There are things I want to say to you

every day when I wake up

when I look and see the empty

space you never occupied

and there will be times when I think

of something you may like

and look up and see the chair

where the dog sits

And not because its empty

but because its where I would

imagine you to choose to sit

and rest yourself

There are things I want to say to you

in the dark of sleepless nights

when you are occupying my thoughts

of bodies entwined, of endless conversations

And the countless minutes that have past

from the moment we met, and became friends

through the years of laughter and tears

we have shared not knowing

I'd end up with feelings like this

of anticipating your 'hello'

or waiting for the moment

that I can see your smile

And thinking that you are the

most beautiful creature

that has graced my sight

and wonder, if in our days

when we chat about work and life

if you ever think of me

the way I think of you

and burn just by being next to you

versus a considerably more sedate ho hum boy's life if Norman Rockwell painted a denuded picture of mein kampf devoid of nothing but innocent board games played out on the chessboard of life.

A smidgen (which vague term would only include single digit numbers greater than zero similar in meaning to tad) more than three score and fifteen plus years ago, this then sixth grader (at Henry Kline Boyer Elementary School located in Evansburg, Pennsylvania) underwent a visible uber transformation. As a socially outcast character from Poker Flat (podcasts, instagram, facebook... nor other social media yet to be invented or conceived), painfully shy, tremendously withdrawn prepubescent, my existence practically invisible.

Yours truly never sought out to bolster any reign dear team, nor tail feathers of mine stroked as the teachers’ pet, nevertheless I figuratively donned an invisible cloak. In essence, I played a constant metaphorical game of dodgeball, whence the vulcanized hard rubber sphere representative of my microcosm. At every possible chance, a deliberate avoidance strategy undertaken to minimize contact with people. Even looking at a pretty girl (methinks her first name Renee) while nervously nibbling at lunch (about four years before this vignette recounted with prevarication while in second grade at Eagleville (no recall regarding menu) prior to drama described as topic de jure here, but that quick flashback time attending latter half of second grade at Eagleville found me blushing like a zebra, when said pretty lass unwittingly looked in one direction that pointed straight into these then bespectacled brown eyes.

Anyway, an emotionally cloistered existence begat physical aspect of withdrawing from world wide web (which safe near home base encompassed scant few mile radius), where 324

Level Road constituted the external trappings of being inside the womb.

Subsequently, an angst-riddled psyche in tangent with negative cosine followed me upon promotion from one grade to the next (dogged by a near catatonic mewling state), in tandem with a strong aversion to assume the mantle of greater demands.

Even the charming, fawning, illuminating Miss (Rita) Rinderle (a young recent teacher, now probably married and possibly a grandmother) at above mentioned quaint one class per grade primary school seemed stymied to affect enthusiasm. At some juncture (perhaps before September 1970 came to an end prior to exiting ramp leading to boulevard of broken dreams), a substitute or rather assistant instructor accompanied thee note worthily ogling, praiseworthy, quintessentially ravishing singular (though engaged to be married) Rita unknowingly provoked mine little meter made petty fleshy peppy nearly scaring the pants off... guess who?

Thee colorful student teacher (whose first name never told – or more likely long since forgotten) took partial charge regarding the spectrum of daily lessons. She possessed a magic touch. Under her fertile, gentle, and humble, tutelage, a budding charm easily dredged enthusiasm for grappling wholeheartedly with most every private lesson. Though she happened to be a novitiate (and freshly minted graduate), I silently bowed in acquiescence when Miss Rainbow got handed the reins during her brief reign, which stint lasted for the entire year. Her colorful presence aroused, enamored, and inspired latent ambition to awake from dormant hermetically sealed emotional state. Thru a combination of affinity, celerity, and energy, I sought to shine forth with utmost academic alacrity!

Despite a moderate chronological age difference by the then standards of the day, that particular block of time in the life of Matthew Scott Harris witnessed an amorously childlike, expressly glowing, infectiously kindled misty, officially subconscious prurient quivering sensations/good vibrations mini me experienced, while just on the cusp of adolescence. I undoubtedly, unconsciously, unbelievably, et cetera felt lyft of unbridled arousal, which hot headed feeling did boost the ordinary mainly melancholy, morose moody blue foo fighter beastie boy atavistic twitch. Perchance this biological transformation witnessed and/or discerned by other classmates), a repressed sexually amorous, romantically breathtaking, quixotically captivating, et cetera amorphous desire.

An inchoate nebulous said physical attraction permeated my puny being (in league with natural bubbling effervescent testosterone) teaming subconsciously reprehensibly to my childish self, thee strawberry blonde, shapely, and seductive Miss Rainbow made no discerning overt nor covert overtures to mine introverted naively innocent unpracticed perception all la Sikh sense.

Nonetheless, a muted kaleidoscope of brilliance drenched embarrassing feral hunger well nigh inadvertently loosened itself courtesy padlocked, linch pinned, hidebound unhealthy restraint.

Narcotic restoppering, rioting, rutting... testosterone voiced nonverbal physiological ecstasy beckoned freedom from bottled genie us state. Even while being pathetically passive, (née painstakingly shy) at that age, what about eleven/ twelve birthdays celebrated, the primal urge incipient sexual desire became sublimated, suggestively classically Freudian actions to suit up in preparation for short-lived exertion to exceed (barely) prior scholastically abysmal performance.

Such dawning retrospective revelation only shone forth many (at least five) decades later upon the onset of body wracking, handy dandy, randy candy... when irrepressible libidinal natural exploration did peter out at thee unhealed, beau jangled principled... age of late forty/early fifty something years young, which haint nothing to celibate!

Linkedin within corporeal subconscious circumscribed viz prepuce nutshell (pun intended) ever so faint quivering stirred primal, infantile, beastial, animal... penile propensities, whereat Whatsapp hormonally pining jump/kickstarted fruit of (heir loom) loins a subtle pang to consummate conjugated concupiscence jarring me ordinarily sidelined, squelched, subdued... to hide and seek at least a kiss qua sexual satiation that shocked the monkey.

Oh... if able, eager, and willing to communicate on behalf of that agonizingly bashful boy, this now doddering, kibitzing, uber vibrant wily coyote would revisit said puberty (mine), and double dare expressing (applying best Peterson handwriting style) coy late childhood wish to be adopted by referenced gal approximately twice plus my then the first double digit prime chronologically age, though she exhibited countless light years more mature than aforementioned lad i.e. yours truly approximately two point seven five scored orbitz (of planet earth around sun) ago.

Retrospective imaginary trek back would relive, rejigger, and refashion blockchain of events altering the course of events, when mad crush begat attraction toward Miss Rainbow, a more courageous effort forged..., cuz this amazingly graceful fantastical kid would have exhibited braggadocio sophistication beyond post January thirteenth birthday delineating his twelfth circuit circumnavigating our near nearest prodigal sun hinted at being future ladies man.

Handwritten illegible notes, (perhaps merely few choice words punctuated with crude drawings) under_scored mutual (of Oh ma ha) pinterest alluding to evanescent ethereal darling classroom assistant aforementioned above. She and I would have arranged various and sundry rendezvous. Nobody blew figurative whistle penalizing predilection deemed predatory. Love can and ought to blossom buzzfeeding fancy feast feral gourmand whenever possible. Hence the apropos refrain gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

Hypothetically advanced remarkable metamorphosis into premature physical development showed thyself (make believe scenario) more strapping young man than actual skinny, puny and bony runt. Some just invited gentle caresses without drawing long strong arm attention of principled lawmakers. They (yes, thee amorphous, illustrious, nebulous... trumpeting dons) unfairly punish liaisons involving (even consensual) so called jailbait. Eighteen, the arbitrary age verboten illicit tactile considered in apropos.

Discrete (William will never tell) overtures conveying amorousness, (albeit on the q.t., an abbreviation for “quiet,” first recorded in 1884) awakened electrified joie de vivre, whenever in presence of averred heroine. An infantile pang evoked atavistic impulse convulsed every nerve fiber housed within this then tweener. He wanted to suckle like a babe nursing much like iconic Madonna and child images predominant in churches. Akin to a newborn, I (no matter an underage cupid little fella – no bars held back comprising fictional vignette) applied gentle suction upon first one than the other nipple and also began to describe circular motions atop those supposedly sensitive aureoles of each breast tricking grand teat tons to dribble milk of human kindness. Optimism existed to draw out coveted milky white substance ranks on par with questing after sought after illegal contraband. Deep in throes of aural, tactile, visual,... exploration, these ears detected purring.

Precocious flair with English language (given scant decade plus of generally struggling yet quick to learn student) set in motion intuitive sense this unusual friendship one stepping stone away from elusive ticketed rock of ages paradise. As time permitted, I quickly learned tapping into contemplative, introspective, ruminative... tentative sixth grader adult oriented x-rated indulgences. In essence, the effort to surrender and succumb into grownup passion overlayed any disparity, particularly statutory rape, which essentially increased excitement manifold. This overactive imagination of mine invigorated illusory fantasy reminding this curmudgeon word smith tis only young and restless ones, who unfairly get forced to abrogate arbitrary societal prohibitions experiencing metaphor for sex or wooing here, for plucking the flower and enjoying it while it's still in the bloom of youth.

Accursed friggin developmentaldelay fueled unrequited love, and/or cringing when tingling triggered infatuation. Untested limitless possibilities (thank you most kindly risk averse self) quashed potential platonic relationships, (not necessarily with older women purse say), but ordinary discover re: visa vis constituting healthy positive growth encompassing body, mind, and spirit triage. The medium of writing fictional scenarios alleviates (as grudgingly acceptable palliative) loss among cumulative lifetime interpersonal adventures.

I walk into my room and shut the door behind me. I slip out of my running shorts and let them drop to the floor. I close my eyes and go over his command for me today. I take in a deep breath and slowly, I let it out again. I knew I needed to focus. What lay before me was going to be a challenge a battle against myself but at the same time a complete exposure of myself. As I pass, I pick up the felt tip and take a seat in my comfy chair. I settle back and begin.

I pop off the lid of the pen and look at the exposed bottom half of me. I give myself a small smile. I’d not shaved my pubic hair away before, but I find I like the look of it, the feel of it as I can’t resist and run my hand over my bare mound. I lower the marker and write, ‘Whose fuck toy’ above it. I look down and smile. Bold. Strong lines. I spread my legs as far apart as they will go. I start on my left inner thigh. ‘J’s whore’ runs the length of my thigh. I feel my breath catch. It’s true, and I know it is, but seeing in there, on my flesh, the truth sinks in a little more. I turn my attention to my right thigh and add to the inside of my thigh, ‘D’s slut’. I smile even wider. For a few moments I just look at the words. Take them in, accept them and realise the truth behind them. I reach down to the bottom hem of my T-shirt and lift it up and over and around the back of my neck. I look down at my breasts, but tonight, they look different to me. I realise it then. They aren’t mine. They are his, for his pleasure. If he wishes it, pleasure for me as well, but primarily, his. I reach into my bra and draw out first one breast and then the other. So, they rest there, squeezed together above my bra, pale and white, and huge. Ridiculously huge. I lower the felt tip to my breasts and write above them, ‘J’s happy place’ and include arrows in case anyone has any doubts. I close my eyes and I see it there. His cock, squeezed between my breasts, gliding back and forth, my tongue shooting out to lick the head of his cock as it peeps out from between those pillows of flesh. I shake my head and return to the present.

His voice breaks through to me. ‘Did it make the cunt we own wet to write those things?’ I reach down and spread the lips of my cunt open, showing the wetness already evident. ‘I’d say very wet then, and already starting to swell. Good girl.’ I look around my room, looking, searching to see what I can find, what I can do, what I can give them. My eyes land on the riding crop. I snatch it into my hand and instantly bring it down upon my spread cunt. I count silently to myself. After ten, I stop and take a picture of my cunt. It’s beginning to have a small blush of red across the area. I want more. I ask for more, but he doesn’t respond straight away. I try to wait, but my whole body goes twitchy. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t wait. Ten more whips across my cunt, my eyes close as I feel the burn begin. Partially, it’s the heat from the crop’s contact with my skin, but more of the heat is from my building desire. My want. My need. ‘Greedy little masochist, but aren’t you?’ How else could I reply, but in the affirmative. I can see the blush across my cunt change to a slightly deeper pink. Then I hear it, the sound that guarantees a monsoon of wetness to begin. I hear him, touching himself, gliding his fist around his cock and all because of what I’m doing for him. My arousal ramps up. More. I definitely want more. ‘Tell me slut, just how many strikes do you think it would take to make you come Just from hitting my cunt? I think I’d like to hear that. I need to take a few minutes to wash some dishes. So let’s see. You may start as slow as you would like. If you need to stop, give yourself 10 more strokes, and you may stop. If you are such a filthy girl that hitting your Cunt actually makes you come…then you may come for us.’

I feel it then, settle all around me, their ownership of me. My desire to please them. i want to make them touch themselves. I want to make then cum, but underneath that is my love of the pain, the relinquishing of control, my freedom to turn myself over to their care and know that I will be fine. I want to push myself further, for them. I want to give every part of myself over to them. I can let loose the wanton pain slut that lies inside of me. I feel my mind retreat, embracing the whore that I want and need to be. The filthy little fucktoy to be used over and over again. I’m not even aware my arm has moved until the crack of the whip lands on my already tender flesh. 30, 40, 50.

I hear you chuckle. ‘Oh, whore, Put two fingers in there, shove them in as deep as they will go, pull them out, wipe them on your face, and tell us how you are feeling. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ I don’t hesitate. I slam two fingers into my soaking wet cunt, and pump them in and out a few times. I can hear the squelching as I do so. I am absolutely soaking wet, and still I want more, but that wasn’t the command I was given. Reluctantly, I pull my fingers out and raise them to my face. As I smell myself, a moan escapes from me. I wipe my own wetness first down one side of my face and then the other. To me, it’s the same as him marking his territory. He made this wetness, he allows me this pleasure and the joy of the pain. I feel dirty and hungry and wet. I want my cunt to burn more. I can feel it just outside of my reach, I want to feel stuffed full and slammed again and again. I want all my holes to be filled and used without any mercy. ‘There’s nothing wrong with pinching your nipples or putting in a painful anal plug, you know.’

I pop open the tin next to me and grab two clothespegs. With a few quick slaps, my nipples become even harder. I reach down, pull a nipple out tight and snap a clothes peg onto the very tip. I bite my lip as little shocks of pain ride through me. As I snap the peg on the second one, I can feel my hips start to move of their own accord, but I’m not done yet. I pull open the drawer next to me and reach out my box of anal plugs. I grab the medium one and ask if that’s an acceptable option. After being given the go ahead, I first slide it into my cunt and pump it a few times. Then, without any hesitation, I slide it into my ass. I can feel my muscles contract around it. What kind of dirty Whore am I? Claimed written all over my body, the burning of my cunt reminding me, the plug in my ass only making my need escalate and with each movement that I can no longer control, causes the clothes pegs on my nipples to pull just a bit more pain out of me, again and again. I can feel the wetness spreading down my thighs. My mind begins to hit that point when it starts to haze over. I can’t help it. That‘s when the begging begins. I’m desperate and beg them to fuck me, to fill me, to use me, anything, anything at all, just make me come. Let me come. ‘After you hit yourself another 40 times with that crop, I will let you shove your fingers in and out and pretend it is one of our cocks. Or you can shove them into two holes, and be more accurate.’ Immediately, I pick up the crop and start to whip my cunt once again. 20 cracks, then 40, my begging becomes frenzied. I beg to be fucked, hard, now, anything, just please feel a hoke. All I hear is an incoherent babble of begging, pleading, anything that will convince my sirs to let me come. I’m writhing, thrashing, shoving my cunt into the air, trying to grab onto anything it can.

’Slut, I want you to hit that fucking Cunt for me, and while you’re hitting it, I want you to fucking come for us like the whore you are.’I comply bringing my hand down sharply again and again onto my cunt which is glowing bright red. I’m only flesh. I have no mind any longer I just feel one sensation over another. I am so close to I am a rutting animal just in need of satisfaction. ’What can you do to earn it? How can you humiliate yourself? How can you hurt yourself? How can you show us that you know that you’re a slave and getting to come is an honor that you need to earn? Because of course you can’t come for yourself.

You can only come for us. That’s how submissive you are. Hurt yourself more. Fuck yourself harder. Take your hand, slap your Cunt, hard, soak up as much wet as as you can, and shove it into your mouth, fucking your mouth for us. If you can come strictly from hitting yourself with that crap, you may continue to come for us.’ I bring my hand down over and over, then grab the crop. I want more. And with the few strokes of the crop, then grab screaming begins as my whole body gives in to the pleasure as one orgasm after another takes me and pulls me. Every muscle in my body clenches, milking every single orgasm I can from this body. after what feels like forever, the quakes subside and become just small quivers and finally my mind just floats and my body drops back against the cushions. As I struggle to catch my breath, another sensation sneaks through the fog of my mind. The pegs. The pegs are still on my nipples, adding to the pleasure. I manage to squeak out a vague collection of words that manage to convey the question. I’m gratefully granted permission to remove them and as they snap off and feeling returns a second storm of orgasms have me disappearing into oblivion as I come one orgasm after another until I disappear amd collapse into my chair.

You get up out of bed and push my face into the bedspread. You kick my legs out wide and shove your fingers unceremoniously into your cunt. Nice and wet, just as you expected. As your fingers slide out, your cock almost immediately slams in. I gasp at the suddenness of it but only for a moment as with each deep dive my pleasure rockets upwards. You are a man possessed this morning and wants nothing more than to shoot his cum all over the ass before you. With just a few more thrusts, you can feel the edge coming close. I’m whimpering for more. I want it all, but just as I can feel that edge approaching, you pull out and with a loud grunt, your cum shoots all over me. As you finish, you take your hand and rub it all over that ass that you own. I try to keep my hips still, but my need is still high. ‘Greedy slut,’ you say and I can hear the laughter in your tone. I feel the movement but don’t place it until your hand lands hard with a smack across my bare flesh. My mind doesn’t know whether to yelp or moan and a weird combination of the two emits from my lips. Just as quickly four more smacks rain down on that pure white flesh.

You reach down and tangle your fingers in my hair. ‘Up, bitch,’ you tell me as you drag me to my feet. I awkwardly get off the bed and face you, keeping my head bowed as much as I can with your fingers gripping my hair fiercely. ‘We’re due downstairs, slut.’ You just turn and start walking out of the room with me trailing behind you. ‘Oh, actually, pet, I nearly forgot something.’ You reach into the bedside table and grab two nipple clamps, you snap them on without any preamble. The sting causes me to hitch my breath but on the exhale I can already feel my arousal mounting. You pause only momentarily to allow me to help you get your swim trunks on as you drag me down the stairs by my hair. At the bottom of the stairs, you turn me around to face you. Quietly, you whisper to me, ‘come for me bitch, come for me, now!’ Though they are whispered, the authority behind those words are unmistakable. My body responds as I try my best to keep my volume down as several orgasms sweep through my body. I keep my eyes averted. It’s so embarrassing that you can do that to me. I don’t even need to be aroused most of the time, but today, I am most assuredly aroused. I expect you to leave me there, by the door, to await your return, but as you push open the door, I realise you have far different plans.

You lead me behind you by my hair. I look away. I can hear the people ahead. What will they think? What will they do? I can feel the mortification sneaking over me and a blush rising over my entire body. You look back and smile at me, then pull me around in front of you, facing the pool and all those in it. It goes silent. My blush deepens even further as I stand there, naked in front of them all, my breasts thrust outwards, nipples secured with clips. My mouth goes dry, but that’s about the only thing that does. I catch the scent of you, sir, spread all over my ass. Drying there as we stand, in front of them all.

‘This is my fucktoy, everyone, and she has a party trick that she is going to perform for you now.’ A look of utter bafflement steals across my face. I’m completely lost. Party trick? What party trick? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I tense with the worry that I might disappoint you, and I don’t want to do that. Isn’t it just enough that I’m here, before them all, naked, covered in your cum? You pull my head back so that I must see those in front of me. I try to look away, but you force me back to face those before me. Then, like a shot, COME FOR ME BITCH, COME FOR ME!!! My eyes fly open with terror. No. I can’t, not here. Not now. Not in front of this sea of strangers, but my body doesn’t care. It’s been well trained to this. I feel my hips shake and thrust as an orgasm builds and shoots through me, all the while, being forced to maintain eye contact with those ahead of me. ‘AGAIN!’ You shout and my body complies. My moans become louder, my gyrations ruder and more pronounced. I bite my lip hard to try to stop myself from screaming out as the next orgasm takes me. ‘AGAIN!’ You tighten your grip in my hair as another orgasm racks my body, tears in my eyes, whether from shame or pleasure, I can’t be sure. This time there’s no holding back, I scream as my hips buck and wave wildly. As it begins to recede, I try to lower my head, but you keep me facing forward and I realise what it is you want me to see. You want me to witness that moment when they all spot the wetness dripping from your cunt and down my legs, leaving a trail as it goes.

I have no defence. I can’t hide my face. I have to meet these people before me knowing that Ive just shown them all just what a wanton slut I am.

‘Please feel free to avail yourself of her services. My compliments.’ You walk me around the pool to the steps. You have me kneel a few steps down into the water, placing my hands on the side of the pool. ‘Now slut, fucktoy extraordinaire, you will stay here, like this, and you will do whatever it is that is asked of you. If they want your mouth, you will give it to them, if they want your ass, you will give it to them. If they want your tongue, then you will give it to them. Others might bring drinks or snacks to share to a pool party, but I’ve brought you to share. Don’t disappoint me.’ For the longest time, I just knelt there, waiting. You could feel the silence around me, but as someone turned on some music, the conversations began again, and still I waited. No one approached. What was I to do? My task was to please them, but how was I to do that when no one came near. As the gentle hum of babble took on a life of its own, I could hear someone moving near. This may be my only chance. ‘Please, please, use me, anyway you want, but please use me. You won’t be sorry. Please. I must please you.’ There was an awkward pause, an uncertainty in the air, before I heard the small exhalation of breath that told me he had decided. He pulled down his swim trunks and presented me with his cock. My mouth latched on as if it was the last cock in the world. I bathed and slathered his cock up one side and down the other. I pushed him deep into the back of my throat and then tantalised the tip. I feel his muscles tense. He’s close. He grabs the back of my head and shoves it as deep as it will go down onto his cock. As my mouth makes contact with the base, his cock jumps in my mouth and a bitter stringy shot of come shoots down my throat. It is so horribly bitter that I want to gag, but I know that would not olease my Master. As he pulls out, I let my jaws slacken and let some of his cum dribble out of my mouth again.

‘That’s not how you do it,’ another male voice says and gently pushes the previous one aside. ‘Open wide.’ With that, his cock slides over my tongue, pushing the existing come back down my throat. I try not to gag. He puts a hand on each side of my head and begins to face fuck me hard. He holds me there. Longer. And longer. I wait. I start to panic. My muscles tighten around him and just when I think I might blackout, he pulls back and lets me gasp in a few sharp intakes of breath before he grabs my head and forces me down again. Slam, slam, slam, hold, hold, wait, breath. Again and again the pattern is repeated. I’m so lightheaded I lose all track of self. Finally, I feel his cock in my mouth, starting to quiver. Without notice, he rips himself away from my mouth and shoots his entire load all over my face. The burn in my eyes from the salt of his come brings me back to myself.

Throughout the night, I was taken, used, fucked, and used my tongue on countless men and women. As time rode on, it left me behind, there but absent, floating, feeling, one sensation after another assailing my body which is beyond the stage of high alert. I lose all track of self.

Then I feel it, those hands, the ones I know so well. They pull me onto his lap. My head falls against his chest. I listen there to his heartbeat. It’s beat guiding me, holding me present, guiding me back to myself. I hear him then, ‘good girl’. I smile, and then I sleep.

His hands are beneath my skirt but his eyes are fixated on mines. We talked about this before it happened, the phone call was long and very detailed.

His hands are beneath my shirt now but his bulge is against my thigh. We talked about this before it happened, tongue in cheek in his car tonight.

Her fingertips strum on my skin

beneath my weight while she lets me play. I thought about it all last night before it happened.

Her thigh merges with my swelling pants with a jolt. I thought about this all night before it happened, finger unhooking her bra.

Her fingers dance with my pulse every tap a key to unlock my moaning yearn. I didn't think about this until it happened.

He nurses my tongue between his two sweet lips. His elongated parts nestled where his face ought to be. I think about this how it will happen, my lips throbbing, aching and calling out.

We are entangled and I can feel it my exposed parts trickling liquid. His lips kissing my inner thigh. It didn't hurt as much as I thought for my first time and all. Not as much blood as the movies portray.

I run my fingers over the two tiny punctures. My thigh still thumping from the bite.

“You promised you didn't bite!” laughter in her voice. He kisses her temple and they cuddle in the back seat plunged in in moonlight.

I balance the tray on one arm as I reach out and quietly turn the knob on the bedroom door. I slowly push the door open in front of me in hopes of not making the door creak and waking him. I know it seems silly, but I want to be the one who wakes him, not the door. I glance down to do a quick inventory of the tray. Freshly baked cinnamon rolls - check. French press with coffee ready to go - check. Serviette to wipe his mouth and fingers once he’s done - check. Milk and sugar - check. I can’t help but smile as I do a quick personal inventory as well. My breasts weigh heavily down as the tray sits just below them. In fact, it almost looks like I’m serving up my chest rather than breakfast. I smile as I recall how self conscious I used to be until he instigated the protocol of me always being naked when we‘re home. I now feel much more comfortable in my own skin and a confidence and love of my body I’d never had before. I shake my head at how much things have changed in such a short period. With another shake, I remind myself of the task at hand. I place the tray down on the bedside table and take a step back. I glance at his face and smile at how peaceful he looks in repose.

Quick as a lightning strike, his hame flies out, grabs my wrist and in a fluid movement pulls me on top of him and then with a twist of his hips, rolls me off of him and to the side. Before I can blink, he is on top of me, straddling me, pinning my arms to the bed. A wicked smile curves one side of his mouth. ‘Good morning, slut. I think this morning, I want to fuck you like the bitch you are.’ His hand reaches under my hip as he rolls me over so that my face is pressed down into the mattress. He then pushes further around and wraps his arm under my lower abdomen and raises my ass up into the air as I rise up onto my knees.

‘Now slut, I want your hands to remain flat on the bed at all times, and I do mean all times. Do you understand, my sweet little cunt?’

‘Yes, sir, on the mattress. Flat on the mattress at all times, sir. Yes, sir.’ As if I’d respond in any other way. He owns me completely and I revel in it. He shifts slightly and wedges his legs inside of my legs, spreading me wide. Both areas are instantly accessible to him. He slides two fingers inside of me and chuckles when he feels the wetness there. He takes his fingers out and wipes them on my ass. I can feel the stickiness against my skin. I blush at just how ready I am for him. He demands it at all times, but the reality is that if I hadn’t already been ready for him, the minute he rolled me over himself, I would have started creaming. I can’t resist his power. Nor do I want to.

He continues to laugh softly as he acknowledges my compliance. ‘Good girl. So wet. So hot. So slippery. Do you know what good little sluts who are ready for their master get?’ Before I can even answer, his rock solid cock slams into me, nearly splitting me in two, the girth of him stretching me wide. I push back with my hips as if he isn’t already deep enough, but he knows me well. When it comes to cock, there is no such thing as enough. He starts hammering into me and my pulse flies faster. With each stroke inside of me a small gasp slips through my lips. This fullness. This is what I crave.

As he speeds up, my eyes try to fasten onto my hands. I will not grip the sheets I tell myself. I stare at my hands willing them to stay put, but with each thrust of his cock I hear my breath becoming ragged, the wetness starting to run down my leg as he goes in again and again. Driving harder, deeper each time. As my body turns itself over to him, I feel that building sensation, I can feel it growing, my muscles going taut and tense as inside I grasp hold of him, squeezing and pressing around his cock. As the speed rises, I try to shove back in his rhythm to drive him as deep as I possibly can. Smack! Unexpectedly, his hand lands a blow across my ass just as he drives forward. A whimper escapes me as my desire ratchets up another notch. Oh God, I think to myself. However, my mouth clearly has a mind of its own as it begs him, ‘More, please, sir, more’.

As soon as he hears those words, he synchronises each thrust to another blow on my ass. I whine and push back hard, my arousal escalating every time his hand lands. ‘What a good little slut you are,’ he acknowledges with a particularly forceful thrust. Then his tone changes in a second. ‘Oh slut, and you were doing so well.’ His remark baffles my mind. What did I do? What happened? That’s when I see it, my fist grasping tightly onto the sheet. One word only reverberates in my mind - Nooooooo! He slows and then stops. I can’t stop the whimpers coming from my mouth. I sound almost like a puppy desperately whining for its master. That’s when I realise it, I am that dog. I am being taken like the bitch I am. I can feel him lean away from me, but I only process the confusion and the nervous energy that comes along with wondering what comes next.

‘When I say flat, slut, that is precisely what I mean. Flat. Now, I’m feeling merciful today, so let us try again.’ I release my hold on the bedding and glare at my traitorous fingers. I fix my stare upon them. I will not let them betray me again. My face still planted into the bed, he starts again. This time, though, I can tell he means to torture me as he starts nearly painfully slow, taking pleasure in making my body shake with each stroke as it pleas for more. I can hear that self- satisfied smirk I know is on his face at this moment. He speeds up just the slightest when - Thwack- it hits me. A scream wrenches free as I shove my ass backward into the wooden paddle. There is no mistaking that sensation, one of the sweetest sensations, right up there next to his whip. My whimpers turn to grunts as I try to push back for more. With each thrust, the paddle comes down, and more pleasure builds inside of me. My mind wants to let go, but knows it can’t. It must not let my fingers curl. I try to focus on my hands as his breathing becomes ragged, but there’s no denying the growing abandon coming within me. I am unsure just how much longer I can hold on. How much longer I can hold back. I push and I shove, I meet each blow with glorious desire. I feel myself slipping I feel the release coming. Only animal like noises issue from my mouth. I snarl and thrash, my head held still only by the force of the mattress and his driving me downwards each time he pushes deep inside of me. I barely register the clatter by the bed and feel the shifting of him, pushing against the sides of my cunt. He slows briefly, but thankfully only for that moment. I can hear his breathing, fast, full of need, his want of me. He pushes forward, further inside of me when I feel something slip around my neck.

The next moment my throat is hauled back as the belt around my neck pulls at me. His thrusts are full of frenzy and I try to take a breath but it’s not possible. Not a full breath. He drives harder and harder. My muscles bunch and clench, fighting for everything Every pore of me is screaming for the orgasm I feel just on the edge, but it’s now competing with my body struggling for air. I shake and pull, I push and grab as tightly ahold of his cock as I can as he rams into me, but at no point do my hands lift. I cannot think anymore. My whole body is ablaze. Every hair and every nerve is at full attention, grasping, reaching. With an almighty moan, he shoves in as far as he can and grits out through his teeth, ‘Come, bitch!’

I let go of everything, my body is on fire. My whole body releases. It takes all that pain that drove me on, all the filling and emptying of my cunt, all the energy kept so tightly bound, it releases into the air as my whole body convulses with one orgasm after another. I come and come. I wail and moan as the shockwaves break throughout my body. My head flails back and forth as the belt slackens and my lungs take in a full breath again but with that first full breath, I come again my cunt sucks him dry while adding my own wetness to the mix. I slam back into him and ride him as each orgasm breaks harder than the previous one. I hear the screaming echoing around the room but it just drives me more. I am an animal, taking what I want. Nothing but a bitch in heat. I jackrabbit on his cock and milk it for all its worth. I can hear the scream over and over again, ringing in my ears as he suddenly grabs my hips with both hands and slams me hard onto his cock. I bellow as the fullness rocks me to my core as a last orgasm rips all humanity away from me. I collapse beneath him. I feel his weight follow on top of me.

My ear pressed to his chest by the fate of our positions. I hear his heartbeat, so quick, so fast, matching my own. Listening intently, I hear it begin to slow. My heart slows in time with his. My breath recovers. Breathing in and out with him. As I feel his heart beating against my cheek, I smile to myself. So safe. So secure. So his. I can feel sleep tugging at me, but just as I think I may just let it claim me, the weight above me shifts. His parched words reach my ears.

‘Flat hands. Good girl. But I think the coffee might have gone cold.’

Lust

A sin

A hushed word

I look up to my lover

I look in his eyes and I see a fire

Fire so adamant

it burns so low

like a candle full of wax

hot and sultry

the need to satisfy myself by him

I lay bare upon the silken sheets, the moonlight kissing every inch of my adorned flesh

my lover lays with me

he caresses me ever so gently

like a wind on a chime.

my lover,

dressed in lust

a hunger with no home

What did I dream last night, sir?

I saw you there, next to me, raking my naked body with your eyes. There was a glint there in your eye that was unmistakable.

Your thumb was on my clit as two fingers were shoved inside my cunt. My hips rolled forward, wanting more than anything to feel them piston inside of me. I grab onto the headboard and arch my back. When I fail to make your fingers move, I can’t hold back my whimper. You laugh that laugh that reminds me that you are completely in control here. Not me. Still, I can feel my desire escalating, i arch higher and harder. As my hips land back on the mattress, you wiggle your fingers inside of me and I roll towards the sensation. Wanting more. With a chuckle, you start to pump your fingers inside of me and out of me a slow steady rhythm. My whimper turns into a whine. ’More. More. More please, sir’.

I try to increase my pace to increase his, but he just laughs and stops again. ‘Fuck!’ I yell out in frustration. I hear you tsk-ing. I lift my head to try to beg you with my eyes, but what I see tells me there will be no quarter given. All I see is your arched eyebrow raised at me. Damn it. As my hips continue to rock I attempt to gather my thoughts, but all my body can think of is what it wants and wants NOW! ’Sorry, sorry, sir. Please, please, sir, start again, please. I’ll be good this time I won’t swear. Please sir. Please. I can’t, I need. As my pleas become more frantic, my body speeds up as well. Thrusting, rocking, pushing anything to feel those fingers dive deep back within my cunt, filling me. I try to control myself, but I can’t. My whimpers return, becoming louder, insistent. As your fingers slam into me, my head falls back ‘Yeeeees. Oh yeees.’ Your fingers speed up, I match your speed, stroke by stroke with each dive, the speed increases. My whimpers turn into gasps. My head flails from side to side. My heels dig into the mattress. ’Sir, sir, I’m gonna spray. Please, please, please, sir. Please, now, now, please, sir, please. I become unintelligible as my body takes over my mind. I feel a third finger join the other two. Oh hell! I feel the pressure and tension stretched thin throughout my body. I thrash madly as his fingers pounding in and out of me, taking it all. ’I can’t sir, I can’t. Can’t. Wait. Now. Now. Please. Please. Now. I. Please.’ My pleas turn to grunts as the pleasure tries to overrule my mind. One word. One fucking word. I can’t even speak anymore. Words have left me. My whole body rails against the pleasure all the while taking it, needing it and wanting more. I barely recognise the screeching sounds as coming from my mouth. My eyes roll back in my head. My breath comes out in short gasps. My whole being is on standby.

‘Come,’ he says so quietly, in bizarre juxtaposition to the manic state that I am in, but I hear it. With a scream, my whole body lets loose. I can simultaneously feel the liquid spraying from my body and the wetness squelching as his fingers drive into me as I take and take and take. One screaming orgasm after another as wave after wave of orgasm hits, rolls and makes room for more. The air is filled with my non stop screams of ecstasy as my body clamps onto his fingers and rides them like it’s the last time I’m ever going to come. I can’t stop myself. I can’t slow down. I grit my teeth and rip even more out of my body. I shove my cunt up and make him take me. I want more. I must have more. Every muscles is tensed and in motion as I pump myself on his fingers. He need not move them anymore. My base desires have taken over and I’m going to fuck his fingers until I cant see straight. I rise and thrash and push. Clutching my cunt muscles tight around his fingers. I can hear his laugh in the background, but I just don’t care. I am going to fuck his fingers so hard and for so long he’s going to be pruny. As my gyrations continue, I bite down on my lower lip. I vaguely register the blood trickling into my mouth, but I still don’t care as yet another orgasm shakes through me. Oblivion. I can feel it. So close. So close. If I can just push that little bit harder. That little bit more. That’s all I need. All I need. I fuck and fuck, my whole body taking possession of his fingers and I open up my mind. I let go of my control. An ear-shattering scream resounds in the room as yet another stream comes flying out of my body. The pleasure rips through me, tearing me apart in the most delicious way. I let go of everything and I feel as if I’m floating above the bed. A haze falls, and I am gone.

My voice echoes through the stairwell, clanging off the metal and drifting up, up, up, until it fades, lost in the silence.

We are alone. Still, he keeps me quiet with one hand over my mouth, the other reaching down, tearing at my stockings, ripping them apart. His skin is rough and cold against my warm flesh. I feel his mouth on my neck, biting me. His teeth leave their mark, and his fingers find their way. I moan and lick the palm of his hand.

We are lost in the shadows of a small nook tucked under a stairwell. Above us, life continues. Each landing leads to a floor. Each floor leads to hundreds of lives. Families. Friends. They go about their routines completely unaware of us. We exist in our own world that we shape with lust and longing and the desire to connect.

He was a spontaneous lover. He did not need a bed or a door. When he wanted me, he took me. And I let him.

It was cold outside. We are covered in layers. Jackets. Stockings. Scarves. His hair is still damp from the snow. He had pulled me in, through the lobby, past the security guard, the steel door barely shutting before he pushed against the wall, the concrete pressing into my back.

He kisses me, the scratch of his beard makes my heart race. I lick his face, biting his ear as his fingers fuck me.

“Christ,” he growls, his tongue back in my mouth. His hands pulling up my sweater, finding my breasts. Flesh on flesh. He cups me roughly, pulling my nipples. I bite his lip and slide my hand down to rub his cock. He has on too many clothes. Too much restriction. Boundaries. I claw at them. Desperately.

His belt buckle finally clangs against the marble floor. Relief. I slip my hand under his shorts, and he lifts me, wrapping my thighs around him, the soft leather of his jacket cool against my flesh.

One thrust, and he is in. All the way. I welcome him. He fills me, impales me, grinds against my soft skin. His hands squeeze my ass, and he holds me up, the hard concrete wall provides support.

I moan. Loud. “Shhh,” he says, kissing me again. “Dirty girl.”

Quiet in the stairwell; no signs of life. The wind blows above, howling all around us. But no noise. No movement. Just us. Breathing. Panting. Our tongues lick, tasting. His hips thrust. His cock buried inside of me. I squeeze him tight, and we both almost die. My nails claw at him, with no results, his clothes too thick.

It doesn’t matter. We are animals, caged in our own silence.

He grunts, his pace quickening. He is so strong. His whole body lifting me. I drip down him, down his shaft, down his balls, down his thighs. I am a faucet. He does this to me.

“Fuck!”

“Shhh. Quiet. Dirty, filthy girl.”

So close. So close. He is. I am. We want this. Lost in the shadows, I close my eyes. The world goes numb. The silence of the stairwell envelops me. I cum against him. I bite his neck. I taste the copper of blood. He does not stop, does not scream. He fucks me through it.

His teeth clench. His body tightens. His cock sinks deep into me. I feel him shudder and grunt, like a man dying. I feel warm, his cum inside of me, his head buried into my shoulder. I soothe him as he cums, squeezing him tight into my arms. I feel his lust drip down my thighs and over my torn stockings.

We dress quickly, in silence but with smiles. The steel door slams shut behind us, and we walk briskly past the guard, laughing to ourselves. In the streets, the cold hits us. I feel him still in me, and I am warm inside.

This is probably the longest I’ve gone without an orgasm since a year ago February. I know it’s a self-induced penance for my stubbornness combined with my mouth getting me into trouble and pissing him off as I seldom had. However, as I pull myself out of the bath and go lie down on the bed to cool down, I want nothing more than to come. I clench my fists, willing them to stay at my side. I can’t help it. I gently let my fingertips glide over my flesh, flushed from the bath. What am I doing? Sure, he hasn’t said that I may not come, I have made that decision myself. Until he feels he wants to touch me again, I will not let myself come. I lie back and close my eyes. I try to will my desire away. I focus on my breathing. Slowly in, slowly out. I need to shut down my brain because all it’s doing is shouting at me now! now! NOW! I try again. Slow my breathing, slowly my heart rate, focus on his displeasure with you. The desire drains away. I lie there, spread eagle, on offering for whenever he chooses to accept it.

A sound wakes me. I open my eyes, but I see nothing. I panic for a brief moment until I hit on the realisation that there is something covering my eyes rather than my eyesight failing me. A small sound to my left and the light smell of sulphur. I strain my ears to pick up any clues, any ideas as to what is happening around me. Then I hear it, ever so slight, the step of a foot, followed by another step. Approaching. Definitely approaching. I go as if to turn towards the sound and it is only then, as I take full stock of my body, that I realise I am now actually tied, spread eagle to the bed. I am helpless to whatever may come.

I wait. Senses on edge Waiting. Not sure where this is going. Then it hits my flesh and I suck in my breath as the unmistakable light burn of hot wax lands just above my navel. I still and wait. Will it be just that one, and then he will leave me here, or is there more to come. I wait in limbo, listening for any sound, any clue as to what might happen next when the next drip lands, just above the other, and another above that one. Part of me wants to jerk away from the drops, but a bigger part of me wants to arch my back to get closer to the heat, to feel that burn that is both pleasure and pain in one little minuscule drop.

Then it begins, in a steady pace, drip, drip, drip, making a trail of hot wax that leads from my navel to the valley between my breasts. As he reaches the apex, I wonder what will come next. I bite my bottom lip, hungry with anticipation, and then I feel it. Not a single drip, but a steady stream of hot wax, tracing in a circle just above the base of my left breast. No. That wasn’t it. Not a circle, a spiral, winding its way around my breast and then going around again. I thrash, and moan and my breathing comes fast and heavy. ‘Yes, yes,’ I beg, I whimper, but not for him to stop, I want more. I want to take whatever he wishes to dish out to me. As the spiral winds upwards, I have no doubt what will be coming soon and just as my mind makes the connection, the stream stops. Then, I wait. ‘Please, sir, please.’ I wish he could see my eyes, see the apology written there as well as my need. Not just for the sweet little kisses of pain, but for him to want me. Drip. I moan louder. Drip. A quick exhale from between my lips, each drop working together to completely cover my very hard, very excited nipple. Then, nothing. I listen. I wait.

Footsteps. He’s moving. Is he leaving? Leaving me here? Tied down? In need? As my mind urges me to call out, to scream at him not to leave me, I know it’s not the right thing to do. That’s not he wants of me. He wants my obedience. I bite my lower lip harder. I can feel the water in my eyes starting to pool. It’s fear of him deciding he doesn’t want me, buried deep in my heart, that fear. The fear that it isn’t me. That I’m not enough.

As my fear starts to spiral in the darkness, the next drop hits. My body is torn between an exhale of relief and an inhale of pain. A strangled sort of hiccup sound comes out of my mouth. With the next drop, my fears clear, everything tunnels in my mind into the one thought. Taking this pleasure, accepting this pain. Each drip seems to fall precisely between the previous drips, creating another trail from navel to the cleft between my breasts, but this time, when the steady stream of hot wax comes, it spirals up and around my right breast, culminating in the single small drops that eventually covers my right nipple. For the first time that night, I hear his voice. ‘Blow.’ I purse my lips and blow as if there is a birthday cake in front of me. As I hear the flame flicker, a drop of hot wax lands on my chin. Either he has taken the candle away or else I was successful in managing to blow out the candle. I lie there, trying to figure out what will come next, but what I cannot deny is the arousal that was already on a slow simmer before I awoke is now rising in temperature with each and every drop.

Again, that strange sound and the smell of sulphur. I place it now. The striking of a match and then, I guess, the lighting of yet another candle. I furrow my brow, confused, uncertain. What now? What next? I’m utterly perplexed when the next drip lands on the top of my foot, I can’t help it, a small yelp escapes before I can smother it. Never before had we put hot wax on my feet. It was unexpected, painful, but good, still good. I brace myself for the next drop and when it comes, just up from the last, the pain seems even worse, and I manage to piece together a coherent thought. When you tense, it’s worse. I coach my body, begging it to relax. He’s going much slower now, methodical. Each drip lands almost on top of the previous one. My body starts thrashing, I’m moaning, but I can’t make out what I’m saying. Begging for mercy or begging for more, I just don’t know, but there’s a steady stream of pleading flowing out of my mouth while at the same time my hips were thrusting upward, hungry, needy, desperate to be filled, used, satiated.

The wax continues its patient, little march up my foot, then my leg, up my thighs and then the drips bend turning in towards - No! Oh good Lord no! Not! Not! Oh fuck no! Please sir, please, no. I can’t get the whine out of my voice, the cracking that comes along with it as each and every drop gets closer and closer. I thrash, knowing how stupid that is but at this point the pleasure from the pain is too much. I can’t stay still. One wrong twist, though, and I’ll be the one to pay.

Then, it stops. My mind is flailing. My body, jerks and arches up. I pull with all my strength against the bonds that hold me. I must touch myself. I must come or else I’m going to explode. Still, nothing happens. Nothing comes next. I tell my mind to calm. As I feel my frenzy start to settle, I feel it. Drip. Onto my right foot. Drip. Just above that one. The endless march up my leg begins on the other side. By the time the wax hits my knee, I’m no longer coherent, I can hold no thought in my head. I kick and pull and thrash and thrust, I writhe on the bed but I’m not trying to get away, I’m trying to get closer. I want the drips to come faster to assuage this desire that is burning through me and on me. As the trail bends in towards my cunt again. I am swearing and begging and promising anything and everything I can think of just please let me come. Again, it stops. It doesn’t matter, I’m too desperate now, too inflamed. I only feel the need, the want, the desperation.

Two fingers slam into my cunt without any warning. I scream as I try to clamp down and hold those fingers there. For the second time that night, I hear his voice. ‘Wet’. My clenching is to no avail. His fingers slide out of me. I feel the emptiness inside me. I scream in frustration. I am in no fit state as I thrash and grind and grunt in need. I feel his hand again, pulling my cunt lips apart, the cool air brushing against my exposed clit. At the same time, he pushes downward with that hand, pinning me to the mattress, far stronger than me. My head flies back and forth against the pillow. As that single solitary drip of searing hot wax lands on my clit, I scream as my orgasm rushing over me, throwing my body skyward as my shoulders dug into the mattress beneath me. Another drip and a whole new wave washes over me. With the next drip, my scream returns, louder, stronger but it’s pure pleasure this time as I come again and again. I lose track of my mind and I fly.