by Jenn Marlow
And she didn't know what to say to that because she truly didn't know. She just knew she didn't want him to stop. The feeling of his finger against her skin was unlike anything she'd ever known. It was the way and the place that he was touching her. She was completely clothed, and they hadn’t yet touched, but somehow it felt sinfully pleasurable. His eyes seemed to scan her body, and it was almost as if she felt his hands on her. The entire act seemed so erotic and unknown.
“I don’t know,” she continued to tease.
“I think you do, Alex,” he told her. “You know exactly why you went to my office. You said you wanted something dirtier. Tell me what it is.”
She was mesmerized by his words; the seductive tone of his voice made the wetness of her womanhood begin to flow with even more ease than before. She felt her clit twitch and pulsate. She knew what she wanted; she wanted him to try some of the toys out on her. She wanted to dive headfirst into the unknown, and despite herself, she wanted to explore those trenches with him.
And then—as if an external force had given her more courage—she reached out and grabbed him by the neck of his shirt roughly. She gripped the cloth with closed fists, and it wrinkled from her touch. His eyes became wide and concerned, and she pulled him to her with more force than she knew she had possessed.
“I want you to fuck my tight little wet pussy with every single fucking toy that you have in your closet!” she screamed in one demanding breath. She couldn’t believe the words had actually spewed from her lips. She was taken aback, and by the stunned look on his face, she could tell he was as well. Roland Peters was speechless.
“Fuck, that’s what I like to hear. Good girl,” he managed to murmur out. She could tell it was meant to sound smoother than it actually did. Instead of sounding seductive, it was higher pitched and breathy—not sultry. It was as if he choked on his words and sound could barely escape his lips.
As she continued to clutch on to his shirt, she felt both of his hands slide down her sides and over the swell of her hips. She could feel his breath against her forehead, and she could tell he was regaining some of his composure. Roland squeezed the flesh of her ass cheeks with both of his hands and kneaded them in his strong palms. He leaned in further and ran his nose down the length of her face until his lips hovered just above hers. He breathed in deeply, and so did she.
Her fiery hot breath caused a shiver to run down his spine, and it elicited a single moan from his lips. She could see his eyes glisten and heard his breath hitch. He seemed turned on, but also…something else. There was definitely something else plaguing him. “Do I make you nervous?” she asked in jest, hoping that it would allow him the chance to open up without pressuring him to do so.
“A little,” he admitted. She never imagined he was actually nervous. She had merely wanted to express concern without being obvious. There was something in his eyes, she knew that, and it told her that he wasn’t fully there. She couldn’t believe he was actually nervous, let alone that he admitted to it. There was something about his voice though. It was as if he pulled off his reply in similar jest to her question, possibly with an underlying motive—similar to her question. “I’m nervous that you’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” he said, pulling further away from her lips and smiling wickedly. Even though he had completely dodged the situation, she liked the new darkened tone that was expressed within his voice. It caused her to shiver with anticipation. “Tell me, do you want it hard?” he asked seductively.
She whimpered and replied breathlessly, “Yes.”
“Tell me how hot you are right now,” he demanded softly.
“Very hot…” she trailed, hoping that he would come closer and not caring if she was in control or not. She just wanted him, even if it meant giving him control again. She knew—deep down—that he had control anyways, but none of that mattered. She just wanted him to fuck her.
“Not good enough. I want you to tell me how hot you are. Show me the evidence. I want to see that you’re telling me the truth. I want to know that you want me!” He was fiery, and she could tell that he was running on complete unadulterated instinct and he was ready for raw, dirty passion.
“I’m so hot. I’m getting wet,” she found herself responding in a moaning whisper.
“What else? Are your nipples hard and breasts swollen?” he asked, sliding his hands up from her hips and under her top. He slid his hands up her torso, tickling her skin as he went and ran them between her breasts and across to each bra-entrapped nipple. He rubbed with both hands, kneading her breasts again, as he snaked his fingers in her bra and rubbed his thumb over the sensitive tip of her nipple. “Your nipples are hard. Are they begging for me to flick them? To suck them?”
She let go of the crumpled shirt that was within her grasp still. She couldn’t believe she was still latched on to him. She grabbed his shoulders, digging her fingernails into him. She was sure if a shirt wasn’t there, she would have pierced his skin. She fought her body's urge to lean into him and beg for his touch. His words swirled within her heart and mind, clouding everything. She forgot who she was to him, where she was, why she was there; she forgot it all in that moment. The contract didn’t matter; the master and slave relationship didn’t matter. In that moment, it was just him and his touch and the pleasure she felt.
She gasped when his index finger and thumb firmly pinched her nipple. The surprise of it caused the gasp, but the pleasure of it—the thing that made her clit throb with desirable intensity—elicited several breathy moans. It felt so good, too good.
“God, you’re so dirty,” he murmured in her ear, the heat of his breath warming her very core. He bent down further, just below her lobe and suckled. The taste of her skin enticed him so much that his arousal grew even more painful within his pants. She tasted sweet, like vanilla with a hint of sour citrus undertones; it was delicious.
She moaned out his name, losing control. He smiled against her flesh and moved up to her lobes and sucked. She moaned again, louder this time. She wasn’t sure what it was about her ears, but she loved the way it felt when they were kissed, tugged, bitten, and suckled on. He nibbled at her lobe before moving down, his tongue trailing as he went.
He tasted her skin even more as he flicked his tongue across her neck. She was moaning and groaning almost constantly by this point, and her wetness intensified tenfold. His tongue strolled in long, hot and fucking deliciously wet strokes along her neck and collarbone. “You like that, huh?”
She sighed in protest when his lips left her flesh; she felt desperate and needy, but she couldn’t help it. The pleasure was so incredibly evident that she missed it immediately when he ceased his ministrations. Her bra-clad breasts were swollen and perked with arousal, and she ached for him to touch her again.
As he bent his head down and bit down on the exposed curve of her breast, suckling after he nibbled on her skin. He pinched her hard again and rubbed circles over her hard nipple. It soothed her, aroused her, and infuriated her all the same time. She was angry because she wanted more, and she wanted more that instant. “Do you like to play with toys?” His breath was hot against her skin.
“I don't…”—she whimpered—“I never have.”
“Tell me something,” he demanded, pulling back to look at her. His eyes glazed over with nothing but complete lust, but they were focused, focused on her, focused on the moment. His voice was sharp, and it made her heart pound with excitement. She wasn’t quite sure why. She still disliked the man—but God, was he sexy.
“What’s that?” she panted, willing to shamelessly do whatever she had to in order for him to continue. She thought his eyes were beautiful in color, but as they peered into her eyes, they haunted her. They were empty behind the glazed shield of lust. There was no affection there; there was nothing of respect; it was just lust. And the more she looked into those eyes, the worse she felt. She just wanted to be touched, to be felt; to feel. She wanted all of the bad of the situation and her life to be swept away, if
only for a moment.
“Have you ever thought about fucking yourself with a toy?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She was embarrassed by the question, but it also stirred her sexually. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “Sometimes when I want…” and she stopped, unsure of whether or not to continue.
“When you want what?” He forced her to look at him by roughly grabbing ahold of her face. “Tell me.”
“When I want a big hard cock in me…and there isn’t one around, I wonder what it would be like to play with a toy,” she managed to gasp out in a singular gust of air.
“Well, you have a cock right here,” he said, his hands suddenly absent from her face. She saw him grab himself, and she looked down. He was gesturing towards the stiff outline of his pants before grabbing it fully within his right hand. He was swollen to a magnitude she hadn’t yet seen. His girth looked strenuous against the fabric of his pants, and it appeared to ache for freedom.
He hissed when he grabbed his cock through is pants and normally she wouldn’t have even noticed, but her senses seemed to be on overdrive. Every breath, every movement, every look, she caught it all. And she knew, by the straining hiss that he was just as turned on as she was.
He growled before pulling his lingering hand away from his clothed boner. It had lingered on his cock for far longer than she knew he had intended. He cupped her breasts with both hands and pulled them apart before burying his face between the curves of her breasts. She could feel him licking and kissing within her cleavage.
“Oh, god,” she moaned because there were no other words, just a sea of emotionless pleasure that she couldn’t quite iterate into actual existing words. It was almost like English had lost its meaning, and there weren’t enough words in the language itself to appropriate the intensity she felt. She began speaking in a new language, a made up language. It sounded almost as if she was speaking in tongues, as she squirmed about with his head in between her breasts, suckling, licking, biting, and completely driving her into sexual insanity.
“You like that?” he asked, lifting his head. He dropped his hands down and along her sides and finally made his way to her pants. It was a miracle she didn’t awkwardly leap for joy. She needed release; she ached to be touched; she ached to feel his hands on her clit and his cock inside of her. She needed it.
He fingered the waist of her pants, teasing her. She groaned and watched his devilish grin appear once more before he slid his fingers just a few inches in. His digits skimmed her skin lightly and his mouth found her neck again. The sensations were tender and slow; both movements that were completely opposite of his usual forte.
His heated breath felt like he was caressing her as he placed kisses over her flesh, and she could no longer make a sound. Her tongue no longer spoke of its own accord; it couldn’t move. She couldn’t manage anything except escaped moans and vibrating trembles. And then—in just one moment—he destroyed her.
“What about your pussy? You said it was wet?" he asked, referencing what she told him earlier. In one singular motion, he finally unbuttoned her pants and slid his hand down her pants further. He cupped her underwear clad mound and whispered into her ear, “Is it wet?”
He could feel the dampness of the cloth beneath the tips of his fingers. He knew she was drenched in arousal. He knew that she wanted him; he knew that she needed him. He just wanted to hear her say it. He wanted her to fulfill his needs. He wanted her to fulfill his desires. He wanted her to tell him exactly what she wanted, and he wanted her to direct him.
She could be in control if she wanted to be, but if she wanted control, like he knew she had been vying for despite their agreement, it would have to be on his terms. She could control the situation by telling him exactly what she wanted, and even then he knew she would only be manipulated into thinking she was in control. In truth, this was about his fantasy. Not hers. And he was in control of all situations, big or small. Someday, she would come to realize it, and one day she would just let it be. Today though, he was going to enjoy this.
He snaked his fingers up to the waist hem of her underwear and slowly entered them. Her juices were flowing like a sexual creek, singing out for his cock to sail through the rapids and into her fiery center. His fingers pressed and rubbed along the length of her slit with so much ease that he had to mentally take note to slow down. He wanted to make tease her and make her ache even more.
“You are wet, indeed. I can tell you’re dying for my touch. Are you sure you want toys? I can give you my cock right here, right now.” He spoke darkly and with great intent. He wondered how much the dirty little slut wanted the toys and if she was willing to beg for them. He hoped she would. He craved to hear her beg until she started commanding him on how to pleasure her. “Or should I just get you off with my fingers?” he asked, hoping that wasn’t what she wanted.
Her mind and body were at total odds with one another. On one hand she craved his touch—needed it even—and didn’t want to wait another moment to find release. On that hand she couldn’t bear to ask him to do anything more than to continue what he was doing. But her mind kept shifting. Somewhere through the haze of her arousal, she saw the clarity of it all. She knew that she wanted to try something new. And then it hit her; it was what she wanted.
The contract had nothing to do with her needs being satisfied. It was about his needs. It was about his desires. So the question was—why was he letting her have a choice?
He must have something planned. There must have been more to it. Because despite the fact that he was incredibly sexy aesthetically and possessed the cock of a Greek God, she still hated him. She still despised him on a personal level, and she knew that he reciprocated the feeling; it was definitely mutual.
So the million dollar question again—why was he letting her have a choice in all of this?
It scared her.
It also aroused her.
And that scared her even more. What was she becoming?
“I want the toy,” she responded. “Now!”
In that moment, he was shocked. Her demanding voice vibrated through his ears, sending a shock all the way to his groin. But there was something else there, something he hadn’t seen before. Her eyes were set, determined. They were the eyes of a woman that knew exactly what she wanted. For the past ten weeks, she had never given him the impression that she knew what she wanted in regards to anything. She seemed confused; she seemed lost. Not this woman though.
The woman before him knew what she wanted, and better yet, she wasn’t afraid to not only ask for it, but to demand it. He was intrigued with the way her eyes pierced into his. They were the glistening reflective lenses of chaotic and aggressive fortitude. Her fiery personality was finally doing more for her than being a shield like it always seemed to have been before. And in that moment, she was fucking gorgeous.
He already knew she was physically beautiful. A half-whit with a brain of mud could have figured that one out. But, it wasn't just her physical beauty. With her scintillating personality, so fierce and real, he had hoped that he would have seen this side of her come forth sooner.
As beautiful as she was aesthetically, he was irrevocably more aroused by a strong personality. Before, it was merely a defense mechanism, but now it was oozing out of her gorgeously luscious lips and beaming from her laser-piercing eyes. It was coming from all corners of her being. It was real. Finally.
He knew it was true, because it was in the way that she responded to his words, his touch. It was the sudden gumption she had just as suddenly obtained to not only request, but to demand what she wanted. Hell, it was even in the fact that she even knew what she wanted.
And fuck, it was her eyes. In the way she looked at him…all expectant with hints of aggression because of her overall need for sexual release.
She wanted what was happening. She wanted it badly. And he loved that she did.
He could still smell her vanilla citrus skin, sweet and laced with sweat. Fuck, he could sti
ll taste it. But now—right now—with his hand still between her legs, he rubbed her hot fluid-soaked pussy in slow long strokes. “We’ll get there,” he assured. “You’ll get your play time.”
He wanted to use the toys on her as much as she wanted to have them used on her, maybe even more. He wanted the complete expressiveness to continue. He wanted to make her hot and heavy by her own command and watch her entire being unhinge as her orgasm rocked her to the core.
But, the toys were going to have to be only one act of the play that was beginning to unfold. Because there was no way he wasn't going to find his pulsating hard cock buried deep inside her that night. There was no way he wouldn't see and taste every inch of her naked skin and revel in the moment. There was no way he wasn't going to fuck her so long and thoroughly that she’d never mistake her wants for a toy again. After all, what were toys without someone to play with, especially if he was that someone.
He almost felt bad letting her think she was in control of the situation, but what was a puppet without a string master? She would have her fun; he was just guiding her in the direction. He was just aiding her in finding her fullest potential. It seemed that she was already starting to. Perhaps it was the maniacal narcissist that he knew he was taking over, but he felt it was all—or at the very least mostly—all thanks to him.
“Your pussy is on fire,” he told her. “It’s so hot.”
Her whimpers of encouragement egged him further.
“Do you know how good I can make you feel?” he asked in a low whisper. “Doesn’t this feel so good? Imagine this amplified.”
She moaned loudly, as he ran perfect circles around her clit. His pace quickened, and she clawed at his shirt-clad back. And then—in perfect asshole fashion and with a wide smile against the flesh of her neck—he deliberately and immediately stopped his hand. His fingers ran slowly down her slit, causing her flesh to tingle in their passing. He paused at her soaked opening, and she moaned again, praying that he would enter.