poeticdesires

Category: Gen Fiction

  • Remember Me

    ~ erotica ~

     

    [TRIGGER WARNING: This is a rape fantasy.]

     

    It was late, the deep dark that normally scared me.  But I was surrounded by sleeping kinksters, and I was at camp, at home.  I strolled down the path towards my cabin, a small smile on my face, happy to be back amongst my people.

    I was tired, ready to pass out and recharge for my next day of filthy fucking fun.

    I didn’t notice him.  Didn’t notice his steps towards me.  Didn’t hear his approach.  Didn’t know he was there until his knife was against my neck.  His blade against my skin and his arm around my ribs ceased my jovial pace.

    “You were beautiful tonight.  I saw you staring at me all during the social.”

    His breath tickled my ear.

    I didn’t know who he was, didn’t know what he was talking about.

    I thought about screaming, hoping someone would wake up and realize my call was not in pleasure but in distress.  He dissuaded me of that idea.

    “I sharpen this blade twice a day.  Sharpen it to where if I even run my finger over it I’ll cut myself.  Can you imagine what would happen if you even whimpered?  If you spoke out of turn and I simply pressed my steel just the tiniest bit harder against you skin?

    “You’re not going to whimper, are you?  You’re not going to say a word, not even a whisper.  You’re going to do what I want because you have the prettiest neck, the prettiest neck I’ve ever seen.  You won’t cry out, will you?  You value your neck more than that, don’t you?”

    I felt the tear drift down the side of my face.  Felt as it kissed his hand, the hand holding the blade against my neck.

    “That’s what I thought.”

    There was a nudge, a soft pull with his arm against my ribs.  We stepped onto the grass.  It was wet, the evening cool air bringing dew to the blades.

    As he knelt, I knelt.  His knife stayed on my neck as he pushed me down into the grass.  He loomed above me.  In the dark, I couldn’t see his face.  I was almost pleased I’d forgotten my flashlight.

    I heard the zipper.  Felt his cock through the fabric of my dress.  He pushed it up above my hips.  More tears slipped down my face.  His free hand eased my legs apart, then eased himself inside me.  Despite myself, I let out a sigh as he entered me.

    “I knew you would love this,” he said.  “I knew you wanted this.  I’ve known you wanted me for so long.  And now you get to have me.”

    His blade stayed on my neck.  I could barely breathe, the threat of my blood on his steel an ever present fear.

    His thrusts were long and slow, deep into me.  Were he a lover, I would’ve said he cared.  Were he a lover, I might’ve loved it.  Even with the fear, my body could not deny his skill.  The length and depth of his cock.  The way it fit me so well.  The way it hit all the right spots, gliding in and out the way my body wanted.

    Were he a lover, my orgasm would’ve incited tears of joy.  Instead, my cum gave tears of shame as he continued to stroke in and out of me, his blade by my neck, his lips against my ear, whispering his pleasure, pulling forth joy my body desired but my mind didn’t want to accept.

    “I know you love me inside of you.  I know you don’t want me to stop.  And I won’t stop.  Not til I’ve made you cum more times than you can count.  Not til my voice is the only sound rattling around in your mind.  Not til I’ve had every bit of your body.  Not til I am burned in you.  You will remember me.”

    And I do, even now.  Even though I don’t want to.  Even though I wish I didn’t.  Even though I never saw his face.

  • Her Lips

    ~ a story ~

     

    Her eyes were soft, caring.  Her smile was easy.  She smiled at me as I looked up at her.

    The conversation was laid back.  I was getting to know everyone.  She was a part of the group.  And she was beautiful.

    I tried not to stare, tried to just sit and relax on the floor, my back against the couch, as everyone spoke.

    I liked them a lot.  I was new in town and they were all so kind, so welcoming.  It was my first party, my first taste of their scene, my first inklings of what it was like to be in and among them.  I liked them from the start.

    Warm hugs and kind words greeted me when I first walked in the door.  Snacks on the side if I wanted any.  I quick tour of the small space.  And now, in the lounge area, chatting about their scene.  They raved about an upcoming event; only a month until they all caravaned away to play in the woods.  They spoke about the various get togethers througout the month.  They wanted me to know it all.

    Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, I’d done what I usually do: fade into the background, letting the party happen around me.

    But then I saw her.  The way she bounced across the floor.  The way she connected with each person as she walked.  The way her words lit up anyone she passed.

    When her eyes landed on me, I felt naked, raw.  She gave me an easy smile.  I was at first dazed, but then I blushed, smiled back.  A pretty girl, no a beautiful woman was staring at me.  I curled up a little tighter in my ball on the floor.  She sat on the arm of the chair next to me.

    Occasionally, she glanced down at me.  I could feel her gaze even as I made myself look away.  When I did look up, my stare was always greeted with a smile.

    “Kai, have you met Dream?”

    I looked up again, looked into those eyes, and at that beautiful face, all of which I knew I could get lost in.

    “Hello Dream.”

    “Hi.”  My voice scractched out the single syllable.  My gaze ran back to the floor.

    The conversation continued.  I went back to listening.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement.  Within a breath, she sat on the floor next to me.  Her thigh brushed against mine, skin to skin.  I wore a short dress.  She wore cut off shorts and a riped up shirt.  It was the type of outfit that looked ridiculous on some, but on her it was perfect.

    “You seem nervous.”  My heart raced.  She was talking to me, touching me.

    “I am.”

    “We try to be welcoming here.  What can I do to help you relax?”

    “It’s just.”

    “What?”

    I weighed the pros and cons.  I was new.  Did I really want to possibly mess everything up already?  But I was nervous.  And the only way I ever got over my nerves was to face them head on.  I turned, looked at her, made my eyes stay with hers.

    “You’re really pretty.”

    “Thank you.  You’re really pretty too.  I love your hair.  May I touch it?”

    “Um, sure.”

    Her hands reached up and caressed my choppy bob.  Her fingers delved under the strands of hair and began massaging my scalp, then playing with my asymetrical cut.  My eyes closed, rolled back into my head.  I relaxed, really relaxed, for the first time that night, a beautiful woman’s hands playing in my hair.

    “I love your outfit,” she said into my ear.

    “Thanks,” I said in a floaty haze.

    “You really are beautiful, you know.  I noticed you as soon as you walked in.  We don’t get many new people.  You are a welcome addition.”

    “Thanks.”

    “Do you like girls?”

    “Um, yes.”

    “May I kiss your cheek?”

    “Um, yes.”

    Her lips lightly touched my face.

    “May I kiss your neck?”

    “Yes, please.”

    Her lips tickled my skin.

    “May I kiss your mouth?”

    “Please.”

    Her hands gripped my hair and brought my mouth to hers.  Her lips were even softer than I expected.  Her kiss was controlling in the way I liked, dictating what she wanted and how.  I gave in to her will, letting myself sink into her wishes.

    I wasn’t nervous anymore.  I didn’t worry or even blush.  I only felt, tasted her lips, drank of them as she saw fit.

  • Care

    ~ a story ~

     

    Something wasn’t right.  She knew as soon as she opened the door.

    It was the quiet.  It was never quiet when she arrived.  He always played music, usually something classical, though occasionally jazz piped through his sound system.

    And the smell was wrong.  He’d always have dinner almost ready.  There would be enough time for a drink.  Long enough for her to relax, ease herself back into their way.  Yes, she served him, but he knew how to take care of her: a warm dinner, a cool drink, and time at his knee to bring her back, bring them both back, to normal.  Their normal.  Their way.

    She gazed right.  The table by the door held his keys, tossed onto the wood instead of hung up on its hook.  His briefcase and jacket were thrown on the floor.  Something was very wrong.

    Then, she heard it.  His grunts.  But not in passion.  Not the way he grunted when he punched her, kicked her, or fucked her.  His breath carried no pleasure.  There was exertion without enjoyment.  And she heard another sound, a cushioned thumping sound.

    She sat her bag in the living room, as she always did.  Took off her coat, as she always did.  Put his keys on the hook.  Picked up his jacket and briefcase.  Walked to his study.  Laid the jacket across his chair, the briefcase on the desk.

    She followed the noise.  It came from the garage.

    And then she remembered.

    The garage held boxes, tools, and old gym equipment.  She grabbed a towel from the hall linen closet.  Walked through the silent scentless kitchen.  Acquired a bottle of water.  Opened the door to the garage.

    There he was.  Sweaty.  Angry.  Pummeling the punching bag.  It was red, old, taped over on parts.  Had lost some of its original cylindrical shape.  His hands were wrapped, at least.  He was mad, but not angry enough to hurt himself.  He wore his running shorts and tennis shoes.

    He was focus, hyper-focused, so much so that he didn’t notice her until he heard the sound of the door close.

    He looked up.  She saw the change in the muscles of his frame, on his face.

    “Oh, fuck.  What time is it?”

    “7:30, Sir.”  She walked towards him.  With grace, dropped to her knees.  Presented the towel and the water.  His shoulders slumped as he accepted them and sank into a nearby camp chair.

    “I’m so…”

    “It’s okay, Sir.”

    “I just.  Don’t.”  He protested as she crawled towards him, dust and dirt all over the floor.  She placed her head against his knee.

    “It’s okay, Sir.”  She closed her eyes.  Encircled her arms around his calf, her legs around his foot.  Her temple tickled with his sweat.  She scooted her crotch to his heel.  She nuzzled her head against his knee.

    And then she felt the familiar brush of his hand on her head.  And heard his sigh.

    It was her turn to take care of him.

  • Little One

    ~ erotica ~


    She rode his face, her hips rising and falling with the bend of her knees. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her pussy to his lips, as he enjoyed every last bit of her. She reclined her head back, body rolling, as his tongue moved just the way she liked.

    I had the perfect view. My mouth around his cock. My hands resting on my lower back. My eyes focused on them.

    It wasn’t everyday they allowed me to participate, let alone watch. It wasn’t every day that I got see them, both of them, this way. But this wasn’t any normal day.

    One year. One year since we started our interactions. One year since I walked through their front door, got down on my knees, and asked them to have me. One year of learning what they wanted, how they wanted it. One year of being at their beck and call. Doing this. Completing that. And always, always ready to be on my hands and knees, all holes open for whatever either wanted.

    I circled my tongue around the head of his cock and flicked just underneath. I moved the way I knew he loved, playing with his dick as I pleasured him, taking glee in my work. Closing my eyes, I sucked hard, and slowly filled my mouth and throat with him, sinking his cock inside me. I slid my mouth up and down his shaft. Slowly. Slowly. He never wanted to cum too fast. I never wanted to stop sucking his cock.

    I felt the grip of my hair. Felt the hand pull my mouth off his cock. Opened my eyes, and saw her, still riding him, a fury in her gaze equal parts anger and lust.

    She stared at me forever before slapping me across my face. Then again, backhanding my cheek.

    “Try harder,” she said before forcing my mouth back onto his cock. I clenched my hands. My pussy quivered. I was glad she couldn’t see how wet I was.

    She pushed and pulled my head on his cock, quickening my pace, bringing him closer and closer to his cum. He started moaning into her cunt. She purred at his sounds, the vibration adding that much more pleasure to her fun.

    “That’s it, little thing. Make him cum.”

    Her hand released my hair, but I felt her will pushing me still. I continued my speed along his cock. Continued my tongue dancing along his shaft. Continued to take him into my throat. It wasn’t long before his hips moved. His cock twitched. And he screamed and spewed his cum into my mouth.

    I heard her, too, as she came on his face. Her guttural growl as the wave of ecstasy rolled throughout her body.

    I swallowed his semen, licked my lips, and sat back on my feet, eyes lowered, waiting whatever they asked of me.

    “What do you think,” he asked her as he wiped the pussy juice, saliva, and sweat from his face. He wore the grin I loved, the one he always had after I made him cum.

    She stood, her stiletto boots making her tower over me. She stared down on his unassuming frame.

    “She’s useful,” he said. “And talented.”

    “I had to coach her.”

    “You had to encourage her. And that’s only cause you weren’t patient. You never want a long slow fuck.”

    “But she does.”

    I made sure not to look up, not to move.

    “You love sucking his cock. Would love to do it all day and all night, I’m sure. Is that right?”

    She had asked a direct question. I had to answer.

    “Yes, Mistress.”

    “What about my pussy? Would you lick and suck it til the Sun rose?”

    “Yes, Mistress.”

    “Hmm…”

    “I told you,” he said. “She’s useful.”

    “And eager. I think I will teach you how I want my pussy licked, since you seem to have mastered his cock just fine. I think we will keep you around a bit longer. Does this please you, little one?”

    “Yes, Mistress.”

  • Submit

    ~ erotica ~

    “You must conquer me.”

    It was what he had heard before. The first had said it to him. She had spoken her truth on her knees in front of him their first night together.

    “I want you to take me. To over power me. Break my will. Make me bend to you. Force your control upon me.

    “I won’t make it easy. I’ll fight you, fight your will at every turn. But know that it’s my greatest desire for you to win. I want you to find a way to make me yours, make me submit to you.

    “I’ll never just strip for you. You must tear my clothes apart. I’ll never cater to your every whim. You must push me to do as you wish. I’ll never beg or plead for your body, nor will I ever simply lay down my flesh at your feet just because it is your desire to have me. You must take what’s yours. Fight my fury for every kiss and fuck you wish to have.

    “I want you to conquer me. Can you? Will you?”

    He tried, but never did.

    This night, our first night, I sat on my knees in front of him prepared to speak my truth.

    I was not her. And I knew I would say something all together different.

    “I submit to you.

    “I give my body to your desires. My will to your guidance. I kneel here in awe of you.

    “My greatest wish is my head on your knee. Your hand caressing my hair. Knowing all is right because I am here with you and you are here with me.

    “I want only to be yours, totally and completely. I ask for the privilege of being dominated by you. Of submitting to you. Please tell me what you want; I will fulfill it. Make any rule; I will follow it. Give me the tools to please you and I will never go astray.

    “Use my body as you desire. My mouth, my pussy, my flesh is for your enjoyment whenever you have need of it. My mind is to be cultivated from your knowledge. My life enriched by being yours.

    “Please, may I submit to you?”

  • Matt

    ~ erotica ~


    “Hello Matt.”

    “Hello Whit.”

    I know my type. I get it. Tall. Leadership position. In control. I get it.

    But there is something about Matt. Something in his manner. Something in the way he bosses us all around that gets me off.

    We’ve never done anything, of course. I like my job and greatly want to keep it. The idea of me fucking the boss probably wouldn’t sit right with any of my fellow co-workers.

    So, instead, I greet Matt as I always do.

    “Thank you, Matt.”

    He never replies to my habitual farewell. Never lingers until everyone is gone. Never tries to talk to me after the gig is over. Never makes a move.

    Sometimes, in the middle of setting everything up, I look over and see him. He’ll be shooting the shit with the client. Keeping tabs on everyone working. We never make eye contact. I don’t look at him that often. But I usually have a sense of where he is. The hunger in my body often senses him.

    Today was not a special day, nor a special gig. It was an easy load out. An easy going client. Everyone was happy.

    I especially was pleased with the quickness of our work. I had a party to get to after the gig. People I was happy to see. Chill time to be had. I packed a bag just to change my clothes. No matter the rush, I did not want to show up in my dirty work outfit for what was sure to be a fun night.

    When Matt dismissed us, and I said my normal thank you, I made my way to the restroom. Changed my clothes. Played with my hair. Sprayed my favorite scent on my skin. Transitioned from worker to party girl.

    As I slung my garment bag over my shoulder, I grinned to myself. This was a first for me, looking this cute after a gig. I wondered what my coworkers would’ve thought of the switch.

    Stepping outside of the restroom, I lazily walked towards the exit.

    Passing the room I’d just worked in, I happened to glance inside. And I saw him. Matt, with his bag slung over his shoulder. A small smirk on his face as he walked towards me.

    And then he saw me. His smirk got bigger. I waited the few breaths for him to join me.

    “Hi Matt.”

    “Hi Whit. Off to have fun.”

    “Always, Matt.”

    We walked out of the building together towards our cars.

    Matt had never seen me like this. I knew it would leave an impression. But I had one more gem to impart.

    “I’m here,” he said as we came upon his Jeep. “Have fun tonight.”

    “I plan to, Matt. But, before I go.”

    I reached into my bag, felt around for a moment, and then found it. I pulled out the cigar and handed it to him.

    “For you, Matt.”

    He took the stick, glided it under his nose, and closed his eyes.

    “Thanks again, Matt.”

    I turned and walked away before he could respond, but I could feel his eyes on me. Tracing the lines of my body from toe to tip. I hoped he liked the view, and trusted it would be his preferred thought as he enjoyed the tobacco some day soon.

    “Whit.”

    I stopped. Turned. Smiled.

    “Yes, Matt.”

    He pulled out a knife from his pocket. Flicked it open with a click. Wetted the end of the cigar. Notched the tobacco. Put away his knife. Lit my gift.

    “Every time you say my name, it sounds like sex.”

    “Really, Matt.” He wasn’t the only one smiling.

    “When we fuck, will you scream or whisper my name?”

    “Depends, Matt.”

    “On?”

    “What you want, Matt.”

    His smoke lingered around his face as his grin grew.

    “Come here.” He beckoned me over, the ember of his cigar’s cherry a beacon for my steps.

    “Yes, Matt.”

  • Small World

    ~ erotica ~


    Small world.

    Is it him? Is it really him?

    I see the picture. The tiny image on my screen. The arms. The abs. The smile.

    Yes. Oh god, yes. It’s him.

    “Holy shit,” I say to no one in particular.

    There he is. Of all the people on this site. Of all the possible faces to come across my screen. His grin beams at me. The power of the internet.

    And he sent me a message.

    Small world.

    What does he mean by that?

    I look at our statistics. We line up well. No, amazingly close. Almost the best I’ve ever seen.

    He knows about my life. What I do after work, on vacation. He hears the stories I don’t tell anyone else at the office.

    And he tells me his own secrets. What he and his girlfriend do on the weekends when a certain someone is in town. Or on vacations to beautiful beaches full of beautiful people.

    Whenever we chat, I feel his gleeful face in my flesh. His laughs warming my loins.

    The many things I want to do with him. The thoughts of all the things I want him to do to me.

    But no. You don’t shit where you eat, right? Everyone knows that, don’t they?

    And yet, he wrote me.

    He is nothing if not a trickster. Did he seek me out? Is this just some fun little game of his?

    No. He’s heard my stories, yes, but he doesn’t know my persona. My name outside of the cubicles. What people call me before they make me cum.

    But now he does.

    Should I answer? Play along?

    What if this isn’t a game? What if he isn’t kidding around?

    What if he’s thought about his arms around me? What if he’s wondered what my face looks like as I cum? What if he wants to feel my lips around his cock? See my eyes looking up into his as he fucks my face? Hears my begging? Tastes my tears? The power he’d have over me?

    But what to say? How should I play this? What would he want to hear?

    Fuck it.

    Indeed, I reply.

    Your move.

  • Storyteller

    ~ a story ~

    “I’m not going back to him.”

    “That’s not why I’m here, Ma’am.”

    “No, you’re hear because he asked for you.”

    “Yes, Ma’am. He has that right. So I’m here.”

    “I’m not going back to him.”

    “I’m not here for him. I’m here for the both of you. For what you shared.”

    “Huh? What we shared? That’s over.”

    “Yes, Ma’am. It is. But still, I’m here to honor it. Please, tell me how it began.”

    “Didn’t he already tell you?”

    “Yes, Ma’am, he did, but he was not the only person in love. How did you meet him?”

    “You know how I met him. You know it all.”

    “Ma’am, I know a lot. But I only know his perspective. His side of your love. I need to hear you tell it. I need to hear your experience. I need to add your voice to the story. Please, give me these few minutes. Then I’ll leave. You don’t even have to show up for the storytelling. But I need to hear all sides before I can speak for the love. So, please, how did you meet him?”

    She took a deep breath. I could see she was thinking, weighing how much she hated being here over how much I was trying to make it better. Did she want to give me more shit, or just let it out? Finally let it go.

    She settled in her seat the way they all do, the way I’ve seen them all shift right before they begin.

    “It was a nice Spring day. The first for the season. So I thought I would go for a walk. Maybe run a bit, too. I had my ear buds in. I was listening to some up beat poppy music. I was happy, smiling, breathing in the fresh air. And not paying attention to the neighborhood. To cars passing by.

    “He didn’t see me. He was looking for a friend’s home, searching for the street numbers on the houses. He came around the bend, an almost blind turn. I didn’t hear his approach. Was oblivious to anything behind me.

    “He clipped my hip. I tumbled into the grass down by the side of a creek that ran through my neighborhood. He wasn’t going fast, and the soft earth cushioned my fall. But he freaked out all the same, worried he’d maimed me or something.

    “To get him to stop panicking and to not worry, I let him drive me home. I made him some tea to calm his nerves. We talked by the picture window in my kitchen.

    “He has these beautiful blue eyes. Like the water we swam in during our honeymoon.”

    ~

    Alec and Anna were like oil and vinegar. Smashed together by chance. Blending in a way that didn’t make chemical sense.

    There was always a push and pull to their relationship. Neither knew who would be on top any given day.

    But from their passion came a strong bond, a love that saw them through ten years together. Through displacement by a natural catastrophe. Through monetary hardships. And through shared unbelievable heartache.

    Their love bore a child who gave them three years of life before succumbing to a disease laced with their sorrow.

    Neither Alec nor Anna will deny the pain the death of their child caused them. And that it was this blow that created the first crack, which turned into a valley of separation, ultimately causing their parting.

    Nor will Alec and Anna deny the love and passion that still exists between them. They will forever be a wondrous mixture that never smoothly blends.

    Their love was spectacular in its life.

    But now their love has ended.

  • Midnight Snack

    ~ erotica ~


    A hand over my mouth startled me awake. My eyes shot open. My shriek came out as a mumble into a hand. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. To recognize Dirk as the body that rested over mine.

    When he saw the realization, he eased up his hand.

    “What are you?”

    His hand returned to my mouth. He shook his head no. My eyes slanted towards him. What was going on?

    And then his lips replaced his hand. And we were kissing. In my bed. In the middle of the night. In the house we shared with four of our friends, who were all sleeping.

    I had work in the morning. A long day, in fact, full of people I didn’t like and assignments I barely cared about. I needed my rest.

    But he was kissing me. And I didn’t want him to stop kissing me. Ever.

    I felt his body adjust to one side. Felt his arm run down my front. Felt his hand slip under my pajama pants. Felt his fingertips find my clit.

    I moaned into his mouth, his lips muffling my sounds. I tilted my hips up, up. Trying to feel more of his hand against me.

    Through his boxers, I knew how much he wanted this. How hard he was. How much he wanted me.

    My left hand reached over to my end table. Blindly opened a drawer. Palmed a condom. I ran my hand down his arm until I found his free hand. He grabbed the condom. Held it in between his fingers. Then covered my mouth with his hand again.

    He ripped off my pants. Dove his face down in between my legs. Got off the bed. Stood against the edge to be able to reach. My hands ambled around for something, anything, to cover my mouth. I found my stuffed bear, Honey. Crushed her against my lips. I hoped she didn’t mind seeing me like this.

    He climbed back onto the bed. Lifted my hips to his mouth. I could still feel the condom in his hand as he ignored it. Concentrated on licking. Flicking. Sucking. Enjoying my pussy.

    I was happy I’d found Honey. My moans grew louder, but she muffled my noises. My body writhed. The tension grew. Built. Until I came against his tongue. Came squeezing my thighs around his face. Came screaming his name into my stuffed bear’s belly.

    He licked me once. Twice. Lapping up the mess. Before setting my hips back down on my bed. Before dropping the condom back in the drawer. Before slipping my pajama pants back on me. Before kissing my forehead and quietly slipping out of my bedroom.

    The next evening, after a dull day. After people I didn’t care much for and work I was barely able to stand, I came home. Kicked off my shoes. Dropped my things by the door. Heard no one else in the house. Checked my mail. And found a note in my box.

    You taste delicious.

    I ran upstairs and masturbated, staring at that piece of paper.

    That night, and every night since, I leave my bedroom door cracked open, for the next time Dirk has a craving for a midnight snack.

  • Crotch Rope

    ~ erotica ~

    My clit throbbed. I hadn’t cum yet. The rope had only been on me for a few minutes.

    He’d taken out the coil, my rope, and knelt in front of me. I’d let my hands laze in his hair as he worked. Wrapped once around my hips. Once under my ass. Knotted. Threaded the rope down between my lips. Brought it back up. Made a knot. Pulled tight through my pussy. Passed under the bands in back. Yanked down. Ran under the bottom band. Brought the rope back up. Tied it again. Tight. Knotted the excess around my waist loosely.

    “Good. Go put in the laundry.”

    My face asked a question; my voice was silent.

    “You heard me. Go put in the laundry.”

    I harrumphed before walking away.

    Immediately, with my first step, I felt it. Every movement was different. Every swish of my hips. I bent to pick up the basket. I took the stairs to the basement. I filled the washer, bending and lifting. Never had a hated choir been so fun. I bounced back up the stairs. Up was so much more fun than down.

    I stood in front of him.

    “Sit,” he said.

    And here I am now. Minutes later.

    He looms over me. I can’t help but squirm in my chair. Even the slightest movement is wondrous. Full of an almost guilty pleasure.

    He just looks down on me and smiles.

    “Stop.”

    “But…”

    “Stop.”

    I don’t move.

    But I can’t not move. I bite my forefinger. And pulse. Pulse my clit against the knot. And look up at him with my puppy dog eyes. I beg without words. Let him see my torment. My pain. He loves to see my pain.

    He bends down. Whispers into me ear.

    “Go to bed.”

    I gasp, then scamper to our room. Every step is more glorious than the next.

    I pull back the covers. Again, I sit. Then lay down. And then writhe. Face down. Snaking my body against mattress. Fucking myself with my rope. With the knot he tied. And it grows. And grows.

    I turn my head. He’s there. Staring. Smiling.

    “Are you close?”

    “Almost.”

    “Get closer.”

    I ease my hips up and down. I feel him watching me. My breathing quickens.

    “Please?”

    He flicks open his knife. I feel a yank on the rope. A moment of ease.

    And then he’s inside me. And he’s pulling the rope in time with his thrusts. And the knot is against my clit. And he’s pumping in and out.

    And I scream, “Please?”

    “Yes.”

    And I scream again.

    Afterwards, I feel a little sad. Until he kisses my cheek, smiles, and says, “It’s still long enough for next time.”