Collars And Cravings

I am good--so very good--at getting what I want. My smile can be demure or alluring, depending on what you need from me and what I want from you. It's a survival trait I've picked up and one I utilize fairly well. A meek woman breeds comfort for powerful men, and comfort is what I'm good at.

Besides, meek is a style of submission, and it's one I enjoy playing with--for the right guy anyway.

I can stand by the stove baking cookies in modest kitten heels and a sharply tailored skirt and blouse. Makeup and hair done just so. Attractive but not drawing attention to myself in an unseemly way. Boring as can be, but comfortable for some. It might not be my fantasy--it's usually "his"--though from time to time, I do like being that woman. Mostly, it's just because I love to please.

Praise from being useful is just as invigorating as praise for great sex.

It's feminine and safe. The traditional housewife making you a perfectly timed meal. Ready as you get home from work. That is, I'm ready for you. Prepared to sit at your feet and give you a massage. Ready to show you devotion and care like a good wife should. I can be that for you. My hope is that you'll look at me with respect and care even when we both know I'm not your wife and never will be. But I only want that sometimes, not all the time--how droll. Neither of us wants

that

kind of life. I will never have to worry about you raising your hand or voice to me because I'll never stay long enough for you to get bored of me, and I know better than to stand up for myself. I'd never challenge your authority, Sir. Absolutely not ever, as long as I'm playing wife.

But "wife" is boring to me. Complacency at its worst. I don't want to play your wife, even if that's your desire. I can be so much more. Mistress, lover, whore...Those are more my style. Never the same, and with no routine beyond a basic idea. We play into my fantasy, but I have a casual way of making you feel as if it's yours. Though, sometimes, the two collide in beautifully erotic ways. That's my favorite. The guys who don't need to be led through my desires to please them. The ones who see where I'm going and jump ahead a few paces. You're one of those.

I can be yours. Bend myself to your view of perfection. Or, I can be who I think you want me to be. The fantasy you're afraid to tell anyone else about. The one that is all about power and dominance. The fantasy where I'm so good for your needs. And I'm very good at being good, Sir. Very good at pretending I'm someone I'm not. For you, I could be the perfect wife. Sweet as pie. Obedient and kind.

All it would cost you is knowing you've broken me. I'm sure that's not a heavy price for you to pay. At least, not until you know what you've lost.

What would you lose in that scenario?

Well, not much really-- only me. The very makeup of my being: a whimsical curiosity of everything around me, my passion, my eagerness to please. You'd lose my utter devotion and desire to worship you in a way that would set your heart and body aflame with passion each and every day. Oh, but that last one is so fun--you'll see. It would be one of many desires forced beyond that demure and prudish existence of "wife."

Maybe those are things you don't want in a lover. They are certainly challenging at times. Well, difficult. I

can

be difficult, I suppose. But that comes with the package of passion. If I'm not playing wife, I will challenge you when I see fit. I will stand up to you to get what I want. You will fall right into my fantasy in that way. Particularly when I lift to my toes so I can stand eye to eye with you, indicating that I won't back down unless you make me, and we both know I love it when you make me.

That's the goal, after all.

I don't want you to look at me with care and respect. I want to look at you and see the flame in your eyes. The spark of desire that burns brightly when you know the woman you're with will do anything you ask of her. Or, I guess more accurately, there's nothing she would deny you, no asking needed. Well, no asking preferred, I suppose.

I bet you would secretly like it just as much as me. No matter how much you espouse traditional values and goodness in a woman, we both know you also want a slut at your beck and call. But the idea the two could be the same? Unfathomable.

See, I think you want the "wife" to parade around the family and show them just how well you've done for yourself. But "me"... you want "me" only in the bedroom. Well, maybe not only. Maybe in other parts of the house, too. Or at least I hope so because I rather enjoy waiting and watching when it's time for you to come home. It would be so limiting to have to wait for you to find me in the bedroom instead of presenting myself right inside the front door. Your only clue to what waits inside is the unlocked door. Unless you look in the window, then you might see everything.

My fantasy unleashed, but still collared, for you.

I like fantasizing. It's easy to get caught up in possibilities about someone I like. And I quite like you. I have a few favorite scenarios, but most start with you walking through the door to find me on my knees in nothing but a black leather collar, looking up at you so sweetly. My palms resting on my spread thighs, and my makeup perfectly enticing. It has to be, considering it's my only adornment besides the collar.

Yes, my fantasy has me expectantly awaiting a chance to relieve you of some of your stress--and maybe causing a moment of new stress as you open the door and see me so displayed. I wonder if you'd rush in to ensure no one else can see or if you'd prolong my racing pulse and leave it open a moment too long. My wants delayed by your desire to tease.

So many of my fantasies involve you enjoying my eagerness, though my second favorite is when you're full of desire and don't hesitate to use me by the front door, even if it's still ajar. Have I mentioned I like feeling useful? I'm particularly fond of being useful and enjoyable to someone I trust.

My favorite fantasy to get stuck on, though, involves you walking through the door, tired but not exhausted. Maybe a little angry or frustrated with work, but that melts away as you see me. Your demeanor shifts to something more akin to flustered than angry. You still want to be angry, of course, but it's hard to be when your favorite girl is keen to kneel and submit herself so prominently before you.

~

You come to me and stroke my hair; I lean into your palm. Then, you move away and sit in your favorite chair. The oversized one with the high back and arms so you can grip them tightly as you watch me crawl across the floor to you. Your eyes focus on me, and I lick my lips as you unbuckle your belt and unfasten your pants. You perk up as I get nearer, scooting closer to the edge of your seat, your desire building with knowing how eager I am to please you. That eagerness drips from my expression, and other areas that you can't yet see in this position.

Your palm cups my face as I put my hands on your knees and lift myself in front of you.

Would I need to pout to get you to stroke my cheek? How would you react to me gripping and rubbing your thighs as I waited for you to lead me? Full lips pouting at how long it takes you to act. Disappointed that you don't simply force my head to your lap as soon as I'm near enough.

~

Those are the thoughts that guide my fantasies. The ones that warm my core.

Would you prefer I take initiative then? Cradle your balls in my hand as I offer a delicate kiss to your still-soft crown? I could, but I much prefer following directions. Or, rather, following commands. I'm not much of a leader so much as I like being led.

I could start off proactively if you prefer that. My tongue slipping beneath your balls, cradling one and sucking it gently into my mouth, then releasing and dragging the pointed tip of my tongue between them and up along your shaft as my hand lightly supporting your sack, fingers caressing just behind. My lips nestling into the musky scent at the base of your cock before I allow myself to trace a series of kisses, punctuating each with a flick of my tongue, along your shaft. Those tender kisses lead to having my lips around the head of your cock, of course. I'm not a total tease.

What would your expression be? Would your gaze be full of lust, urging me on? Would there be an eagerness that saw your hand on the back of my head, tangling in my hair and pulling my lips roughly down onto you? Both hands on the sides of my head, guiding me in a bobbing rhythm? Would that be just the way you like it? Would you gag me or be delicate? I think you already know my preference.

But would you like to know what my favorite fantasy entails? The details, I mean? Not a vague idea I talk all around, but the actual movie that plays out in my head? I'll tell you if you'd like that. I'd love to whisper it in your ear if my perversions would bring you joy. So, sit back, close your eyes, and listen. You can place yourself in my fantasy if you'd like. But it's probably best if you just let me tell you what I want from you. Whether or not it's what you'd do doesn't much matter because this is me telling you what I think about when you come to mind.

~

I crawl in front of you and lift myself up, my chin resting on your knee. You drag your fingertips along my cheek and trace my jaw.

Such a gentle touch from you, a loving gesture. Touch with the right person is calming. It's my happiness and comfort. Settles my worries and fears. Your touch would bring a certain peace to me, allowing me to feel safe enough to divulge the darker parts of my desires.

You part your knees and let me move closer, urging me into position with a single finger beneath my chin. Your words spoken with lust dripping from them, "I know what you want." Your fingertip trails across my blood-red lower lip, which I part for you before I lick across your digit. I smile softly as I look up at you.

Then you grin, mischievous and bold.

A bashful flush heats my cheeks. You slide your thumb between my slightly parted lips, and my moan is involuntary as I look into your eyes. Your thumb presses down on my tongue as you watch me close my lips around you. You know me so well. I'd melt for a kiss from you, and you know it. That's why you deny me that pleasure. You want me eager, not melted. And eager comes with prolonged teasing, not immediate relief.

Your touch is gentle. The way you curl your hand beneath my jaw as I suck your thumb is enough to make me squeeze my thighs together. Yes, it does so much to make me feel wanted. I especially love the way your thumb holds my tongue down, caressing it instead of letting me lick you. I moan and tilt my head, my tongue pressing up against your thumb, fighting with you over control of my mouth. Not that I actually want control; I just want you to know what I can do to things other than, but not dissimilar to, a digit. My tongue lifts against the pad of your thumb as I pull back, but you hold me close, not letting me pull fully away.

Would you moan? Or clear your throat to cover the desire to? Would you watch with curious fascination of my simple enjoyment? I like to hear you moan, you know. Particularly with a slight growl to it. And since this is my fantasy: Yes, just like that, Sir.

Your growling moan is enthralling for me. Then you say, "That's my good girl," as you stroke my cheek. Leaning into my weakness is unfair. Yet, it sends a thrill of excitement down my spine. So good of you to indulge my desires.

I bite your thumb lightly-a smile barely visible on my lips-in a show of noting I'm maybe not so good, at least sometimes and in some ways. My thighs squeeze tight again, and my tongue lifts against your thumb as I close my eyes. You begrudgingly pull away from my lips as your palm slips beneath my chin and guides me until your lips close over my lower lip. Now it's my turn to moan as your tongue slips past and engages in a simple but sordid dance with mine.

I melt into your lips and palm--all yours. You can take anything you want from me at your leisure.

Know what I'd like then?

You pull back and look me in the eyes, your gaze as steady as your breath. You don't ask. You don't suggest. You arch one brow and guide my head down. "Eyes up," you say, urging me to keep my head lowered but eyes on yours. You like to watch me enjoying you.

You rub your cock along my lower lip, which prompts me to open and take you into my mouth. My tongue lifts to you, curling beneath the head as your hands grasp me. Your thumbs rest along the sides of my face, fingers curved behind my ears, tangled in my soft brown curls.

There wouldn't be guidance from you but resistance. You make me work to get your cock nestled at the back of my throat. I push against your grip, forcing you to pull my hair. With a frustrated whimper, I make it known how badly I want more of your cock. Your resistance to letting me have that bit of control is so irritating. At the same time, I absolutely love that you don't give in too easily. Then you release and your cock slides fully back. My eyes water and stomach clenches as I swallow and accept you deeper than I've taken you before. It hurts a little, but in the way that I like.

Oh, it would feel so good to watch you react to that. My accomplishment would garner a husky groan of praise from you, which makes me want to do it again and again. I wonder if you'd let your enjoyment show or if you'd resist, knowing it would only encourage me to try harder if I couldn't tell. Yeah, I bet that's what you'd do. Disinterest until the slightest tick of your lips or eyes gave it away. Your pleasure heightens mine--just so you know. Always has, always will.

Your set jaw and light grunt as I make you pull my hair so I can keep you where you are-despite my desperate need for air-is thrilling. I think you know I need a breath, and you try to pull me up, but I resist. I ensure my eyes are on yours as I continue sucking you in a breathless motion. I can hold my breath for a bit. I'm okay.

Would you try to pull me back to make me have that needed breath, even with me fighting against you? Or would your grip loosen and let me stay without the need to pull my hair? I bet your eyes close when my tongue hits just the right spot on your cock. Would that make your grip on my head tighten, or your breath shudder slightly? I couldn't help but moan in any of those situations.

My hands sliding up your thighs is meant to show a need for pause. Maybe for both of us, but definitely for me, as my lack of breath threatens to dizzy me. I pull back, gasping a moment before I repeat the motion: cock at the back of my throat, swallow as I move forward, then bob up and down, letting you savor the tightness as your hands slide to the back of my head. A firm grip in my hair gives you some leverage, and you move me just the way you like, which isn't done with niceness--but feels so nice to us both.

I look up at you as you get closer, though my only indication of that is you shifting forward slightly, making it easier for me to get you down my throat. Even still, you reluctantly let me pull back for some deep breaths and wipe the tears from my cheeks. They aren't from sadness, but from effort of my accomplishment. My hands stroke the base of your shaft as my tongue and lips work your head. My throat needs a rest for a moment, and you don't seem to mind the shallower pleasure.

I could be a tease. Pull back and walk away. See what you do in a heated moment of unfulfilled passion. I could also be so loving, make it impossible for you to do anything but allow me to please you. Such a sacrifice you'd make then, huh? But I like it somewhere in the middle and this is still

my

fantasy.

Again, I make you pull my hair by resisting your attempt to guide my movement. Slurping and moaning all the while as you pull my hair harder. I consider, for a moment, if I want you to come or if I want to tease.

Bring you to the edge, then back off. Bet it would cause a flash of anger in your eyes. Maybe anger's what I want.

The thought of being a tease is short-lived.

Your hands grasp the back of my neck and pull me down hard on you, forcing your cock against my throat and making my stomach tense and eyes water with my lack of preparation for that maneuver. I realize the choice has already been made for me. You groan, holding my head down as your cock flexes and releases in hot and heavy bursts. You pull me back a little, and I can feel your cum pooling on my tongue. I whine, stretching my fingers on your thigh as you hold me close to you.

I know I'm wet from pleasuring you. Holding me down as you came helped with that. But I also know I'm getting wetter as I drink you down. Salty and bitter, but signifying a job well done. You release me and I pull you from my mouth, panting as I sit back on my heels and look up at you, obediently awaiting your next command as I savor the taste of you and catch my breath.

Your fingers slide along my cheek, stroking me gently. I swallow every drop you offer me and knowing that seems to please you. You sigh contentedly, which makes me smile. My stomach tenses as I wait, eyes lowering the longer it takes for you to address my desire to continue pleasing you. You see my posture softening, my shoulders rounding, sadness and worry creep into my body language. Then your palm is beneath my chin, lifting my head as I fight off tears.

"You're my good girl, you know?"

My smile returns in a soft tick of my lips. A bright flush to my cheeks as I nod. That risk of falling tears fades almost instantly. A bashful pose, not wanting to admit that your voice making declarations of my goodness ignites a spark of pleasure within me.

"Say it," you demand.

"Yes, Sir," I reply, my voice meek as I glance away.

"No, no, eyes on me when you say it, pet."

My gaze shifts back to you. I take a deep breath before I murmur, "I'm your good girl, Sir."

You laugh and stroke your thumb along my cheek. "That's not what I meant, but true."

My eyebrow arches as I clear my throat. "Oh, that." I say, a sheepish grin on my face.

"Yes, that."

I draw in a deep breath as I slip your belt from the loops and look into your eyes. "I'm very wet, Sir. And wanty." My words are emphasized with my posture and delicate smile.

"Wanty?" You arch an eyebrow, a half-grin shifts your expression. It's not a phrase I've used before and you appear amused, maybe intrigued.

I nod and lay the belt in your hand. "Wanty. Needy."

"Restrict you?" you ask, holding the belt up and stroking my wrist.

I shake my head while chewing my lip to calm my nerves.

~

I'd love it if you smiled and leaned forward, your lips caressing my ear as you whispered, "You know I prefer using my hand."

The chill that would send through me would no doubt cause my nipples to harden if they weren't already. The odds of you making it through a blowjob without pinching and tugging them is quite low, I suppose. Chances are they're firm and tender by your hand already. An oversight on my part, I apologize for not thinking of how much we'd both enjoy that.

So, let's move forward with that as part of my fantasy.

~

I nod, and you get your hands on my ass, squeezing and pulling me up to you. "Kiss me," you urge, a playfulness to your tone.

My eyes search yours briefly, but I acquiesce to your urging. I let my hand slide over the back of your neck and delicately let my lips touch yours in a soft peck.