Like Wildfire

Three firm knocks and a half a heartbeat pause before a fourth announced Elliot’s arrival that Friday night. A surge of nervousness swelled inside me for a moment, the panic-preamble I associated with first dates. I had spent the week thinking about the night we spent together and what it would be like to see him again. I remembered the connection as effortless, but it was possible that it was a fluke. My anxiety informed me that my charm could stretch only so far before he realized just how dull and boring I really was.

By the third night, I realized that he essentially gave me an out by waiting until Friday to stop by. I could spend a night or five sleeping in his queen sized bed and leave Friday morning, leaving his key on the foyer table. I would erase any trace of my visit and that would be plan A. I had a week to figure out what I wanted to do.

* * *

I left the condo for groceries the first day and came back to a missed message blinking on the answering machine.

“Hi Sasha. I wonder, did you spend the night here?” He hummed a moment. “It’s possible you decided it was too much too soon. I wouldn’t blame you. I wouldn’t want that, but I wouldn’t blame you.” He blew out in a way that made me wonder if he was a smoker, calling me on a his break. The taste of his kiss didn’t give him away if he was, “‘I fucked Elliot and all I got was this stupid keychain.” He laughed. “Okay. I hope you’re well. Be good. Don’t cum.”

He hung up and I shook my head in disbelief at his cavalier tone. He wanted to distance himself from the fact that he’d offered me a place to stay after knowing me for only a few hours, but he also wanted to check in on me. His self awareness made me like him a little bit more, and I already liked him too much.

I dropped my backpack, heavy with cartons and cans on the floor and leaned against the door as I rewound the message and played it again. Eyes closed, I recalled his thumb tracing my lips carefully before pressing down on the pout of my bottom lip, making way for his insistent kiss. Sweet and gentle at first, feeling me relax and grow pliant and amenable, growing more demanding until the only thing in the universe was the pleasing pressure of his lips pressed to mine. I traced the curve of my lips with my left thumb, ran my fingers up my thigh and pressed my palm against the front of my plain cotton panties. I blushed thinking of Eli pressing his fingers against the fabric.

Grinding against my palm, I thought about the moments before orgasm he stretched out in tease to make me want him. It was the only agony I ever craved. The moments of “not yet,” the withholding of pleasure. The gravel to his voice when he was weighed down with the burden of desire. I thought of his height, making me feel small and his easy confident way that made me feel like I needed to vibrate on that same frequency with him. Show him I knew I was worth the trouble to keep, or at least look the part.

* * *

The first time Elliot used restraints on me, he warned me it was going to be difficult. Placating, almost, looking down at my face to watch the open, bated-breath acceptance of the fact. I had stripped for him. He stood, patient- indifference wasn’t what it was, but I felt an unease that he did nothing to move.

“You’re just undressing like you’ve done so many times before.” He reminded me, reading my defensive posture. “Why are you treating it like a punishment?”

“I know it’s not.” It shouldn’t have felt any different, he had known my body so intimately before. The slow unveiling of my body to him felt gravid in a way I struggled to understand. I stood before him, and felt scrutinized. I wondered what thoughts battered around within him, some unspoken commentary I hungered for. Soft sounds of fabric as they whispered, loosed, folded and discarded felt amplified.

Bare, witnessed, he asked me to join him in the bedroom. He took my silence and my hand, leading me into the next room and laid me out on the bed before him.

Outstretched and waiting in the center of the bed, I watched as he made slow work of the restraints around my wrists, and the care he took to fasten them taut to either corner of the bed.

“This will be hard.” He promised.

“Okay.” I steeled myself.

“Nothing you can’t handle.”

“Are you trying to make me nervous?” I tried to shift the atmosphere, and failed.

“More like trying to prepare you.” He corrected, running his finger tips down my side and watching me squirm at the feather-light touch. “Nervous little thing. You’re safe.” He reminded me. “Remind me, what is your safe word again?”

“Qualms.” I swallowed hard.

“Any so far?”

I shook my head, tugging at my restraints and feeling maybe a half an inch of slack to maneuver within.

“I’m going to make you suffer.”

He leaned in to kiss me, and I tried to reciprocate but he hung just slightly out of reach. There was a chaste brush of my lips against his, like a hurried kiss goodbye. Pulling seconds and millimeters away, he stayed just out of reach. I tried my best to appear unbothered, but my heartbeat knew better.

“Someday I’ll gag you, but not yet, not tonight. Your sweet little howls and harrumphs are just too good to muffle.” He was fully dressed, still, a structured tee and jeans.

Eli’s firm hands on my shoulders worked at the tenseness knotted there. Firm pressure applied by his thumbs in little circles tried to set me more at ease before tracing over my collar bones and sternum. Fingertips dragged down my ribs like they were tripping on the keys of a xylophone.

He never remarked much upon my body, which made me assume he didn’t think much of it. There were little compliments he’d slip in conversationally, a “hello beautiful” upon arrival that in poor habit, I immediately dismissed as disingenuous. Bad at accepting praise. My self-consciousness abated in those precious moments where he took great care in exploring me.

My breasts were taken in his hands, squeezed gently at first like he was testing fruit for ripeness. Arching my back, I tried to push into his palms a little firmer. He used the back of his hand to touch me, knuckles gently running over my tits. Grazing at my nipples, catching them over and over again, stirring a frenzy of need.

“I’m sensitive.” I let out a small whine in reminder.

“Yes, I know.” He leaned over my body to bite at the soft skin. Nuzzling momentarily into my chest, he bit me over and over again. My eyes squeezed shut, the intense feeling spiking in my stomach. My yelps did little to distract him as he grabbed and mauled at one tit to nip and lick at the other. Panting, I rolled my hips a little, the friction of the fabric of his clothes against my nakedness thrilling. He pushed a thigh up between my legs to let me grind against him as he tickled at my sides and the underside of my thighs. I giggled and gasped, thrashing a little at his touch unable to keep still.

“Fuck me?” I looked up at him with my best pleading look.

“Sweet little slut. Do you think that’s what I meant by torture?”

“Tickling is a kind of torture!” his fingers chased me as I moved beneath him.

“You’re going to beg so nicely for me.”

“I don’t beg.” It came out before I could stop it.

“Your voice is going to sound so fucking good when you are hoarse with desperation.”

Elliot rubbed the soft curve of my mound, inches from my clit. I pushed my hips up to him, wanting. His thumb slowly traced my slit, catching the wetness that collected and began to rub my clit in sure little circles.

“Ohhh, please.” I agreed with the touch.

“Please what?” His tone was cool, his rubbing insistent.

“It feels good. Please. More.” It felt silly coming out of my mouth. I always blushed at the inarticulate mess I was reduced to.

“That’s a good start. Tell me when you’re close.”

He kept the same pressure, looking down at me, his glasses still on. It struck me as sort of strange to see him so dressed and composed. I felt a small twinge of worry that he might get up and walk away. Dismissing the thought, I turned back into the sensation roiling within me as he continued his firm rubbing strokes. The pleasure grew and I felt myself inching toward orgasm.

“Eli.” I panted.

“Close, baby?” He purred.

“Please, Yes!” I tried to swing my hips to match his rhythm.

“No. Not yet.” He decided, pulling his hand away and a whine from me with it.

Eli began to slap at my cunt with gentle slaps of his fingertips, catching my clit with each gentle slap. The sensation just different enough to make it impossible to cum, but consistent enough to keep me right on edge.

“Don’t forget.” He threatened vaguely. “Tell me when you’re close again.”

“I will.” My tone a whine, and earned a stinging slap of his palm between my legs. I gasped. The smarting shock paired with a splash of pleasure. He seemed to enjoy the change in my expression as he pulled his hand back and began spanking me again, harder, unrelenting in the quick rhythm he found.

“Please.” I arched my back, feeling a bewilderment to my need. The whiplash of sensation. The tumbling, moments of free-falling right before orgasm.

“I think,” he contemplates, “you can wait.”

“Please.” I can’t think straight, I can’t think of anything but how my nerves are vibrating with need. His touch turns more coaxing, thumb working in smooth efficient motions up and down the length of pussy. My body jolts beneath him each time he trips over my clit, like he’s plucking a guitar string- taut, reverberating through me. Touch echoes and melts me, reducing me to my pulsing cunt and his cool regard.

“No.” his edge a little firmer.

“Please!” the frantic tinge works to soften his edge a little.

“You sound so pitiful.” His free hand goes to stroke the side of my face.

“Eli. You have to stop. I can’t-” I lean on the vowels of his name.

“Focus. You can decide if you cum, you know. What’s more important? Getting your way or pleasing me?”

“I can’t- if you don’t stop.” I protested, yanking at my restraints, cutting into my wrists a little. Needing to distract myself from the turmoil I felt, teetering so close to the edge.

“Sasha.” Slapping my face lightly, waking me up a little in my trance. He slowly continues his methodic rubbing, making me twist a little beneath him. “Be still. Focus on my voice.”

I look up at him, listening. His teasing touch is maddening in it’s indefatigable persistence, but I felt myself isolate feelings from sensations, straining with pure stubborn resistance.

“Good girl.” his voice is honeyed with praise, rewarding me with two thick fingers pushing inside me, “Do you want to cum?”

I bat the idea away.

“Doesn’t matter.” He dragged a moan between my gritted teeth.

“Why doesn’t it matter?” he thrust his fingers into me quickly.

“I’m not allowed.” I pressed my heels into the mattress, stubborn, pushing my hips up at him to abate the instinct to pull my legs together.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” He tested.

“Yes.” I focused on the shape of his glasses, the smug satisfaction on his face.

“You can’t without me saying so.”

“Yes.” I confirmed.

“You’re doing such a good job. Such a good girl.” he pulled his fingers out of me and pushed them past my lips, fucking my mouth. “Convince me.”

“I want it so badly.” The clumsy words were shadows of themselves around his fingers, running over my teeth and tongue and pulled back out to stroke my clit.

“What if I don’t want you to cum tonight. Do you think you could wait for me?”

“Don’t make me.” I pleaded.

“Could you be that strong for me?” He tried again.

“I could, don’t make me.”

‘I’m not making you do anything, Sasha. You want me to make you behave.”

He ground his fingertips against the hood of my clit harder.

“Or are you starting to have qualms about that?” He hinted.

* * *

Hips stirred and rocked and my teasing strokes of fingertips against my clit grew firmer. I was accustomed to cumming when and how I liked which was hard and often. I was self-indulgent and shameless in taking pleasure when I wanted it. The waiting was new. Was maddening. I remembered the order he left me with- welcome to play, orgasm forbidden.

He would never know if I came. I knew that, logically, of course. I could lie and it would be of no consequence. I felt the intensity grow and a surge of defiance. He was so certain I’d follow his instructions. The casual note to his reminder “don’t cum.” It incensed me, enflamed my sense of autonomy. He knew me for a night and demanded a week of obedience. I could cum if I wanted to. I just didn’t want to in that moment, I decided. Pushing the thought to the back of my mind, I picked my backpack full of groceries off of the floor and livened his empty cupboards.

* * *

I was stepping out of the shower when the phone rang to announce his call, at first I wasn’t sure if it was him, but it was about the same time, mid-morning, that he had left messages the days before. I wrapped myself in a towel and listened from the bedroom, hopeful.

“Good Morning. It’s just me that’s going to call this number, so you are safe to answer when it rings. Oh, God.” he breathed in. “Are you too young to have used an answering machine? Was your first phone a smartphone?” He paused to laugh a little. “Or maybe you just like to sleep in. I bet you do. I forgot to mention something important.” I felt my heart stop, and I walked to the foyer to listen. “You mentioned your phone was shut off. I realize you had that interview and no way for them to contact you.” He rattled off the number for the condo and gave a pause. Fingers twitched to pick up the receiver, but something stopped me. “Okay. Be good.” He hung up.

Who was this man? Saving the messages as he left them each day, I rewound them to listen to his voice to see if I could surmise anything more about him. I wanted to decipher the code he spoke in, playful one moment and unrelenting the next, gather from anecdotes he littered into conversation and paint a picture of who he was.

There was something miraculous about the night we spent together in that usually the details of these sorts of encounters that felt gravid and significant in someway would stick out in my constantly narrating mind. I would expound on the finer nuances of these experiences in stream-of-consciousness style when I journaled. It wasn’t that what I felt with Elliot wasn’t significant- it had an intensity that rivaled my most passionate flings- Elliot was something of an experience himself. My mind stopped narrating around him, I was allowed to fully immerse in the moment. It was new to me. The drawback was that I was shaky on details in that way, it made it hard to remember the telling off-handed comments about his personal life that sort of evaporated in the “now.” .

Thursday, I re-played his message in the evening and perched on the bench in the foyer.

“Hi.” His breath was tight, voice slightly strained. “I know you’re aching to cum. I told you I’d make you cum on Friday and I meant it. But that’s only if you’ve been a good girl all this time.” I could hear what had to of been the sound of his hand pumping on his cock and a sharp intake of breath. “But if you cum without permission, Sasha. . .” He trailed off. “you’ll wish you hadn’t. So—Be good.” He hung up.

There was a dichotomy to how I interacted with the chaos I felt chasing his message-thrilling at the thought that I could inspire the pleasure he was clearly about to indulge in. Cagey, frustrated, I thought of the way he sounded as he came.

I thought about him and the ring on his right hand, an orthodox tradition. I thought of the type of woman he might marry. What she might look like. Well put together, I figured. Vanilla, probably. Competent, absolutely. Some high power executive, of course. They’d make an influential and successful pair. Eventually my curiosities would get the best of me, and in conversation I broached the question, wanting her more defined, so maybe with the concrete confirmed, she would be one less neuroticism I carried.

* * *

“Tell me about your wife.” I had asked, one night with a clangoring in my chest, a heaviness I wanted moved. I wanted to break the not-knowing into smaller manageable chunks that I could dismiss one by one. His reaction, at first, was as much a wince as a smile.

“You’re feeling very bold.” He remarked.

“Feeling curious.” I corrected.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” He tickled me under the chin.

“Well that’s macabre. There’s a second part to that, you know.” I turned my face just out of reach of his teasing.

“Oh?”

“Satisfaction brought it back.”

“You think that will satisfy you?” He challenged. Always, a challenge.

“No.” I answered with my gut. “But like I said- I’m curious.”

“You can’t always get what you want, Sasha. You’ll spoil and then who will eat you?” He grinned predatorily, yanking me closer to him by the ankle and dragged me to the foot of the bed.

* * *

Friday morning I set out for coffee with my laptop, as I had each morning to the usual resounding disappointment my inbox harbored amidst the job search. I applied to some attainable positions, things I felt confident I could do. Clerical so and so, something coordinator, blah blah specialist. Glowing between the rejections and “Thank you for your interest” emails Zach’s message sat sandwiched in the noise. I skimmed it, feeling tense.

There was always an air of uncertainty about whether we were still connected, because we were so tenuously connected at that point. School mates at first, we had connected over nothing in particular, when I tried to think back. Just the circles we ran with. We were in each other’s periphery enough and didn’t offend each other’s sensibilities, and that grew to be something more significant and genuine over time. So when I read his e-mail, it was an enthusiastic yes- of course I could stay with him, and an invitation to get drinks the next evening at some trendy bar he liked. It was a relief, but more than that it was a plan “B.”

* * *

“Good Morning. I’m not sure when I’ll be in tonight. Do you go out on Fridays or is that just when you’re stealing wifi and glasses from bars? Are you out and about? Up and dressed or in bed, still dreaming? There is so much I don’t know about you.” He mused. “Don’t go to any trouble to dress up for me tonight. Be loose. Comfortable. Sasha in her kneesocks, not Sasha in her high boots.”

He knocked, three times- and a pause- and a fourth. I was surprised to hear him knock. It was his condo, after all. Why didn’t he just unlock the door? I felt paralyzed in the entryway, holding my breath. Maybe it wasn’t him.

His key slid into the lock and he saw me standing there, before him.

“Hello.” He stood there in the threshold, holding his overcoat folded over his arm and a briefcase.

“Hi.” I tucked my hair behind my ear, looking up at him. Formidable, just come from work, I gathered, as he was dressed for it. Formal, a suit without a tie.

“Can I come in?” He smiled, pocketing his keys. His pause called up the lore of vampires, requiring an invitation.

“Of course.” I laughed, self conscious. Moving back, I gave him room to follow me in.

He dropped his coat on the bench in the foyer, and regarded me slowly. I had agonized only a little over what to wear that night. It would have been easier for him to ask me to dress up for him. I decided not to change from what I put on that morning- a thin, soft sweater that clung to my form an a-line skirt and knee socks, per his hint.

“Welcome.” I adjusted my sleeve, feeling strange. A hostess in a space that didn’t belong to me.

“Isn’t this a pleasant surprise.” He walked past me and took a seat on the couch, gesturing to the seat beside him. He placed his briefcase on the floor next to him.

“You’re surprised?” I turned on the couch, my body facing him.

“I am. Pleased. I knew it was a bit of a gamble. I really wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

I shook my head. “That wouldn’t seem right. I had to return your key. You left it behind.” I smiled.

“Very kind of you.”

“An act of altruism.” I agreed.

“Have you made yourself at home? I know it’s kind of threadbare at the moment.” He got up and walked around the apartment, peeking inside the refrigerator and turning to me “I suppose it really shouldn’t surprise me that you’re eating like a college student.” He observed, and stretched to reach a cupboard I hadn’t bothered checking, too far out of my reach. Pulling out a bottle and a few glasses, he turned to me smiling.

“It’s a ‘break glass in case of emergency’ kind of thing.” He admitted.

“And what part of this qualifies as an emergency?” My brow arched.

“Well, you can’t toast someone without a drink.”

I followed him back into the living room.

“Sure.” I agreed, taking the glass he pressed into my palm. He poured me a drink of whiskey, a bottle of his favorite, and clinked his short glass to mine. “What are we drinking to?”

“To fearlessness, Sasha.” He said it as though it should have been obvious.

If that’s what he thought of me, it was the wrong read. Or maybe it was a wish for what came next.

“Right.” I took a sip and crossed my legs, growing more comfortable.

“So, first order of business. Tell me how the interview went.” He all but lounged, using the back of the sofa as an armrest.

I grimaced. “Good, I think. No word back yet. Very few things inspire the same amount of self-doubt and desperation as a job search.”

“What are you feeling desperate about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always been a very independent person. It feels strange not to have that as part of my identity.”

“So what does that leave, then?” He asked, inquisitive, not intrusive.

“I don’t really have a pie graph on hand.”

“Humor me.” He took a sip of his drink and waited, patiently.

“I suppose . . . my relationships, the things that I make, and the books that I read.” I had to laugh. “My various mental illnesses? I’m a very neurotic person.”

“That’s not always so bad a trait. There are some benefits to it, at least.”

“For who?”

“Well the type to over-think tend to be thinkers first and foremost, right?”

“I guess.” I hadn’t thought of it like that before.

“What else, your desire to please, maybe?” He suggested.

“And your compulsion to take liberties.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that. I don’t think ‘libertine’ is a dirty word, for example.”

“Right, why not enjoy things for what they are? Sex, love- I try to live in the present.”

He smiled like I had handed him a gift. “I like that. It’s wise. You’ve always been like that?”

“God, no.” I cringed. “I used to be incapable of taking it easy.”

“So what changed?”

“I stopped taking myself so seriously, I think. Or at least maybe enough to actually enjoy myself once in awhile instead of agonizing over every little thing.”

“Good girl.”

In spite of myself, I was unable to stop the smirk growing on my face and took a draw from my drink

“Have you been a good girl all week?” He pressed.

I swallowed the whiskey in my mouth. “Yes.”

“Now, the real question is- do I believe you have that kind of self control?”.

“Oh please, you don’t even know me.” I challenged.

I broke the spell we were under for a moment and it was a jarring, re-configuring of the lull of familiarity we fell into when we got going. Stupid, I thought. What am I doing?

“You’re right- I don’t. But I’d like to, very much.” He regrouped. “I think that’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You’re right.” I shook my head, apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a doormat, Sasha. That’s not something to apologize for.”

I nodded.

“I won’t ask you to be a doormat. In fact, there’s nothing less appealing to me in this moment.”

Eye contact felt like a current had opened between us. I swallowed, at a loss for words.

“Tell me what you want.” He urged.

“I want to know you better.” I said without thinking.

He contemplated and paused a moment, before divulging, “My first kiss was Allison Cleary under the monkey bars.”

“Who kissed who?”

“She kissed me. I was too shy to even talk to girls at that point.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

* * *

He let me veer away from the pointed question- what did I want in that moment? More than anything I wanted him, truly, but it felt fast and uncertain, a slippery slope. What I didn’t want was for our dynamic to be diluted into something purely sexual. I had a fear that he’d see me as nothing but a conquest, or worse- disposable afterwards. I needed him to see me as something more, but still, I wanted him to want me. Like the night we shared the week previous had come unpaused and we were back in that magical rapport we shared.

At one point, I suggested that we take shots. A silly idea, poorly calculated, but it seemed to match the mood of the night. We needed an excuse to be more open. He opened a door and I shut it, and it was up to me to open it again.

“Okay, who’s turn is it to tell a secret?” I crossed my legs on the couch.

“My poor liver. . . ” he complained. “This is a terrible idea.” He shed his suit jacket and folded it over the side of the couch. His button down was a dark burgundy color that suited him well, the charcoal gray slacks looked recently pressed.

“Yeah, yeah.” I dismissed.

“I think I’m out of secrets.” He had kicked off his shoes, one foot propped up on the coffee table. I glanced at his right hand and thought better about calling him out.

“Well, essentially, anything I don’t know about you counts.”

“Famished for details, young lady?” If I had been sitting any closer I figured he might have tried to tousle my hair.

“‘Young lady?'” I pushed back. “Next you’ll be telling me I’m ‘so mature for my age.'”

“You’re young enough . . .” He started and I put up a hand.

“Please don’t say it.”

“It’s worth pointing out.” He shrugged.

“For who? Does it help your guilty conscience?”

“My, my, mouthy little thing.”

“You like my mouth.” I tested.

“Sometimes.” His tone cool, moving closer to me, trapping me between him and the armrest. “And sometimes, it has a way of being quite incensing.”

“I’m not a doormat, remember?” I felt my heartbeat race.

“No, even a doormat can be welcoming. Now tell me honestly, Sasha. Did you make yourself cum this week?”

I bit my lip, looking at him, feeling his presence shift to a more demanding, pressing tone. “No. I didn’t.”

“Why not? You had every opportunity.”

“You told me not to.” I felt him pricking at something sensitive.

“Because I told you not to.” he nodded, weighing the response as though measuring its validity. “And who am I for that to matter?”

I looked at him, feeling trapped.

“Well?” he pressed.

“You don’t believe me, is that it? You didn’t want me to listen so you could punish me for it. Is that one of the rules you wanted to set?”

“Careful.” He warned.

I was bewildered, unable to stop myself.

“Who are you? That’s a great question. What would you call this? I’d love to know.”

“You’re right.” he deflated a little, backing off. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Wait. No.” I felt a pinch of regret for my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“I think the first rule is if you can’t hold your liquor, I’ll pour you a glass of milk instead.”

“So, what, I’m grounded?” I laughed.

“Brat.” He shook his head, trying to hide his smile.

“Yep.” I smiled back at him.

“You’re a strange little thing.” He cupped my face in his hand and I leaned into it, liking the closeness.

“Part of my charm.” I hummed, taking his eye contact and giving it right back.

“Oh no, you’re charmless. The world’s worst sub as far as I can tell.” He pinched my cheek, and I felt him shamelessly watch the way my chest betrayed my cool tone with my quickened breathing. “Come here. Move closer.” I readjusted, moving nearer to him, out of the corner of the couch, his fingers light as they trailed over my shoulder, brushing my curls back.

“I want it back like this. Stop hiding your face behind your hair and show it to me like you’re proud.” He murmured it quietly but it maintained that air of authority. I matched his volume, agreeing as he ran his palm flat against my side and watched me jump a little, hyper sensitive to touch. With the light curling of his fingers it was a ticklish sensation.

He pulled me closer to him, still, and lifted the hem of my sweater. I made a move to take it off, but he stopped me.

“No, no. I didn’t tell you to move.” his words were dismissive, unconcerned with my blush. He ran his fingers up my back underneath the fabric, watching my face, close enough to kiss. Elliot worked for a moment to unclasp my bra and I remembered his words to keep still as he threaded the straps down through my sleeves and pulled the garment off and away from me. Folding the fabric in a few efficient motions, he placed it on the table like an afterthought.

“Now, sit up straight. No one likes a slouch.” He smiled, moving back to his place at the end of the couch.

My eyelashes fluttered at the ebb and flow, so close I could taste him and the just as sudden distance. I made adjustments to my posture and moved so that my back was flush to the arm rest, facing him. The couch was long enough so I’d still have to stretch to touch him. Even if I wasn’t exposed, with one less layer between us, my instinct was to cross my arms over my chest, he seemed pleased, knowing I was reacting to the way he was treating me.

“Have you always known you liked being told what to do, Sasha?” His tone felt like it came with a warning.

“Yes.” I nodded. “I actually knew for a long time before I realized what I liked in bed. I just didn’t have a name for it.”

“And yet you resist and struggle against it so much. It’s hard for you.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt compelled to apologize, but he didn’t seem discouraged.

“That’s okay. I like knowing that it’s not some dissociative state you go into. So when you do finally behave yourself you’re an active participant. Isn’t that right?”

I nodded.

“Use your words, sweetie.” He smiled dangerously.

“It is hard to get to that point.” I agreed. “But I liked the way you were last weekend. It’s very intense.”

“It’s easier to have someone put you in your place. You want every excuse you can get to let a stranger treat you mean, and talk down to you. That’s why you came to stay here. Even if it’s hard.”

For all of my push-back, I felt pinned, studied under a microscope. Found out. I nervously played with my hair and he shook his head a little. I tossed my hair back again, remembering, and folded my hands in my lap, feeling silly.

“I want to hear a time when you were following orders before you knew what it was to be a submissive.”

His easy posture betrayed his suggestive tone. Claustrophobic with his directness, I struggled. I shook my head, finally, feeling starkly inadequate.

“Calm your thoughts. Pick one out to share with me.” His unrelenting way made me want him. I thought about asking him to take me, but felt a sort of distance with his dominant way. I couldn’t think of anything worse than his rejection in that moment.

“A couple years ago, in school,” I recalled. “I had a friend I made my first day in my Bio Psych class. Amanda. The professor was a true hardass. Told us to drop out early on if we didn’t want to make an effort. So we made a pact to share notes and things like that. Study partners.”

I ran my finger idly over the leather seam of the sofa, feeling myself relax a little with his quiet attentiveness.

“I didn’t realize it at first, because I was just, you know, figuring things out at that time, but I liked her a lot immediately. She was from Denmark, I think, and so pretty it made me self-conscious. She would always talk about her old girlfriends, but I was oblivious. Thought she was talking about her friends. Looking back it’s kind of embarrassing, actually.”

“Because she had to tell you that she wanted you.”

“Not in so many words. We were studying one night, and I was stressed about some big exam and she kissed me.”

He nodded, encouraging.

“I tried to laugh it off, because I’m an idiot but she didn’t let it go. She asked if I liked kissing her which, of course, I did. ”

“Of course. And then you had a pillow fight in your panties because you live in the fantasies of a teenage boy.” He laughed.

I rolled my eyes. “It was much sweeter than all that. She taught me what to do. Was very patient. Even if she was kind of aggressive about it.” I thought a moment, looking back. “You know, she also kept asking me if I thought she was pretty. She was so self conscious, which is funny to think about. A girl that gorgeous, and she needed constant validation. It rubbed off on me a little, I always felt kind of ugly compared to her.”

“That’s silly. Look at you.” He objected and I waved away his compliments, not meaning to trigger them.

“Thanks, but yes- it was only a one time thing. But God. I felt a little obsessed about her for a while.”

“Still obsessed?” He pressed, warm.

“No, that was a few years back. I’ve made a full recovery.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Sasha.”

“You’re welcome.” I felt myself color under his look.

“Someday I will quiz you thoroughly on that night.” he promised. “But right now, I want you to do something for me.”

“Okay.” I nearly whispered.

“Tell me, honestly, now- did you cum this week?”

“No. Still no.” I felt a flash of annoyance.

“For the third time, ‘no?'” He pushed. “Not just saying that because you think I’m going to make you regret it if you did?”

“For the last time, Eli- No!” I pushed back, and watched him absorb my frustration.

“Come here. Stand up, right here in front of me.” I got up, tempering a feeling of annoyance at his insistence, like I was so incapable of following orders, I felt his eyes on me, shifting and centering himself on the couch, his legs spread, still dressed formally.

I stood before him, between his thighs.

“Take off your skirt and fold it nicely.” He leaned back, a look of almost arrogance dusted over him. I bit my lip, bothered that it didn’t dissuade my desire for him. I hooked my thumbs under the thick waistband of my skirt. The body of the skirt shifted and twirled a little with my movements as I shed the article, pulling it off of my hips and eased it off. Stepping out of the pooling fabric, I straightened, folding them.

“Now your sweater.” He suggested.

I pulled it over my head, feeling impatient with the ceremony of it all. I quickly folded the thin gray sweater and dropped it on the table behind me. It was cold in the room, and I could feel my body respond, skin prickling under his gaze, knowing he was watching my nipples harden and the rise and fall of my chest with my deep, measured breaths. I leaned over to pull off my socks, but he stopped me.

“Those can stay.” He smiled.

“Predictable.” I rolled my eyes and it did nothing to dampen his self-satisfaction.

“Ouch. Predictable.” He nodded. “Get on your knees. Maybe you want to write out a script for tonight, we can compare after to see if you get close.”

“Sorry.” I amended, moving onto my knees, adjusting my hair so it fell down my back.

“I know.” He brushed a few curls back that had refused to be contained. They fell back in place, framing my face. Touch was gentle, inquisitive, almost adoring. I let out a breath I was holding, and opened my eyes as I felt him pause.

“Tell me what kind of girl you are, Sasha.”

“I’m a brat.” I admitted.

“Phrase it a little more prettily and tell me what kind of girl you are.”

“I’m a bratty girl.” I blushed. The correction was so minor, it shouldn’t have made such a difference but it did.

‘The kind of girl who likes being told what to do and how to do it.” He observed. “Fix your posture.” he reminded me and I flushed, making the adjustment. “Straighten up.” He counseled. I felt unbearably shy under his careful scrutiny, and he tipped my chin up gently under his fingertips. “Keep talking.”

“I can’t.” I squirmed a little, keeping my shoulders back and feeling my mind cloud. My wanting him had been growing and simmering low, but the volume turned all the way up with his careful attention.

“You can, Sasha, and you will.” He urged, cool but not cold. “I can’t do all the heavy lifting, sweetie.”

I shook my head, feeling tongue-tied.

“It’s embarrassing for you to talk that way.” He guessed.

“Yes.” I looked down.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find something you can do.” he placated, a confusing mix of irritating and exciting. He extended his palm out flat in front of my face. “Spit.”

I blinked, unsure if I heard him correctly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’ll take it easy on you. You don’t have to think.” His edge made me bristle. I breathed out, annoyed and spit into his open palm.

“There’s a good girl. Again.” He nodded, encouraging me. I obeyed.

“Once more. Go on.”

“Elliot.” I stalled, feeling myself heat up in humiliation.

“No. Do as you’re told, Sasha.”

“Fine!” I spat in his hand, and moved back to straighten my posture.

He smeared his palm over my face, carefully rubbing into my cheeks and down the bridge of my nose as I gasped in surprise. With a sense of satisfaction, he grabbed my arm as I went to wipe it away.

“No, no. That stays where it is.”

“Fuck.” I whispered.

“Now tell me. What kind of girl are you?”

“I’m a . . . wet girl.” I grimaced, glowing with humiliation.

“Sloppy.” He agreed. “Drenched in her own saliva for my amusement. Depraved.”

“Yes.” I agreed. “Let me wipe it off?”

“Not yet. Show me how you played with yourself this week. You have so much self control, why don’t you show me?”

I felt myself flush, contemplating for a moment.

“I know what you’re thinking- you’re wondering if you’re at the point where you can let go of your public persona enough to embrace your desires. You’re wondering, ‘do I want to refuse and prove that I’m not that kind of girl’ or say ‘yes I am that girl, the girl who gets what she wants.'”

“You’ve got me all figured out.” I clenched and released my fists, resting on the tops of my thighs trying to alleviate some of the tension in my stomach.

“Listen.” his voice got softer. “You are allowed to be proud, Sasha. But I’m telling you you’re safe to be the little submissive toy I know you are. Now put your hand inside your panties and get yourself close. Now.”

He barely got the words out before I slipped my fingers under the waistband of my panties and let out a sigh at the contact. The slick friction of touch that I had been longing for, finally realized. Licking my lips, I watched him sitting back, watching me. He leaned over to grab his drink and let it rest on his knee in his loose grip.

“Eager bitch. Just need permission and you’re there.” His was calm, but it served to heighten the sensation. It didn’t take long before I was panting in need, watching him grow hard under his slacks. My eyes skimmed the outline of his thickness. His eyes followed my line of vision and he smirked a little. “Is that how you played with yourself, princess? Quiet and demure and so polite to the neighbors with your little moans?” He took a sip.

“I wasn’t allowed to cum.” I whined.

“Oh, I know. Poor baby.” He commiserated. “But that’s not the case tonight. You are going to cum for me, Sasha, but not until I say so. Got it? I tell you when you can cum, do you understand me?”

“Yes!”

“Tell me when you’re riiiight against that crest. When you’re so close if I blew on your clit you’d be coming. Tell me you understand!”

“Yes, I-” I closed my eyes to focus. “I have to ask.” I choked out.

“Eyes open, bad girl.” He encouraged, and I chewed on my lip as I forced my eyes back onto him. He was gripping the glass, but didn’t bother to touch his cock, merely observing.

“I . . . I . . . please?” my hips swung to grind against my fingers. Difficult to gain purchase on the slippery skin, dripping wet with my need.

“Stay where you are, stay on the edge of it.” he encouraged. “Don’t move from that spot” He got up, placing his glass back on the table and I watched him unbutton his dress shirt leaving him in his undershirt. I chewed on my lip to fight down the surge of need that mounted, wanting badly to make quick work of my orgasm and move onto the next. I watched him walk with purpose to the bedroom as he went out of my line of vision and returned back with a pillow from the bed.

“Here you are, little sub.” He knelt down between me and the couch, pressing on the inside of my thigh, gesturing for me to spread my legs. He propped a pillow between them, pulling it up against my panties, dismissing my hand. The firm motion giving a deliberate thrill. I let out a sigh. He reached between the soft fabric of the pillow and my panties and ran two firm fingers down my slit.

“Oh!”

“Dripping wet little girl.” He pressed the fabric right up against me, molding and pushing it up against my anatomy. Giving my clit a few pinches he watched my reactions. Instinctively, almost to allay his sadistic thralls, I pushed my lips against him and felt him stiffen for a moment before relaxing and kissing me back. He kept up the abuse of my clit, squeezing hard until he pulled a whimper from me before rubbing it again, hard.

Whimpered into his mouth, alerting him – he pulled back and searched my face.

“Close?” He pressed.

“God, yes!” I nodded, desperate.

“Good girl. Stay nice and close for me. Don’t wander too far away from this edge. Felt like this all week, didn’t you?”

I nodded “Please? Please!” I ground my pussy against his hand.

“Not yet!” his tone was firm, pulling his fingers away from me and pushed me down by the shoulders to grind against the pillow. “There. You can keep yourself close just like that, can’t you, baby? Fingers off your greedy clit. You can touch yourself from the waist up and you can grip the pillow but you can’t touch your wet little cunt.”

I gripped the edge of the pillow, unable to get any closer to cumming, frustrated.

“That little whorish cunt. Knows who owns her. Doesn’t she?”

“Yes!”

“You want to please me, don’t you, Sasha?” He urged.

“Please. Please. Let me rub my clit?” I blushed.

“Oh I see.” He evaluated my rocking hips, my shameless squirming. “You can’t cum like that, can you?” He grew a devilish grin.

“Please can I stop this?” I felt the maddening dull pleasure, and my dampness growing against me.

“I’m going to invite a few friends over to watch you like this, Sasha. Would you like that?” He pulled his cock out of his slacks and began jacking off in front of me. Seeing his thick hard cock and its proud stature standing fully erect fostered a deeper spark of need, “You can serve them drinks and then once all of the pleasantries are exchanged we’ll watch you as you hump your pillow for us. All of those eyes admiring my subby little slut. Watching you, their cocks in their hands. Wanting you. Maybe I’ll let them take turns with you.” He suggested and I let out a tortured sob. “Tell me, does that turn you off? Turn you cold and repulsed?” I looked up at him, my hips moving, feeling myself flush, nearly mad with the tease. “No, I can see it turns you on. That look on your face, princess. You want to show them all what a good little cock sucker you are.”

I shook my head. “I want you.”

“I’ll be there too, sweetie, don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on you to make sure you’re doing a good job. Or maybe I’ll invite my good friend here to meet you. I think you’ll like her. She’s not as nice as I am when it comes to bratty little bitches, but I think you’ll behave yourself if you know she’s going to report back to me after all is said and done, don’t you think?”

“Elliot. Please.” I panted. “Please fuck me. I want your cock. Please I want to cum!” I felt near tears.

“Come on.” He stood, unbuckling his belt, dropping his trousers and kicked off his shorts. He held his heavy cock in his fist and aimed it right for my mouth. “Come here.” He walked to where I was on the floor and I scrambled, crawling to him to take it in my mouth, desperate to please him, appease and convince him I deserved to cum for him.

“Oh fuck!” He thrust hard past my pursed lips around him, pushing into my mouth and hissed a little at my eager, immediate sucking. “You can take a good hard mouth fucking, can’t you?” he made quick work of gathering my hair in his hands and held it tight- not so it hurt but just enough to control the push and pull by a simple motion of his wrist.

I looked up at him, feeling overcome. Almost humbled. I steadied myself from the hurried thrusts with my hand on his thigh.

“Snap your fingers three times if it becomes too much.” His words came out strained.

“MMmm!” I agreed.

“Snap once to tell me you understand.” He shoved his cock to the back of my throat, making me gag around him. I snapped my fingers and moved fluidly back in place, meeting the rhythm he found, dragging his cock in and out of my mouth.

“You can play with your clit.” he encouraged, breathing hard, and I shook my head a little, not wanting to be distracted. “Fuck. Good girl. Good fucking girl. You’re at your best like this, you know that, Sasha?”

The pleasure of being desired so intensely, the harsh words that managed to feel like the highest praise he offered.

“No desire to pout and fuss when I’m taking what I want from you, isn’t that right, bad girl?”

I struggled to breathe, feeling the head of his cock press insistently at the back of my throat. He ground up against that barrier and growled in need. Primal, unrestrained for how cool and detached he could act. It was a tell-tale sign that he wanted me just as desperately as I wanted him. He pulled back and let me breathe.

“Pliant little fuck doll. That’s who you are. Under all those layers and hesitations.”

I tried to catch my breath, feeling revealed. He slowed his thrusts, seeming to dial back his intensity, pulling his cock all the way out of my mouth and rubbing the head over my lips and cheeks. My tongue seeked him out, wanting him back in my mouth. He seemed to catch his breath a little.

“You want me to cum in your pretty little mouth? All over your sweet face?”

“In my mouth.” I pleaded. “Please. I want to taste it.” I rubbed my face against the head of his cock, cat-like, “You want to cum for me soon.” I nodded as he traced my open mouth smearing pre-cum on my lips carefully. I kept still, my open and ready to accept whatever he had to give me.

“What if I told you you could choose one, baby?” he let me take the head of his cock into my mouth and suck gently. “My orgasm or yours?” I tried to take more of him into my mouth but he pulled back suddenly. “No, Sasha.” He insisted. “I want you to choose.”

“Fuck.” I rasped, feeling goosebumps raise up my arms. My fingers fiddled nervously, braced on his thighs. My mind felt emptied but for the marvel I felt at the alchemist he was- transforming my selfishness into the keen need to please him.

“Well? Tell me what you want. Ask nice.” He reached down and pulled my hair out of my face.

“Cum in my mouth, please.” my voice came out smaller than I intended, softer.

“Fuck.” He gripped his shaft, running his fist down the length of it, working himself up.

“Please I want -” I got out before he pushed back into my mouth, fucking it, rougher, more urgent. I steeled myself, bending myself to his will, letting him show me where he needed to go. His fingers moved through my hair, and I felt a wince of worry as he cradled my skull in his hands. Not because he was hurting me, or it was more than I could handle. The vulnerability I felt, the carefulness I could sense from him in that moment, wildly incongruous to the act itself. I was overwhelmed. I looked up at him, his expression seemed tortured, that helplessness of desire, the haunted look only millimeters from release.

I let out a purr of encouragement from the back of my throat. He looked down at me and I nodded as much as I could with his cock weighing on my tongue in his stillness. I swallowed around him, letting the sudden constriction of my throat act as a sort of wink, a go-ahead. It was all the permission he needed before the compelling rocking of his hips. I closed my eyes, single-minded, totally transfixed on maintaining the syncopation as he grew closer.

It was his cock and my mouth and the nerves tempered, the self consciousness over what all of this meant, felt so trivial, became a whisper, and suddenly all we were became the stutter of his tempo – the stalling moments of almost-almost! And –

He came hard, emptying himself in my mouth and I swallowed him with great satisfaction.

I looked up at him, feeling like I could study him undetected with his distraction as he stumbled back and rested on the couch. I watched as he caught his breath and that smarting attraction I felt for him grew. Snapping out of it, I got up off the floor and crawled onto to the couch next to him. He put an arm out, welcoming me to his chest and I closed the space between us.

He looked at me for a beat and shook his head, “No, this won’t do.” He got up and I watched him move, uncertain. “Come here.” He gathered me up, pulling me into his arms and I had to laugh at the playful energy he adopted as he carried me like we were newlyweds through the threshold of the bedroom. I had ducked so I wouldn’t hit the door frame and he staggered a little, making me shriek and protest until he dumped me unceremoniously onto his bed, stripped of the comforter.

“Jeez!” I laughed. “Are you trying to give me a concussion?” I moved so I was lying outstretched on my back in my panties and long socks.

He ignored my teasing, watching me as he pulled his shirt off and dropped it on the bedroom floor.

“Look at you.” He stood at the foot of the bed. “God. Look at you. I want you, Sasha.” I idly wondered what he saw when he looked at me, how differently he must see me from how I saw myself for the look on his face.

I grew self conscious, suddenly, at him studying my body, outstretched. I felt the urge to move to dismiss the nerves, but he had a hand on my ankle, singularly possessive in that grip.

“I want you, too.” I echoed, agreeing. Mindlessly, I adjusted the band of my panties over my hip and he smirked a little.

“You were a very, very good girl just then.” He cocked his head back to the living room as though I could forget what we had just done.

“I can be good sometimes.” I smiled, wanting badly for him to crawl over me. Wanting the weight of him on top me. I didn’t feel like I could ask for it, despite the levity and our closeness in that moment.

“So tell me what you want now.” He stood his ground there, tickling at the skin where his fingers grazed. He gently ran his finger tips over my foot, making me jerk and pull it back. “No,” He warned, grabbing my ankle easily and pulling it back to the corner of the bed. “Just like this. Tell me what you want.” I felt myself swoon a little at his authoritative way.

“I want . . .” the words slipped out, timid. “I want a great lot of things, Elliot.” I tried again. Braver.

“Mmm. Let’s see . . .” He crawled over my lower legs on his forearms and knees, nudging me a little further up the bed. Propped up on my elbows, I looked down at him, feeling a powerful desire for him. He ground his cheek against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and I let out a small sigh of pleasure at the rough scratching sensation from his beard. “Let’s see if we can pull those out of you one by one.” He continued. “First, take off your panties and show me your pretty cunt.”

I bit my lip, looking down at him.

“I want you bare and spread for me.” He encouraged. “And I want you to do it for me. Present yourself.” His voice was gentle but firm.

I felt nervous butterflies as I lifted my hips, peeling the soaked fabric away from my body and he watched as I maneuvered them down my legs carefully. He put his hand out and I blushed to place them in his open palm.

“Thank you.” he seemed pleased.

I looked down at him there, grinning between my legs, keeping my eye contact ignoring my pussy inches in front of his face.

“Remember your manners, Sasha.” He reminded, and I felt the atmosphere shifting back into that tense force his presence inspired.

“You’re welcome.” I whispered.

“Ask for what you want.” His breath was hot on my wet sex. My thighs framed his face and I shifted my hips a little. “We have to work on your assertiveness, don’t we? You want to be taken from all the time but that’s not all this is, sweetpea.” His condescending tone offset the terms of endearment. It would’ve been easier for him to use harsher words. The gentleness made it harder to gather my thoughts.

“From now on, if you want something you’re going to ask for it. One of your rules. Let’s start out easy. You want to cum for me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

“I want to cum for you.” I admitted.

“Good girl. Now push through that reluctance and own it. What do you want me to do?”

He took a deep breath and let out a cool stream of air directed right on my clit.

I arched my back and readjusted beneath him. “I want your tongue.” I felt my face burning even with the simplicity it was still a challenge to say it out loud. He dropped my panties, crumpled in his hand onto the bed.

“Mmm that’s a good girl.” He reached out and raked his fingertips over my hips bones and watched me squirm beneath him. “And what else do you want?”

“I . . .I want you to . . . fuck me?” I gasped at the way he touched me. He shifted and I felt his weight on my legs, trapping them so they were just barely spread wide enough for his poking and prodding.

“You’re not sure?” He teased, tracing my swollen sex with a single finger, barely using any pressure. The ticklish not-enough sensation forced my hips towards him.

“I want you to fuck me.” I growled and he nodded, peeling my labia back in his fingers, pinching firmly. I squeaked in surprise at the harshness.

“Again.” He insisted.

“I want you to fuck me hard. I want you fucking me from behind, dragging your cock

against my G-spot.” I let go of the nerves and started getting into it.

“Tell me what other nasty little things you have locked up in that head of yours. What else do you want me to do to you?”

Closing my eyes against the embarrassment, I pushed through it.

“I want you to share me with your friends.”

“Fuck. You do, don’t you? You want me to watch you get fucked by all of those men? You want them to be gentle with your sensitive little pussy?” He reached down and kissed my clit, making my hips jolt up, trying to grind up against him. He pulled back, pushing me back down by the hips. “No, Sasha. Be still.”

I groaned in frustration, my head turned to the side, I tried to focus on my breathing.

“Poor little thing wants her pussy played with.” His voice syrupy sweet with false concern. “Tell me how you want them to fuck you.”

“I want to be taken. I want you filling my mouth and forcing me to suck your cock while they fuck my pussy, pinning me down. I want to be held down and fucked even while I’m begging and pleading.” the humiliation of expressing that fantasy heightened my state- I felt myself grow more wet with the realization.

“Good girl.” He leaned in with a flat broad stroke of his tongue up my slit. Crying out, I did my best to stay still. Eli eased off of my legs, grabbing me under the knees and dragging me to the foot of the bed where he knelt. He pulled my legs over his shoulders and pressed his lips to my cunt, running his tongue back and forth, but avoided my clit.

“Oh! Oh, please!” hips undulating, his hand gripped my ass and squeezed, holding me in place. He spoke into my pussy, an order to keep still muffled, tickling me with his facial hair. I couldn’t help but giggle a little and he reached up to pinch my clit between his fingers squeezing until my giggles dissolved into sighs of pleasure. Pressing back in, he began slow attentive swipes of his tongue over my clit.

“Eli?” I looked down at him and felt a thrill to see his handsome face pressed between my legs. There was something indescribable about having a dominant force with his mouth open and lathing at my spread cunt. I felt a self consciousness, realizing he was focusing solely on my pleasure.

“Mmmmmphh?” He answered.

“Eli, you don’t have to do this.” I looked down at him, anxiously.

He pulled back, his mouth glistening with my wetness. It drove a spike of pleasure through me. “I don’t?” His tone sardonic.

I shook my head, flushed, sorry I had opened my mouth.

“I don’t have to make you shiver with my tongue?” He lowered his mouth, lips wrapped around my clit and sucking gently, then slowly, gently trapped my clit between his teeth. Firm, but not painful. He flicked his tongue over it, swollen and pulsing. I shuddered against him, doing my best not to move. He released it and a sigh of relief from me along with it. “Do you really think I’m doing anything I don’t want to do?” He coaxed, making direct eye contact with me.

“No.” I shook my head. “I guess not.”

“Poor thing.” He clucked. “Here’s what happens next. You’re going to take what I’m going to give you, and you’re going to focus on the pleasure growing and spiraling inside you. You’re going to feel it. You’re going to let yourself experience it. And then, when you get close you’re going to remember to ask for your orgasm like a good little girl. Aren’t you?” He punctuated each sentence with a swipe of his tongue zig zagging up my slit. I became dangerously close, very quickly. Hearing my breath catching and quickening, he bore down grinding his tongue against me.

“It feels so good.” I was vulnerable with my legs over his shoulders, leaving me nowhere to squirm. “Please, Eli?”

He pulled back and spanked my cunt hard. My eyes shot open and stared at him, teetering on the edge of my orgasm, the surprise and pleasure of that contact making me gasp.

“You know how to ask, Sasha. You ask when you’re right on that edge, so close that you’re scared you’re going to cum if I touch you just one moment longer but you’re going to hold back until you have permission to cum.” With that he drove his tongue in stiff, unrelenting strokes right against my clit. Swishing back and forth, torturing my ultra-sensitive nerves with constant, steady pressure. The sensation was unbearable, almost painful with intensity. It felt dangerously close to being unmanageable.

“Please! Please!” I hiccupped. “Let me cum for you, please, may I cum for you?” The words poured from me, I tensed my muscles in my stomach, trying desperately not to cum without his permission.

“Yes.” He pulled up for a split second, “Cum for me!” He pushed his fingers inside of me, making me groan at the sudden stretching and fullness. He curled his fingers up into me and bore down on my clit nudging it with the insistent pressure of his tongue.

The whimpering grew to sharp cries. I covered my mouth as they escaped me, trying to muffle the screams that he dragged out of me. Continuing his artful manipulations of his mouth against me even as I grew increasingly sensitive. I began to twist and pull away from him. It took a moment to register that he seemed to ignore my mewls and pleas that it felt too intense. He was going to drive another orgasm from me and I let out a low revelatory moan. He looked up at me, assessing as my fingers twisted into his hair, my hips grinding up against him. Flicking his tongue over my clit, the quick movements threatened to bring me to another quick orgasm. Realizing I’d have to beg out, I finally snapped my fingers three times before he let up.

He immediately pulled back. “Are you okay?” He wiped his mouth on his forehand, which felt inexplicably embarrassing.

“Yes! God, Yes. I’m great.” I laughed, feeling a little light-headed.

“You’re sure?” he gently rubbed my inner thigh and I jumped a little, asking him for firmer pressure so it didn’t tickle so much. He immediately applied more pressure in comforting circles.

“Yes, yes, yes.” I smiled down at him.

“Good.” He leaned in and kissed my pussy before letting me pull my legs off of him. We adjusted to lie side by side on the bed. He watched me catch my breath.

“Thank you.” I looked over at him, curling to the only pillow on the bed. He had his head resting on his bicep, outstretched beside me.

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” He smiled, tucking my hair back out of my face. “God you have so much hair.” He laughed.

“Yeah.” I shook it out, combing it back.

“I like it.” he assured me. “You have really great hair.”

I laughed. “Thank you.” I let the compliment roll off of me.

“It was incredible to have you like that.” He leaned in to give me a kiss. It was a slow, sweet kiss. I broke it, looking at him.

“You’re incredible at that.” I buried my face in the pillow.

“And to think you were trying to get me to stop.” He teased.

“Yeah. Thanks for trucking right through it.” I murmured.

“You’re a very strange mix of self conscious and self aware.” He analyzed.

“Saying things like that is supposed to help?” I pointed out.

He laughed. “You’re right. We’ll get you there. Don’t worry.”

“I need to go wash up.” I watched the curve of his smile as he let out a playful protest. “I’m a sloppy girl.” I reminded him, scooting off the bed.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re actually here.” He sat against the headboard, letting me rest my head in his lap. He played with my hair, which had a sedating effect on me.

“It’s definitely surreal.”I traced his kneecap with my fingertips, absently.

“You said you weren’t always so impulsive.” He recalled.

“Did I say that? Yeah, that’s true.”

“So, what happened?”

“You mean you want to know how someone can have such poor decision making as to move in with a man she just met?”

“Essentially.”

“And what happened to make you offer?”

“Last week happened and you seemed to need it.”

I sat up, pulling from his lap. “I don’t need it. I’m choosing it. I can be out of your hair in an instant.”

“Wait. Hold on.” he shook his head. “This is not the afterglow conversation we’re supposed to be having right now.”

“I’m not the best at pillow talk.” I said instead of apologizing.

“Well I know that’s not true.” He kept his eyes on me, waiting.

“Fine.” I moved back, my head resting on his lap again and grabbed his hand, pulling it back to my hair. “but more of this.”

He ran his fingers against my scalp, massaging. I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation for a moment before continuing.

“I had this really intense breakup. I was so depressed I didn’t even bother with my finals. I had been really fanatical about my grades up until that point and my GPA dropped just enough for me to lose my scholarship. I had this professor that suggested the position I applied for so I went for it. I’ve been in town only a few weeks. Just waiting for something to work out.”

“He did a number on you, huh?” He ran his fingers over my cheekbones and traced down to my jaw line.

“Yeah.” I sighed. “It’s like something broke inside of me and I found myself doing all of these stupid, impulsive things, not caring what the outcome was.”

“Well I hope you’re over that now.” His brow furrowed and I reached up to iron out the lines on his forehead with my fingertips.

“Well, I’m here now and it’s working out okay so far.”

“Okay, but that’s where I draw the line.”

“You’re putting your foot down?”

“Absolutely. And anyway, I wouldn’t call this impulsive, and definitely take issue with this being a stupid idea.”

“It’s not for you, you get exactly what you want.” I pointed out.

“Lovely company with a like-minded partner? Yes. I do get what I want, Sasha. And I get the feeling that you usually do, too. What happened to living in the present?”

I looked up at him. I knew he was trying to convince me as much as he was trying not to repel me with pushiness, using my own ardor and logic as an argument against my better judgment. I realized I had given him the blueprints to drawing me in- telling him about my ex, and how he feigned disinterest at first. His cool demeanor around the absurdity to our arrangement made it seem almost reasonable. If I ignored all of the strangeness about how we met and where we were, it seemed like any other relationship I’d want to invest in.

“Living in the present doesn’t mean being mindless about the things I’m indulging in.” I pointed out.

“Nothing about how you act would suggest you’re being mindless. You had a week, remember?”

I flushed, moving to get off of the bed to grab the covers, waiting on the floor. He put his hand on my thigh- gentle but firm.

“You had a week to decide if you wanted to see me again.” He insisted.

“Yeah.” I swallowed.

“And it sounds like you found a couch to crash on. Other options. Why did you stay?”

“I just. . . I wanted to.” It felt an inadequate response, but he seemed bolstered by it.

“The instant this stops feeling like a choice, you have to promise you’ll tell me.”

“Okay.” I dismissed, feeling self-conscious.

“I mean it. You get what you want out of this, too. Or it doesn’t work.”

It seemed unusually heavy for the usual easy banter we spoke in.

“I promise.” I put up my right hand, “I promise I will get what I want so help me God.”

He shot me a look, bemused. “Okay, smartass. Tell me what else you want.”

“For one, a blanket.”

“I’ll allow it.”

I retrieved the covers and placed it on the bed.Turning to my backpack on the dresser, I pulled out a pair of panties to change into. I paused for a moment, glancing over at him leaning against the headboard. He was watching me bent at the waist to step into the pale pink panties, but made no objections.

“Are you waiting for my permission?” He seemed delighted.

“No!” I protested, pulling them hastily up my legs.

“Think that’s going to protect you?” He teased.

“I didn’t know I needed protecting, since I get what I want and all.” I walked over to where he sat on the bed.

“Come here.” He moved over and lent his hand to steady me climbing over him. I straddled his lap and settled in. “Now tell me what else you want. You seemed excited at the idea of being shared.”

“Yeah, it’s a fantasy I’ve had for a little while.” I confessed.

“A fantasy you want to act on?” He insisted, fingers running over the lacy hem,

making me shift a little at his grazing touch.

“It depends,” I considered. “That seems like a lot, logistically.”

“Logistically? Do you need a project manager?”

“I know I must seem pretty undiscerning to you, but I actually tend to want to know who I’m fucking. Unless we set up a kinky speed-date session, I don’t know how I could trust a group of men I don’t know with my body.” I felt him hardening against me, cognizant that there was only the thin fabric of my panties between us.

“Okay.” He held my hips and pressed me down against him. “I get that. I can arrange a meet and greet.”

“Can we start small? What about your good friend?”

“You’d like her. A switch. She’s pretty, and she knows it.”

“I want you.” I began to move my hips, his grip possessive but loose enough to let me maneuver on top of him. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Show me.” He pushed his thumb into my mouth, his fingers fanned over my cheeks and temple, which I accepted without complaint. “Show me how much you want it.”

“Please?” I garbled around him, my hand going out to his shoulder to steady myself as I rolled my hips.

“You make the cutest sounds when you’re slick and needy for me.” He arched his back, pushing up against me. I went to reach between us to take his cock inside me, but he pulled his thumb out of my mouth and grabbed my wrist. With a small tsking noise of consternation, he gathered my wrists before me, holding them easily in his grasp. “I like your cute little panties. I want them soaked through.” He asserted, thrusting up against me, bouncing me easily on his cock.

“Please, fuck me.” I whined.

“You put them on. If you had only asked, I might have told you I had other plans.”

“Eli!” Looking down at him, he seemed pleased.

“Be a good girl.” His tone was a warning. “You’ll have to behave yourself better if you want to meet Eve.” He pushed his free hand against my mound through my pink panties, his thumb finding my clit and providing just enough pressure to make me sigh. Twisting my hips a little, I tried to gain more friction. “Do you think you can manage to follow orders in front of her or are you going to be a brat and embarrass me?” He slowly ran his thumb up and down my slit.

“I’ll be good.” I promised, panting.

“We’ll have you sitting pretty for us while we talk and catch up, and then if you’re good I’ll let her have her way with your body like a good fuckdoll.”

“And if I’m bad?” I tested.

He released my wrists before me and gripped me by the waist, pulling me beneath him in a swift motion. Moving between my thighs, he reached down and rested his open palm against my face. I paused, looking up at him, waiting.

“What do you think of this?” He began to pat my cheek quickly with his fingers just firm enough to make sound, but not hard enough to be a slap.

“I’m not sure.” I answered honestly. “I haven’t done that before.”

He pushed his cock against my panties, pushing my legs back against me. “Hold those there.” He murmured before stroking the side of my face gently. “Does it make you nervous?”

“A little but mostly because we’re talking about it so much. Why don’t you just try it?” I baited.

“Because ‘just trying it’ is a very bad idea, Sasha.” He scolded and I felt myself flush in embarrassment. “Would you like to try it?” He went on.

“Okay.” I said quietly.

“Ask for it if you want it.” He pushed his shaft against the front of my panties, making me cry out for him.

“Will you . . .?” I blinked, feeling myself stumble.

“Do you want me to slap you, Sasha?”

“I . . . think I do, but I can’t say it. It’s weird.” I looked up, feeling confounded. “I do, though. Try it gentle, please?”

He held my face in one hand and gently brushed my hair back with the other. He very gently slapped my face.

“What do you think?” He watched my expression.

“Harder.” I encouraged, and he rubbed my cheek a little with his fingertips before slapping me a little harder, a slight sting that evaporated immediately.

” I don’t want to ask for it and I don’t think I want to like it.” I sorted my thoughts out.

“Not a regular thing. Maybe for special occasions.” He suggested.

“I think I like it?” I tried again.

“You don’t have to decide right this second. That’s all for now.” He assured me.

“Can you . . .?” I breathed deeply.

“What do you want? Be a good girl and ask.” His cock rested against my pussy, I could see he was oozing precum as he dragged the underside of his cock against me, just enough pressure to provide a dull sort of pleasure.

“Can I try your hand around my neck?” I looked up at him.

“You’re getting excitable.” His patronizing smile riled me up. “I don’t want you rushing into things when you can’t even articulate yourself properly.”

I frowned up at him, feeling embarrassed. “You wanted me to be assertive.”

He pulled back, running his fingers down the length of my panties, damp with my arousal. “You can wait, can’t you? You can be a patient girl for me?”

“I’m sorry I asked.” I pouted.

“You like the way I talk to you. And I think you like having to ask.” He pulled the crotch of my panties to the side and took a sharp breath. “God, Sasha. Your pretty little cunt is so excited for me.” He ran his fingers down the length of my slit and gathered my moisture, pushing his fingers in my mouth.

“Fuck me.” I pleaded.

“Is that how you ask for what you want?” The head of his cock bumped against my clit, his palm closing over my breast, squeezing roughly. I let out a small sound of discomfort, shifting beneath him.

“I want you to fuck me, please.”

“You want me to watch you please your new mistress. Isn’t that right?” He seemed to be breathing a little heavier, gripping his shaft and rubbing the head of his cock up and down against me.

“Please. Yes.” I was wound up at the idea.

“You think I’m mean? If you so much as pout, she’ll pounce on you. She likes putting bad little girls in their place. She won’t let you twist and squirm out of your punishments like I do.” He warned, pressing the head of his cock at my entrance making me grit my teeth in need.

“Please fuck me.”

“Do you like that?” He urged.

“Yes. Please.”

“I’ll help hold you down as she pushes her strap-on into your pussy.” He pushed the head of his cock into me, driving a groan from my throat. He stopped, stretching my entrance with the the thick head. He braced himself against the headboard with one hand, and looked down at me.

“Fuck me.” I twisted beneath him, trying to urge him inside me.

He watched the slightly pained expression as he moved his hips, refusing to thrust in. He leaned forward, wrapping his free hand around my throat. I looked up at his face, going quiet. There was a stillness in the room despite the urgency pulsing just moments before. His hand rested, just barely curled around the side of my neck, as gentle as though he was placing it on my shoulder. Just letting me feel him gently squeeze.

“Snap for me once, Sasha.” He looked down at me, his breath ragged and I did as I was told.

“You know to snap three times if it’s too much, don’t you?” His voice was slow, soothing. I arched my back, wanting him to push into me. “Stop.” He warned and I stilled under his gaze. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” I agreed, nervous.

“Now tell me what you want. Ask nice. I’m feeling impatient for you.” He spoke like we were under some strange contract. Like if I were to give him a hard time he was bound to a code of Dominance. I swallowed, feeling tuned into him.

“Please fuck me, Eli. I want you.” I looked up at him.

“Again.” He pushed a little deeper and stopping.

“Fuck me, Eli. Please. Please Fuck me!” I chanted as he began to drive into me, pushing himself deep in and pulling his cock all the way out. My head was swimming with the sudden full feeling and then his absence.

“Can you cum just like this?”

“I haven’t before.”

He hummed. “Clear your mind, focus on the sensation instead. If you can’t, you can’t.”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes, focused on his thickness making room for itself inside me.

He pushed into me again, moving back and forth in jagged thrusts.

“Can I . . .?” I looked up at him.”On my knees?” he thrust into me again and pulled out.

“Yes.” He moved back, giving me room to roll onto my knees, slapping my ass impatiently. “On your forearms.”

He pushed me down a little further. “And your face on the mattress for me.” He grabbed my hips, pulling my ass towards him and pressing down on my back, making small adjustments to my posture like I was a doll. I let him move me to his pleasing, my cheek resting on the sheets and feeling myself growing more slick and wet with need.

“Now.” He pressed his cock against my ass, grinding it against my skin. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me, Please, I want you to fuck me!”

“What a little slut.”

I could hear him grinning from his tone as he pushed his cock all the way into me in one firm push. His hand went down to grab my hip for leverage, rocking his cock in and out of me in a slow churning motion.

“You’re going to cum on my cock like this.” He stated. I began to refuse, unsure if I could, when he cut me off. “Hush and listen to me, Sasha.” He found a quick rhythm, making me take all of him in long demanding thrusts. “You’re going to cum for me.”

I emptied my mind save for the sensation, focusing on desire he stirred inside as he drove back and forth inside me. I felt the need mounting as he ground into my g-spot, movements staccato and rhythmic with his persistence.

“We can do this all night long if you like, you stubborn little bitch.” He growled. “Cum for me. Cum on my cock.” He had both hands on my hips, clutching at my body, driving himself relentlessly inside me. I felt the tightness in my stomach unravel as I called out for him, begging for him not stop, my plaintive mewling growing ncomprehensible.

“Yes, Yes! That’s it. Don’t hide from it.” He counseled. “Cum for me.” His breath hitched as I felt him tensing. The ecstatic rush sharpened as his thrusts became more urgent.

“Yes.” I gasped “Take me. Take what you want. Cum inside me.” I panted, feeling his tempo growing more erratic as he grew closer. I purred for him as he snarled in satisfaction- emptying himself into my spasming cunt.

* * *

After, we lay in a sweaty, content pile. He absently stroked my back like a cherished pet.

“About this meet and greet. . .” I recalled, looking up at him. “Do you really have a group of five to six close friends who are ready to fuck me?”

“Well, there are ways to find like-minded people. We’re not the first people to try this kind of stuff.”

“I don’t know how I feel about it. I don’t know where they’ve been.”

“Did you check my references before we slept together?”

I had to laugh.

“I make one risky decision at a time.” I looked up at his face, feeling close to him. “You really don’t mind me sleeping with other people?”

“I’m not a jealous man.”

“No, of course not.”|

“Careful, I’m a known brat wrangler.”

I thought better than to test him, and he accepted my silence as acquiesce.

“I like knowing that you’re fucking other people, getting everything you need, but choose to come back to me. Prefer me.”

“What if I find someone that I prefer over you?”

“Then you throw out your anchor and hope they feel the same way, I suppose.”

“What about you?” I simpered.

“I’m a big boy. I can handle rejection.” He stretched beneath me.

I rested my head on his stomach, looking down at his cock. Soft and harmless, but the sight of it, like the lot of him, was so pleasing to look at. The sight of him turned me on.

“I can’t imagine anything could compare to this.”

His cock stirred and I pulled back, looking at him with an incredulous laugh.

“A compliment? From the world’s worst sub?” He poked.

“Stranger things have happened.”

He peeked down at me, one eye open and I shrugged.

“Can’t compare to what?” He fished.

“This, you, your glorious cock.” I smirked.

“You like my cock.” He skimmed through my hair like sand filtering through his fingers.

“I like how thick it is. How the mushroom head makes me gasp.” My voice grew low with suggestion. I watched him grow harder, the narcissist. I felt a twinge of pleasure at being able to control him in that way. A wicked thought transpired. I pulled my hand off of his chest and crawled between his thighs.

“You’ve had other cocks.” He suggested.

“They don’t even come close.” I ran my fingertips from his knee up his thigh. I watched his skin twitch.

The speed quickens, the slack tightens and my desire fans the flames of his appetite. It makes him grow hungrier. His voracity for my yearning makes him itch for that reassurance. I poured gasoline over the fire.

“No?”

“Not even close. I only want you.”

He growled a little, putting his hands out to grip my forearms but I hung back, just out of his reach.

“I have a secret.” I leaned in, enticing him.

“Tell me.”

“No one has ever made me cum like you have.”