Author Archives: him

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(I’m here, kitten. Relax, be still. I’m always here.)

And not only here but, as I’ll tell you when we speak, thinking of you. Thinking, all day, of commanding and comforting, of taking you and of protecting you.

Commanding and comforting in roughly equal measure, kitten. Holding you down, and lifting you up. Restraining you, and freeing you. Challenging you, and restoring you. Dominating, always, but sometimes gentle.

Don’t doubt, not even for a moment, that I’m aware of my kitten. MY kitten.

Mine.

Quiet Time

Quiet, protective, gentle. And, still, always here. And, still, inevitable.

I’ll leave you with this, for now:

I told you what I’m going to do, the next time I have you in my big white bed. This is what I’m looking forward to doing, more than anything else.

It will be after I’ve done other things to you, made you cry out, been a little rough with you, and used your body pretty aggressively.

And it will be after you’ve pleased me very much.

I am going to sit up against the pillows, and put my arms around your shoulders and under your legs, and curl your body into a little ball in my arms, and hold you on my lap and against my chest, and have you rest your head on my shoulder, and be very quiet with you.

And, in fact, I’m doing that now, and will be until further notice. So be still, kitten.

Teaching I

“Kitten, you’ll have to take it all, but not right away, not today. We’ll take our time.”

I’m lying on my back, my cock still in your mouth as you kneel on the bed beside me. My cock, and your hand wrapped around it, are wet from your mouth and throat; your face is wet with tears from choking as you tried to take me too deep. You’ve worked so hard, but now you relax a little as I speak.

“That’s enough of a challenge for today. Just suck me slowly now, relax and take your time. Do you understand, little one?”

You nod without taking my cock from your mouth, so I put my hand under your chin and gently lift you.

“Yes?” I ask you again.

“Yes, Sir,” you reply, quietly.

“Good girl.” And, before you take my cock back in your mouth, I pull you down on your side so that I can touch you while you suck me, and you lie on the bed, your head resting on my stomach and my cock in your mouth, as I slip my hand between your legs and slide my fingers into you.

Such a good, obedient girl I have. You please me, kitten.

—————————————————-

Little one, today I find it hard to stop thinking about you on your knees. I remember you on your knees beside my bed. I imagine you on your knees on my bed, your ass raised to me, your shoulders pressed against the sheets as I hold you down with my hand on your neck.

Very soon, kitten.

Kitten

Do you remember the first time I called you that, kitten? It seems so long ago now, that day of firsts. It wasn’t our first moment of intimacy. And we didn’t make love–it was a little while yet before I took you that way, before I claimed you so thoroughly.

But it was the first time you graced my big white bed, lying so beautifully on the covers, captivating even before I held you down and roughly undressed you.

It was the first time I tied you, left you lying on your side, naked, vulnerable. (Hours later, I found my belt, still knotted, hidden amongst the covers.)

It was the first time, kitten, that the constant fantasy of you on your knees before me was realized–became a better reality than imagined in my countless daydreams. How did you know that I would want you to rest your hands on my legs, so I could watch my hard cock slowly sliding in and out between your lips? It was the first of so many times you would kneel for me–the first of so many times I’d lift you up afterwards.

It was the first time I saw you naked in the light of day, the first time I paused to appreciate your breasts before I pressed my lips and tongue hard against your nipples.

It was the first time we had time, girl; time to restrain you, time to touch you, time to speak the gentle words to soften the sting of my hand on your bottom. (And the first time for that, too, for leaving my hand printed so plainly on your body. You took it well, kitten. You always have taken it well, that and so much more.)

For the first time (and you told me this, later) you wondered what would happen next, what I would do to you, and were anxious–but not, I think, afraid. (If you had known, kitten, how near a thing it was, how close you came to having my cock deep in your ass as you lay naked on your side and I held your wrists–if you had known, your anxiety would have been multiplied. When I pulled you around and thrust my cock into your mouth, it was to spare you a much greater discomfort than that of the two fingers I thrust into you.)

Dear girl, my good girl…. It was the first time I wrapped you in my arms, held you against my chest, comforted you after using your body roughly (but not very roughly–and not at all roughly compared to our later encounters).

Above all, it was the time I began to possess you, to trap us in our golden bubble. I’m in it now, remembering you. Anticipating you, kitten.

pause

And now, girl, there will be a brief pause in the writing, nothing more here until I’ve looked into your eyes again, caught your wrists, and heard you say “yes, sir,” and watched you look down in submission as I take small liberties with your body.

First Night, Part II —
Do You Remember?

How much do you remember of that first night, girl? I remember it well. I remember every inch of your body as it revealed itself to me, as I brushed my lips along the curve of your hip, as my hands explored you. I remember your first orgasm, how hard you tried not to move when I told you to be still, and the muffled cry of surprise and pain as you buried your face in the pillow at my palm’s sharp contact with your bottom.

Do you remember the kisses? Do you remember my lips softly touching you, from the back of your neck, your shoulder, moving slowly down your back to your waist? Do you remember how gently it began, how different it was from the businesslike way in which I had undressed you and bound you?

Did you have any idea, then, how long the night would be, and what demands I’d make of you and your body? Did you notice, my dear girl, how I would be gentle with you before doing something hard to you? If you noticed, did you begin to worry when I was especially gentle with you, when I spent so much time calming you, soothing you?

And do you remember how many times you cried that night? How, each time, before it began, I’d kiss you gently on the face and remind you of our word, and that you could always say it? Little girl, you’ve no idea how pride welled up in me each time you bit your lip and quickly shook your head, how pleased I was by your desire to submit, by your refusal to escape. In those moments, I wanted to untie you and crush you against me and let you sleep the night held captive in my strong arms.

In fact, we got to that, but it was much later.

Your nipples. Girl, did you ever imagine that I would be so obsessed with your breasts and, in particular, with your nipples? That I’d take such pleasure in gently brushing my lips across them, in roughly lashing my tongue hard around them? That I’d delight in pinching them, making you gasp and squirm? Or that, by the end of the night, they’d be so swollen and sore, so sensitive, and that you’d feel for days the abuse to which I’d subjected them? Now, thinking of it, I want to hold you down and feel your body shuddering beneath me as I roughly manhandle and devour your soft warm breasts and your perfect nipples.

Much later. Long before I held you quietly in my arms, long before I let you sleep the few hours that remained of that first night, long before that, dear girl, I did so much to you. How much do you remember?

You remember how gentle it all seemed while you were still bound, how easy it was for you to lie there as I touched you all over, ran my hands flat along your skin, opened you and brushed my fingertips lightly along your labia, your clitoris, and dipped just slightly into you. You remember how gently I fingered your ass, how careful I was as my finger slipped inside you–deeply, but so slowly that your fear quickly subsided. And you remember how often I paused to kiss your neck, to breathe lightly on you as I kissed your ear, and to murmur “good girl” when you were so still and quiet. Surely you remember those things?

But did you guess, girl, how hard I’d thrust my cock into your throat? How forceful I’d be, how you’d choke and gag as I held your head against me and my cock filled you? Did you guess, as the tears came to your eyes and you coughed and gasped, that I’d demand so much of you, again and again, and that you’d spend so much time on your knees or on your side while I fucked your throat so roughly?  Do you know, now, how much of my sense of possession of you comes from that, from your willingness to choke on my cock, to drop to your knees and beg me to thrust it down your throat? I warned you of that obsession. Did you believe me?

When, finally, I unfastened your wrists and ankles and rolled you on to your back, do you remember how gentle I was with you? Do you remember how I kissed your arms, softly massaged the redness from your wrists? How I knelt between your legs and kissed your face, and your throat, and slowly, gently worked my way to your breasts? Do you remember your hands on my shoulders, my muscles tight as I knelt above you and buried my face between your breasts?

Do you remember that, and then what followed? That last long lingering kiss on your lips, the gentleness in my eyes as I looked into yours, the small smile–before I took possession of you, claimed you, fucked you fast and deep and hard, and made your body mine?

I remember it all.

Girl, do you ache right now? Do you ache as much as I do? Answer me, now, by text. Two words; you know what I want to hear.

Intermission

They’re all real, the things I’ve written about: my lust, my protectiveness, my need to control, my strength and my aggression. Even my violent urges, my obsessions with oral and anal sex, and my wish to make you cry–they’re all in me, and you’ll experience them all. You will, because the things I wrote about you are real, too: your need to surrender, to have someone decide for you, to place your freedom in someone else’s hands and let him use you as he will. And so you’ll surrender to me, surrender your choices and your responsibility, and I’ll protect you and use you and break you and make you feel safe.

But now we need to let the physical reality catch up with all our words, girl. Now we need to touch. I need to put my hand on your neck and look into your eyes and watch you look down and become quiet and answer “yes, sir” when I tell you what I want. Now we need to live our natures together, if only for a moment, mine dominant and protective, yours submissive and obedient.

I need your surrender. And you, my dear girl, need to surrender to me, need to know that there is someone who understands you and who wants you the way you want to be, and to whom you can give yourself in willing submission.

The words will continue. But now there must also be the reality of your body against mine, of your lips against mine, of your breasts in my hands, of my strength and energy, of your heat and wetness.

You merely have to say “yes, sir.”

Say it.

 

First Night, Part I

Girl, no one here, other than you and me, really knows our history, knows which of the moments that I describe have already happened and which are yet to happen. It’s all true–but some of it is still in the future. For a little longer.

This is for whoever may be out there reading my notes to you. I want to tell them about our first night together.

You remember. You remember the hotel, your nervousness when you came up to my room. We’d waited so long, both so busy, unable to make our schedules fit. You’d had a rough week, full of more meetings and more stress than usual–and deciding to join me now was yet one more choice, and one of the hardest you’d had to make. But, once my hand closed around your wrist, you knew it was the last decision you’d have to make. And you knew it was inevitable. You remember….

He lay her down on the bed, still in the clothes she wore to work that morning. He lay beside her. He put his hand on her throat, slid his fingers to her jaw and held her head still, his touch firm, strong, unyielding, but not sharp or abrupt. He turned her head slightly away, kissed her once, lightly, on her temple, and then turned her back to face him. He kissed her on the lips, but only for a few seconds.

He released her throat and moved his hand down her body. There was no preamble, no gradual progression from neck to shoulder to arm to breast: there would be time later for touching her everywhere, for exploring every inch of her. Now, he was taking possession, claiming her–and making sure that she understood that.

He grasped her breast, felt it through the fabric of her blouse and bra, squeezed it hard enough that she gasped. And then the other breast, manhandling them each briefly, pressing his thumb against the nipple. And then his hand was between her legs, cupping the mound of her pussy, pressing his palm firmly against her as his fingers pressed more deeply between her legs. He held her tightly this way, just long enough for her to understand how easily he could hold her down. He wanted her to understand that.

And then he undressed her. He was measured, efficient: there was no haste, but also no romance in it, no delicate unwrapping. Again, there would be tenderness later. But first he needed her submission.

He left her wearing only her panties, the ones he liked and that he’d told her to wear. He was pleased that she remembered, pleased that she’d obeyed in this small way.

He looked at her, at her naked breasts, at her nipples, at the curves of her body. He wanted it, wanted it all, wanted it right now. But he’d waited this long, and he could wait just a little while longer.

He takes her wrists in his hand and lifts her arms above her head, pressing her wrists down against the bed, holding her there. He kisses her breast, takes one nipple between his lips, his tongue moving roughly across it. She moans, and he sucks hard on her nipple, closing his lips tightly around it, pulling it. She squirms, from pleasure or discomfort or both. He takes more of her breast into his mouth, his tongue pressing hard across her nipple, swirling around it. She makes a sharp sound of pain, but only once; he ignores it. Then the other breast, the same hard tongue, until both nipples are wet and swollen. She’s breathing faster now, her chest heaving a little with each quick breath.

He releases her and, reaching down beside the bed, retrieves a small leather suitcase she hasn’t noticed before. He unzips it, taking out various items. He takes her wrist and fastens a leather cuff around it, does the same to the other wrist. And then he pushes her, not harshly but not gently, on to her side, facing away from him. He reaches down and grasps one of her ankles and pulls it sharply toward him, bending her leg back behind her. Holding her like this, he fastens another cuff to the ankle, and then repeats it for her other.

Now he pauses with her still on her side, facing away from him. He kisses her lightly on the back of her neck, desire and tenderness welling up inside him. She’s been so good, hasn’t spoken, hasn’t asked any questions or objected to his demands. He smiles, slides his hand slowly down her side, appreciates the softness of her skin, the rise of her hips, her ass barely concealed by the sheer panties.

He slips a small leather strap through a loop in one ankle cuff, and then through the other, and pulls her feet together. Then he folds her legs back, so that she’s lying on her side in a kneeling position. Holding her ankles, he reaches around her and takes one wrist, pulls it behind her, and threads the leather strap through the loop in the wrist cuff. Then he slips his arm under her body and catches her other wrist, pulls her other arm behind her. In a moment, she’s lying on her side, her wrists and ankles bound together.

Now he kisses her ear, gently, and speaks in a slow, calm, clear voice–the first time either of them has spoken since she arrived.

“Relax now, girl. There’s nothing you can do, nothing you have to do. No more decisions, no more choices. I own your body now, and I will until morning. And I’m going to enjoy your body, and take my time doing it. I’ll take what I want, and you know I want everything so it’s going to be a long night, and when it’s over you’re going to be sore, and sweaty, and exhausted, and swollen. And satisfied.” He pauses, pulls aside her hair and kisses the back of her neck gently.

“Girl, do you understand me?”

He waits, and then sees her head move in a small, quick nod.

“Tell me,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” Her voice is quiet, timid. He smiles.

“Good girl. Now be still.” And then slowly, calmly, as if examining a new and valuable possession, he begins to explore her body.

(continued tonight)

Bad Intent

I will always dominate you. It’s my nature, just as it’s yours to surrender to it. It’s an authority I simply assume: I’ll take you, you’ll yield to me, and I’ll treat you like the obedient and submissive girl you are–I’ll protect you, command you, enjoy you. I couldn’t not dominate you. I wouldn’t know how.

I will always dominate you.

Occasionally, I’ll throw you around and treat you roughly.

I move quickly, crossing the room to where you stand at the bed, before you have a chance to speak. I put my arm around you and pull you hard against me, bending you backwards as I press my chest against yours. My hand goes to the back of your neck, as always, but I hold you too tightly, kiss you too hard. I push you back farther, until you feel my leg between yours, your pussy pressed against my thigh as I tip you back. The pressure there feels good, as does the sense of being swept off your feet. But you know what it’s like when I get this way, when I’m feeling particularly aggressive, and you feel a moment of fear–and anticipation.

I pull you back up and spin you around so that you’re facing the bed. With one hand on your neck and another on your waist, I push you roughly forward and you fall across the bed, lying on your stomach. I’m not holding you now, but you know better than to try to move–the last time you did, I grabbed your ankle and yanked you roughly toward me, until you were sitting on the floor with your back against the bed, and then I fucked your throat, making you choke and gag for what seemed like forever.

So you lie still, waiting.

In a moment I’m kneeling on the bed beside you. My hand grasps your upper arm and I pull you up, rolling you on to your back. You look up at me as I lean over you, and you see the lust in my eyes, the want, the hunger. I’m breathing hard, and you know it isn’t from exertion–I can throw you around all night without tiring. My body is tense, my muscles tight; you can feel how close I am to exploding, and you lie still, breathing slowly, only your eyes moving as you watch me.

You’re lying on the bed beneath me, vulnerable, and I want to ravish you. I want to tear off your clothes, to hear the fabric rip as I yank roughly at it. I want to grab your naked breasts and squeeze them hard, and pinch your nipples. I want to slip my fingers into your hair and pull your head back, press my lips against your neck, grind my palm crudely against your pussy as my lips slide down your body to your breasts. I want to make you cry out with pain as my hand closes tightly on your inner thigh, as I shove your legs apart and plunge two fingers hard into your pussy.

I want to choke you with my cock. I want to fuck your ass until you scream. I want to bend you over and take you from behind, spanking you hard until you’re crying even as I’m slamming my cock deep into you. I want to shove you forward against the wall, hold you there with my forearm across your back, and fuck you so hard I almost lift you off the ground with each thrust.

I want to throw you on to your back and fall on top of you, plunging my cock deep into you; then flip you over, my cock still in you, and drive you into the mattress with my body, slam you forward with each thrust.

You sense all this. You don’t see my raw need often, but you know it’s real, and you know you’re seconds away from being taken roughly, painfully, from being tossed about, grabbed hard, maybe bruised. And you know there’s nothing you can do, nothing except say our safe word–but you’ve never done that, and you know you won’t, not for this.

I reach down and unfasten your pants, yank them roughly down your thighs. Then I flip you over, quickly, and hold you down with a hand on the small of your back. You hear me undoing my belt, unzipping my pants. You know you’re about to be taken, but you aren’t sure how: you hope it isn’t your ass, not now, not when I’m this aggressive. But then I’m behind you, my arm reaching around you and my hand between your legs opening your pussy to me, and you feel my cock thrust into you. And now you know it will be okay, and you moan as my cock sinks deep into you, and you grip the sheets tightly and press your cheek against the bed and hold on as I slam myself into you.

When I come, I push so hard into you that it hurts, that you can hardly breathe, and I hold myself tight against you, and you can feel my cock throbbing and pulsing  inside you. Then, slowly, my body settles on you, and you enjoy the feeling of my weight holding you down, and you know that I’ll be gentle now, and hold you close, and take care of you, and that I won’t be dangerous again for a long time.

 

Note I

Sometimes when you arrive I’m not there, I’ve stepped out to get dinner, or coffee, or to run an errand. But, always, when I’m not there to take my girl in hand, I leave instructions. You find the note on the bed, with other things I’ve left for you.

Girl, here are your collar and your wrist and ankle bands. I’ve replaced the wrist bands–the old ones were getting a little worn, and I don’t want them breaking. Put them on. But undress first, down to your bra and panties; even though I’m not here to watch, I like to think of you almost naked as you get ready for me.

Take a shower first, if you like–I’ll leave that up to you. I want you comfortable. But I also want you wet, so take a few minutes before I get back–you have almost an hour–to play. Your toys are on the bed–the usual ones and one or two extra.

Tonight, girl, if you’re very good–or if you’re very bad, for that matter–I’m going to slowly thrust every inch of my big, hard cock into your ass. I know you’ve been preparing for that, and now it’s time. You’ll be on your back, with your wrists tied together in front of you so that you can hold your vibrator against your pussy. I want you on your back so that I can watch your face: this is the first time, after all, and I want to be careful with you.

But we won’t start with that. We’ll start as usual with a spanking, if you need it, and then you kneeling for me. Tonight, when you kneel, I want you to put your arms around my legs and press your breasts hard against my thighs for a few minutes. If you can’t suck my cock that way, that’s okay, just kiss and lick what you can reach. I want to feel your warmth against me as I run my fingers through your hair, slide my hand down your back and hold you against me, and look down your back and see your ass.

I’m very hard right now, girl, and I ache to have my hands on you. You’re going to please me in new ways tonight. So get ready. That’s a good girl.

End of The Day

It’s late. I laid you across my lap and spanked you tonight–you needed the reassurance of being possessed and subdued. And you needed the lovemaking that followed the tears, the exhausting intensity of it, and the orgasms that finally came. You’re sore, tender, swollen, but now you’re calm, lying naked beside me. You’re on your side, your head resting on my shoulder, your breasts pressed against me. You have one arm across my chest, and one leg across mine. My arm is around you, my hand on the small of your back, holding you. My other hand brushes your hair gently back from your face, and caresses your neck.

We have the night together and we’ll sleep well: we’re both exhausted. In the morning, I’ll wake you as I enter you, and we’ll make love one more time, slowly and gently, my arms holding you tightly against me, my good little girl moaning softly against my chest.

Defiance, Part II

(cont’d)

(Some of your amber beads, my dear submissive girl, may be a bit darker than others. This, were it ever to happen, would be one of those–though only slightly. There will be much darker ones.)

I reach across the table again and take your wrist in my hand and hold you, tightly. I lean toward you, looking into your eyes.

“I’ll tell you what will happen if you test me that way.

“And girl, I know why you’d have to test me. I understand: you have to know that you’re submitting to someone who really is stronger and more aggressive than you are, someone who not only can dominate you but who wants to dominate you. You can trust me, darling: you’ll never have any reason to doubt either my ability or my willingness, my desire, to dominate you. I think you’ll learn that soon enough. But, still, I understand that you might have to prove it to yourself. And I won’t let you down, girl: you’ll never have to be in charge. Not for a moment.”

I tighten my grip on your arm and pull you slightly toward me, so that you have to lean in a little and our faces are closer.

“Dear girl, the moment I believe that you’re defying me, that you’re being deliberately disobedient, I’ll take you in hand. I’ll throw you down on the bed–or the couch, or the table, or the floor if it comes to that. I’ll roll you on to your stomach, and I’ll pull your arms behind your back. I won’t be gentle about it; I won’t hurt you, but it won’t be comfortable. If you’re behaving badly, I won’t treat you gently. Not at all. I’ll pull your arms behind your back, and I’ll hold your wrists together in one hand. You know I can. You know how easy it is for me to overpower you–I’ve done it so many times. You do know that, don’t you?”

You nod, slowly, biting your lip, remembering the last time I restrained you, the strength of my hands and arms, how powerless you felt.

“I’ll hold you down, your arms behind your back. And I’ll bare your ass, dear girl–I’ll pull down your pants, if you’re still wearing them. I’ll yank down your panties. And then I’ll pause, so that you can remember what I’m telling you right now, and think about it. And if you are very submissive at that very moment, if you beg me very sweetly to do whatever it was that you refused to do, then maybe–maybe–you’ll spare yourself what follows.

“Or maybe not. I can’t have you doubting my authority over you. I can’t have you wondering, when you submit, if you’re making some terrible mistake, giving yourself to a half-hearted, indifferent, or weak-willed master. I want you always to have the comfort of knowing how dominated you really are. So begging, however sweetly, probably won’t help.

“And so I’ll spank you.”

I feel your arm tense just a little, as you recall the last time I spanked you. Though it left your bottom red and tender, it wasn’t serious: I was taking you from behind, my hand tight on the back of your neck as I pressed you down into the mattress, and I gave your ass a few sharp slaps. As you remember, your eyes get that dreamy, faraway look I like so much.

“And it’ll be a real spanking this time, girl. I’ll hold you down, your arms pinned behind you, and I’ll slap my palm against your bare ass. I’ll do it hard, and I’ll keep doing it until I make you cry. And then I’ll do it a little longer, until you beg me, through your tears, to let you do whatever it was you refused to do before.”

You look very serious now, almost alarmed. “Would you do that, really?” you ask.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I’d do that. And, my dear obedient little girl, I’d enjoy doing it. I’m hard, right now, thinking about doing it. The thought of overcoming your defiance, of making you cry as you surrender to me, that thought excites me very much. So much so that, after I finished spanking you but before you did whatever it was you’d refused to do, I’d make you suck my cock. I’d make you kneel in front of me and suck my cock until your tears stopped flowing, until you were calmed and ready to obey. And then everything would be okay again, you’d be my obedient, submissive girl again. And you’d have no doubt–no doubt at all–about who is in charge.”

Now you look relaxed, as if you were reassured by what you’ve heard.

“But you’re going to be a good girl tonight, aren’t you?” I let go of your wrist and rest my hand against your cheek, brushing the hair aside. You nod, and say “yes, sir.” And that feeling wells up in me again, that desire and need to have you–to have you right now, to have you completely. And you know it, can see it in me.

I throw a bill on the table and stand, and help you into your coat.

* * * * *

And now, my good little girl, today or tomorrow, send me your schedule. Where will you be, and when, on Monday and Tuesday? Because I wish to see you.

Defiance, Part I

“What would you do if I said ‘no?'”

You ask it innocently, with childlike curiosity. I wonder if it is the drink–your second–that has made you bold.

I smile. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. What if I said ‘no’ and refused to do what you wanted? What…what would you do?”

“Girl, you’re talking about defiance, right? Not using the safe word–you know that will always work. And not being meek and submissive, asking me please not to do something, not today: you know I’ll respond to that, if you’re submissive enough. You’re talking about defiance, about testing me.”

You pause, and take another sip of your drink, and then nod. You aren’t quite as confident now, aren’t sure if you’ve already crossed some boundary. But you haven’t; we’re in public, sitting in an out-of-town bar, just talking.

I reach across the table and brush my fingers against your cheek, then put them under your chin and gently tip your face up so you’re looking at me. “My dear little girl, I’ve thought about this.” I smile, looking into your eyes. “I wouldn’t hurt you–I’ll never do that. But it would be awful: fast, sudden, and, yes, painful. And you’d be sorry, after, that you were a bad girl. But you don’t really want me to tell you about it, do you?”

You take another sip of your drink, a little nervously, and then nod, once, quickly.

“Yes? You really want to know? Okay, dear girl.”

I reach across the table again and take your wrist in my hand and hold you, tightly. I lean toward you, looking into your eyes.

“I’ll tell you what will happen if you test me that way.”

(continued, tonight)

Amber

“Amber?”

“Yes, amber,” he replied.

“Imagine, girl,” he continued, “thirty years from now. You go into your closet and take down a small box. You unlock it. Inside, you find a necklace, a string of golden amber beads. If you look closely, you see that each bead contains a scene, small figures frozen in the transparent stone.

“In one, you’re kneeling beside a bed, a collar around your neck, your hands tied together behind you. I stand in front of you, my hand in your black hair, on your neck. You’re turned up to me, your lips parted, your eyes asking me “now?” In another, you’re on your stomach on the bed, and I’m on top of you. My hand is in your hair once again, this time pulling your head up and back. In a third, you’re pressed against the wall, my chest against your back, your cheek against the wall and your hands pressed flat against it.

“And on, and on.

“Moments, frozen. Remembered. A string of secrets, of release and exploration.”

And then he reached for her, his hand slipping under her hair to lightly grasp her neck.

A Moment, Frozen

Girl, here is a moment, frozen as if captured on film–or preserved in amber. It’s a moment in a fantasy, something that hasn’t yet happened. But when it does happen, it will be, for an instant, exactly as I describe it here.

We’re together on a big bed in a softly lit room. The curtains are drawn closed–it’s impossible to tell whether it’s day or night. The only light comes from a shaded bedside lamp; light enough to see clearly in bed, though the rest of the room is dim.

We’re both naked. I’m lying on my back, my head propped up on a pillow. You are lying on your side, your cheek resting on my stomach, your back to me. Your hands are behind your back, tied together at the wrists with a thin leather strap. Your legs are bent at the knees, and your ankles are also tied together.

My one hand is on the back of your neck under your hair, my fingers holding you: because this is an instant, it’s impossible to say whether I’m moving your head or simply holding it still. My other hand is holding my cock, and the head of my cock is just between your parted lips.

It’s possible that I am just about to push your head down, so that my cock goes deep into your mouth, into your throat. Or I may be holding your head still and thrusting my cock up to your lips. We may be just beginning, or I may have been thrusting into your mouth for some time–there’s no way to tell.  It’s even possible that I’m about to sit up, pull you roughly up to your knees and push you back against the headboard, and then stand on the bed in front of you and thrust my cock into your mouth. Or push you on to your stomach and take you roughly from behind.

My thought–though we can’t know, really–is that I’m just about to push your head down to my cock, not roughly, and make you take just the head of my cock into your mouth; that I’m going to tell you to suck it slowly, to run your tongue around the head, to relax and take your time while I slowly stroke my cock with my hand; that I want my cock in your mouth for a long time, as I gently tangle my fingers in your hair; that I’ll run my hand along your back, across your ass, reach between your thighs and slip my fingers into your pussy; and that it will be many long minutes before I push your head down farther and thrust my cock deeper into your throat, choking you before I finally come into your open mouth.

Whatever is about to happen, this moment is perfect: my bound girl obediently opening her mouth to receive my cock, her long black hair flowing across my chest, her ass within my reach. Perfect.

And it will happen.

Begin

It begins with my fingers slipping into your hair and closing on the back of your neck. Always it begins this way, with my fingers caressing your neck, firmly but not tightly, demanding nothing–not yet.

And always your response is the same: you slow, you calm. Your eyes close or grow unfocused, dreamy. Your face relaxes. Your lips part slightly but you don’t speak: you’ve lost your voice.

(And your heart, girl, does it beat faster? Does your breath catch? And do you feel your body respond, stirring with the promise of your surrender?)

What you don’t know, because I barely betray it, is the effect your sudden submissiveness has on me–has instantly, has every time I see it. Girl, you don’t know what forces you awaken in me, what tension your obedience creates. Aggression wells up in me, violence, a primal explosive need to possess you, to throw you down and tear your clothes from your body and ravish you. To claim you, mark you, brand you with the heat of my flesh.

I respond to your submission with an intensity your defiance could never inspire. You have more power, in your submission, than you can possibly have in any other way.

I can control myself–I have to, if I’m to control you, and my desire to control you is profound. But you are closer, in that moment of transition, to being taken suddenly and forcefully, than you can imagine.