It’s been almost two weeks since we spoke. I miss his presence. I miss his readings, the way he commands a room through a gentle hand and an eloquent demeanor. I know nothing about him of course — but he fascinates me. Our last encounter, whilst brief, has left breadcrumbs in my mind for the crows to pick over. I try to picture it — him taking me, but my mind wonders and climax is an endurance race. I replace his role with the other fawning men in my life in an attempt to loosen his grip on my mind. I would do whatever he asks of me at this point. If he were to send me away, I would go with my tail between my legs. I also so badly desire to distract him — which is my bratty nature surfacing, but the more I am unable to deter his stoicism the more the wetness between my thighs grows. I push three fingers from my left hand deep into my cunt in frustration. I AM needy. I NEED. I need to be pet, I need attention. I require active participation.

I hear a ding out of the corner of my mind from the kitchen and quickly make my way back to the computer to see if there’s any word from my current master of sorts. And — there is. A wordy, but poetic, apology. I don’t want a fucking apology! I want active-fucking-participation. I crave him to throw out the rule book on me, I want him to risk it all — this effect on men is one of my more mischievous desires — but if or when they succumb or are too eager, I am over it. I enjoy the agony of NOT being desired by intelligent, sophisticated, self-controlled men — it is the only time I can truly admire them; it is entirely too sexy, to me, for a self-proclaimed red-blooded man to have enough will and curiosity to be enveloped by special interests in lieu of only basic sexuality.

His email ends with some line that we should speak in person and, “not leave off on this note.” But I liked this note. This note rings out. I mulled this specific melody over and over again week after week. I kept its’ taste in my mouth and rehashed its’ flavors every night before I fell asleep. Another meeting? What would it change? Are we both truly naïve enough to believe it won’t end in physical contact?

I’m back at his office door; I go to knock but as I do the door swings open slowly just before. He hurries me inside and is silent for a long moment before the words begin to bubble up from his throat and spill from his full, mustachioed lips — he has a long-term partner, he’s a feminist (me too), this isn’t something he’d normally do, he can’t stop thinking about that day, we’re not for each other, I need to focus on my own partner, I need to focus on school, he could lose his job — his reputation, — he is burdened, he is overwhelmed — he… wants — to — fuck — me. Just like most men since I turned, what? 14?

My mind is only in one place — is this it? He is yelling — well, not yelling, but speaking sternly in a way that reflects more his own agitation with himself than it being directed at me. He finally throws himself back into his desk chair in a huff.

“Sit down.” He demands — but I am suddenly aware that I have inserted myself and my curiosity into the dynamic life of a beautiful stranger — once again — and that my own lack of self-control is perhaps my greatest shame.

— “Should I go? Maybe this was a bad idea.” I hear myself utter faintly.

“Sit down,” he says it again, firmer this time. I reluctantly do as he bids but suddenly, I become a little girl in front of him. I start to cry, a lump forms in my throat and between breathless gasps I repeat my shame for him to see. I tell him his interests and knowhow excites me. I tell him that the power dynamic invigorates my will — I shout between pants for air and showers of my own spit and tears. “I’m sorry,” — I blurt out, “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should be sorry. I cross the line.”

“I — I — I — am a needy, deviant, gluttonous…. slut,” I practically whisper the last part — “I don’t want to be this — I don’t want to be infatuated with you or every man that knows something that peaks my interests — I don’t want to think like this, I don’t want to always turn everything into this, I don’t want to be so, so… stunted.”

“Come here,” he says calmly. I freeze.

“Come here, now,” he says it again. No movement from me.

“Get up and come over here now,” something in his tone tells me I must.

I lift from the chair slowly until I am on my feet — he stays sitting back but swivels his chair to the side in anticipation of greeting me once I manage to fumble around the partition. I round the desk and he looks up at me from his chair, the frustration seeming to have melted away and in this moment I can remember nothing aside from my innate urge to push into his chest and be enveloped by his entirety. He breaks eye contact and looks down at my lips, down to my thighs — surveying me — and comes back to meet my gaze slowly, devouring me. Moths ingest my insides as I play out every scenario in my head. I step closer, I want to straddle him —

“Stop.” He thwarts my forward momentum with his hand flat against my belly, halting me. He keeps his hand there a minute too long and I feel small drips of my juices beginning to escape their pantied confines.

“Get on your knees.”

— He, I — um — I open my mouth to confirm what I heard but before I can get a word out —

“Get. On. Your. Knees.”

I must have hesitated for too long because he stands abruptly, and grabs hold of my mouth — inserting his thumb between my lips and grasping my chin between his index and middle finger. He pushes the pad of his thumb against my tongue, and I respond by wrapping my entire tongue gently around the pad of his finger. I taste salt and some earthen sweetness that I have no doubt exudes from his pores. I dote on the probing appendage with incessant praise as I roll my tongue and lightly suck at the tip. He pushes his thumb downward in my mouth, forcing me to bend to my knees.

“Kneel.”

My bare knees reach cold tile and I stiffen; he looks down at me — still grasping my mouth — he bends and for the first time he pushes his lips ever so softly to my mouth and inhales. He cradles the back of my head and then all at once comes for me, hard — there is no delicateness to be found, with lips, mouth, teeth, and tongue — he tastes me, he nibbles me — he takes deep breaths and inhales me between Hot, wet kisses. I am consumed. There is nothing else, nowhere else.

Abruptly, he straightens back and quickly undoes his belt, unzips, and pulls his throbbing cock from under his chinos and grabbing me by the neck, pushes his engorged dickhead between my lips, and deep into the back of my throat — to the hilt — I choke, there is lipstick everywhere, I can hardly breathe, spit seeps from the corners of my mouth and my eyes water and everything becomes a blur. He holds me there with his thick cock planted firmly in the back of my throat as he rocks back and forth — with the head of his dick repeatedly knocking into the depths of my passages causing me to gag and gasp for air. By the time he withdraws my face is covered in streams of drool and my mascara runs. He pushes his bulbus cockhead back onto my tongue and I caress and kiss and suck on the swollen gland. I taste him as he seeps in excitement and push my head forward giving him back full reign of my throat.

I am gushing. I adore the taste of him, I adore the texture of his emboldened member as it explores the inside of my cheek — and suddenly, I am dazed as he swats me in the face just where his cock pokes through said cheek. He grabs my hair and thrust his entirety between my puffy lips, and I begin to choke as he holds me in place and fills my mouth with warm spunk. As he pulls out, I pant for breath and spurts of cum stream over my chest and chin. I swallow hard and he kneels to kiss me, and to taste himself in me. He puts his left arm entirely around my waist and pulls back my cardigan with his right hand, popping a button and exposing my cum soaked cleavage. He bites at and sucks at my nipples, kissing me intermittently and cleaning up his own mess. He holds my chin, envelopes my mouth with his, and spits the once discarded sperm in my oral cavity, and I swallow again.

“Very good,” he says — still pinching my nipples whilst we are both on are knees, with him straddling over me. He touches himself, and with his other hand lifts us both to our feet and then corners me between him and his desk. I am facing him, his beard rubs my chest as he sucks at my neck — his still erect dick bobbing against my belly; the head turned some dark purple with juices continuing to weep from it, looking as though at any moment it might burst at the seams.

— Everything goes white and my ears ring — he holds my back and slaps me twice across the face before turning me over and slamming my torso to the desktop. He lifts my skirt slowly and I feel his warm cock slide between my Ass cheeks several times before he decides to punish me. I hear the smacking moisture of his already wet shaft as he slowly continues his pleasure, and then, the rubbing of leather on fabric as he pulls his belt from his pants.

“Is this okay?” he manages to ask.

“Yes,” I say, “of course.” It is more than okay; it is needed for the taming of the shrew. I’m the shrew.

He strikes me so hard with the belt that my knee buckles and I feel like I might piss myself. He says that it leaves a lovely mark. I blush. He strikes me again on the other Ass cheek, not as hard — but I do cry out. He does it again harder and when I sigh, he slaps the belt around my neck and pulls it through the buckle until I am leashed. He pulls my back into his chest and smells my hair. I feel his cock pulse between us. He holds me for a moment — back arched, Ass-out, neck elongated — with his belt anchoring me in pose, he rubs my clit with his Free hand, using two fingers in a slow, rhythmic, clockwise motion. Suddenly, I feel him rip my panties at the hip and they drop to my heels — he pushes two fingers deep inside me and seems somewhat pleased, as if to find it to his satisfaction — he adds another finger and pulls the belt tighter across my throat. My Pussy pounds along with my heart rate — my mind races but is also entirely and utterly blank aside from the carnality of it all.

“Are you on the pill?” he asks in hushed breaths, “Have you been tested recently?” He rocks to and fro between my thighs, hitting his cock against my clit.

“I’m not on anything, but I am STD Free,” I say shyly.

“Then we’ll have to get you Plan B,” and with that he plunges his wide member into my sopping Pussy lips. At first it is too tight, and I moan loudly at the intrusion — he is forced to retreat a few inches and re-enter. I feel the back flare of his dickhead exit me and I melt, with his cock even wetter he thrust himself back into my depths and I cry out, “wait, wait!” for it is all too much, and I am overwhelmed by the magnitude of both his physicality and the moment at hand. He slaps my right hip so hard that I choke on my words — he clutches down on my thighbrows and buries himself in me and I feel him on my cervix. He cinches the belt down and rides me like I am some bronco at a rodeo of yesteryear. His fingers creeping to my cheek and holding the corners of my mouth ajar as he explores and batters my insides. He finally slows and as he pulls out, turns me so that I sit on his desk facing him — he kisses me again, for the third time and nothing means anything anymore.

He pulls the belt behind my back and my head follows and falls back with it — he uses this time and position to take in my nipples between his tongue and teeth — he sucks them and re-enters me violently, slapping me across the face in exasperation. Why can we not have it all? He slows down again and fucks me hard at this rhythm for probably half an hour — my Pussy feeling stretched wide with his girth — I cum over and over again as he prompts me to touch myself, feeds me my own juices, and kisses me deep each time.

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers after what feels like a lifetime to me, I am restless and overstimulated — “I’m going to cum inside of you.”

I feel his body constrict as he imprisons me under his weight. I feel his Hot, stickiness fill me and begin to drip from my thighs — he kneels and kisses my wetness, passing his tongue repeatedly over my pulsing clit and eating his creampie from my desperate cunt — I stiffen to him and search for air as wave after wave of spasm overtakes my body. I arch to him, and he shortens my leash as he comes back up for air. He chokes me out as I cum for him. When I am back in my body, I feel nothing but gratitude.