Waiting For Him 1

It was a dry darkness. The air was neither cool nor warm, and only dry in that it was not humid. It was simply the air of the room.

But to her, it felt like hands stroking her in the dark.

There was no real light to see by, and only the quiet hum of an air conditioner buried somewhere beyond the room. Nothing to see, nothing to hear. The simple room smelled of linen and that offered her no comfort. If she dared open her mouth she might taste the air but she did not. He would know if she did.

That left her only the sense of touch, and left in that sensory deprivation her skin racing with activity. The simple current of air making rounds through the room felt like a teasing lover - touching enough to tantalize but not enough to satisfy.

She lay on the bed, the bed not her own, in a Y-shape: head at the top, arms at her sides, and legs spread wide. There was no hiding: she was completely, utterly exposed. Open to the seductive touch of every passing shift of air.

It would have been easier if she'd be clothed. Even something small: panties or a pair of socks. Some small touch of social dignity that she could cling to as the damnable teasing air stroked her against her will. But as she was, completely exposed, each leg toeing a bedpost, hands clasped under the small of her back, she could do nothing. Every breath of tiny wind sent electric current over her, but she dared not move.

He would know if she did.

She could not see him, instructed as she was to "Keep your eyes on the ceiling at all times" - it was worse that way, and he knew it. Better to have your eyes shut and not know, than to have them open, know that he was close - so close she could feel him inside her, phantom fingers dancing - to have her eyes open and not be allowed to look. To have to deny herself the pleasure of looking, so he would give her the pleasure of feeling.

Still, she could vaguely feel his presence, the way the doe feels the wolf. Vulnerable things are so closely attuned when the predator is near. He was somewhere in the room.

At least, she thought he was.

She could leave when she wanted, but there again, was the worst part. He demanded supreme obedience without demanding: she knew if she did not obey, he would stop. Lock eyes, hold her gaze while she begged him for another chance, nod, and leave her there.

He'd only stopped it once, when she'd let her eyes slide down to watch his lovely fingers explore her.

She wouldn't let it happen again.

Her hands, locked behind the small of her back, were cramping a little. Never moving her eyes, only blinking, working to keep her breath even, she slowly flexed her fingers to restore the blood flow. And then she stopped.

She listened. Was he there?

She heard quiet breathing but in the darkness couldn't be sure if it wasn't her own. In fact, she was almost sure it was: he never gave himself away until he was there.

She tried to slowly work her hands a bit more, but then she felt it.

Not a kiss, not a touch, not lips or hands.

Heat.

Soft, soft, subtle heat, somewhere along her hips.

In the darkness, her peripheral vision was useless, but she knew what it was from long experience. His hand, millimeters from her skin. Far enough not to touch, but close enough for her to feel the heat of his body.

He'd never started so close to her pussy before -

"Pussy!"

she thought, shocked in realization that she now thought in those "bad words" - always it had been her feet first, or an arm, or her face, if she was lucky. To start so close, so early...

He's hungry, she thought, and before she could process it, she felt the wetness that confirmed her excitement. Her body responded without her now.

She stifled a shudder - did he feel her shake? - and concentrated on her breathing. In and out, like he'd asked of her. In, and out. Not on the hand hovering just above her hip, moving over her, with that delicious quiet heat radiating across her legs, and between -

The tiny heat seemed to roll across her, burning across every inch of naked flesh. Her nipples speared upwards, and deep inside she begged him to touch her.

But still she kept the breathing. In, out, in out, in -

In, in, in,

she cried in her mind, as his broad hand made first contact just above her labia, on the flat of her pelvis. He pressed it softly there, but firmly, the flat of his hand almost covering her from hip to hip. In that simple gesture, she felt such a swelling sense of being possessed, of being owned and protected, she almost cried.

His hand was hot, and it burned her deliciously. The teasing touches of the air were gone, as the sum of her entire body seemed focus on the place just under his palm.

Heat again, and now her skin prickled, as she felt hot breath blush over her left nipple. Damn the darkness! She knew he was close, but even a glance might mean this all would stop. She knew his eyes would be locked on hers, watching for a misstep. She held her calm even as her body pulsed and her nipple rushed with sensation, but as his mouth enshrouded it, she almost skipped a breath.

It was warm, so warm against the cool air. His gentle lips held her erect nipple in place with soft suction, and in a moment she felt the electricity begin to burn as his tongue stroked the tip. Back and forth, and around, never the same, but consistent, building the fire in her belly that he stoked with his hand.

She kept her breathing regular, but it was heavier now, she couldn't help that. It came from a place deeper than her lungs, somewhere down inside that begged to be touched as well, to share in the fire.

His hand moved slowly south, and she felt her body tense in anticipation.

Breathe steady breathe steady breathe steady don't stop God don't stop.

Her thoughts stopped being words and became needs.

His fingers, sliding along her, reached her pussy and made one long, slow stroke. His clever fingers, one-handed, spread her labia apart, exposing her clitoris, his fingers moving easily against the slickness.

Her clit was hard already, and he took his time, stroking it with a single finger. His mouth on her nipple never lost pace, slowly sucking, as he danced across her clit with circling touches. She could get lost in that feeling, but there was something more she wanted.

She felt his weight add to the bed, and prayed - God how she prayed - that this might be that moment, when she would feel him inside, and let go, let everything go -

His face interrupted her solid view of the ceiling. His eyes twinkled in the little light there was, and she could see the shine of his lips and teeth. He was smiling a measuring grin, the kind that said he knew her better than she did herself.

"Are you ready?" His voice was a whisper.

She opened her mouth to speak and realized she wouldn't be able to without panting. She closed her mouth, and nodded.

He bent, his lips dusting her earlobe. "Good," he said. "You've been a very good girl."

And then, he entered her.

He was hard - so hard, cleaving her open, refusing any denial on her part, though there was none. Knowing he was so aroused took her to another level. She felt her pussy tighten with excitement, getting wetter still.

It was the signal. The moment he was inside her, all rules were off. Her cramping hands flew out from behind her back, wrapping around his neck - her legs, before splayed out, presenting herself to him, now wrapped around his hips, and she pulled.

She pulled hard at him, to go deeper, deeper, and her voice was freed now, and she screamed over and over again. The muscles of her body tensed with the impact as he pounded above her, driving himself in hard. She felt his hands grab her hips, owning her as he slammed back and forth, and she moaned again, arching as the sensations wracked her.

The tension built under his solid strokes, in and out, in and out, just like her breathing. The build was steady, electricity fanning out from him to her and throughout her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on, moaning as his pace built. His voice turned from breathy exertion to something deeper, a growl that started in his chest and ended in her clitoris. The fire was hot now, and she was close, moaning and tensing and tightening around him, around his cock that would not submit to her squeezing pussy -

His voice was a deep whisper, still echoing his growling breath. "I'm...going...to...come..."

"Oh God, come, come with me!" she screamed.

He gripped her hips, gave two powerful strokes, and she felt him swell inside her.

"Oh God!" she screamed, and she climaxed, feeling the world spin into a white haze as he pounded furiously, screaming, growling, clasping her to him in the throes of his passion.

* * *

She felt his strong arms encircle her, holding her tight, the signal that it was okay to release, to come down, to give in and be safe. As her mind still circled the ceiling from her climax, the same thought as in the times before came to her.

In things like this, she thought, who is the dominant? Who is the submissive, and who is being served?

He kissed her neck, and as the warmth of her body spread throughout her, merging with the warmth of his, she smiled, knowing that the answer, in the end, was completely irrelevant.