Boundaries

Hi everyone! This is my first story. So feedback would be amazing!

I wrote this for a friend of mine on a dare, of sorts, and she told me I should post it here to see what people think.

It is, unfortunately, a work of fiction.

*

You want this.

I don't know if you did when we began. In truth, I suspect that the flirting, the dancing, even the kiss was as much meant for the crowd of encouraging boys as it was for me. But on the dance floor, my fingertips brushing the exposed strip at the small of your back, my knee gently parting your own, your focus changed. It became about us.

And so, with you lying on my bed, shirt and bra discarded somewhere downstairs. I am emboldened.

It is more then that. Straddling your hips, my skirt gone, sheer panties and the flesh underneath pressing against the cool metal of your belt buckle, I feel something new. To my eyes comes a cold light and to my lips comes a wry smile. It is an expression I have seen on others in the past. On boys, before they pin my hands above my head and bear down on me with new force, basking in their domination just as I revel in my submission.

You see it too. I can tell because you take the same bracing breath that I would. Then you look back up at me, your expression inquisitive. I know you struggle to keep the eye contact, I've felt the same.

"I want this" you whisper. And though it takes me by surprise, that we've just communicated so much, I cannot let it show. I will not lose my control in the instant it is given.

A knot forms in my stomach. A ball of nervous anticipation in response to your gift of submission. My options are to many to count. They overwhelm and excite me, but my body takes the first steps of its own accord. My fingers move up your sides, tickling over the speed-bumps of your ribs and tracing the outer contours of your breasts. They are smaller then mine, yet pale and perfectly formed; topped with small pink nipples. I want to tell you that I love them, I want to squeeze and paw at your body, but I cannot lose my control. And so my hands move further up, to your wrists. With both hands I position your left arm above your head. You hold yourself immeasurably still as I fumble with my stockings.

You sigh as I pull my discarded garments into a tight knot which binds your wrist to my bed-frame, it is the sound of release.

I cannot explain why, but I'm not ready to bind your other wrist yet. So I slide down your body; pressing my breasts against yours as I go, imagining how my shirt must feel rubbing across your nipples. And, when the position is right I deftly unclasp your belt, hook my fingers into your waistband, and slide your jeans and panties off of you in one smooth motion. The sound you make, a soft coo, is perfect.

As I stand above you, your pants dangling from my grip, my plan is to bind your other wrist with your jeans. But standing on top of the bed makes me feel tall. Maybe more importantly, standing above your truly naked body makes me feel... dangerous. I drink it in, expecting to see fear in your eyes when I meet them from my vantage point on high. But you have no idea of my shift in temperament and you look back at me with the same nervous excitement as before. My excitement grows.

Now, I straddle your chest. Above your breasts, where I can levy my weight upon your very breath. I think now, that you see the intoxicating effect the control has had on me. It is, of course, too late.

With both hands I pull your unbound wrist into position, watching your eyes for the precious moment when you glean my plan. Too my delight it comes as soon as I take a fistful of your long hair.

"No!" It is neither a command nor a request. It is an expression of disbelief.

I fight your unbound hand, pressing it flat against the bed and wrapping your hair tightly around its wrist. And as I pull the knot tight, trapping your appendage in a tangled mass of curls, I bend forward to whisper in your ear, "you want this."

There is a pause. I know you are trying to decide whether to speak out. To demand that I release you. Are you also wondering if I even will?

In the end, it falls to me to make the next move. You let me untie your other hand and bind it with your hair without protest. When the dead is done we both realize that the point of no return has passed. I am ecstatic. You, are terrified.

I want to examine you, my prize. It seems, in my frame of mind, the only logical thing to do. So I position myself kneeling between your legs. At first a part of me is worried that you will judge me, as my eyes roam your curves. But the feeling passes, to be replaced by some perverted glee, as my inspection brings a blush to your cheeks.

Your are gorgeous. You are thin, in that way that we all tell ourselves we don't have to be but secretly wish we were. Your collarbone and hipbones cast sharp pronounced shadows on pale skin. I notice that your lips are the same shade of pink as your nipples, the color of a newborn mouse. I examine your green eyes aggressively, and it seems that you cannot meat mine for more then a few seconds at a time.

During my examination, I never touch.

Eventually, I become curious of your most intimate places. As pragmatically as I can manage, I place both my hands under your knees, bend your legs, and lift them up and out. As your sexual core opens to my view you whimper your shame. Are you not aware that this is only encouragement?

I feast my eyes on your sex. I imagine that my gaze, like a skilled lover's fingers, tickles at your folds. You are bare, except for a pencil thin strip of hair just above your mound. But what I notice first, is that you are wet. As I move you legs into position a drop leaks from your pussy. It slides lazily across the skin below and vanishes from my view. You stiffen as it runs its course.

My inspection is, again, lazy. Truth be told I am surprised that I find your pussy so beautiful. I remember, as I stripped off your shirt earlier this evening we told each other in unison "I've never done this before." Your pussy is slick, and pink like the other private parts of you. Your outer labia are small, almost nonexistent. I imagine that you were sculpted from clay. And that, at the very end, the artist drew his little finger across your mound to make the perfect gash where your sex resides.

I worry that you are becoming used to being on display for me. But no girl could fight back the blush that colors your breasts as I press your knees to your body, pulling your backside from the bed and exposing its hidden rosebud to my view. Your bottom is well muscled and round, even in this odd position, but I am not looking at your contours. As pervy as it sounds, I am mesmerized by your but hole. That part of anatomy which I have always shielded from my bed-mate's view is, for me, freely on display. I imagine what I would be feeling if a boy lay me on my stomach and pulled apart my cheeks to inspect that secret skin. In a way it excites me, as I hope it does to you right now.

Like the rest of your intimate places, this one looks pink and new.

When the tip of my tongue touches your skin, just below your rosebud, I am disappointed that you make no noise. But, as I delicately lick across the puckered skin of your asshole, experiencing the unfamiliar texture and probing lightly at its divited center, I feel your shudders. This is more intimate than any vocal response.

As my tongue's stroke wets the skin between your two holes you shift your weight and press into me. But though I am pleased by your eagerness, I cannot give you what you want. Not yet. So I lift my tongue from your skin and pull away, the sweet smell of your sex in my nostrils.

I let your legs back down and stand up on the bed again. I strike a pose, hands on my hips, and look down at you. It amazes me how vulnerable you look, hands tied up in your hair. Fastened to nothing, yet held immobile by the pain and impossibility of moving your wrists. You look up at me, and there is lust in your gaze.

You realize your mistake right away. I have to put you in your place now, to reawaken the fear which tantalizes some dark part of me. I feel you watching me as I hop off the bed and go to my dresser. On the way I step out of my panties. They are damp with my own juices.

From my dresser I retrieve a gag gift that I never truly expected to use. It is, in most cases, the most absurd of sex toys; a black double sided dildo. It is pliant, thick, and as anatomically correct as a two headed penis can be. Your eyes go wide when I show it to you. Cleverly, you ask no questions about why I have it.

The dildo is not freakishly long. I imagine that if we were to use it for its intended purpose our sexes would rub against each other freely. But the makers of the toy probably didn't have my intended scenario in mind.

I kneel over your chest again and immediately your eyes are drawn to my now exposed pussy. "Darling," I say in a gentle voice "you don't want to make me uncomfortable." You look away, but I know you will sneak glances when you can. I would do the same.

Now I hold the sizable toy in front of me in two hands, as though it was a steak to stab through your heart. But instead of a sharp final thrust through your rib cage, the dildo makes a slow descent towards your mouth. "Open up!" I coo.

You comply. Not that you have a choice. I find it adorable how you stick your tongue out just a little bit, providing a gentle guide for the violent intruder. I bet the boys love that.

I press the dildo further into your mouth. Your lips close around the shaft once the flared head has cleared them. Your eyes, not locked with mine, are asking a very clear question... how much more? In answer, I only smile, and begin a slow but firm pistoning of the dildo. Each stroke presses a little further towards the back of your throat, until I finally feel the bump of solid resistance.

Here I hold the rubber penis, bearing down with enough weight to prevent you throwing me off. Because you are fighting me now, tears welling up in your eyes, hands pulling feebly at the tangle of hairs holding them in place. But I know you are not in danger. Soon you realize it too, as you open your mouth wide and deliberately suck in air around the intruder's girth.

But the second phase of this habituation catches you off guard. And I ride you again as you gag and thrash. In the end, you lie still, looking up at me with wet eyes and taking ragged breaths around my cock. "Have we calmed down now sweetie?" I ask you, putting as much evil sweetness into my voice as humanly possible.

You nod, and I pull the intruder from you in a swift motion. Your spit coats the half of the dildo which had been buried in your mouth and throat, and the liquid drips onto your face as I hold the toy above you. It only serves to make you more beautiful.

I let you catch your breath before turning the dildo upside down and presenting the dry half to your lips. Your moan of anguish, as you realize that this particular ordeal is only half over, is all the encouragement I need to force the toy past your lips and into your waiting mouth.

This time, once the dildo is nestled in place, I let go.

There is a moment where I fight back laughter, looking at you with the black penis protruding from your face. But I resist the urge and turn myself around to face your feet. Then, slowly, reverently, I lower myself onto the well lubricated phallus, moaning my pleasure through one long downward stroke. When I reach the "base" of your cock I rock briefly, rubbing my clit against your chin and yelping shock and pleasure when your nose tickles my asshole.

I tease myself. Riding the dildo with long strokes. Experiencing additional pangs of pleasure from the guttural noises you make as my downward strokes press the dildo deeper into your throat.

But as my arousal grows, the deliberate pace becomes not enough and I lean forward, supporting myself on my elbows and pressing harder against the cock.

"Gluck, gluck, gluck" Is the wet organic sound of the dildo being pulled from you by my tightening pelvic muscles only to be violently replaced a moment later. It is music to my ears, and I am surprised to feel an orgasm building with my clit untouched.

The sensation of pressure builds, but I force myself to stop, just for a moment.

I want you to cum with me. I drop my lips to your slit and seek out the hard bead of flesh there. I suck your clit into my mouth in a pulsating beat to match my thrusts. We cum in moments.

Your orgasm, during which you manage to sigh your delighted release around a mouthful of battering cock, triggers mine. I hold perfectly still, feeling my vaginal muscles contract around the dildo. Wave of release, which feel as though they are comprised of heat, ripple through my body with each muscle spasm.

Eventually, when I have recovered, I roll off of you. The dildo comes with me. You gasp for air again.

You turn you head and we lock eyes.

"No." I tell you, in answer to the silent question. "We're not done. Not even close."