Begging for More
Warning: (Possibly) mature content.
She turns on the music and removes her hair-clip, letting her hair fall lose around her shoulders. A streak of grey begins at her forehead and ends at her ear. It’s like a viper, mesmerizing me with the fear of its power. She sways and her ear rings swing accentuating the pink line of her ears. Her feet rustle softly against the floor. She comes to me and she grins.
“Remove your shirt,” she says.
She turns me around feeing my neck, my chest, the muscles on my back. She twists my arms behind my back and holds them tight. It hurts. She takes the cord and binds it around my wrists. She binds me tight. It hurts some more. Her nails are sharp and she uses them like knives running them up and down my back. I can feel the pain searing through my skin. I can feel her fingers burning against me.
She is humming to herself. She pushes me down.
“Kneel,” she says.
I kneel down. I obey. She is my mistress. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to obey her. To hang on to each and every word that she utters and see that her will is done.
I look up to see her face. She is unbuttoning her shirt. I can see her bra now, cupping her breasts, cradling them. She kneels down herself bringing her bosom close to my face. Dangerously close. I let out a warm breath onto them. I can see that she can feel and I can see that she is pleased but she slaps me. Hard. I know that her hand must be etched across my cheek now.
“I told you not to touch them,” she says, “in any way!”
She massages my nipples with her hands. Then she lowers her head and gives me a gentle flick with her tongue. Then she bites me. I cry out.
She holds my hair and jerks my head backwards. Her face is stern. I breathe heavily. It feels that she is almost about to pull my hair off. I try to nod.
“Yes … yes, mistress,” I say.
She chuckles with pleasure.
“Now,” she says and she goes down again and bites me on the other nipple. Tears roll down my cheeks. She gets up and licks my lips in a lavish kiss. Then, swinging to the rhythm of music, she walks away. She turns facing away from me and, hips swaying, she removes her bra and lets it fall to the ground. She walks up to me again. Her tits are perked – dark brown nuts on her soft white skin. She slaps me again, harder this time. I stagger and fall face-first to the floor, my hands straining against my binding in a futile attempt to catch balance. Blood trickles down my lips.
She hold me by my hair and picks me up then shoves me at her feet.
That is all I get today. I kiss her feet, kneeling in front of my mistress. I submit. And I beg for more.
Note: I think a little explanation is in order lest the readers begin inferring things about my sexual preferences from this piece. It was meant as a writing exercise. I'm watching Battlestar Galactica these days and I'm quite enamored with the way sexual encounters between Dr. Baltar and the cylon Number Six are done. Number Six is a classic female dom and I find her to be incredibly sexy. So I wanted to write a piece with a female dom and see how it comes out. Wasn't too difficult to do and I hope it hasn't some out as distasteful. It isn't meant to be that.
The writing exercise excuse didn't work, did it? Okay, go make inferences.