Ladies Room

I can feel your eyes on me from across the room: watching me; watching others; watching my reactions to others. Looking over, I smile gently at you, and then turn back to the conversation that swirls around me. I listen to the voices and respond to the chatter, but I'm not really part of the conversation. My thoughts are with you.

I excuse myself from the group and, weaving through the crowd, head for the ladies room. Down the stairs and along the hallway, I'm just about to push the door open when your left hand clamps down on my shoulder and your fingers splay slightly along the front of my neck.

"Where are you going?" you hiss softly in my ear, as your body to pins me against the door. I know that the answer is self-evident, but I also know that you are still expecting a response.

"Just a quick trip to the loo," I answer quietly, "I didn't expect to be more than a couple of minutes. I should have told you. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," you reply, pushing the ladies room door open with your free hand and steering me in. I can hear the smile in your voice as the door swings shut behind us and you add, "I'm sure that with a little reinforcement you will remember the next time."

With your hand still on my shoulder, your thumb pushes firmly on the back of my head tilting it down and exposing my neck. Your teeth bite into the tender skin there: sharp little nips along my hairline and down the outer column of my neck, then suddenly, deep and hard into the muscle where it joins my shoulder. Not enough to cause real damage, but certainly enough to mark the skin. I gasp and my knees buckle slightly at the unexpectedness of it. My hands shoot out from my sides, grasping blindly for the vanity that is still steps away from us, in a vain attempt at supporting me. Your right hand slides quickly around my body, and gripping firmly on my left breast, you pull me hard against you. The bite turns into a kiss, deep and sucking, drawing blood into the already irritated flesh. More than a mark now, it will be a deep, angry red; bruised and lasting.

"Mmmmmm, but you mark so well," you comment, and then bite the same spot again, but more gently this time, knowing that it is already throbbing. Your hands slide off me, and with a sharp smack to my ass you command, "Go stand at the vanity. Put your hands on either side of the sink and spread your legs; shoulder width."

I move quickly, wanting to please. I look at myself in the mirror. My face is flushed, my eyes bright, my nipples hard peaks even through my bra. When I spread my legs, my skirt rides slightly up my thighs and I can feel cool air swirl up against my naked pussy. A shiver runs through me, cold or anticipation, or both. Does it matter? I see you in the mirror; watching me as always. You stand there, drawing out the moment and letting your eyes rake over me... "Now bend over."

I flex my elbows and lower my face to the edge of the sink in front of me. My height, added to by the heels I'm wearing, places my ass slightly higher than my head and shoulders. It is a blatant target, begging to be spanked.

Two steps and you are behind me, your hands on my ass. There is no rush in your movements. No sense of concern that someone might enter the room. Nothing exists beyond your deliberate movement as you lift my skirt higher, up and over my ass to bunch at my waist.

Your hands caress gently over my flesh: rhythmic movements, each side a mirror of the other, travelling out and over the swell of hips, down along the tops of thighs, then back up, thumbs meeting in the middle and sliding lightly over the crinkle of my anus. Once, twice, and again, I can feel my body responding to the gentle teasing touch and I sigh with pleasure.

CRACK... your right hand lands with all the subtly of a MAC truck while your left, fingers wide, grips deeply into the fullness of my other ass cheek. I cry out; then suck my breath in through suddenly clenched teeth. Even knowing that it is coming, my reaction is one of shock.

"Count them my dear, so that I can give my full attention to your beautiful ass." you command. And I do, only the count though and not another sound.

By eight, my voice quivers barely more than a whisper... nine... ten...

I can feel the heat radiating off of the right side of my ass. Tears are running down my face and it is all I can do not to pull away as I wait for each stroke. You have been so careful, with only a small overlap between the strokes, so that a fan of flames now decorates my skin. Each finger has created its own defined shape in the glowing redness of my flesh. Not to be ignored, the fingertips of your left hand have bruised five solid ovals into my left cheek. Marks what will remain long after tonight's play.

My breathing is in short gasping pants, shallow with both pain and excitement as you step in close behind me, pressing your denim clad crotch hard against my ass. When your hand slides up my back to grip my shoulder and neck once more and you pull me to standing, the skin on my abused cheeks rubs harshly against your jeans. With a slight pause, you turn me to face you, and then push me against the cold vanity top, your hands now holding my face as you look into my tearstained eyes.

Your kisses cover my face. They are tiny, so soft as to be hardly there, like the wings of a moth as it flutters against a lamp in the darkness. One hand slides to gently grip my jaw, turning my face to meet your lips. Directing me to where you want to kiss. The other hand slides to my breast, lifting its weight and rubbing your thumb across the aching nipple. The fingers grip deeply, as they did only moments ago on my ass; hard and bruising. Five pinpoints of kneading intensity so very contradictory to the feathery kisses.

Your hand slides from my jaw to the back of my head, pulling at the clip which holds my hair up. With a quick squeeze of the clip, my hair tumbles loose into a mass of waves around my shoulders and down my back. Between kisses you whisper, "That's better, now on your knees, where you belong." With a final harsh clench to my breast before you release it, and only the slightest tug on my hair, I go down and wait with my hands resting on my thighs.

As with all your movements, the release of your cock from your jeans is unhurried; a controlled action that might suggest perhaps ambivalence to what is ahead. You stand there, stroking yourself, only a few inches from me. Despite myself, I wet my lips and lean in, eager to take you into my mouth.

"Oh, you want this do you?" you ask, as a smile flits across your face.

I nod.

"Open," you demand and I comply.

With your hand buried deep in my hair, holding my head and guiding me, your cock pushes deep into my throat. I try so hard not to fight, not to gag. Saliva drips from my lower lip and splats onto the floor between my knees. I cannot swallow. I cannot breath. Just as my panic starts to rise you pull back. I gasp in a deep lungful of air before you push deep into me again.

Over and over: deep into my throat, a pause, then at the last moment a gasp of air; slow and deliberate until my gag reflex becomes more than I can control. With a groan of pleasure, you increase your pace, fucking my face. The strokes are still deep, but not choking and with a different intensity. Like a runner who can see the finish line, you put everything into the last few thrusts, driving hard and fast against my throat, pulling out sharply as my tongue presses reflexively against you, and then hammering back in. Both of your hands bracing my head, your fingers tangled deep in my hair, your cum fills my mouth.

I choke slightly, not yet able to swallow with your cock still between my swollen lips, before you slowly pull from my mouth and step back.

"God, how I love you," you whisper and reach for my face, tilting it up to kiss my cheek. I smile without saying anything. I don't need to; you know that my passion runs as deeply as yours.

You arrange your clothing and wash your hands. I remain kneeling beside you at the sink. You turn and head for the door. Just before opening it you turn back, with a "Cheshire Cat" grin on your face, "By the way, I think you forgot to go pee. Do that and hurry back before the others wonder where you have gotten off to," and you are gone.

"God, how I love you, too," I whisper grinning at the closing door, then stand to clean myself up.