The Invitation Part 2: Come sit with me in the dark.
Please Sir, will you claim me? Please, will you make me yours? Will you make me your slut, your sun, your slave? Please, make me your Fucktoy.
Jee-zus. The words kept rolling through his mind in the still night.
Fire and Gasoline. It could be a band name. He walked up the driveway to her house with a dark, burning, beautiful intent. How, why? Was she able to do this to him. He didn't know, but as much as she
affected him
, he fully intended to
affect her
.
He knocked .
Shave and a hair cut, two bits.
He quoted in his head.
Silence. He thought for a moment he heard movement. Saw something in the shadows through the windows. It was late. The moon shone in to illuminate all kinds of shifting movement that may or may not have been there.
The door creaked open.
She
opened the door. She spoke, her whisper excited and mildly panicked.
"What are you doing here? Why didn't you call? Seriously, it's past midnight here." Then she just froze, and stared as he stood in the doorway watching her. She had answered wearing a large hoodie that may have been white at one point, with the picture of an album on it, now just stained but comfortable looking. He glanced down, her thighs were exposed to the night air entering the doorway. The cold of the evening was causing goose flesh to appear, and he wanted desperately to play a perverse game of connect the dots.
Later.
"Is that any way to greet me?" She stood, frozen, her chin gradually disappearing underneath the edge of the hood of her sweatshirt. "Well?"
She stood, staring, frozen. He reached up, his hand disappearing underneath her sweatshirt and pulling her chin up.
"Greet Me, Fucktoy." He could tell she was still aroused, the intensity of her gaze speaking volumes to him. She had been pouring gasoline on the fires of his desire for months, he would give no quarter to her.
She slowly opened her mouth, "Hell-ghghghgg" he grabbed her by the throat and pushed her back and downward into the darkness of the doorway. Light spilled in from the moon, and she fell to her knees in front of him, her words cut off abruptly.
"Who. Owns. You. Fucktoy?" his pale eyes burned into her. He stared, unblinking as his hand held her throat.
"You do, Sir." His lips turned up at the edges, the look on his face cold but affectionate.
"I
DO
, don't I?" For the barest of seconds, he thought he saw the edge of her mouth curl into a smile.
"Yes Sir."
"And You
will
show me how well you
THINK
you can behave for me, right Fucktoy?" She nodded slowly, unsure but accepting the situation. A slight flush began to spread across he skin, the look in her eyes begging him to devour her.
"Yessss Sir." Her voice was dripping with desire, if a little unsure of the spontaneity of the situation. Her hands almost of their own accord reached up to undo his belt. He slapped them away, grabbing the hem of her sweatshirt and pulling it up, tangling her arms and pulling them behind her.
"What, Slut, was the last order I gave you?" Her face scrunched up, put off balance and a little confused. A realization came to her face and she looked at him demurely.
"To bend over the kitchen counter and fuck myself with fingers in my ass and cunt until I came thinking about you using them." He looked at her, a hard expression on his face.
"Are you sure? Did I give you permission to stop?" She froze, every feature absolutely still. Her eyes asking so much in contrast to the finite stillness of the rest of her. "What I said was, 'Cum for me hard. Fuck your cunt and whore asshole with your fingers and think of me using them.'"
"But, I... No Sir. I... I... I'm sorry Sir." She blushed and looked down as she said it. He knew she was feeling a mixture of disappointment at not following his wishes, desire to follow his orders to the letter, and excitement at the prospect of punishment. He lifted her chin again, and his gaze pierced her to her core.
"Good Girl, at least you know your manners." Before she could say anything else he grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her over to the kitchen counter arms still tangled in her sweater behind her. He pulled her up to a standing position briefly, pushed her face down over the counter top, and pulled the sweatshirt up slightly and then curled it under several times to trap her arms. Tugging a few times, he grunted in approval, then pulled upwards, so her arms pulled straight up awkwardly from her body straining her shoulders and arms.
"Good Sluts, keep fucking their ass and cunt until they are told they can be done or until they cum, don't they?" She winced a small noise of discomfort escaping her lips.
"Unh, yes Sir." He turned her head, leaned close to her so she could see his face. He smiled a cruel smile.
"And you're going to take your punishment like a Good Fucking Girl aren't you?" at the last word he pulled back slightly more on the sweatshirt so her arms pulled back just far enough to make it painful. Her look turned dark and sultry, still wincing slightly in discomfort, and she bit her lower lip.
"Fuuuuuck... Yes. Sir." She pushed out through gritted teeth. She could feel him move behind her for a moment. The cool air a contrast against the heat and fluid dripping down her thighs. The hiss of leather, a clang of metal. Oh Fuck, a belt?
Hiss
THWACK
"UUUUUUNGH." She caught a glance of his face from he corner of her eye. Sadistic glee. Bright, cruel, pale blue eyes overlaying a dimpled smile on a handsome face. One might even mistake those eyes for kind if he weren't smiling in
that
fashion.
"Who OWNS you?" She grimaced again, her cunt dripping.
"You do Sir."
Hiss
THWACK
"Count them for me Fucktoy."
"Yes Sir, two. "
Hiss
THWACK
"Do you think, Fucktoy, that the strike you received before you were counting should count?" She shuddered, her cunt clenching in need for him. He felt her brace fore a moment, a determined expression flitting across her face.
