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I shiver in anticipation, unsure of what to expect as we move to the bedroom, but finding the not knowing utterly exhilarating.
"Undress. I want to see your body, C," Mr. M says, his voice like velvet over myskin
I tremble, my fingers barely moving.
Mr. M's hand reaches out and captures my hand that has just gripped a zipper on my gown, and I'm frozen. Dropping my hand, his hand reaches for my zipper now. He tears down the dress. My breasts bounce out, my bra getting torn in the process of him yanking down the fabric. His strength consumes me, and any fear within me transforms into longing.
His mouth closes over one of my breasts, and his hand over the other. Neither touch is gentle or kind. No, Mr. M is devouring and fondling my flesh with the ferocity of a man having his first drink after being deserted for far too long. Knowing my body is quenching the dark desires within him thrills the deepest parts of me. Tremors of lust and need shoot through my veins. The moans flowing through my lips are so raw, so full of unbridled lust, that if I didn’t feel my lips shaking to release them, then I never would have thought that the urgent, desperate sounds were coming fromme.
"Mr. M," I groan. He doesn't respond and I don't say anything else. His singular focus is on my breasts, and his intense touch pulls back its intensity every second, so that he's no longer roughly touching me but softly. Maddeningly. I want to scream out how much I need more. I don't know what I need, but less of him is definitely not it. I am panting, moaning, making a chorus of sounds and he is barely touching me. His tongue laps over a nipple, and then rolls down, flicking my sensitive skin. Pulling back, he blows warm air on the wet skin and the cool air around us wars for sensation. His fingers are playing with my other nipple, just barely stroking circles, lines, touches that are making me so eager for what he offered before that I'm building a frustration with my lust that makes me feel like I might burst. My body is desperate for me to vocalize pathetic attempts to get him to do more of something I can't quite verbalize.
Both of his hands press firmly into my stomach, then trail up to capture my breasts. He squeezes them, and then releases my abused breasts. They ache from how roughly he's touched me. I'm whirling with the thrill of the pleasure his touch brought, and the pain. I'm so confused, and I'm so needy.
"C, you want something more, you speak up," Mr. M says. His voice is gruff, thick and heavy, and it makes my headspin.
There's something about him saying my initial in that dark voice full of wicked promises that makes me want to moan. Instead, I bite my lip and wonder how I should answer him. I don't know what to say. I want to tell him that I don't know what I want, but all I am able to muster up the courage to say is, "Don't stop, please," in a whimpering, pathetic voice. Will he take pity on me? Will the promises in his voice be the answers to my pleas? I don’t know how I become this sopping mess of lust before him, but it just turns me onmore.
"Get on your knees," Mr. Msays.
Confused, I drop to my knees. It is a strange feeling to have my knees pressing into the floor.
"Palms flat on your thighs," he continues to command me. He's so unreadable right now and it's maddening. Am I in trouble? What is about to happen? I'm so exhilarated, but I can't stop this feeling like I'm trying to run upstream. I'm hopelessly lost in what I'm doing, but I need to obey him. It isn't as much fear as I would like it to be. Part of me that I just don't understand, that part of me inside which I've never met before but is brought out by Mr. M, makes me eager to please him, draws me to obey him. I hope that there is a reward...if this is not a punishment. I wish that I knew what was happening.
"Here are the rules, C," Mr. M says. My pussy soaks through my panties at the words.
I hear him inhale, a quick breath in his throat, like he knows.
Something has passed between us, though I'm not exactly sure what. I just know that whatever it unlocked between us, I want to walk through that door. I want him to press inside and show me every new thing that I know he can. I don't know what's in store for me but I want to feel it, explore it. I want to be whatever it is that he wants me to be. I’m not ashamed at how strong my feelings are, and for a man who I is renting me for the night, though the thought of Mr. M owning me thrills me. I don't even know what's going on here. I wonder how long he'll make me wait, breathing in and out with my palms pressing into my thighs almost painfully with my nerves, and I realize that he's doing this on purpose. It’s almost as if he can see that my mind is racing and he's trying to make sure that I suffer. It is evil, pure and simple, but there's something about his control exerted in every simple moment that is addicting. I want to know more of his control. I want to know that I've pleased him. More than anything I want to see some kind of struggle on his face, some kind of passion in his power. The way that he'd touched my breasts gave me a taste of his possessiveness and the way his raw power could turn into passionate sin, and that's all I ache for. I want it any way he can give it tome.
"You are to listen to what I say, and follow each of my commands." Mr. M cracks his knuckles.
I will comply. I feel a palpable loss in not being able to look at him because his stern voice and wicked commands have already lit my body afire. Mr. M is a captivating man and I want to desperately search his eyes for some truth I feel is being obscured from me. But now I don't have that chance. I almost want to look at him now as much I want him to touch me. But I listen intently, trying not to focus on my sweating palms betraying how nervous Iam.
"If you obey, you will be rewarded."
I like the sound of this, but I know there will be a counterbalance tothis.
"If you disobey, you will be punished."
There it is. So why does any attention from Mr. M make me want to jump up and down? I've got a frenetic joy at the thought of him exerting either reward or punishment against me. Like, I have been consumed by my need for him and any bit of whatever he has to offer is water to my thirstysoul.
"You do not have a say in any of this. You are not to speak unless I have asked you a direct question. If I ask you a question, you are not to lie. If you do, I will know, and you will be punished. Do you understand?"
I start to nod, and he slaps me right in theface.
I'm shocked, and I cry out, bringing my hand to touch where he slapped me. I look at him, tears welling in myeyes.
He grabs my hand, getting down to my level and into my face, and presses it back to my lap forcefully. "Do you understand? I don't like to repeat myself." I hear the power in his voice, but, undoubtedly, I hear that he's aroused. It hurt when he hit me, but my pussy is aching for him now, thrumming with need. I'm so confused, but I know I don't want him to move from out of my face. Still, I need to listen. I bring my eyes to the ground. "Yes, I understand."
"Mr. M," he continues, jerking my chin up to look at him. "You will call me Mr. M."
"Yes, Mr. M, I understand," I say, my words sounding as needy as Ifeel.
"Legs spread."
I obey and he tears off my panties. I try to keep myself in the position because I'm trying hard to be good. I want to know what being good feels like. My face stings, mostly because of the shock of being hit, but also because it was not a light hit. I'm shocked that he did such a thing. But I'm even more shocked that it didn't feel black and white. I wonder if Thomas knew that Mr. M would slap me, or if this is something that I need to tell him. I don’t feel alarmed by it, and that’s what has me so confused. I likedit.
I'm going to do my absolute best to do everything that Mr. M asks of me. I crave whatever he has to offer.
