Say It 5

"Are you prepared to suffer for me?" she asked. "Really?"

"Of course I am." He said, leaning forward, kissing her cheek. "You know that I am free with you, don't you? That I yearn to suffer for you, to submit, to give myself up to whatever you want?"

"Whatever I want?" She spoke in a cynical tone, one eyebrow raised.

"Well," He blushed, "within the previously agreed conditions."

"Good." She smiled. "That's more like it."

She pulled him lower, kissed him hard. There was nothing special about tonight and it had become better for it; she sank happily into the sweet bliss of normality. A Tuesday night, sweats and box sets and his singing to the radio, intentionally getting the words wrong because he knew it made her laugh.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked,pulling back, "I can feel you doing it. What's so funny?"

"I'm happy." She said, sitting up. "You make me happy, this makes me happy."

"Well," He sighed, stretching out next to her, "You're stuck with me for good so I'm glad you think that."

"Not quite stuck forever but nearly." She nodded, looked over at him, watched him shut his eyes and clasp his hands behind his head. He arched his back, stretched like a favourite pet, rising from sleep.

"Tell me more." She curled up next to him, nibbled just a little too hard at his jaw. "Tell me what a whore you are."

"I want to be." He said, "For you. Only you."

"Yes."

He watched her hand trail across his chest, aimed lower, felt her plant another kiss on his neck. "I want to be useful to you, I want to give you pleasure. I want to make you happy like you make me happy."

"So sweet." she purred. "You make me very happy, darling, you know. You know you do."

"Thank you." He said, the words pulling out, liquefying into a viscous, oozing groan as her hands edged lower.

"More." She said, force glinting in her words. "Don't be shy, sweet boy. I know what you're like."

He pulled away, fixed her with an intent look then turned away like a coy debutante. It seemed an odd reaction given his size and masculinity and usually extrovert demeanour but then, she mused, given all of those things, perhaps not. She softened.

"Tell me. What is it? Are you going shy on me?"

He grinned at her. "No, no. I'm sorry. Carry on."

"It was you I wanted to carry on. I asked for more." she said, jabbing him playfully in the arm.

"You always want more." He said. "You're greedy."

"And you're complaining?"

"No, it's just-"

"What?" She said. "You're embarrassed? You're thinking something so slutty you can't tell me."

"Don't laugh." He said. "You know I have trouble with this."

"Hey." she sighed, "No judgement here. It was hot, what you were saying. It's okay."

"Sometimes, I just want to forget myself." he said. "I just want to be an object, your object, your thing to be fucked and used and played with."

She watched him blush again, felt her heart get squishy in the middle. "Is that it?" she said. "Your secret? It's not so bad."

"I know it's not bad." He said, the word kicked away quickly. "I just, still, even after all this time have a bit of trouble reconciling it with me, with who I am."

"It takes time to undo a lifetime of conditioning, we all know that."

"I know." he said. "But- it's so stupid. I've ruined the moment."

He lay back on the sofa, frowning, frustrated. The thoughts swirled in his head, like sediment in a cup, falling through his memory like dust in the light. He'd spent so long hiding and being ashamed and having to keep quiet that even though he knew that things were different now he couldn't quite make his body believe it.

"You haven't." She said. "Stop fretting, these things take time. No porn submissives here, real people only, thank you." she kissed his cheek, pulled him close to her so his head lay on her shoulder. She slid her hand into his shirt, began popping the buttons. "I forbid it."

He grinned up at her, kissed her wrist. "Thank you."

"No problem." she said.

for a few moments they were quiet, listening on one another's breathing, the sounds outside, their bodies pressed together, a comfort.

"That hand going to go lower?" he drawled. "Is it? Please say yes."

"There it is." She pinched his nipple, kissed him.

Laughter boiled up between them, frothed over into grabbing hands and heavy sighs. She could feel him hardening through the thin fabric of his trousers, the cheap buttons popping easily, the zipper sliding downward. She reached forward, snaked her hand into his underwear, grabbed his cock.

"This is what you want?" she purred, "Is it?"

"Yes, yes, Ma'am, it is."

"Oh," she smirked, "Ma'am, now, is it?"

He blushed. "What can I say?"

She squeezed a little too hard, laughed as he winced and he felt that primal switch in him, flip in the face of her laughter, letting out all the sweet submissive feelings he had battled with for so long. He sighed happily, sank back and realised he loved them and he loved her for bringing them out of him. Most of all, he loved the way they made her wolfish and hungry like their desire was symbiotic.

"Say it again." she purred, her hand still working, languid. "I like it."

"Ma'am." he breathed. "Make me your object, Ma'am. Your fuck toy, your pleasure."

She smiled, "Aw, I love it when you get all pouty on me. Look at you," she sighed, "desperate."

"Yes, Ma'am. Please."

"Ask again."

"Please."

"Again."

"Please." He said, a smile curling upward.

"Something funny?" her hand cupped his balls, too quick, too hard, forcing his eyes open.

"No. Oh, darling, no."

Her eyes glittered as she watched him, pulling away, sitting back. His eyes inky with love for her. She lay back, settled into the sofa, watched him.

"Do you want to fool around a little? Play some more? Let me tie you up?" she asked, jabbing him in the belly. She opened and closed her hand, wiggled her fingers. "My hand was cramping. Let's move."

"Do you?" He asked, standing, following her to the bedroom. "Tell me you do."

"Give me your hand and I'll show you how much I want it." she laughed. "I'm just checking. You know I want you to feel safe. The second you get apprehensive about things you have to tell me. Also some of those texts you send were pretty heavy. I'm just trying to find out what's play and what isn't. I know we spoke but you suddenly clammed up."

"Stop worrying about me." he said. "We're as bad as each other."

"I know." she laughed, :How we ever got together in the first place is actually beyond me."

"I was serious about it. It's scary but you know, I trust you, I love you, I think I need to be pushed."

"Hard." her finger traced his jawline, kissed it. "You know you can safeword."

"I know."

"Just checking."

"I know."

"Get naked." She said, pushing him away. "No clothes until work tomorrow. I'll pick those, too."

"Yes." he smiled. "perfect."

She watched him dispense with his clothes in the middle of the bedroom like so many times before it. Yet, now, there was something different in his demeanour; a comfort she hadn't noticed, before. It came in the softness of his shoulders and the languid way each garment was cast aside. He turned to her, winked.

"Come here." She laughed and beckoned him to where she was standing. Her hands landed on his chest and she kissed him, led him to the bed and the new sheets and low lighting she'd prepared, anticipating this moment the whole day. It was a fitting resolution to their volley of messages; texts and emails pinged back and forth at her suggestion. She had seen him that weekend, laughing and flirting with the dark haired woman at the party. At first, she'd not bothered or been in any mind to care but she saw how others noticed, how women would look at him and look at her and wonder how they had come to be. It bothered her now, even after all this time, as much as it had when they had first met. Rationally, she knew it was absurd, but she couldn't shake it. She wanted to possess him.

She tied his wrists behind him with the thick, soft rope dyed to match the bedroom. It was a quirk he'd found quaint and old fashioned when he had first seen it. Now, it comforted him with it's homeliness. It turned the perverse, kittenish. As soft as she was, as safe as he felt, it seemed a comforting reflection of the love and care she applied to everything. She pushed him back, her blush pink manicure flashing against the shadowed hair on his chest. She had undressed herself, denied him the pleasure and he had longed to touch her as she did so. He watched as she straddled him, nuzzled him with her cheek, some small victory. She spread her glittering, soft thighs, slick with desire and devoured him with her body, her mouth meeting his, nibbling his lip, her fingers searching to pull him nearer, to claim him as though her were not already hers. Her body moved in practised undulations, rhythmic and soft at times, harder at others, ebbing and flowing around him until he drowned happily in her enveloping softness. She grabbed his thigh and felt the weight settle in her belly like jewels as he bucked against her, futile, breathing hard, begging for release.

She laughed low, made him beg again as she rocked against him, her sex engorged, her fingers working deftly between her thighs, spurred on by his sweet pleas, his body writhing beneath her. Her pleasure built, muscles tensing and flickering like candle flames, burning hard and bright in the flash of orgasm, her hand against his throat.

Breathing hard against him, she sank back, watched him look ah her, his hands on her hip. She kissed him, their bodies entwined.

"You know what you are?" she purred.

"What?"

"Useful." another kiss glanced across his mouth.

"Thank you." The whisper came hushed, as a breath across her skin. "I like to be."

She smiled at him, stroked his face. "You look a little tense."

"You think?" he raised an eyebrow. "My leg hurts and I want to come. Please, baby..." he tailed off, writhed against her.

"Ask again."

"Don't do this." He laughed, but the sound was tinged with frustration.

" It's not your decision to make." She said. "You look so pretty when you pout."

He said nothing, laughed.

"Who makes the decisions?" She moved off him, stood to take in his body, watched it wilt and his eyes glitter with need. "Who? Come on, tell me."

Next to him, she trailed her fingers over him, sank between his thighs and toyed with his cock, watched with wry amusement as he flinched at the movement.

"Don't laugh.: he sighed. "You know I get tense. It's been a while."

"I know." she said. "But there's nothing like watching you wriggle about, make those noises.I'll go gentle. You still haven't told me."

"You, Ma'am."

"And what do you do, my darling?"

Her hand was moving higher, toying with his nipple until she rose up and settled her hand on his throat again. "I am functional." he said.

"You are. You're mine."

"Yes, Ma'am." The words made him shiver inside, the heat flaring within him as that promise was spoken. "I'm yours."

"Your face." She teased, kissing him. "Look at you."

"Who could blame me?" He smiled.

"Whore." She said, her voice became harder, edged with steel. "You're a whore for me, aren't you?"

"I am." he said. "Only for you."

"Only for me?" she said. "I hear that you paid for it once upon a time. That you begged women who hadn't the slightest interest in topping you. You're just desperate to please women. To get whatever tiny sliver they deign to give you."

"No, Ma'am. Only you." In the sheets his hands opened and closed as he tried to push away the past and the shame that she used to expertly against him.

It hit him hard and lit up the submissive wiring within him and she knew it. After all, she had taken long enough trying to coax it out of him, all of these desires he had hidden so long and been so sure that no one would want until she had taken his fantasies and turned them into a reality that he had never dared to dream of.

"Is this really about me?" she asked. "Not you, not some generic woman, but me?"

"Yes, Ma'am." he said.

She slapped him, without warning, the sensation electric beneath his skin. Breathing heavier he shook his head. "Then you'll call me by my name." she said. "Tonight I'm not Ma'am or, God forbid, mistress, tonight I have a name and it is the only one that should matter to you, isn't that right?"

"Yes." He nodded, tried desperately to hide the grin that was spreading across his face.

"What's so funny, slut?" her face was inches from his, her full mouth grazed his cheek and she jabbed him in the ribs.

"I love you." he breathed. "I love how you do what you do."

"Good." She said. "That's the point. I'm glad it's working for you as much as it is for me."

"Please..." he hesitated for a single moment, his eyes, passing over her face, gulping up every shadow and splash of light on her face, each eyelash and the lines on her lips, every crease around her smiling eyes. "Ma-"

"Nope." Her hand shot forward, tugged at his cock. He winced. "I am not Ma'am. I am not a myth, I have a name, whore. Use it." She leant forward, her tone softening, turning to a whisper that slipped like silk between them, their eyes locked upon one another. "Use it."

She pulled away only the tiniest fraction but it was enough to put her out of reach of his aching mouth. He longed so desperately to kiss her, didn't care that his neck sort of hurt or that it was too hot in the room or that his leg was still cramping, he wanted her then like the old fire had never gone away but evolved, lust distilling into love so that he could never quite get enough. She was close enough that he could feel her breathing and feel her hair fall forward onto his shoulder. Her left hand dug into his arm. Rising up, she was over him again, her thighs against his cheeks, her hands jammed against the headboard.

"Use it, boy." she breathed, "Tell me who owns you, tell me how you love it, spell it out with your tongue like you don't know any better."

"Mimi." Sven said, "I belong to you, my darling, you. You own me."

Above him, Mimi groaned, pushed her hips forward and, once more, felt her body shiver hot in the shadows, her desire realised.