On the Bedroom Floor

**All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.**

Get down on your knees. Down on the carpet. You know this floor well, in your childhood bedroom. Keep quiet now.

I know what you would do in here, growing up. I know how you would leave dinner early to come up here. You would shut the door, climb into bed and pull the covers up to your chin, while underneath, unknown to anyone, you were exploring yourself, opening your legs to feel the moisture clinging to your swollen lips, the parts of your hidden from everyone, the parts you had not yet learned to name. Back then, this part of you was before language, was just sensation and feeling and oh god how you were surprised by all that slick syrupy wetness.

You were taught mostly by brightly colored magazines, claiming they were for fashion advice and makeup tips, but that was just a cover. The feel of the slick paper and the smell of the perfume samples inside would make your heart beat just a little bit faster. You knew, as soon as you were alone, you would part their pages and delve into the tips and stories about sex. There you learned, there you found how to touch yourself, how to make your body shake and tremble and cry out in ways that had to be muffled because no one, no not anyone, especially no one in this house could ever, ever know what went on in this bedroom.

Those magazines would pile up on this floor in piles, their glossy pages nearly dripping with secrets about the ways a women could be fucked. You tried to guard them by chasing any family members away from your room – "out, out, out!" Inside you were churning.

Keep quiet now, and listen. No one will hear us. I know all about the experiments that went on in this room, how you angled your mirror so you could lay on the floor and watch yourself as you opened yourself up, so you could see your fingers dance across your shimmery slippery swollen little clit. You gasped and groaned and made quite unladylike noises, didn't you, my little slut? And you were desperate to know what it felt like to be taken, to be filled and fucked like a woman, like a whore, like a tramp.

That desperation led to the clichés, the substitutes – the cucumber, the hairbrush, the anything that might fit, that might stand in for that warm, hard sensation that you ached for.

And when you finally got it, when you were 20 and your hidden lips were fully, finally parted by someone else, it wasn't here. It could never be here, never at home. And it was rarely good, was it?

All that passion and desire wasted on fumbling boys, too full of themselves to truly fill you, too afraid of themselves to risk really exposing you, to see you. It still amazes me that not one of them made you take your shirt off to revel in those luscious round tits, that are now dangling off of your chest, swollen and ripe, inches from the floor.

This floor where you have laid spread, stark naked, where you have secretly writhed in pleasure, secretly squirmed with your hands in your cunt, but no one, not anyone has ever seen you here like that, and certainly not like this, with you knees on the ground and your ass in the air, your thighs slick with your own arousal here in your old bedroom.

I know you used to parade around in outfits here, in lingerie you secretly bought with your own money. I know you used to imagine flaunting your body in front of a boyfriend or husband. You would buy skimpy, lacy little things and pretend when you wore then, that it meant you were about to be fucked.

Now you wear those things for me. Now I make you show me every day which outfit you are wearing, just what you have put on to please your man, your husband, your master. Did you imagine that you would get inspected and scrutinized so closely? That your body that you kept so secret would belong so fully to another? Could you have imagined what it felt like to be possessed so fully, physically and emotionally? To give yourself over so fully to one man, to kneel on the ground at his word?

Could you have imagined back then being commanded onto the floor, knowing it was because he wanted to fuck too hard, too passionately for the little bed to withstand without its springs screaming, loudly incriminating you?

Perhaps your fertile mind could have imagined it, but it must be quite different feeling it now, as I take your fertile body. Your clothes are off now. The underwear I ordered you to wear has been torn off, almost silently, as I covered your mouth. You are naked on the floor, as you have been so many times before. But now you are not alone.

My hands fit tightly around your breasts, squeezing and pulling, tugging at your hard nipples. I cannot get enough of them. I cannot get enough of you. My cock is at your entrance now. With one hand on your shoulders, I push your head down to the ground. You turn your head to feel the carpet rub against your check and temple. Your ass rises further in the air and my hands are on your hips. You are so wet that I slide easily inside. I piston into you, my hips colliding again and again against your backside.

You once said you found this position degrading, to be mounted like an animal. Now you are moaning into the carpet as I fuck you, as I mate with you, as I breed you like a filly. Soon, my seed will coat your cunt, will drench you and drip out of you.

Soon, because you are now mine, you will change for me. Your body will swell and grow large from this fucking, this breeding. My child will grow inside you. Your breasts, now bouncing wildly beneath you, will grow heavy and sore with milk.

My cock erupts within you, you cry out, almost too loudly. My hand covers you mouth. I continue to pump into you, and you know that your secrets are now our secrets. You know that you, my wife, my fuckslave, my servant, my filly, will become the mother to my children. You know that this fucking has changed you.

For now, though, you rest your head on the floor of your childhood, feel the carpet against your cheek and close your eyes. Listen to your breath come and go as quietly as the tide.