Priya

Priya Ch. 4

After the party, I did some serious thinking.

Priya did everything I wanted her to do, and she had an appetite for pain that matched my desire to give it. And now she had told me she loved me, but she was afraid that if I loved her back, it would ruin what we had.

It was a little late for that. Sure, I played the hard-ass when I was with her, because I enjoyed that and she liked it too. But underlying all of that was a desire to turn her on and give her an ecstatic experience. Rope, chains, floggers, and whips—I knew how to use them all, but I didn't fetishize them. What turned me on most was female desire. Priya's desire was unquenchable, as far as I could tell.

I was still mulling it over what I should do about it as I sat in my comfiest jeans and an old ragged concert T-shirt a few days later. I heard my door open. Priya had a key, but she wasn't due over until tomorrow. I got up from my desk and walked down the stairs in time to catch her undressing.

As usual, she was wearing sexy lingerie. Black lacy bra, so transparent I could see her dark nipples, a garter belt, lace topped stockings, and a thong. My rules were that she was to be naked in my house, but she always wore nice underwear when she came over anyway. And heels. Her brown skin looked soft and silky in the light of the foyer. She was gorgeous.

She saw me, of course. When I knew she was coming over, I usually went for studied casual, which meant my shirt was snug and unfaded, and my jeans weren't starting to fray. I thought about how I dressed, without making it obvious I did. But the clothes I wore didn't seem to change the way she looked at me as she shimmied her skimpy panties over her hips and down her long, stocking covered legs. She bent over, giving me a tantalizing view of her cleavage, her full breasts barely contained in the lace. Then she straightened, stretching her hands behind her back to work the clasp, thrusting her magnificent chest out as she did so, which only slightly distracted me from the view of her waxed mound and the lips of her pussy, framed by the garter belt, suspenders, and tops of her stockings.

"Stop," I said.

"Sir?" she asked, not sure what I meant.

"Leave it on," I clarified. I was getting hard just watching her. "Walk over here."

Normally she crawled, naked. She wasn't exactly dressed now, but she was more dressed than usual. Somehow that only accentuated the bareness of her pussy. She walked over to me. She'd learned to walk in the tall black heels she wore. Once she looked awkward even standing in them. I suspected she'd practiced. That was one of the things I'd come to adore about her, the way she prepared for our dates and strove to be the perfect slut for me, even when I wasn't there to reward her.

Actually, I rarely rewarded her at all, except by sending her home horny and frustrated. That was how our relationship worked. And I definitely didn't tell her I adored her, because I didn't want to undercut all the nasty things I said to her that she loved.

"How many times did you masturbate after you got home from the party?" I asked when she stopped within touching distance.

"Once. Then I went to sleep."

"And the next day?"

"I can't remember an exact number, Sir," she said.

"Guess, bitch." Of all the things I called her, that one got her going the most.

"Six." She blushed.

"Turned you on, did it?"

"You know it did, Sir. You knew it would. Why am I dressed?"

"Stand. Display. Legs apart." I deliberately didn't answer her question.

She laced her hands behind her head, arched her back, and spread her legs.

"You're not dressed," I said. "Your pussy is on display, like the little slut you are." I reached between her legs and traced the lips of her pussy. I found the wetness I expected. When my finger got to her clit, she jumped.

"Your slut, Sir."

"My bitch."

She looked like most people look when you praise them. "Your bitch, Sir," she said proudly.

I flicked her clit again. One rule of our relationship was that it be about my pleasure, not hers. That turned her on, and she took care of her own pleasure later. Six times, apparently. So I didn't play with her clit much.

"Sir," she said. "May I suck your cock."

That, as she knew, would put her pussy out of reach.

"You haven't earned that, bitch."

"Please. How do I earn that? I'll do anything."

"You'll do anything to suck my cock," I asked, rubbing her clit again.

"Yes!"

"Even cum?"

She gritted her teeth. "Is this because of what I told you?"

"About loving me, you mean?"

"Yes. I should have never said anything."

"You want to be my bitch, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"You want me to own you, heart, and soul, and body?"

"Yes," she said. Her body I knew about, but I thought she might object to the rest.

"Then I make the rules. All the rules. Or you can leave right now."

Her eyes went wide. "Why? Isn't what I give you enough to make me worth keeping?"

"Enough to make you worth keeping, yes. But I'm allergic to having my heart broken, and I can't settle for less than all of you. Do I have it?"

She took a breath. "This wasn't the way today was supposed to go."

"No. You weren't supposed to come over at all today, but here you are. And so you are either going to let me do exactly as I want, or you can come back tomorrow. Open your mouth."

She opened it.

I put my finger inside it, making her taste herself on it. She knew what I expected and licked it clean.

"Stay and surrender. Or go and wonder what would have happened."

"I thought you were saying to leave and never come back."

I shook my head. I knew I didn't want that. She was the best fuck I'd ever had, and there were no strings attached if I wanted it that way. I was free to date, find love elsewhere perhaps, and still come in her skilled mouth when I wanted to and send her home after. It would be foolish to give that up. But I meant it about my heart, too. She'd make mine ache as long as she kept up the barriers, and I wanted them down. Maybe a little of me did mean leave and never come back, to protect myself, but a bigger part of me was willing to take the risk.

Funny thing, limits. I would have never pressed them on our appointed date. But now that she'd crossed a line, it freed me to push her.

"I surrender, Sir."

I reached between her legs again and started stroking. I'd love to tell you I did it with skill, knowing her body perfectly and playing her like she was a Stradivarius and I was a concert violinist. It wasn't true. My fingers were rough and questing, and I didn't know this part of her body nearly as well as she knew my cock. Her pussy had always been there to be fucked, occasionally slapped, and for her to take care of after I sent her home. I knew women's bodies but every woman is different, and as I watched her I was wondering if I was getting anywhere at all.

Then she screamed. Her knees buckled. She grabbed for my shoulders, and I wrapped a firm arm around her waist, holding her up or at least slowing her descent while I kept playing with her clit. We both ended up on the floor.

She caught her breath, and we stared at each other. Finally, she broke the silence.

"The only reason I could come like that was because I was thinking about you owning me," she said.

"And here I thought it was my clever fingers."

She smiled. "I know my body better than anyone, but that's the thought that always gets me off. That you own me. That I have no choice. That I'm your bitch. That I'm just a slut, not someone whose needs or desires matter but just someone to be used."

I smiled. Nothing she said surprised me. "You knew I knew all of that about you, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"No matter how much I care for you, I know that's what you need to get off. And I know that a slut like you needs to get off. That sex isn't some optional sideshow for you, that you can take or leave and still have a great life. So why are you worried that if I care, I won't give you what you need?"

She turned her face away, and I turned it back to face me.

"Do you doubt me?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," she said.

I slapped her. Hard enough to sting, but I knew what I was doing. I'd braced her head with my other hand, and struck her in the flesh part of the cheek, avoiding the tender bones near the eyes. It might have felt like my whole hand made contact, but in fact it was just the ends of my fingers.

"Do you doubt me, bitch?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter what I think, Sir. I don't want it to matter."

"You don't want your doubts to matter."

She shook her head.

"But it's your doubts that make you try to put limits on

my

emotions, and

my

ability to make you cum when

I

feel like it, isn't it?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, Sir."

"So since your doubts don't matter, you'll give those up to me." Logic, but what she felt did matter.

"I suppose that follows, Sir," she said. She didn't look happy about it, and I wanted nothing less than her full consent, even though I sure as hell didn't need someone else's consent to have

my

emotions.

I stood and reached a hand down to her. She reached up, and I grabbed her by the forearm and helped her up.

"I'll let you think," I said. "Don't remove any clothing, and don't put any back on, either. And when you've finish deciding whether you can trust me, without all those limits, you come upstairs to tell me. And Priya." I paused, because I hardly ever used her name, and it threw me that it seemed strange coming from my mouth. "That doesn't mean you can't have limits about what we do, or take stuff off the table, whether that be activities or not being photographed or any of that. But I want to know if you can accept not telling me what to feel, and not telling me not to be authentic about it."

Then I turned and walked upstairs and waited.

I thought what I was asking for—insisting on—was straightforward enough. But it went against how she had wanted the relationship structured. No strings, just sex and domination. Just the ability to be used. She hadn't intended to care for me, but I always knew that I couldn't play with someone without caring for them, without loving them a little, or I'd become a monster. And that I wasn't willing to be for anyone.

As the minutes went on, I thought about changing clothes.

The minutes drug on. I was tempted to tell her I'd play by her rules. I sure as hell didn't want to lose her. But I knew something would break irrevocably, if I did. She wasn't stupid, and she could read between the lines. I hadn't said "I love you," but she knew I wasn't just using her, either, and that I'd only be pretending if I continued on that basis. So I waited, for both our sakes.

I realized I'd had time to change and then realized that if I did she'd know it was for her. And what was wrong with that? Just that she wanted the illusion that it was all about my pleasure, and that was what it was, an illusion. We both found the illusion hot, but I realized there was one reason I was still maintaining it, and that was because I loved her.

Finally, I heard her feet on the stairs, her footfalls soft. I always took my shoes off before touching the hardwood, and no doubt her heels were the worst thing for it, but right then I would have been happy to hear them clack. When she got to the top, I could see her through the door to my office, and I swiveled my chair to face that direction. She put the high, shiny heels back on without looking at me, and I watched as she balanced, bending first one long leg and then the other as she slid the heels back on. Then she turned to face me and took a few steps to stand framed by my doorway, much like her garter belt framed her pussy. It surprised me a little that she stayed standing, rather than kneeling, but I couldn't complain about the view, and it was probably best if we were going to have a discussion.

"I came over thinking that you might like a blowjob while you worked, and then I'd go home again."

I smiled. "That sounds lovely."

"We can still do that."

Tempting. But no. "We can do that tomorrow. Today, you tell me your decision."

"I borrowed a notepad," she said. "And wrote my password for my FetLife account on a piece of paper. If you had it, you could post anything you wanted. You could show the world how you use me. It is... the most precious thing I can think of to give you, that I haven't already. You have my heart. You have my obedience. You have my body. And I want to hold nothing back. I want to be yours."

"I hear a but."

"But I'm afraid. I'm afraid you'll tire of me, like my husband did, I guess. And if so, it's better that I be able to say that you were just using me, and that I was just using you to be used, and that I can find another person to use me."

"You're not finding anyone else." The words were out of my mouth before I thought about them. I'd always been ethically non-monogamous, and yet the idea that she'd "find another person to use her" hit me in a way I didn't expect. I played with other people, and she had every right to. I also knew that there were a lot of creeps out there, and the way she liked to play would draw them to her. I couldn't help but feel protective, but if I was honest with myself, I was possessive too.

She said nothing.

"You want commitment."

She shrugged, helplessly. I tried not to watch what the shrug did to her tits. "I don't want to demand anything of you. I want you to be free. I want to know that you want me every second you're with me and aren't with me because of any legal thing." She paused. "Marriage is off the table."

"No legal thing. But there is still my word. I'll keep you, Priya, and I will never let you go. I promise. You're going to wear my collar, and you will never go anywhere without a symbol of my ownership." The pedantic part of my mind wanted to add a caveat for MRIs, but the sensible part of my mind told it to shut the fuck up and not spoil the moment.

A single tear welled up in her right eye, and I watched it wind its way down her cheek. When it was halfway down, she went to her knees. "Yes, Sir. As you command, Sir."

I was tempted to tell her that no; I need her enthusiastic consent on this one, not her obedience, but a look at the way her face was glowing, even as the tears continued to flow, told me what I needed to know.

We didn't know how to do this kind of moment together. Maybe we'd figure it out at some point, but we were staring at each other like saps and neither of us knew what to say next. So I went to what we knew.

"Now show me your tits, bitch."

She giggled, relief on her face, and then reached behind her to unclasp her bra. She tossed it toward the stairs. "Your tits, Sir," she said. A little piece of paper fluttered from her cleavage and fell to the floor between us. Neither of us reached for it.

"You didn't just choose me having access to your account to show your submission, did you? You came up with that idea because being shown off on the internet turns you on, doesn't it, slut?"

She took a deep breath and nodded.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes, Sir. It turns me on. I'm sorry, that was manipulative of me."

"I prefer to think of it as cleverly negotiating while staying in role. Pick up the paper, bitch."

She picked it up.

"Offer it to me."

She put the paper in her palm, and held it up to me, her other hand supporting it. She could be so graceful.

I took it from her, and looked at it. Her password was D3grad3m3. "Nice. But not very secure."

"Change it then," she said. "Let me know what it is if you want to."

"I could post anything I want with this. And anyone could see it."

"I know, Sir. I thought about that."

"And?"

"It turned me on. I have enough money from the divorce I don't need to have a job, so I don't need to worry about the financial consequences of the wrong person seeing. And really? I don't think very many people want to see a middle-aged woman, anyway. Even when I was younger, I wasn't exactly the standard of American beauty. Too much fat. Too brown."

She didn't realize how gorgeous she was. If we couldn't get a few hundred loves for a picture of her, I'd be shocked. And after being shocked, I'd get all my friends to click "love." "You're beautiful, Priya."

She glanced away. I think the most evil scene I could ever do with her would be to tie her up and make her listen to people compliment her.

"Anyway, you came here to do something, bitch. Get to it."

She smiled and unzipped my pants. I was already hard. She took me into her mouth gratefully.

I grabbed my phone from the desk, and aimed it at her. "Look at me," I said.

She did, her dark brown eyes wide. I paused, and she held the pose, waiting. Once she'd waited long enough that I was sure she was giving consent, I snapped the picture, and she kept sliding her lips around my shaft. It was hard to tell, but it looked like she was smiling. I grabbed her hair and pulled her off me. I knew she loved having her hair pulled, even if it surprised her.

"Get under the desk and keep blowing me. I have some things to do on the computer."

She scurried into place. It was cramped, but she could just fit. I turned to face her and soon felt her wet mouth on my cock again. I had nothing better to do than look at her, truthfully, and now the desk was in the way of my view. But a few button presses later, a picture of me with my cock in her mouth was on one of my 32" monitors.

"Picture turned out great, slut. It'll make a great profile picture. Excellent view of your face."

She bobbed on my cock a little faster and moved her tongue along the underside of my shaft.

I opened up her profile and gave her a play-by-play of what I was doing. "Owned by ..." I said and filled in my handle. It was a shame there was no relationship status to show that she was my bitch. "You'll fill in the 'about me' for me later and tell the world how proud you are to be my bitch."

I took the motion of her head on my cock to be a nod. She had me rock hard and aching, and it wouldn't be long before I was unloading into her mouth. "When I come, don't swallow. Hold it on your tongue and let me get a picture of you with your mouth open."

She moaned and shuddered. At first I thought she was distressed, but then I paid more attention as her body tensed.

"You could practically cum at the thought of it, can't you? The entire world seeing what a slut you are?"

Then she did cum, her whole body shaking as she struggled to keep her mouth around my cock.

"That's fine, bitch, but don't forget you have a job to do. Don't let your orgasms get in the way of the important ones." Meaning mine. Not that I believed that mine were more important, but I knew what she wanted to hear me say, and sure enough, she came again.

"Sorry, Sir."

"Get that cock back in your mouth hole, bitch. Don't make me stop my work to fuck your ass."

She knew I wasn't working, but she did as she was told.

I twisted my upper body to get to the keyboard from my other computer. Normally I would have moved my chair, but I liked where my cock was and wasn't going to pull it away again. I was close, and her orgasms only turned me on more. I pulled up my own Fetlife account. I didn't want to wait any longer than necessary to tell the world that I was the "Owner" of Priya.

I told her what I was doing as I set my relationship status and then got my phone ready. She kept sucking my cock with eager expertise. It swelled in her mouth as I got close, and that only made her more eager. Then I came. It felt like a flood coming out of me, spurt after spurt, as hard as I'd ever come. It was hard to pull away after, but I wanted to get the picture I'd promised to take.

She opened her mouth. I hadn't imagined it. There was so much white cream in there you could barely see her tongue. A little of it dripped onto her lip. And she was smiling, as if my hot load was Christmas and her Birthday all rolled up in one.