Story

42m4f

We meet one afternoon in a cheap hotel. The air in the hotel room is cool, sterile, a stark contrast to the heat coming off your skin. You are stood by the bed, your back to me, the cheap floral pattern of the duvet clashing with the nervousness you can’t hide. I can see the faint tremor in your hands as you pretend to look out the window at the city lights.

I tell you to “Turn around,” my voice low. It wasn’t a request.

You do slowly. Your eyes, wide and dark, you are already in the lingerie I demanded: a simple red lace bra, matching panties, nothing more. The fabric couldn’t hide the stiffness of your nipples or the curve of your hips.

I say sternly, “Close your eyes.”

I didn’t speak again. I just unbuckled my belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft, deliberate hiss. You gasped as the sound was louder than any command. I fold the belt in half, the heavy buckle cold in my palm. I step closer, watching you flinch as I bring the leather up to trace the line of your jaw.

I ask you, “You know what this is for?”

You nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Yes… yes what?” I raise my voice.

You swallow loudly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” I let the looped end of the belt trail down your neck, over your boobs, circling one lace-covered nipple. You gasp, your back arching slightly into the touch. I apply the slightest bit of pressure as I watch the lace bite into your skin. I grip your throat as I tell you your bra is in my way as I wrap my hand around it and tear it off you.

Her nipples were a deep pink, already hardened. I don’t touch them with my fingers. Not yet. I make you wait. Instead I bring the smooth leather of the belt up again, rubbing the flat side over one nipple then the other. You let out a gentle moan.

I tell you to shush. I tell you to get on the bed on your back, arms above your head.

You hurry to comply, your movements eager now. The sheets were cool against your skin. You lift your arms, crossing your wrists obediently above your head.

I kneel on the bed beside you. The belt was no longer a threat; it was a promise. I wrapped the leather around your crossed wrists once, then again, pulling it snug. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that you couldn’t slip free. The buckle fastened with a definitive click. Your arms are secured, your body open and utterly vulnerable.

I lean over you, my shadow falling across your face. “Now, let’s see what you really came for,” I whisper.

My mouth hovers around your nipple but not to kiss them. My teeth find your hard nipple, grazing it first, then biting down. Not hard. Just enough to make you cry out, a mix of pain and startling pleasure. You buck beneath me. You moan loudly.

I soothe the same spot with my tongue, laving the delicate skin, feeling it get hotter and harder. My other hand slides over to your other boob, my fingers pinching and rolling the nipple between them, alternating pressure, soft tugs, sharp twists. You whimper. Every gasp, every arch of your back, fed the hungry, dominant part of me, my cock now as hard as it can be, throbbing and aching.

I kiss a burning trail down your sternum, over your stomach. The scent of your pussy hit me as I neared the black lace of your panties. They were already wet.

I hook my fingers into the waistband and slide them down your legs, tossing them aside. Your pussy glistening, completely exposed.

I don’t dive in. I make you wait. I settle between your thighs, my breath hot against your soaked lips. You moan, trying to press yourself up into my face. I place a firm hand on your lower belly, holding you down.

“Patience,” I tell you.

Then I lick. One long, slow, flat stroke from your entrance all the way up to your swollen clit. You jolt as if you’ve been electrocuted, a ragged “Fuck!” tearing from your throat. I do it again. And again. Establishing a rhythm that was steady.

My tongue explores every fold, dips inside you just enough to taste you deeply, then circles your clit with agonizing precision.

I could feel your tension coiling, a spring wound tighter and tighter. Your thighs begin to shake. Your pleas become a continuous, broken stream.

“Please, let me cum.”

I knew exactly when you were at the precipice. Your whole body goes rigid. Your back arches off the bed, held only by the belt at your wrists. Your clit pulses under my tongue.

I stop.

I pull my mouth away completely, sitting back on my heels.

The sound you make was one of pure, utter agony. A sob of denied release. Your hips jerked helplessly in the air, seeking friction that was gone. Your eyes open, blurred with tears of frustration.

“No… why…” you shout.

I looked down at you, at the beautiful, desperate mess I’d made. My own cock was painfully hard, straining against my boxers. I lean over you again, my length resting heavy on your trembling stomach. I could see your pulse hammering in your throat.

“You don’t cum until I say you can,” I say, my voice rough with my own need. “Do you understand?”

You are panting, your gaze locked on mine, filled with a wild, submissive hunger. Your pussy lips parted.

I keep the head of my cock pressed against your entrance, a teasing promise. I watch the internal war play out across your face—the desperation, the shame of begging, the sheer need for me to fuck you.

I give a shallow, quarter-inch thrust, just enough to make you gasp and your inner walls flutter around nothing.

I ask you what you will do to make me fuck you.

“I’ll suck you until you come in my mouth. I’ll let you use me however you want. I’ll be your good girl, I promise.” Your hips make small, involuntary circles, trying to capture more of me. “Please… fuck me,” you beg.

“Good girl.”

Rewarding you with another tiny thrust, I feel your body try to suck me in, to pull me deeper. I resist.

“But I think you need a reminder first. A reminder of who you belong to in this room.”

I pull my cock out completely, ignoring your cry of loss. I move to the head of the bed, sitting back against the pillows.

“Come here. Kneel over my face.”

Confusion flickered in your eyes, but you scramble to obey, your movements clumsy with arousal. You turn, crawl up the bed until you are straddling my chest, your soaked, glistening pussy hovering just above my mouth. Your bound hands braced on the headboard for balance. The scent of you was overwhelming, primal.

“Lower yourself,” I tell you. “But don’t you dare cum.”

You sink down, and I don’t wait. My mouth latches onto you, my tongue spearing deep inside you as my hands come up to grip your hips, holding you in place.

You cry out, a sharp, shattered sound, as I lick and suck your pussy. This is different from before—now you are in control of the depth.

“Ride my face,” I growl at you, the vibration making you shiver. “Show me how badly you want it.”

You begin to move, a slow, hesitant rock of your hips. I encourage you with my tongue, flicking and probing, sucking your clit each time you press down.

Your movements become more urgent, more frantic. Your moans are continuous now.

I can feel you tightening, the tremors starting in your thighs where they frame my head. Your breathing is ragged, coming in sharp gasps. You are so close.

Just as your rhythm becomes erratic, just as you throw your head back and moan—

I pull my mouth away.

“No!”

You are about to complain but I grip your hips and flip you onto your back beside me. Before you can process it, I am on top of you, my weight pinning you to the mattress. I seize the leather lead between your bound wrists and pull your arms above your head, securing them to the slats of the headboard.

You are completely exposed, utterly vulnerable.

I look down at you, your lips swollen, your eyes glazed, your chest heaving. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Now,” I say, positioning myself between your legs. “You’re going to take all of me. And you’re going to thank me for it. But you are not coming until I give you permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you reply.

I don’t tease you this time. I line up and drive my cock into you in one long, deep, punishing thrust.

Your back arches off the bed, a silent scream on your lips. You are so tight, so impossibly wet and hot. You feel like heaven clenched around me.

I hold still, buried to the hilt, letting us both feel the fullness. Your inner muscles flutter and squeeze, trying to milk me already.

I begin to move. Slow, deliberate, deep strokes that pull almost all the way out before plunging back in. Each thrust drags against your swollen, sensitive inner walls. Each retreat makes you whimper.

I lean down, capturing a nipple in my mouth. I suck hard, then bite down—not enough to break skin, but enough to make you cry out and your pussy clench viciously around my cock.

“You like that, don’t you?” I ask. “You love the bite of pain with the fuck.”

“Yes,” you moan, your head thrashing side to side.

I increase my pace, the slap of skin against skin filling the room. My own control is fraying.

“You want to come?” I shout, my thrusts becoming faster, harder, more erratic.

“Please, yes!”

“Beg for it.”

“Let me come! Please, I need to come with your cock inside me! I’m begging you!”

“Now,” I command.

Your orgasm hits you like a seizure. Your body locks up, your back arches impossibly high, and a raw scream rips from your throat. Your pussy clamps down on me in rhythmic, milking pulses.

I fuck you through it, driving into your convulsing heat, and then my own release tears through me. With a final, deep thrust, I bury myself and come, my roar mingling with your fading cries as I empty myself into you in hot, pulsing jets.

I collapse on top of you, spent, the sweat cooling on our skin. Your bound hands come down to rest on my head as I nuzzle your throat.

We lay there, hearts hammering against each other.