The Look In Your Eyes 2

I don't immediately recognize the look in your eyes. The hungry look, the desperate look, those I've seen and know intimately. No, this look is something more, something darker, something far more ravenous than even when I'd teasingly denied your orgasm for days on end.

You've only been home for a few minutes when you step close to me as I'm standing in the kitchen, beneath the glow of the overhead fluorescent lights behind their stylized covers. Your arms come up and wrap around my neck as you look at me with that look so dark, so sultry yet tempestuous. Then you casually slide in for the deepest of kisses.

A very hot moment passes before you pull back, bite your lower lip, and whisper, "I know you're about to start making dinner, baby, but I'd just like your attention right now. For a moment." You kiss me deeply, passionately again without waiting for my response.

When your lips finally free mine, when your tongue stops dancing with mine, you glance at me with that dark, smoldering look. Waiting.

"Okay, well, clearly, you have my full attention," I say after I catch my breath. My nipples are hard and trying to poke through my T-shirt. Your eyes drop down, and you smile at the sight, biting your lower lip again.

"Good," you whisper, then kiss me lightly, seductively. Fire is starting to build inside me, fire that will burn you, drive you into a grunting, slavering frenzy. From the smoldering look you've been giving me, I'm guessing that's exactly your point.

Still, pretending to nonchalantly smooth down my broom skirt, I tease you, "So, assuming this isn't about dinner, what are you hungry for right now, baby?"

And you just look at me, study me with that dark, hungry expression at once both lustful and soulful, study my lips, face, eyes. God, you are so hot.

Then you smile and lean close, whisper, "I've had a very long, hard day, and right now, I need to be your plaything. Desperately. And your plaything needs to get fucked right here, right now." You kiss me again before continuing, "I need it rough, baby, and I need it--" You glance around. "--up against the sink will probably do nicely."

Now it is my turn to study you. Do I make you wait? Make you drop to your knees and beg? No, I can see the desperation written all over your face. "What brought this on?"

You coquettishly shake your head, smile, take both my hands, and bring them up to plant tiny kisses on my fingertips while you look me in the eye. Then you lean even closer, whisper so softly it tickles, "I just need to be choked. I need to be spanked." Another soft, sensual kiss. "I need to be hurt, baby. Just a little."

Now I know that look. Now I recognize that dark need, that ache to ache, to be taken, used hard, fucked into an infinite loop of climax and return, climax and return, pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure, Heaven fucking the shit out of Hell.

My fingers are entwined in your shoulder-length hair in the next instant, and I pull your head back, exposing your throat to my other hand. Squeeze.

Your face immediately becomes flushed, and you whisper-gasp in a rush, "Fuck! Yes! Use me, baby! Don't let me think anymore. I just want to feel, I just--"

I don't let you finish. Instead, I push you against the sink. My slim fingers tighten around your throat. Both your hands come up to grasp my forearm, holding tightly as your face turns an even brighter shade of red. I let go of your hair with my other hand and grip the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down. You dutifully kick them off and gasp as I let you breathe again. I pull your panties aside and grab your bush with my fist, pulling so fucking hard.

"Fuck, baby! Thank you!"

I spin you around, the hand on your throat now gripping your hair at the base of your skull. The hand that had gripped your bush is now running over the skin of your ass. I hold you in place with your hair while you brace yourself against the sink with both hands.

You gasp, "Jesus, baby, yes!"

Smack! My hand stings as it holds the pain of the very solid spank against your skin as you squeal from the not-warmed-up impact. Little smacks follow, then rubbing across the growing redness of your ass. Then more solid, rapid, stinging spanks that rock you forward against your braced arms, against my locked fingers in your hair.

Without loosening my grip on your hair, I open a kitchen drawer with my other hand and pull out a wide-bowled, wooden baking spoon. Now it is a paddle.

Crack! "Ow! Fuck, baby!" Crack! "Ow!" Crack! "Fuck!" Then lighter, rhythmic strikes as you begin to moan.

Drool is hanging from your mouth as I continue to spank you with the spoon, and your moans turn to groans and your ass slowly turns beet red.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of our small, wireless vibrators left casually and "coincidentally" close by on the counter. It wasn't there when I'd entered the kitchen, and I laugh as I place it into your hand.

"Vibe your clit," I whisper-growl. "Don't stop until I tell you to."

"Yes, baby, thank you!" You let out one long moan as the vibrator starts to whir.

I yank your panties further to the side. You are so fucking wet, and my fingers slide so smoothly into you from behind. Sink deep into your sloppy, hot core. Grind into your guts hard, again with no warm-up. Pound you. Fuck you. Five-finger death punch your g-spot until you are dripping on the floor, and tiny rivulets are running down your shaking legs.

Then my fingers slide out, spraying dollops of your goo across the tiles. I pull your head back and reach around, make you gag on my fingers as you lick them clean of your desperate self.

"Thank you, baby," you gasp after I pull my wet fingers from your mouth. I wipe my fingers on your flaming red ass cheeks, and then I pull open another drawer. From inside, I pull a long, thumb-thick, metal muller used for making mixed drinks. I slide the oh-so-cold metal of the rounded handle deep inside you and you all but scream. Then you are fuck-grunting as I pound you with the makeshift, slowly warming dildo, churning your insides into even more cream that slides off the shaft of the muller onto my hand, and then onto the floor.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, fuck!" You are supporting yourself with one hand on the back of the sink while the other holds the vibrator tight to your clit.

"What does my plaything need?"

"She--shit--she needs to cum."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your labored breathing," I tease. "What do you need?"

"To cum! Fuck, baby--Oh! Fuck!--Please--"

"Cum!" And you explode across the kitchen floor as your legs collapse beneath you. I hold you up with my fingers in your hair and by the arm that I slip around your waist, the slick, glistening muller dropping to the floor and rolling away.

"Oh my god," you breathe. "Fuck!" Your breathing is so ragged and heavy. You lean further forward, still bracing yourself with one hand against the back of the sink. "Fuck, baby, thank you--oh, god--can I please stop vibing?"

I laugh, then lean close, letting go of your hair. "No. I'm not quite through with my plaything yet."

You moan again over the whir of the vibe. And then, in between ragged breaths, you giggle and whisper, "Thank you!"