The Black Room: Door One

by Jasinda Wilder

  I’m more relaxed this time but, still, my first thought is that he’s so fucking big. But he tastes clean; a combination of sweat and man, and the taste is anything but unpleasant. He defines masculinity in every sense of the word.

  He doesn’t pull out this time; instead he begins to thrust in and then pull back. I barely have time for a cleansing breath before he’s pushing back in. Again, and again, and again.

  He’s fucking my mouth.

  He changes his rhythm, and now his thrusts to the back of my throat are slow and hard before he pulls out. He begins to grunt, like he did when he was punching the heavy bag and, apart from the few words he has spoken, it is the only sound he has made. I hold on to his ass and take each thrust, waiting for the moment when he comes.

  He thrusts, faster and faster. Holding my head in place, he fucks my mouth as if he owns it.

  And then he slows. And now, instead of moving his hips, instead of fucking my mouth, he pulls my mouth down onto his thick, hard cock. He sets the rhythm, and then lets go of my hair. Gently, he rests his hands on my head.

  My jaw is aching and my knees burn.

  But I can tell he’s close, and I want him to come. I want to feel him come. I want to taste his cum; I want to feel him lose control. But most of all I want to know I have the power to make him come. Will he grunt when he comes? Will he shout?

  He’s moving faster, but he’s holding back. He’s making me work his orgasm.

  And then I feel it start. The thrusts become harder, but he has less control. There is less precision in his movements. Faster now. He releases me entirely, letting me suck him off my own way.

  I pull his cock down, adjusting my position so I’m pushing my face forward onto his belly. I open my throat and let him fuck deep.

  I feel him begin to lose control.

  And then, right when I know he is on the verge, his thrusts wild and furious, his cock throbbing and thickening yet more, he pulls away. He literally rips his cock out of my mouth and then stumbles backward, his chest heaving. Every muscle in his body tenses. His eyes are dark, intense and focused like lasers on me as he fights for control.

  I stagger to my feet. My knees can’t take any more, but my body is alive and alert.

  I wait.

  I want.

  I wonder.

  He prowls toward me once more, cock swaying with each step. Will he fuck me now? Will I finally feel him inside me? His expression is unreadable, dark, closed, hot with desire, but I cannot read his intentions.

  He stops inches from me. “Close your eyes.”

  I don’t know why, but I refuse to do as he’s commanded. Instead, I glare at him, defiant.

  Not knowing what to expect, I’m curious when he circles around behind me. I hear him breathe in sharply and then he presses his nose to the back of my neck. He inhales. Deeply. One long arm snakes around me. His palm flattens against my belly then slides up. Up. Up. He clutches my breast, kneading it, squeezing it in his powerful hand. Then he does the same thing to the other. Just when I think I know what he is doing, he flicks my nipple with a fingertip, hard. I gasp at the sudden assault on my sensitive nipple, and then again when he flicks the other one even harder. I feel him bend at the knees. Yes. God, yes. His cock slides between the round spheres of my ass, and I feel him nudging my entrance. I sink back against him. I widen my stance, ready to take him.

  I’m ready, more than ready. I’m giddy with anticipation but I don’t show it.

  His hand clutches my breast, and now the other hooks around me, and his fingers dive between my thighs. He spreads my labia wide open, flattening his fingers over my clit, smearing my essence all over me. And then he thrusts his fingers inside me and, using that grip, pulls me backward. I have no choice but to step backward with him. He’s standing up now, his cock a thick ridge between my ass cheeks. One step backward, then another. In that way we cross the room to a corner.

  Now what?

  He slides his fingers into me, spearing in and grinding against my clit at the same time, ripping a whimper from me. Several hard, fast, powerful thrusts of his fingers, and I’m riding the edge, knees bending, hips flexing, pushing my pussy against.

  And then he stops, abruptly. He’s no longer pressed up against me. He’s gone.

  I don’t have time to wonder, or ask, or even turn to look for him. He’s there again, and now he moves with that whip-quick speed. His hands pass in front of my face. I only have time to see that he is holding something. And then the world goes black and I feel something cool against my eyes—a blindfold. He ties it tightly behind my head.

  “You want to leave?” His voice whispers in my ear.

  “No.” My voice is steady and firm. I don’t know what he has in store for me, but I’m shaking with need.

  He’s gone, again. The music continues to pound jarringly all around. It’s too loud and too aggressive, yet now I find it suits my mood perfectly.

  I smell him before I hear him moving. And then I feel him standing in front of me. He takes my hands, one at a time, and raises them above my head. Something cool and soft is wrapped around my wrists, binding them together. Tightly, gently, softly. I feel tension in my arms and then I feel myself being tugged up onto my tiptoes. I’m just slightly off balance, and the strain on my arm sockets is just this side of painful.

  At first I’m confused about what happens next.

  Suddenly, and faster than I ever thought possible, and with unerring, unhesitating precision he wraps what feels like a series of ropes or cords around my thighs, waist, and ankles in a specific sequence, never tying the ropes tightly, never pinching or hurting. And then, somehow, I’m no longer standing; I’m suspended completely.

  Arms raised over my head.

  Blindfolded.

  I could not be more helpless.

  My feet are bound taut against my buttocks so that my thighs are spread apart and my core is bared for him.

  My pulse thunders; I am truly afraid, now. The bravado I felt a few moments ago has disappeared completely. I should have left when I had the chance.

  I have the presence of mind to realize that it doesn’t hurt, the way he has me tied up. But I’m breathing hard and fast, gasping for breath, nervous, fearful.

  I feel him.

  I smell him.

  I smell me. Pungent, rife, the scent of desire.

  I feel him, feel his heat, his hardness. Feel him nudge his cock against my entrance. Teasing me with it. Slipping in, just a little. Just the crown. Fluttering, not thrusting. And then I feel his fingers, swiping at my clit. He flicks my nipples. His fingers delve into my pussy, gathering my essence, which he smears over my lips. I taste myself. Then I feel his cock again, fluttering against me, nudging, teasing, and then…god, oh god, he’s sliding it in, an inch, maybe two inches.

  Fuck…oh fuck, he’s huge. But it hurts so good. Already I feel split in two, and he’s only partially inside me. I know there’s so much cock left to fill me, but he stops. I feel him push against me, leaning closer. I feel his breath on the skin between my breasts. He licks my breast around the areola, flicking the nipple and the heavy underside with his tongue.

  And then he bites down, sudden and hard enough to make me scream in surprise and pain.

  At the same time, he slams fully into me, hard, fast.

  Oh, holy fuck, I can’t breathe for the fullness. I ache and burn at the same time. If I had breath left in my lungs, I’d whimper or cry out from the perfect pain of it.

  And then he pulls out. Suddenly, so fast that I’m left swinging in the air.

  Nothingness.

  Darkness.

  The only sound is the music crashing like the screams of a vengeful god.

  I continue to swing back and forth, my nipple throbbing from his bite. My pussy is stinging and aching from his thrust but even worse, from the absence of his extraordinary erection.

  The tension of the ropes around my wrists loosens, and my upper half is released from the strain, while my lo
wer half remains as it was, swinging gently.

  I can hear him adjusting the ropes and then he lowers me until I’m horizontal, lying suspended in the air on my back. My head hangs down between my shoulder blades. My long hair is loose and I can feel it graze the floor. My breasts have fallen aside by gravity; the only movement is the gentle swinging motion, and the only sound is the blaring, jarring music.

  My senses are heightened and I am aware that he is quietly walking around me. He cups my breast as he passes by, a quick squeeze. And then he’s between my thighs, his trim waist wedging them apart. He positions his cock at my entrance. Places his palm against my belly and gives a shove that sends me swinging back and forth. I expect what happens next just moments before it happens, moments before our bodies crash together: his cock impales me on the back swing, our flesh meeting with a loud slap.

  I cry out.

  But then he’s pulling out. Moving around me. Trailing his finger up my body as he circles me. My head lolls backward, upside down. Fingers touch my face. My cheeks. Deceptively gentle, he traces my features. My eyes. My chin. My lips. Then, more insistently now, his fingertips pry open my mouth. I smell man, musk and sweat mixed with the strong scent of my own liquids—the effect is intoxicating. Then I feel the round, springy flesh of his cock’s head against my lips, and I taste myself, and him. His cock enters my mouth, all the way. Slowly, gently.

  And then, as his sac hangs against my nose, he thrusts once, hard, deep into my throat, and I’m swinging again. A gentle swing, this time, and he lets my motion do the work of allowing his cock to enter between my lips.

  He moans, and apart from a few words and the grunt, it is the only sound he’s made so far.

  I should not be as thrilled as I am by that noise, but the animal sound of it sends desire coruscating through me, along with a sense of power.

  It was just a low, soft grunt of male pleasure as his cock glided between my lips, pushing into my throat. I have to swallow at the intrusion, and he groans again at the rippling of my throat muscles on his organ.

  I mirror his moan, a sound in my throat and my mouth, a hum around his flesh, buzzing through his engorged hardness.

  He pulls out abruptly, and I hear him breathing hard.

  He is gone again and I’m left swinging.

  The music stops abruptly, and the silence is deafening. A quivering, pregnant silence. It’s as if the sound provided a cover, a blanket for me, but now I feel more exposed than ever.

  Where is he?

  While I wait for him to reveal himself, I ponder his control. It is nothing less than exquisite, and to approach the utter edge of orgasm and then turn away at the last second demands more than control—it demands skill.

  The silence is deafening and time stands still.

  I shake with need, trembling in the ropes. I’m desperate for his touch and I want his cock more than anything I’ve ever wanted. It’s time to bring an end to the teasing.

  Come. Just come already. In my mouth, in my pussy, on me somewhere, anywhere. Just give it to me, for god’s sake.

  I don’t hear him approach; I only know of his presence when I feel him between my thighs.

  His tongue drills into my pussy in a sudden assault, lashing against me, quick and rough, he slathers his saliva on my clit, and then uses his dripping mouth to spear my entrance. He licks my labia, sucks my clit between his teeth and ravishes me in ways I have only ever dreamed of. He brings me to the edge of orgasm and then pauses just long enough for me to begin thrashing in my prison of rope, desperate for that release. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I want to come so bad I can think of nothing else.

  But this is too much. Too fucking much.

  And then he plunges his tongue into my cunt and I scream, and scream, and scream. I’m coming so hard I see stars, so hard I buck and writhe in the ropes, and he lets me swing, keeping pace with me somehow while he continues his assault on my pussy with that mouth of his.

  I come, and come, and come.

  I lose count.

  I lose all sense, and all I can think is that I never want this to stop, coupled with the feeling that I can’t take anymore.

  And then, on the blasting, blistering, shredding crest of another climax, he slams his cock into me.

  Overwhelmed, exhausted, wrung out, I break apart.

  ….

  I regain myself, and my first thought is that I wish I could see him.

  I wish I could see us.

  My blindfold is still firmly tied in place, and I cannot see a thing. All I can do is feel and smell and hear, but those three senses are more alert than they have ever been. He’s buried deep inside me, impaled fully, his balls at my opening. My thighs remain tied apart, as wide as they can go.

  I’m imagining what we look like together, and I so badly want to watch him fill me. I want to see my pussy swallow his cock, see that massive organ penetrating something as small and tight as my cunt.

  I begin to feel tension building on my wrists, and I feel my upper torso being lifted. I’m not completely vertical, but almost—it’s as if I’m reclining on a couch of nothingness.

  Even as he remains fully impaled inside me, he remains perfectly still. I want motion. Friction. I want the slide of that god-sized organ in and out of me. I want his groans, his grunts, and his breathless murmurs.

  But I am left wanting.

  His hips are crushed against the tender insides of my thighs, but he remains motionless. Pushed deep. Throbbing within me. And then I feel his palms carving a pathway up my calves, over my knees and up to my thighs. I feel him angle his body away, and now his touch glides against my clit. A thumb, gentle, exploring. Pressing ever so gently. Teasing. Then harder. Faster. Until I’m gasping and writhing—and then, of course, he stops.

  He pulls out completely and I feel a pressure on my clit, soft, warm, thick…his cock tip nuzzling against my clit. Oh…oh fuck. This. Yes, this. He’s using his cock like a dildo, massaging me and bringing me writhing and screaming and whimpering to orgasm yet again.

  Holy fuck, how many times can I come? He’s determined to find out, I think.

  Wanting more, I arch my spine and flex against the silk of the ropes binding me, reaching for another orgasm, and it doesn’t take long. I’m coming and coming as he works me into a frenzy. And then, again, just as I’m riding the crest of the orgasm, he slams his cock into me.

  But this time he does not stop. It’s not just one lone pounding thrust.

  It’s a million spearing plunging drives into my quavering cunt.

  Wild and primal, almost angry, he hammers his cock into me. Again and again and again, without mercy. And I ask for none; because this is perfect pain, perfect pleasure. I didn’t know this existed. I’ve never felt anything like this before.

  Have I?

  I have no idea.

  All I know is this moment. I don’t remember anything before I entered this red, glowing room, before hearing the pounding music, and seeing and tasting this man, this beautiful, feral man. Who was I? What do I even look like?

  I do not know the answers to these questions, but it doesn’t matter.

  Nothing matters.

  Nothing exists.

  I am consumed by this experience, and that is what matters.

  I’m buried under the avalanche of his presence. Eyes closed behind the blindfold, I can still see him in my mind’s eye. Every line, every curve, every muscle. I can see his dark eyes glittering as they rove over my naked body, now glistening with sweat. I can see his hands cupping my buttocks and pulling me into his thrusts, his powerful fingers digging into the plump swells and jerking me to him. I can see his abdomen rippling and flexing as his hips piston. I can see his thighs tautening, tensing. I can see him in my mind, so clearly it feels as if I know him. As if I’ve experienced this with him countless times before.

  This bondage feels familiar. But I don’t know why.

  I don’t know him.

  I don’t know me anymore.

 
I don’t know anything.

  I only know this. Just this.

  His huge cock sliding in and out. Stretching me with every thrust. Burning beautifully from the way his size spreads me apart. Core aching from the nonstop pounding. Clit throbbing from having come so many times, pulsing with the need to come yet again.

  All I can do is feel this, feel him.

  Relish in the unforgiving grip of his hands on my buttocks, the merciless ecstatic thrusting crash of his shaft into me again, and again, and again.

  I hear myself crying out with each thrust.

  But he remains silent as he fucks me.

  “Take off the blindfold,” I whisper. To speak loudly would be to ruin the sanctity of this moment, somehow.

  “No.” One syllable, grunted.

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  “I want to watch us.”

  That gives him pause. He falters in his rhythmic thrusting, and then stops altogether. “You want to watch?” He sounds…curious, maybe a little amused.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  He moves away and I’m left swinging, aching, wondering in the silence.

  I hear motion, then I hear a scraping sound followed by long moments of strange sounds I do not recognize, and then I feel him next to me. I’m raised up vertically once more, arms high over my head. The blindfold is untied, and he’s behind me. Mirrors surround us in a reflecting, disorienting ring. Everywhere I look I see us.

  Him.

  Me.

  Him, a god, mammoth, perfect, dark, gorgeous. Cock ramrod stiff and straight, jutting up proudly, thick, hard, long, wet from my pussy. His ass, cannonball-round globes of iron hard muscle. His back, a rippling field. Broad shoulders, trim waist. Thatch of dark spiked hair. A maze of scars. Hands loose at his sides, the blindfold, a thin strip of red silk, dangling from one hand.

  And me, trussed up, knees bent, legs folded, heels against my buttocks, crimson ropes wrapped around my body in a complex, elegant system of knots and tension. Arms high. Wrists bound. Breasts lifted, nipples pert and thick and begging for attention. Pussy bared, spread open, wet. Dripping.