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I like it when you leave *me* speechless.

When you come to my door in the middle of the day. Sometimes I am a detour. Sometimes, the destination. A lunch break. A shopping trip. Perhaps a lull in your work.

Your kiss means company. Your lips are not timid as they negotiate with mine. Confidence burns in the caress of your tongue. You bite my flesh and devour my breath. Your body molds sinuously against me. Hands grasping hair. Hips gyrating into hips. Your taking from me is deliberate, transactional. And yet I feel I have the better end of the deal.

You push me in to the middle of my living room. A step taken, an article of clothing lost. By the end you are almost naked. On some days, not. You choose to keep on what you have chosen for me to take off.

And then you kneel.

No, not to press on with your conquest. Your demeanor changes. You hold yourself down on your knees, eyes level with my buckle. Hands primly folded behind your back. Your thighs titillatingly spread, not brazenly so. The skin on your neck and bosom is flushed. Our breathing fills the silence.

And you wait.

An erotic ceremony. It is a changing of the guard. Our deal is for me to avail myself of your body. You make it available. I then conduct my use.

Some days I am merciful and I let your pretty mouth have its fill of my cock. And what a shamelessly thirsty cum slut you become for me. Good girl.

On this day I feel – cruel. I want to see you needy. Squirmy. Feral. I grab a fistful of your hair, turn you around, and put your face down on the floor. Ass up, towards my couch. I grab your hand in mine and guide it to your pussy. Together we rub your needy cunt. Your pretty little face contorts with a whimper.

My desire established, I settle down into my cushions to watch you. You are a sight when you play with yourself. Your fingers are drawing slow circles over your pussy. Occasionally, you pry open your lips to tease your nub with your middle finger. You are not restrained, but you are slow. Denying yourself. Teasing yourself. Teasing me.

Deep inside you are a Slut who yearns for penance. You can’t help but to have your filthy thoughts. When you are awake and when you sleep. You want to strut and to fuck and to be used and be misused. You are prey looking to be hunted. Wildling, to be tamed. Chattel, to be owned. Hole, to be filled. It is your absolution when you worship lust – to extract every droplet of sensation and lay it at the altar of your desire.

And hurt is a sensation, no? And need? And how you hurt! Your swollen cunny weeps as you angrily rub it and withhold relief.

I push you with my foot to topple you onto your back. Your slimy fingers never once leave your crotch. Getting off the couch, I crawl towards your form on the floor. You open your spread legs more so in welcome. Your eyes hold mine. Your gaze is unfocused. Your breaths are labored. You are holding yourself on the edge, waiting for me to grant you your release. Good girl.

My hand comes up to your throat as the other scrapes the inside of your thigh towards your pussy. Your back arches when my hands discover purchase on flesh. Fingers tightening on the sides of your neck, my other hand resumes ministering to your need. Your mouth opens, your eyes roll back into your head.

My fingers on your needy cunt are steady and firm. Two middle fingers draw ovals with pressure around the hood of your clit. The heel of my palm digs into your pubic bone. Your gasps are turning into mewls now. I can feel your legs trembling in restraint.

I slide those two fingers down to your wet opening. Your body rises to hasten my entrance. Such a needy animal. I tease you with little circles and gentle flicks. A frustrated moan leaves your lips. Your eyes are now squeezed shut in concentration. I smirk.

Your surprised gasp turns into a croon when I drive my fingers into your welcoming hole. I press them up against the roof of your vagina while my palm presses down from outside on your pubis. I don’t fuck you in and out. My hand instead jerks your pelvis up and down. The squelches of your wet pussy being manhandled fills the room.

My motion is steady as your torso moves in unison. Your breaths become more jagged. Your hands become more frantic, not knowing what to do. Splaying wide on the floor, and grasping my arms, and making fistfuls in the air. Slowly and surely we increase the violence of our rhythm. I can see the crescendo approaching. Closer and closer still. Faster. Harder. Louder. Your body arches to meet it with an almighty push…

…as I pull out my fingers and slap your pussy lips. Once. Twice. Harder. You yelp, your arched back crumpling back on the floor in dejection. The empty gasps fill the room, interjected with an errant dry sob.

You suffer for my use, not a word spoken. Good girl.

You will not suffer long. I will see to your ache soon. But now you must see to mine.

I shuffle up to your head, unzipping myself. My cock is hard, glistening at the end. I lay its head against your half parted lips. You are still gathering your composure. But instinctively your tongue darts out and your lips pucker to nestle me inside.

You’re still on your back on the floor and this position is awkward. I gather you in my arms and help you back on your knees before me. Your hands slide up the length of my legs, fingers hooking into my belt straps to pull my jeans down. Your mouth opens in earnest as you take my shaft inside. Inkling of desire again begins to sparkle in your eyes after my cruel denial of your need.

You pause, holding my gaze, my cock in your mouth, expectant. Your lips form a tight wet seal around my glans. A supplicant looking for assurance. My thumb caresses your tear stained cheek, my hand grasping the side of your neck to pull you in. Yes, my attentions will return.

Satisfied, you lower your eyes and let yourself be impaled on my shaft.

I like it when *you* leave me, speechless. Nary a word uttered. Lust yet expressed violently upon your tongue.

NSFW: yes

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