I wanted to be taken and used. I needed him so badly that by the time I got to his place I was fairly on edge with desire. I wanted him to dominate me, but he did anything but touch me. He ordered dinner and opened wine; he discussed his day, eating slowly when the food finally came.
After dinner as we were talking he slowly ran the pad of his finger along my lip, silencing me mid-sentence. "Get on the bed," he said softly, nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom.
My blood raced in my veins as I stood without questioning, heading toward the bedroom, lying down against the soft padding of satin and silk. I waited for what seemed like hours, listening to him move about the large Southern loft, hearing him in the shower, and then at last he appeared.
Dressed in only a white cotton towel, I took in the site of his almost naked body. His lean rippled abdomen, a warm honeyed color, was firm and hairless, perfectly sculpted from shoulder to heel. Water clung to the tight six-pack, trickling down into his belly button and I could hardly stifle the low groan that threatened to escape my lips. There. There was where I wanted to taste, to suckle, to gently slide my tongue, but he smirked at the sound and shook his head; his silent acknowledgement that I was at his mercy.
"Lie still," he whispered when he dropped down onto the bed beside me. Nimble fingers worked slowly at the small row of buttons of my shirt. Parting it little by little his warm lips played against my skin, finding the small of my stomach, dragging his tongue with lascivious intent over my ribs, biting at the underwire that firmly held me in place.
I did my best to hold still under his expert touch, but within mere moments of his exploration my body began to writhe against the sheets. I reached out to stroke his cheek, to drag my fingers through his still wet hair, but his words resounded against my flesh. "Don't do that."
I shuddered with his words, pulling back my hands, pleading him with my eyes to allow me that one simple pleasure. "You'll be good, little girl, or I'll make you be good," he murmured, stroking the inside of my thigh with his index finger.
"Please," I panted, extending my hand to brush against his chest. His low growl penetrated the room and in an instant he held my hands, twisting them almost painfully up above my head. I whimpered into his mouth as he kissed me intensely, bruising my lips with his demand.
"Open your mouth," he commanded and I did, his tongue fucking into me, meeting mine to slide against it, tasting me before pulling back, teasing me with his persistent force, grinding his hips against my pelvic bone, forcing me to whimper again.
His fingers returned to my partially open shirt, slipping up over the satin of the bra, massaging my breast through the material. His thumb quickly dove underneath, finding my hardening nipple, rolling around it to compel my body to react. My nipple hardened to his satisfaction as he laughed just above the firm peak, "That's it baby. Just... like... that. Get on your knees."
I didn't even hesitate, rolling swiftly from my back to my knees, arching upward, still almost fully dressed. "Give me your hands," he ordered, taking each one in his grip before twining them together.
"No, please," I contested, struggling against the bonds. "I want to be able to touch you. Please, let me touch you tonight."
"I love it when you beg," he whispered, stroking his hand down the valley of my spine, raising the shirt to unfasten the bra beneath. The fabric fell loose and his hands reached around to knead my breast, his other hand stroking the warmth between my thighs. "Tell me you want it," he spoke low against my back. "Tell me you want me to take you. To use you? To fuck you just like the perfect little slut? My perfect little slut."
I loved it when he'd claim me. My only answer to him a pleading "Yesssss," his fingers teasing the stitched crotch on my jeans, rubbing it high enough to taunt my clit, forcing me to strain against his hand.
