical retribution, I reveled in my ability to get him there. Most of the time, it was a reflex. Sometimes I couldn’t help but volley a smart-ass remark back at his instructions. Bratty combativeness would escape me before I could stop it.

The lines were blurred when I got him riled up to the point that I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely angry at my obnoxious demeanor, or if I was allowing him to adopt a role he relished playing. It ceased to feel like a game and it felt like there was an element of actual danger.

* * *

He had spent the night at the condo and we were rousing to the morning rays glancing into the room. He had gotten up for a glass of water and was setting it down on the the bedside table. I smiled, watching him prowl around in nothing but his boxers. He glanced down at me, evaluating.

“That’s a pretty picture.” He assessed, my hair fanned on the pillow, my near-nakedness shielded by the single sheet left on the bed, comforter kicked off somewhere out of sight.

I reached my arms out for him to fill the space. “Come fuck me.”

“You’re making demands now? You’ve had a little bit too much leash lately, don’t you think?”

“I think I want you to fuck me.” I propped myself up on one of my elbows.

He grabbed the wrist of the arm supporting me, throwing me off balance. He pulled my limb up to the corner of the bed where he had secreted one of the cuffs running underneath the mattress. He secured the velcro fixture. A spike of adrenaline flooded my system as I watched him stalk to the foot of the bed to clear the space to strap my left wrist down. I reached out and undid my right wrist, grinning back at him. He looked over me, trapping me in his stare. He cleared the space between the bed and the window pouring light into the room, quickly correcting my errant behavior as I giggled.

“Stay.” He warned, belittling as though I were a disobedient pet, inciting a small flame of rage in me.

The moment his back was turned I ripped the velcro restraint off of my wrist, stopping him in his tracks. The atmosphere shifted, the energy crackling. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I froze, feeling his anger filling the room.

I let out a nervous laugh, trying to alleviate some of the pressure bubbling up.

“No. I want to hear what the fuck you think you’re doing.”

I stammered. “I . . . I just. I was playing.” I rationalized.

He walked back to my side and slapped my face in one fluid motion. I blinked back my surprise, staring up at him, jaw dropping.

“Eli . . .”

“No, you’re not squirming your way out of this, you selfish little cunt.”

He ripped the sheet off of my body and grabbed my hips. He moved me onto my stomach easily, my panties torn violently down my legs, a sharp gasp sprung from me before I could swallow it.

“Give me your wrists.” His voice sounded like he was trying to control himself. I stared at the creasing in the clean white sheets.

“Please.” I whispered.

“Now.” His voice low and menacing. I felt my heart pounding as I meekly offered my right wrist, eyes trained before me.

“Do you think it’s wise to make me wait right now?” He growled, pulling my left wrist and folding it behind my back. I could hear him breathing, slow measured breaths as he used my panties as a restraint, twisting and knotting them at my wrists. I tested the hold tentatively and felt a small twinge of panic at the complete immobility.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you disrespectful little bitch?” His disapproval flooded my senses as he gripped my hips, pulling me onto my knees.

“I’m sorry.” I mewled piteously.

“You’re sorry?” The tone of his voice drew a tremor from me. He grabbed a handful of my hair, forcing my face into the mattress. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m scared.” I whispered.

“You should be.” He spat.

I felt my body responding, trembling at my helplessness.

“Do you remember the first time I punished you?” His tone a warning. Footsteps were absorbed by the carpeted floor. I strained to hear him rustling through a drawer.

“Yes.” I breathed.

“Tell me what you remember.”

“It was the first night we met.” I recalled, feeling his presence like a dull heat from where he stood. “You had me lay across your lap and you spanked me.”

“Why were you being punished?”

“I was being a brat.”

“It’s usually your mouth that gets you in trouble, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” I shifted my weight from knee to knee, feeling hyper aware of my position.

“Do you think you deserve to be punished now?” Tone, measured, a bear trap’s teeth wrenched open, clicking in place. Ready.

Eyes screwed shut, I collected myself before agreeing, “Yes.”

He gripped my jaw, making me look up at him and his tall proud stature. Fingers pushed into my mouth, he pet my tongue with the pads of his fingers and pushed further, making me gag. I stole a glance at him, looking over in alarm feeling him press on. My mouth was invaded, his fingers pushing back between my lips. I choked and gasped as he retreated from my mouth, pooling saliva on the sheets before my lips and drenching his fingers.

“What a sloppy little bitch.” Tone, cruel and measured, he spoke over my gasps for air. “So bad with details, so bad at remembering her place.” He administered one, harsh slap to my ass. “I want you to tell me everything about that first punishment. I want excruciating details.” Another sharp spank made me gasp.

“You had me on your lap.” Recounting the

details made the edges of the room blur, recalling the slight chill to the hotel room, and the way it drew goosebumps to my bare skin. “It was cold in your room. You said it couldn’t be helped when I mentioned it. It was broken and did I want you to call maintenance up to the room. I didn’t.” I focused.

“You didn’t want to be found in your state of undress, didn’t want to seem dissolute in front of a stranger, did you?” He held a note of mock-pity.

“No. You gave me the choice of greeting them the way I was.” I agreed. “And you said you were going to warm me up another way . . . ” His fingers ran over what I imagined was a bright pink mark on my pale skin. I could feel my cold spit smeared over the right cheek of my ass.

“Go on.” A hard pinch of my tender skin, eliciting a whimper and rushed vowels tumbling from my lips.

“Ohh! A-a-and, and you wanted me to ask you to punish me for- for-” I felt his fingers dip down to my pussy, spread for him to see with my knees forced apart, on display. A single finger probed down the length of my slit, making my hips twist. He teased the sensitive flesh, and reached forward to pull my clit between his finger and thumb, pinching hard.

“Fuck!” I cried out.

“Did I say you could pause?” He ground the pads of his fingers together around the sensitive nub.

“Please!”

“I wonder if I could make you cum like this?” He released his fingers and pinched again, making me yowl in agony.

“No-no-no-please.”I pleaded.

“No? Then keep talking, Sasha.” He spoke with a tinge of exasperation.

“You had me lay across your lap and pulled

my panties to my ankles.” I focused through the pain, feeling his fingers loosen in their grip slightly. “And you asked me to tell you what a bad girl I was.” The pinch turned to a squeezing sensation.

“But you couldn’t even do that.” The disappointment in his voice stung.

“It was hard.”

“Oh it was hard?” He mimicked. “Such basic tasks elude you? What worth are you to me as sub if you can’t even stay still enough to be tied down?”

I felt the white noise in my head of embarrassment and the fear of his rejection. I swallowed, my vocal cords tangled, expressing myself an unsurmountable task.

“Well?” He pushed two unrelenting fingers deep inside me. “You are absolutely soaked. Your cunt loves when I hurt you, isn’t that right? Keep talking.” He pulled his fingers out of my pussy to drive them back in.

“Oh! Yes. Yes- I, you. . . you pushed your fingers inside me after you spanked me. They felt way too big and I was embarrassed at how much I responded.”

“Stop dancing around it, tell me what you did.” His fingers hooked inside me, massaging the inner wall of my clenching pussy driving a spike of pleasure through my body.

“I made your lap wet with my arousal.” I admitted, nowhere to hide.

“Like a little bitch in heat.” He seemed satisfied with my answer, pulling his fingers unceremoniously outside of me and pushing them back into my mouth.

“Get those nice and wet, slut.” He pushed past the sounds of refusal rushing from me, pushing past my sense of control into my throat. I tasted myself on his fingers, the slick wet warmth of my pussy overwhelming me. Flushed with humiliation, I let him choke me with his fingers, gagging helplessly.

“I’m going to force these into your ass.” He fucked my mouth with his thick fingers, making me squeal out in refusal, pleading around him.

“What are you saying? I can’t understand you, princess.” He forced his fingers to the back of my throat. He pulled back, and I gasped for air, coughing. His fingers pressed against the tight pucker of my ass, feeling impossibly large. I squeezed my eyes shut at the estranging mix of pleasure and unease. The sensation itself was pleasurable but I felt blaring air horns of alarm. A squeamish, dirty feeling.

“I know a punishment that will stick.” His voice sounded harsh, unlike him.

“Please.” My fretful pleading made a feeble attempt to slow the traction of the dangerous momentum that was building.

“You’re always telling me how you like that

I push your limits.” He leaned over the side of the bed and I could hear the pop of a plastic bottle opening as he settled again behind me. “But how you’re so nervous about me taking your little virgin asshole.” I could hear the slick sloppy sounds of him applying lubricant to his hard cock.

“Wait.” I whined, shifting trying desperately to pull my wrists from the tourniquet they were bound in. My mind began to spiral, thoughts jumbling, mind racing, wanting him to stop but my words were lodged in my throat.

“You’re going to give yourself to me completely. You can finally earn your keep.” his breathing was heavy as he pushed the head of his cock against my ass.

The words felt like a punch to the gut, taking the wind from me. I felt a weight heavy on my chest, trying to displace it with great gasps of air, yet unable to breathe. I had my safe word on the tip of my tongue, pressing against the back of my teeth. It occurred to me suddenly, that I was scared to use it.

“Please. Please. Please. I don’t want it.” My voice was wheedling, small. Unlike me. I buried my face in the mattress, feeling trapped.

“You should have thought about that before- God damn it!” A cheerful tune broke the trance we were held in, his phone chirping for his attention. I could hear him breathing heavily behind me.

“Damnit.” He cursed again and I could feel his weight shift off of the bed to grab his phone off of the dresser. “I have to take this.” His voice changed, sounding more like him. I realized my heart was pounding as he leaned over to look at me.

“Sasha.” He called me back to him. I turned my face to look at over at him crouching at the side of the bed. He studied my face. “I have to take this.”

I nodded, mute, stricken.

“I can tell you want to cry. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry.” His intonation was tempered as he walked away. I could hear his footsteps padding on the carpet. He paused at the bedroom door. “Listen. I’m not leaving. I’m coming right back.” He reassured me.

I lay there with my face turned on the mattress, staring at the sunlight streaming through the window, I saw it was a clear, blue day behind the thin curtains, indifferent to the on-goings of the bedroom. I heard the door close behind him and the thin layer of composure keeping me together completely shattered.

I began to sob, in an empty and unsatisfying way and I felt strangely aware of the fact that I was crying. I let out a few strangled sobs and swallowed them, thinking he might return soon, not wanting him to hear me. There was a tangle of confusion- relief that he was called away to break the spell we were under. I realized I was truly terrified of him in that moment, but more than that I was terrified of disappointing him, and it all came crashing down me. I cried hard, with my wrists still tied behind me, unable to wipe away the hot tears. They pooled and streamed down my face as I let all of the tension and the terror escape from my lungs in great gasping hysteria.

Elliot opened the door to the bedroom and crouched at my side once again. I hid my face from him, feeling silly and vulnerable and terrified that I had ruined things between us with my howling display. I couldn’t stop the great gasping sobs that came loosed, like something had broken inside of me. I sobbed, feeling a strange sense of doom. If he walked out of the condo, I felt a strange certainty that would be the end of things.

“Please. Please don’t leave yet.” I gasped, not yet ready to let him go.

“Sasha, Sasha. Angel, I’m here.” He turned my chin to look at him, leaving me nowhere to hide. “I’m here now. Look. I’m going to take this off of you.” Eli moved quickly, loosening the restraints on my wrists. Once my arms were freed I curled them to my chest. He moved behind me on the bed and rubbed my back. “We’re going to breathe, Okay? Listen to me. Sasha. Listen to me.”

I nodded through my tears.

“Okay, we’re going to breathe in on three.” He demonstrated, his voice even and soothing. “One, two, three- breathe in. Now hold it.” He coached, his hand moving in encouraging circles on my back. “And out-” he blew out theatrically, his lungs emptying on my neck. “Now with me, Sasha, okay? Be a good girl, focus on your breathing. I’m here to help you.”

He taught me how to breathe, encouraging me. “Good.” he kissed my shoulder when I managed to follow his instructions.

Eventually, I calmed enough to gasp and cough through the wet hot humiliation. I was so exposed and couldn’t bear being so vulnerable to him in that way.

“Hold it,” I could feel him nodding as I obeyed. I became aware of my heartbeat. “And out.”

He coached me through the most basic human mechanic, teaching me how to breathe, ushering calm into my lungs.

“Good girl.” he praised as my sobs subsided

completely. “That’s a good girl.” He soothed. “Sasha?”

I let out a small squeak in response, exhausted.

“Are you okay?”

I hummed an affirmative.

“Good.” He smoothed my hair back. “Very good.”

He pulled me to his chest, and I leaned back into his warmth, matching his even breaths with my own. We lay there, my anxiety fading with each exhale.

“Angel?” I finally spoke, cracking a smile. “You think I’m an angel?” I turned to face him and stole a kiss.

“What? You don’t like my pet name for you? You are an angel.” He smiled at me. “My beautiful angel.” he combed his fingers through my hair, playing with it, ushering me to his chest.

“Please don’t go yet.” I whispered.

“I’m not going. Not yet. I’m right here.”

“That was crazy.” I found my voice again, curled to him. I ran my finger up his sternum.

“Yeah.” He shook his head as though to shake the feeling. “Yeah, things got a little heavy

there, didn’t they?”

I nodded. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Me neither.” He admitted.

“I’m too much sometimes.” I let the fear escape as a sort of apology.

“You’re not too much of anything.”

“God.” I buried my face against him. “I felt like you could have asked me to do anything in that moment and I would have done it.” I shook off the feeling. “It’s really strange. Like it felt very real. I know this is all ‘real’, but . . .” I tried to make sense of it all.

He turned, lying outstretched on his back.

“I think it’s both of us. Our dynamic, it’s how we are together. Things get very . . . heady, passionate. It’s kind of incredible.”

I sighed, nodding in agreement, feeling so full and skittish at the depth of my feelings. I tried to soak up his warmth, nuzzling into him to quiet the agitation in my mind.

“I think we’re both holding back from saying something to one another.” He broke the silence and spoke to the ceiling.

I looked up at him contemplating, admiring his face and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Tell me.” I steeled myself, not knowing what he was about to unleash into the still room, on-edge.

“I’m beginning to form strong feelings for you.” He looked down at me.

“I know.” I nodded fervently in solidarity.

“I didn’t mean for this.” He seemed almost dumbfounded, talking through his thoughts as they occurred to him.

“I know.” I agreed.

“But here we are.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief.

“Eli?”

“Yes?”

“Can you stay a few more minutes?” I whispered, feeling energized with his admission, wanting the moment to last.

“A few more minutes.” He promised.

* * *

The first time we fucked was unremarkable for what we would eventually evolve to. It was almost vanilla, comparatively.

“I knew you were an eager little slut even despite your best efforts to appear unmoved.” He was a little smug, but all I could see was the satisfaction radiating from him and the way it made him seem younger, lighter.

“I’m sorry.” I laughed, after we fucked on the hotel sofa. It was messy and almost seemed hurried. we lay in a collapsed tangle on the floor, “It’s a defense mechanism, I guess.”

“I make you feel defensive?”

“You scare the hell out of me.” I sat up and reached for his mug of wine, feeling parched. Seeing it empty, I made a move to get to my feet.

“No no no no, you’re not going anywhere.” He objected, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me back to his chest, pulling peals of high pitched giggles so unlike me I covered my mouth to trap them.

“I’m thirsty. I’m parched. I’ll die of dehydration!” I settled back next to him, the coffee table against my back.

“You think I’d let it come to that?”

“Yeah, maybe. You don’t have a stake in my well being.” I cast him a sidelong glance. The night demanded honesty, closeness. My defenses were down with the bittersweet knowledge that I’d likely never see him again.

“I happen to like you already.” He ran his fingers down my side, making me gasp and move in closer to him, my chin resting on his chest, looking up to admire his face.

“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” I reached up to graze my fingers down his jawline enjoying the tactile pleasure of his beard against my skin.

“Too early to care? Nonsense.” He folded his arm under his head for support.

“So you’re a hedonist, is that it? You just act on impulse and do what feels right?”

“Hedonist.” He weighed the word out-

loud. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Have you been suffering all night?” He was too charming, and I had a strange moment, certain that quality would bother me one day. I shook the cynical slant and made another careful attempt to get to my feet.

“I need to clean up.” I could feel him dripping from me.

“Stay where you are.” His voice took on a hard edge.

“I mean I have to . . . your cum. . . ” I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“I know what you mean. Here, lay on your back for me.” He moved, allotting me the space to follow his instructions. He waited just a beat before cutting me off. “Sasha. Enough fussing.”

“Fine!” I sighed, making a show of laying on my back, adjusting my hair and looking up at him, expectantly. “Happy?”

“Yes.” He climbed on top of me, straddling my leg, his arm supporting him. He hung like a tarp over me, essentially pinning me beneath him. His right hand prodded at me, spreading my legs to his liking, then snaking up my thigh to play in the mess he made between them. His fingers collected his cum from my pussy and hovered inches above my lips.

“No!”

“You’ve never swallowed a man’s cum before?” he suggested.

“Of course I have.” I dismissed his proffered fingers.

“Then . . .?”

“This is far worse.” I shook my head in disbelief.

“Not your typical experience.” He corrected. “Are you sure you don’t want it in your mouth?” He looked down, appraising my expression.

“I’m good, thank you.” I scoffed.

“Alright then.” He smeared the thick wetness across my lips, ignoring my gasp of surprise. Reaching back between my legs, he seemed pleased with himself.

“Elliot!” I put a hand to his chest, blinking away my disbelief at the lewd act he was forcing on me.

“Yes?” He pulled two fingers back to my mouth, offering me a second chance. “Are you going to be a good girl and clean up the mess you made?”

“Fuck!” I spat, shaking my head.

“Suit yourself.” With a sort of smirk he cleaned his fingers of his ejaculate across my cheeks, tracing my cheek bones.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m improving upon your post-sex smudged makeup look.” His tone sardonic, repeating his routine. “One more chance. Open your mouth.” He pressed on the tense feeling in my gut.

“But it’s so dirty.” I reasoned.

“You want to be a dirty little slut for me. You like how I make you feel. What’s more, you want to please me. Don’t you?”

“Yes.” I whispered.

“So open your mouth.”

I closed my eyes, accepting the fingers pushing into my mouth, my lips collecting what he had to give me. As I swallowed his cum it felt like a strange sort of ceremony. I opened my eyes again, looking up at him.

“Sasha?” His tone deadly serious.

“Yes?”

“You look ridiculous.” He spoke deadpan, and after a moment we broke into laughter. “Oh my god. Look at you.” He leaned down and kissed me hard. “Look at you. What kind of self respecting woman lets a guy do this to her?” He teased.

“You’re an asshole.” I laughed.

“Come here.” he helped me up, leading me to the bathroom. It held a huge bathtub that I immediately remarked upon to his amusement.

“If I had that bathtub I would never leave it.” I said as he had me sit on the ledge.

I watched him run a washcloth under the tap, disturbing their elaborate display, they were made to look like white cotton flowers on the sink. I stayed still as he worked to clean my face with the warm towel and being a pragmatist, guided me to the shower encased in glass. He fiddled with the faucet until he found an agreeable temperature and we stood at first, letting the hot spray of water run over our bodies.

We lay on the bed afterward, my hair still wet, he gave me the only robe the room came with.

“It looks better on you anyway.” He allowed.

There was a comfortable closeness, an instant intimacy that came with the perverse-sleepover-feel to the night. He pulled the clean white linen over us and we lay there in the dark on our backs, side by side.

“Tell me another secret.” He prompted.

“I’m an INFJ.” I laughed.

“That’s not a secret.”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “What kind of stuff do you want to know?”

“What were you doing here tonight? Is this how you meet men?”

“That’s not a secret.”

“So?” He pushed.

“No, I wasn’t looking for someone to fuck me and rub their cum all over my face.”

He didn’t humor my attempt at a joke.

“Okay. Full disclosure. My phone is shut off right now. I was using the wifi to ask a friend if I could crash at her place.”

“You’re visiting from out of town?” He guessed.

“Well, looking for a place to stay. I have a job interview tomorrow. I figure I can couch surf until I find somewhere worth sticking around.”

“What’s the job?”

“Just an executive assistant gig. Nothing cool.”

“Sounds boring.” He smiled.

“Right, thanks.” I stretched, rearranging my

hair on the pillow.

“I actually rent out an apartment not too far from here.” He had an earnestness to him that made me look away.

“I don’t think I can afford the rent in this neighborhood.” I dismissed.

“I think we can work something out.” He grinned.

“That is awfully bold of you.” I rolled my eyes.

“Think about it, you can be my live-in brat.” He tickled me under the sheets inside the robe, fingers dancing over my ribs and sides. Shrieking in laughter, I fought his hands away.

I caught my breath and moved onto my side, sharing his pillow, our faces inches apart.

“I’m thinking about it, and I don’t know if I can afford that either.”

“No? You worried you’ll have too much structure and you’ll start to behave yourself?”

“I’m a rolling stone, can’t be tied down.”

“Another defense mechanism.” He challenged.

“Sure, you can call it that.”

He pushed his hand to me, squeezing me between my thighs, stealing a sigh from me.

“You like the way I touch you.” He ran his fingers up and down my slit, stoking the embers of need in my stomach. “You said so yourself.”

“I do.” I agreed, my voice low with need.

“What else do you like about me? Did you find your voice or are you still too shy and scared?” His patronizing tone riled me up.

“You’re a narcissist.” I scoffed, and he pinched my clit. “Fuck!”

“Tell me what else you like.” His tone uncompromising, he began rubbing my sensitive clit through the hood.

“I like the way you talk to me.” I admitted.

“Keep it up and I’ll let you cum for me.”

“I like that you’re a little mean.” I couldn’t allow myself to think too much or I wouldn’t be able to speak, I had trouble keeping his eye contact.

“Mmm bad girl. What else?”

“I liked being spanked by you.” I admitted, feeling butterflies at the admission.

“You’re a submissive little slut aren’t you?” He pushed me onto my back, collecting my wrists in his hands in two easy motions and pinning them above my head.

I let out a soft sigh, my hips jutting out to him, wanting more. He pressed on my trapped wrists, leaning over me.

“Say it.” He ran his free hand up and down my body, making me tremble.

“I can’t.” I twisted in his grip best I could, but couldn’t find a weak spot to free myself.

“What are you afraid of?” He urged. “Don’t you want me to play with you?”

“Yes.” I mewled, feeling cloudy in my desire.

“Then say it. What are you?”

“I-” He pushed his hand between my legs. Prodded my thighs apart. His fingers forced their way inside me. “I’m . . . a slut.”

“Seriously? Have you forgotten already? Do I need to spoon feed it to you?” He pumped his fingers inside me.

“Is it so hard?” He cooed, darkly. “Let’s try it again. ‘I’m a submissive little slut.'” He pulled his fingers away and continued his assault on my engorged clit.

“I’masubmissivelittleslut.” The words jumbled with my embarrassment and desire.

“With some confidence!” He quickened the pace.

“I’m a submissive little slut.” The words flowed from me. Like they were unlocked from my throat.

“Who’s making you writhe and need?”

“You. Yours. I’m your submissive little slut!”

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Beg for permission to cum.”

“Please?”

“Keep begging.” He demanded.

His thumb drove against my clit.

Two fingers filled my pussy, stretching me around him.

I couldn’t hold back, the words spilled from me.

“Please! Please let me cum. Please, Eli, please let me cum for you?”

“Do it! Cum for me! Cum all over my fingers.” He urged.

I came for him. Hard. Testing his hold on me with my thrashing hips, seeking out his touch. “Please don’t stop.” I begged through clenched teeth, allowing the pleasure to overcome me.

“Fuck! You’re so hot like this. Give into it. Give it to me!” He encouraged as I writhed against him. Hips jolting as I grew hypersensitive, his fingers suddenly feeling too rough against my clit. I didn’t know if I wanted to beg him to stop or to beg for more.

Once he pulled away it took a moment to catch my breath. I gasped, feeling light-headed.

“Wow.” I hummed, satisfied.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you.” I purred, immune to his condescending tone.

“You’re very welcome.” He smiled, smug.

“Can I. . . would you like me to suck your cock?” I blushed, realizing how silly it sounded.

“Say that again. But this time, beg for it.” He grinned.

“May I suck your cock, please?” I sat up in bed.

“Come here” He moved onto his back. “Take that off.” He gestured at the thin robe, the belt lost somewhere in the sheets. I obeyed, dropping the robe to the side of the bed.

I settled between his legs, spread to accommodate me. He gathered my damp hair in one of his hands and reached down to stroke the side of my face.

“Gorgeous, cock-hungry girl.” He praised.

I nodded, feeling emboldened, but small in that moment.

“Oh yes.” His grip tightened in my hair near the nape of my neck. “Yes you are.” He encouraged.

I tried to lower my mouth to take the head of his cock inside and felt his grip keeping me still. I looked up at him, waiting for him to let go. Instead, he grabbed the shaft of his cock dragged the head across my cheeks and lips, trailing his precum across my face. I licked at the thick mushroom head as it came close to my mouth, making him chuckle at my efforts.

“You want it bad, huh?” He chided. “Desperate slut.”

“Yes. Please.”

“Take what you want. Show me you can earn your rent.” He growled, and I felt a thrill run through my body.

I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, eagerly lapping at the head of his cock, swirling my tongue in circles. Peeking up at him, I saw the pleasure drawn over his face. I felt a keen hunger to please him that surprised me.