Desperate

Night fills the corners of her heart. Not a velvet forgetfulness that curls around her in warmth, but a dark shadow that lengthens across her world. It chills her. Sends shivers rippling ahead of the black fingers like tendrils of mist.

She doesn't struggle against it, weariness has overcome her. And need. Though the nothingness stretches out to her and she shrinks in mind, thought and soul from it, her limbs merely shudder. She has given in. Fatigue holds her in thrall and anticipation binds her. As firmly as the leather cuffs strapped to her wrists.

She stretches her arms and arches her back in acceptance. The slight jangle of metal rings accompanies her movements. D rings riveted to the heavy bands rattle against the buckle. At different times of the night past, the sound has been frantic and loud. Driving her fears and causing her breath to chop.

She laughed when he first put the cuffs on her wrists. Not an open scoff, but a thought of how small such props are and how she would prefer to just have sex without all the silly encumbrances. She's never been one to respond to such theatrics. When men try these enhancements, she feels at some point like they are trying too hard and she wants nothing more than to finish and cuddle. To be done.

So she laughed a big "hah" in her mind. He turns out to be just like all of them. Then the cuffs locked together and he tied them to the bed frame and he traced his fingers over her body before doing the same to her ankles.

His fingertips learned everything about her over the next hours. He touched her everywhere. Discovered every secret reaction. The way she squirms when her ears are tickled. The way the flesh around her asshole shrinks from probing objects. The way her back stretches to its limits when her spine muscles are massaged deep with his thumbs.

He found it all and yet there was no physical sex. He untied her, left the cuffs on her wrists and she slept against his chest so limp was she. Slept til morning drowsed about her and time weighed too short to make up the lack of activity.

"I'm going to regret not staying awake," she thought as she dressed that morning. Already a steady pull throbbed in her mind. Her open sex tugging at her hand, aching. Listening for time when release might come.

A pallor lifts the veil from the windows and for a moment she imagines how the house would look from outside. Sees herself separate, upon grass bathed in wan light of a last moon, she would see welcoming warm squares that she knows to be the front room. With the comforting couch and nearly empty glasses yet standing on the table near the cushions. She would see the flickering of candles reflecting in panes of unfiltered glass further along the outside wall. Down a hallway from the peaceful scene where glasses clinked and light chatter eased her hopes for more.

If she stood without the loud flutter of her heart, she might even hear the low moans and stifled cries guttering like the last wax of light in the long night. Spilling from the eaves and nooks of the recesses.

Just as she sees the house from outside, with her faced turned away, she pictures the tools he has lined up on the edge of the bed. Toys, he calls them with the same dismissiveness she once felt for the cuffs that even now hold her captive for his play. His pleasure. His need and his whim.

The clink of metal snicks through the silence and belies the twitch of her legs. The awareness, even with her face shunning the view, that he has lifted the leather riding crop from the neatened assortment next to her. He knew that she would see it from the corner of her eye. That she would try not to acknowledge it. There is a gleam of satisfaction that glances over his features shadowed by candlelight.

The arc of her long legs show off her recognition of his mastery over her body. The clatter of metal buckle where her limbs hold to the mattress the only sign that she will soon give in. that she is nearing the end of her struggle. She wonders how he can know her so well, then marvels that he has worked so patiently.

The crop flicks across her delicate flesh. Her nipples strain and a cry escapes her throat. The cuffs make noises like chain mail where she rears up from the bed and thrashes. She believed herself weary beyond such wild struggle, but the time he had given her to slump into the tired heap she had just burst from apparently has given her new life. Brought new sensitivity to her body. Her limbs that had felt heavy and forced, now give renewed vigor to the metal rings that keep her from running.

Another flick of his wrist spreads fire through her tender skin. She cries out to the woman standing sheltered in moonlight on the lawn. Sputtering flame throwing sharp feelings over her. The light laughter of earlier flirtation flaring here and there in stark relief.

Hours ago, that might have been days, she sat with him on the couch. She was still uncertain about his claims, but willing. Decided. The time she'd spent tied to his bed and massaged top to bottom, inside and out lived within her in vivid colors. She longed for more. There is a light that dances within him that captivates her far more than chains and rope and she wants it. He tells her openly of his predilection for dominance. He's told her before. It's not a first date kind of chat, as he put it, but it is something that needs discussion before moving into any kind of relationship consideration.

"I don't want you to hear the word relationship and stop listening to what that means." He tells her.

It's too late. Love is not just blind, it's deaf and dumb too. Not that she claims this as love yet, but she has wanted more than casual sex for so long that she wants nothing more than to test what he is offering. Simply to have a man take his time with her, knowing what he wants and wanting it on his own terms is so unusual that she'll wait to see what he'll give her and eagerly lap it up.

His hands claimed her so completely that she wants only to feel them again. She has heard him talk about his needs and the things he will likely do with her. He's already tied her, frightened her and showed her how she is likely to regret her decision, yet she finds her heart racing, her mind unable to focus on anything else and her breath watching for his next move. She can't imagine needing anything other than whatever else he will give her.

He did warn her. The crop flicks across her stiff, red nipple once more and she cries out. They ache for his lips to maul them again. For his fingers to pinch and twirl them as he rams inside of her.

She is open to him as she's never been open before to any man. Her sex feels as though it could take him into her body with a full thrust and yet, stretching to fit him will send her through agony itself. She fears the moment he finally takes her and she craves it with all her heart and soul.

She has hours to go. Work to make it through. Her arms burn with the strain of pulling against her bindings. Her legs quiver from the effort. More than the fatigue massaged into her muscles, she aches for him. She scoffed at the leather cuffs, she tossed her head at his quiet statement that she will beg him to take her, but here in the dark of her thoughts, with her flesh being gradually flayed open to him, she senses her ultimate deliverance. Her sex throbs. Her juices stream. She needs him. Offers herself up to his command.

The crop has left marks trailing over her sensitive areas. The inside of her upper arms, her ribs, the small of her back, her thighs, the back of her calves, the tops of her feet, her poor chafed anus. And her chest. Her breasts feel, to her, like open, oozing wounds. The sharp stinging of his last blows have yet to cease throbbing and to fade into memory. She nearly weeps at how her proud bosums must look right now. With crisscross grids of seeping red and angry nipples standing too tall in the center of pale mounds, her tits must surely look like the deepest shadows of her mind come to light.

Worse, far worse, is that the thought of them sends shivers down her spine, fluid pouring fromout her sex and throbs of need pulsing in a triangle from nipple to nipple to clit. Her tender nub certainly wasn't spared his ministrations. It feels as raw and open as anywhere else on her body.

He grabs her by the hair. A full fist of it turning her head and forcing it into the smooth, hard, impossibly large cock that slides straight down into her throat. She should gag, but so wanton is she, that she swallows at it over and over, taking it deeper and deeper until his balls bounce on her chin. Growls of disappointment fling from her when he yanks it back and hums of desire flow around it when it shoves back. He fucks her mouth. Her lips grab and nibble, her tongue pushes and licks as much as it can. Her throat massages the head and shaft. The entire time, she thinks of him pounding her tight hole. She feels her insides melting and liquid pouring from her into a pool that soothes and cools her burning ass.

The woman on the lawn, listening to the moans in the night breezes, seeing only warm flickers of light in patches on the plush lawn, feels comfort in the dark. Hears hope in the groans and cries. She wanted more. Something to take her completely in a rush of tide and leave her gasping on a far shore. This is not what she was thinking of when she dreamed this dream, but certainly fulfills her wildest desires.

She hears the moans and cries grow in intensity. The squeals and jangle of chains. The snap of leather.

Then, a lull. Soft on a gentle wind, she hears "Please." Almost too breathy to notice.

Then, "Please fuck me. Take me. Take all of me. Have me. Do what you want. Anything."

And a last soft "Please." Before the first blush of pink dawn subdues the shadows, dispels the darkness and day comes for them both in a cry of wild abandon.