A darkened room, lit with candles, its corners blurred, its blemishes blurred, reality softened. A lush silken bed awaits under a canopy. Wind sighs softly outside the french window caressing the eager, dancing curtains. Scent of roses cannot hide the ribald, vulgar aroma of sex as moans escape a woman's lips, A wide wooden chair matching the wood of a paddle, which lays by the side, thrown down casually after its use. The woman's arms are stretched over head, the iridescent fuchsia sari she had worn earlier during the dinner slung through the nearly invisible hoop in the ceiling is tied around her wrists stretching her arms up, she cannot free them even if she tried, which she is despite herself, her fingers clinging and wringing her silken sari that had covered her body, her blouse is unhooked, her breasts spilling out obscenely, her nipples and her aureole swollen, reddened,abraded with the remains of the man's saliva forming a light crust. She yearns to wipe it away, grimacing at the spit, knowing he has marked her. He is simply pinching and pulling nonchalantly, a smile tugging at his mouth.
He has won, she knows it. The pleasure is all his, from the instant his penis nipped at the swollen folds of her ass. She is woman and to accept a foreign appendage, to let it violate the sanctity of her body, to let it breach the borders of her physical being, is discomfort, underlying fear of the unknown, the pain however slight no matter how solicitous and gentle and caring he is. It underlines and highlights what it was to be a woman to inhabit the feminine body, to accept a man insider of her, to be a sensitive, delectable, sexual being, her luscious tits, her doey eyes, the the curve of her ass, her delicate wrists and ankles, the curves and lushness of her body, its soft fatty deposits meant to cushion a man's dick, to sooth his cheeks as he presses in, its softness begging to be licked, bitten, hurt, marked, such a soft, gentle, luscious creatures she is, to slap her ass until it's red, how it quivers and jiggles as he goes nuts, the bulging side of her tits the skin paler begs to be bitten into, her softness, prettiness. it makes him hard to violate this body, to bring her discomfort to pinch and prod and play at his pleasure at at her displeasure, to make her whine and moan and gasp in surprise it turns him on.
he tugs and pinches boldly, freely as each twist of her nipples make her moan and jump and contort her core riding his penis up and down. He plays her like a joystick his hands mauling, his fingers pressing the red play buttons that are her nipples and he twist harder pulling her nipples apart from her chest and she moves faster, his play toy, grown up man's virtual reality fuck toy and moans through her ball gag. He slows down, giving a rest and she relaxes into his chest. He starts up suddenly tugging even more violently and she bucks accordingly her moans crescendoing in protest. He laughs at the game, reveling in his control and she whines in outrage in being his play toy.
He Introduced himself when they first met. "I specialize in human genomics." At Harvard.
"I'm suitable impressed," she replied politely the derision so subtle yet bold "Your Indian parents must be so proud.
They were, he continues, ignoring her, especially when I got my MD from northwestern
"Uhh huh, " she nodded at him, trying not to smile
"And then I got my PhD at Harvard, and I've been there ever since. Except when I go on sabbatical, he plowed ahead, knowing he only had a few moments to gain her trust, to pique her interest."
Hmm, "And how many publications to you have? Do you have references available upon request? What kind of salary range are you looking for?
He looked askance, perplexed.
