Friday, August 22, 2008

On The Road

Exhausted. Every cell in my body aches for sleep. Every fiber of my being screams for rest. My mind spinning on the events of the day, of the week, of the month. Walking down the hall, my jacket flaring with each stride. My pace more purposeful than my mind.

The smell of hotel cleaners, luggage, weary travel haunts this place. Miles strapped to the backs of those who wish to shed the day for a moment. Shed in the fluorescent lit hallways leading to the same door to the same room of the same place.

And down this hall I walk. Sliding my card into the door, waiting for the blinking green light of welcome on the lock. Through the door, into the dark room. Cold. Too cold. Too quiet. Too sterile to be home. I leave the lights off. Not wanting to be reminded of where I am.

The bag thumps on the floor, next to the other bags that hold life for the moment. I debate about just throwing my jacket on the bed. Too tired to hang it up. Too tired to watch it taunt me from the other side of the room while I sleep.

My shoulders shrug it off. Falling to my wrists to catch it before it hits the floor. I drape it over the back of the chair, the black of the fabric contrasted by the maroon tapestry.

My toes hurt. Remembering the pointed toe, it's not a surprise. I wonder, for the tenth time today if You would like them. If they are tall enough, or too pointy, or if the buckle on the toe is too much. I wonder if the toe cleavage on my pinkie toe is too much. If You would approve, or if You would find it garish. I smile.

My hands move to the buttons, starting at the bottom of the Grey blouse I'm wearing. It will be wonderful to get it off. One at a time, moving up my stomach until it hangs from my shoulders.

I reach around the back of my skirt. The zipper loud in the stillness of the room. Sliding it down past my hips to land in a puddle of black at my feet.

More than anything I want to take off my stockings. The black against my skin clings to me. The ridges at the top dig into my thighs. I want them off. Stepping out of each leg, one at a time each one joins the puddle of my skirt.

I hang my blouse, and reach down to undue my bra. The clasp undone, my breasts heavy against my chest. Naked. I stand. I breath.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something is here. I am not alone. My arm crosses to cover my breasts as I hear the click of the door behind me. Turning, heart racing, I see a movement in the shadow. One slow step back and I am stopped by the wall. Cold, hard, pressing against me, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Do not be afraid little one.

The voice sounds familiar. The shape in the shadows known by every cell of my skin. I am frozen. Frozen in anticipation, frozen for flight. Eyes large, peering into the darkness, I seek to see him more.

The metal slides into place as the door is locked shut. The cold hard sound echoing in my head.

You should be more careful with the safety of my property. You do not know who watches you.

Pressing harder against the wall, trying to melt into the roughness of the texture. Standing. Exposed. Waiting for his next move.

Lay on the bed. Feet towards the top. Your head hanging down over the edge.

I pause. Hold my breath for a moment. Torn between running towards him and running away. I take a deep breath and realize my nipples are hard. One step away from the wall and the moisture between my thighs cools in the air. Slowly, the bed comes closer. I could try to argue. I could try to resist. There is no point.

Legs stretched towards the headboard. Arms stretched out from my side. The perspective of the room is different upside down. His feet softly padding across the floor. I can make out his shape as he moves across the room to sit in the chair.

Show me.

I spread my legs. My cunt wet and swollen now. Aching to be touched. My fingers twitch to reach for him. His skin is so close.

You are wet, I am pleased. Show me how you take care of yourself.

My fingers reach between my legs. My middle finger tracing circles around my clit. Spreading the wetness that has pooled around my slit. Moving slowly, the sensations start to build. One finger dips inside. I am wet, I am hot, I need to feel him. Faster my fingers move, and I moan. My cunt starting to grip something that isn't there. Needing to feel full. Needing to have him inside me. Needing.

I try to pull my legs up to arch against the sensations. They won't move. I pull harder. The rope pulls against my ankles, tight, taunt. Like each nerve in my body, pulled but not released.

Give me your hands.

His voice has moved. I didn't hear him move. I raise my arms above my head and feel one hand grasp my wrists. The rope cold and harsh against my skin. Firm. My arms no longer move.


Hands lift my head. Slowly I feel the satin fabric lowered over my eyes. The darkness fades to black. No shadows move here. No movement at all. I am fully alert, listening, smelling, waiting in anticipation for what he has planned next.

Cold, pressing on my slit, I feel something. My body pulls against the ropes in vain. In one great thrust I am filled. Full. I moan as the buzzing starts, muffled by my cunt.

Don't let that fall out.

All of my focus is diverted to the buzzing fullness in my pussy. Filled. Aching to be pounded. Wanting more than the soft vibrations of the dildo. Muscles clamp to keep it in place, sending new sensations to my brain. My mouth opens and I breathe.

His musky scent registers a flash before I feel the warmth of his cock stroke my top lip. My tongue darts out to taste him. Slowly his cock traces the outline of my mouth, leaving a trail of him behind. I realise why he wanted my head over the edge of the bed. Spread out he can see me. The goosebumps. My nipples hard. The end of the dildo hanging out of my cunt. He can see it all. My mouth is perfectly positioned for his cock. For him to tease me with his cock while he watches my skin react. For him to see that I don't cum before I am told. To see that I am his.

My mouth opens, and my tongue reaches for more of him. Reaching to take him in my mouth so I can taste him. Wanting him to slide past my lips and let me suck on him. He presses forward slightly. Just allowing me the tip. Teasing my now watering mouth with his cock.

Hips moving he presses farther. Past my tongue. Reaching for my throat. Opening to him, I want to take him completely. Hands reach down, grabbing fist fulls of hair. Holding my head, pressing his cock farther into my mouth.

Fucking my mouth, the sound of skin on skin, wet on wet, my tongue moving in circles around his shaft as it rapidly moves in and out of my mouth. He is getting bigger. My lips feel the cum starting at the bottom of his shaft, wanting to release. Rapidly he thrusts, and then he is gone. I hear his groan at the same time I feel the ribbons of cum spread across my chest. Ribbons painting a road map across my tits.


The warmth of his cum is leaving, making my skin cold as the moisture evaporates in the air. Lips swollen, mouth wet, I swallow. A deep breath and I feel the cum running down my side. Sticky. Thick. Wet. I am his.

Very good little girl. Now it's your turn.

Thursday, August 7, 2008


You are patient. Your patience solid in my storm. Solid to guide my flitting thoughts. Guide me here.

Here, You wait, Your eyes searching.

Arm draped over the back of the chair. Foot propped up on leg. Leaned back. Your body misrepresents the intensity of Your mind. You are not relaxed, at ease. You are stalking, coiled, ready to pounce.

Primal fear. The fear of the hunted, the fear of the prey. Perched on toes ready to take flight. Every nerve in my body on alert. Ambient sounds fade away to the rush of blood. Breath slows to conserve for the chase, lips parted, mouth ready to take the first gasp of air. Eyes focused on You.

You smile and lick your lips as You take notice. Your body does not betray Your mind. Your eyes pull.

One uneasy step at a time. One shaking toe in front of the other. my body betrays my mind. Screaming to run, screaming to hide, screaming to laugh, or cry, or jump up and down. One shaking toe in front of the other.

A hand. A hand solid in my storm. Reaches out to pull me in. Eyes drawn to the hand. The fingers reached out to grip mine. my eyes travel to His, once again, captured. Locked. Shoulders relax. Mind eased.

"you are Mine".