Control

This story is dedicated to J.C., a dear, valued friend. Thank you for helping me out of my own void and giving me the courage to never slide back into it. The gift of your time and your words will always be cherished. You helped me define a much brighter, fuller future and guided me out of that dark, lonely place I thought I'd have to live in. Thank you for the humor and patience in teaching me what you can from a distance and as a friend. Your Beloved is truly a lucky woman to be owned by a rare individual such as you.

Control.

There was no other word for it. He controlled her with a look, a whisper, sometimes a strong word or two. But he revered her too much to control her with violence.

Submission.

There was no other word for it. She willingly, achingly submitted to his control, to his desires and his whims. Her greatest joy was in bringing him pleasure.

As he sat on the couch in the library, he snapped his fingers. It was a sharp sound in the otherwise quiet room. She at once hastened to him, standing with her ankles as far apart as her tight, black skirt would allow.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he commanded her to slowly unbutton her blouse. Her hands trembled with a mixture of fear and desire. What would he make her do tonight? Would he allow her to have the sweet release she was more often denied? She left the blouse, unbuttoned, on her shoulders. Her lacy bra was visible, but just so.

She felt his eyes on her while hers remained downcast. She did not look away out of fear or shame but out of desire; she felt the need to not let him see how much she wanted him to take her. While her eyes did not look upon his face, she still kept her eyes upon his body, trying to discern exactly what he wanted.

He raised one finger on his right hand. She slowly moved her blouse down her shoulders. The sweet sound of silk rubbing silk whisked by until it dropped like a liquid pool at her feet. She took a small step to the left so that her three inch heels with the tiniest ankle straps were clearly visible to him, not hidden in the cloud of silk at her feet.

He made no motion and she simply stood there on display for a few moments, hands resting motionless at her sides. Her breathing quickened for surely his waiting was a sign that she would just be on display this evening and nothing more. He smiled inwardly at the sight of her breasts heaving with each deep breath she took. A small recess of her mind screamed out in frustrated desire; but she was flooded with the hope that she would meet his every expectation if all he chose to do was gaze upon her.

He issued his next wish with a casual flick of the wrist. She began to unhook the clasp of her skirt and slowly unzipped it. He had instructed her, early on in this relationship, to always move with care, with quiet contemplation. When he tapped a finger on his right hand, the skirt, too, fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, adjusting her resting stance so her legs were parted farther than the skirt had allowed. Her black lace panties and stockings with matching trim were offset by her creamy skin. Again, he simply stared, lovingly, longingly, at her body. Had she allowed herself to look at his eyes, she would have seen the hunger there.

The minutes passed. She could hear the ticking clock on the mantel but was too consumed with pleasing him to track the time. She continually fought the desire to hug her arms to her body, to hide from his gaze. He knew she struggled with such impulses and delighted in seeing her broach a tipping point of disobedience, only to pull back from the cliff and again stand motionless before him. He watched her control herself, watched her submit herself to him and was pleased. He loved seeing a tiny shiver ripple across her body as she released the tension.

She was surprised to hear him shift in his seat, for as motionless as she was often forced to be, he, too, could hold himself still. She saw him tap the toe of his right foot, which caused her to turn around. She again planted her feet apart, praying that he would reach between her legs and roughly grab her sex. Her mind focused on figuring out what that would feel like because he had never done so before; he rarely used any force upon her these days. She had willingly become his obedient display object these last few months but the prayers that he would just take her had become more fervent. He sometimes did; that made it all the more sweet when he made her wait for it. But she missed some of the force he had to exert their first few times together. She wished he would just take her hard and surrender his reserve. And at the same time, she, time and time again, was brought to the brink of orgasm just knowing that she was answering his needs by being displayed.

He snapped, twice. Responding to his unspoken direction, she bent at the waist, keeping her knees straight, hands circling her ankles. This was one pose she feared; the blood in her body was pulled in multiple directions, some rushing to her head, the rest flooding the space between her legs that was on display to him, wrapped in the delicate black lace of her panties. She was always afraid she would displease him by losing her balance; the desire to meet his every need made her wet. Knowing that she was willingly spreading her legs for his benefit only added to the growing wetness. She soon feared she would feel a bead trickle down her thigh.

He left her there, seemingly not caring how long her head was down. But he was practiced at this and did not want her passing out. It seemed an eternity to her, lost in thoughts of balance, controlling her motions, her emotions, praying he was finding her beautiful. Soon, though, he knew it was time to let her up and she saw, between her legs, his foot tap again, thudding softly against the plush carpet. She rose slowly, as he instructed her during their first sessions, being sure to keep her knees straight, arching her back as she did so.

She heard another snap, the crack breaking the stillness of the room. She turned to face him. She again cast her eyes away from his face, keeping them toward the floor but in line with his hands and feet, knowing from where his cues would come. She saw him tap a single finger on his left hand and momentarily lost herself wondering what it would feel like to have him slide the finger in her.

But she understood his command and reached behind to unclasp her bra. She let it drop to the floor, tossing it slightly aside. She raised her hands and clasped them behind her back, resting her wrists in the small of her back, fully aware of his unspoken command that when her breasts were uncovered, her arms were to be bound by her own volition. He allowed her the freedom of choosing the method; tonight she interpreted his signals that she would be on display for a long while and so bound her arms in such a way that she would be successful in maintaining her stillness.

He made a slight twirl with one upraised finger and she slowly circled around, knowing that he could see all of her, the slope of her breast, the curve of her hip, the way her breasts rose as she started to breathe more quickly, the roundness of her derrière, the arc of her back, the shape of her calf still shrouded in her stockings. She stopped suddenly upon hearing his snap, her back once again to him.

He slowly reached out and with the lightest of touches, traced the curve of the small of her back, just below her bound arms. The sharp intake of her breath broke the quiet of the room, for he never before touched her while she was undressing for him. She felt his finger ease into the fabric of her panties and she silently pleaded for him to just rip them off of her. He smiled when he heard the sharp intake of her breath. Slowly letting his finger slide around the curve of her hips, he reached toward her belly button, trailing so gently around. She bit her lip, hoping, praying his hand would inch downward. She was left frustrated with desire when he swiftly removed it.

He snapped again, and she turned to face him, her arms still tightly clasped behind her back. She did not see him lick his lips in anticipation, did not know his fervent wish to slide into her was clashing with his desire to admire all of her attributes from a small distance. He raised a finger on his right hand and she reached for the waist band of her lace panties. She took care to slide them slowly down her legs. With the deliberateness for which she was trained, she began to push them over her thighs, careful to not catch the lace trim of the stockings. As she passed her knees, inching the panties ever slowly downward, the lace rubbed lightly on the stockings, the soft rustle interrupting the silence of the room. Lifting one foot, then the other, she stepped out of them, tossing them aside as she freed herself. She returned to a standing position, her arms once again bound by her own accord in the small of her back.

She was startled to see and hear him stand. Their nights together usually resulted in her poised, ever so prettily near him while he went about his work. Sometimes he would reach out and stroke her leg while he read his reports. Other times, he would lean in, gently kissing her nipple or nibbling at her ear as he passed her while walking about the room. On gloriously rare occasions, he would concede to both their needs, the feel of him inside her raising her to climax all too quickly. These memories flooded through her mind as he walked toward her.

She took a sharp breath when his fingers danced across her skin. She had cast her eyes further to the ground as he grew closer, but now she hazarded a glance at his face. She saw the hunger in his eyes and felt relieved that he desired her just as much, if not more, than she him. His hand reached toward her breast, his finger tips gently following the curve, lightly trailing down her cleavage, stopping momentarily at her belly button.

He placed his hands upon her hips, guiding her to take a few steps backwards. She felt her thighs brush into the desk behind her as he slightly lifted her to sit upon it. Instinctively she raised one foot to rest upon the top of the desk, the other dangling. She again looked into his eyes and caught him looking between her legs at the place newly exposed. He went to his knees and pulled her toward the edge of the desk so that she was barely resting upon it. A moan escaped her, breaking the silence of the room, at the moment his tongue touched her.

She lost herself in time and space as her skin continued to feel electrified by his actions. She did not want to break the magic of the moment but too soon felt the need to be released. He knew her body, felt the tensing of her legs, and grew more fervent, but not letting her fall down the precipice. He smiled inwardly knowing he brought her the same, if not more pleasure than she brought him.

He moved to stand before her and briskly unzipped his pants. In his haste he did not feel it necessary to undress with the care she had used. He plunged into her, shocked at the heat emanating off of her. Their bodies thrust against each other in unison, skin upon skin, cracking through the room much like his earlier snaps. He held her hips, her raised leg wrapped around his. His mouth went to her breasts and the moment his lips touched her, she arched her back into him, tensing around his strength inside her, and he felt her release. The feel of her inner muscles clinging to him, wrapped tightly around him, mingled with the smell of her juices tipped him over the edge and he filled her.

The remained entwined for a few moments, panting together. He held her, arms wrapped around her tightly, her head drawn to his shoulder. As he ran his fingers through her hair and caressed her cheek, he said with all the pride of a man who cherished the gift of her: "Mine."

© 2011 Chiara_searches