I Always Get What I Want

"I, uh... I should go." The words sound contemptibly weak coming from my lips, and I know it; they don't sound like the words of a determined, insistent woman who's ready to assert her will and push aside any obstacles in her path and walk right out of this apartment no matter who stands in her way. They sound a lot more like the feeble, merely notional protests given by a horny, needy little slut who just wants to spread her legs and switch off her brain and let someone finger her weak and fuzzy mind into oblivion. They sound like I'm hoping to be told 'no' so that I can give in and pretend I don't have a choice anymore. And if I know that, then Emma has to know it too.

She does. "No one's stopping you," she says playfully, fixing me with those beautiful hazel eyes of hers and staring deep and direct into my soul. She doesn't get off of me. She doesn't stop teasing my soaking cunt through my lavender panties. She just looks me square in the face and dares me to ask her to move instead of just hinting around the subject. Her lush, ruby red lips quiver in sadistic amusement. She knows full damn well that I can't stop grinding against her hand, any more than I can tug the strap of my dress back up over my shoulder and conceal my bare breast and my stiff pink nipple from her view. She's got me trapped, but her body weight has nothing to do with it.

I hold her gaze as long as I can before I drop my blue eyes meekly down to stare at the impressive valley of her alabaster cleavage. Emma's still got her clothes on, of course. My cocktail dress is practically a belt at this point and my panties are damn near translucent with musk, but she still looks as perfectly composed as ever. Her fucking eye shadow still looks perfect, which I can't even manage when I'm not being seduced by a horny lesbian at a party that's over for everyone but me and the hostess. Just looking at her makes me feel even more like a mess. A weak, wet, and above all vulnerable mess.

I try to rise, but Emma's a 6'2" statuesque brunette with the muscles of a stonemason and I'm a petite blonde who measures maybe five foot nothing in heels. I'm pretty goddamn sure she could bench press me, and I can't deny that part of the steamy heat between my legs comes from exactly that sensation of helplessness. If I did ask, would she let me go? Or would she just let out a teasing chuckle and keep staring deep into my eyes and playing with my cunt until I forgot I even asked the question? "I, um... I don't want to, uh, to keep you," I murmur weakly, still dancing around the idea of directly requesting my freedom.

She lets out a snort of laughter. "Oh, you're not keeping me, little birdy," she purrs, rubbing her fingers back and forth along the cleft between my labia until she's pushed the loose fabric up into my cunt. Something about the condescending way she refuses to use my name makes me even wetter; I never thought anything could sound more overtly demeaning than Wren until I heard Emma's endless profusion of endearments. "I'm doing exactly what I want right now. What I've wanted all night, in fact. You should count yourself lucky that I waited until everyone was gone before I started taking your clothes off."

Oh fuck. Oh fucking goddamn fuck, now it's in my head and it won't leave. The full crowd of artists, musicians and other bohemian types, all watching as the darling of the sculpture scene in Manhattan just picks up the tiny little slip of a girl who's been oversharing all night about her short films and yanks down the straps on her cocktail dress to reveal a pair of big tits that looks even bigger on her small frame. The lascivious fascination in all those staring eyes as Emma gropes my breasts right in front of everyone until I'm squirming and whimpering and my pussy is leaking into my panties while everyone watches. Knowing I'd have to ask permission to get her to stop and feeling too deliciously weak to do it. Goddamn. God. Damn.

Emma chuckles again. "You know I can tell when something turns you on, right? You're not even trying to hide it." I blush furiously, but I can feel the liquid gush of pleasure between my legs and I just know it has to be soaking through the thin fabric of my panties onto her fingers. The weaker she makes me feel, the wetter I get. And the wetter I get, the weaker it makes me feel. I'm spiraling helplessly down into her control and I can't stop myself, and I can't even pretend that isn't the sexiest part of all this. Not to myself, and apparently not to Emma either.

I squirm again, and it finally hits me that she doesn't even know I'm trying to push her off. Assuming I am, which is an open question at this point. She legit thinks I'm just rubbing my bare nipples against her chocolate-colored velvet dress, or maybe just humping her fingers like a needy little bitch in heat. I'm so physically weak compared to her that she straight up can't tell my struggles apart from writhing in ecstasy, and she won't stop teasing me until I quit beating around the bush... um, so to speak... and tell her I want to go.

I open my mouth, but all I hear myself offer is another pathetic excuse. "That, um, that's very flattering," I mumble, "and I... I'm sure I'd love to, um, to stay and, and...." She presses down hard right over my clit, derailing my train of thought in an explosion of wet, red lust that bursts behind my eyelids and makes me whimper in ecstasy. I don't know exactly when my eyes closed. I only know that when I finally flutter them open, they lock right back onto Emma's implacable gaze and I can't tear them away. She mentioned something about studying hypnosis for a couple of months during a residency in Denmark. I don't know if she's actually putting me into a trance right now, or if I'm just so weak and wet and susceptible to her charisma that I'm doing it all to myself.

"Then stay," she murmurs, technically interrupting me even though I don't have the slightest idea how I planned to finish that sentence. "You said it yourself, you wrapped production on your latest film a week ago and you don't have anything to do until that film festival out in Jersey on Thursday. Why not relax and let go and enjoy being a good little twitterpated bird for me, hmm?" Okay, that can't be an accident. She keeps rubbing extra hard every time she says things like, like 'relax', and, um, 'let go', and... and I keep coming back to those words and they keep sounding better and better inside my head. I shouldn't be doing that, should I?

"B-bird?" I say stupidly, somehow stuck on her pet name for me as though my brain momentarily emptied out and that was the only thing I could find when I opened my mouth to speak. "Um, s-sorry, I, um, I mean I w-was going to say, um, uhh, uhhHH!" My babble breaks off in another choked gasp as her strong, precise fingers press down hard on my clit again, softening my mind into blank, pliable arousal as easily as she shapes the malleable clay for her latest exhibit. I knew Emma worked in a number of different mediums, but I didn't know seduction was one of them until tonight.

"Sssh," she whispers, leaning in to nibble and nuzzle my delicate ears before kissing her way down my neck to my jawline. "It's okay. You only need to say one word now. You only need to think one word now." Her lips caress my chin before she leans back again to capture me with her piercing stare once more. "Just say yes, pretty bird. Just say yes and think yes and I can fill your mind with more pleasure than you ever imagined possible. That one word is all you need to remember, the only thing you need inside that foggy brain. Say yes for me."

My mouth opens. I can feel the weight of the word on my tongue like a stone, blocking any other speech from escaping. I'm teetering on the edge of complete submission and I know that I'm going to fall. It doesn't matter anymore that I've never been with another woman before, it doesn't matter that I swore off dating artistic types after my last relationship crashed and burned midway through production on a film that my boyfriend was starring in. All that matters is the heat in my cunt, and the smoldering lust behind those hazel eyes.

It's a Pyrrhic triumph that I've made her too impatient to wait for me to fall on my own. "I told you I wanted you, little bird," she growls, yanking my panties halfway down to my knees in a single swift gesture before sliding two fingers into my butter-slick cunt. "And I always get what I want, don't I?" That's all it takes. The dam in my head bursts, unleashing a tide of submissive arousal that washes away all my thoughts and leaves me utterly, deliciously helpless against her seductive charisma.

"Yes!" I squeal, my eyelids clenching tight as I feel my first orgasm slam into me with overwhelming force. There's no way to stop it; Emma's fingers simply wring the pleasure out of me as easily as if I were a limp washcloth in her grasp. I strain into her relentless thrusts, grinding my body against hers and reveling in the weight that holds me pinned to the couch. God, it feels so fucking good to stop pretending I ever had a choice in this. It feels so good to simply slip away into utter ecstasy and acknowledge her complete and total dominance over me. Why did I ever try to fight this? Why did I ever think I stood a chance in the face of her determination to own me?

I didn't. Not really. I can feel it, deep down; there was never even the slightest moment where my resistance was anything more than a joke I was playing on myself. No wonder she defeated me so easily--it was two against one all along, my feeble pretense at self-determination versus Emma's seductive touch and my own soaking pussy. I never stood a chance, and losing never felt so fucking, fucking good.

"You're going to stay here with me all night, pretty girl," Emma snarls, her voice hoarse with lust. She purses her bright red lips around my nipple, but I only see it in my mind's eye; my eyelids absolutely refuse to open, trapping me in a world of sensation deeper and more profound than sight could ever be. It definitively settles the question of her tactile art form versus my visual one before we even ask it, but of course I'm not really thinking about that right now. I'm not thinking about anything but the slick, squishing bliss between my legs and a single word that I can't stop repeating now.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" I moan, driving my hips into her thrusts again and again until a second orgasm follows the first. I'm glad Emma's successful enough to have a nice big brownstone apartment, because if we were fucking like this back in my own tiny little broom closet of a place I'm pretty sure the entire building would know how hard I was cumming for her. I realize with a rush of shameful arousal that I wouldn't even care.

"That's it, pet." She hooks her fingers just a little, hitting my G-spot and driving me to a third orgasm as my mewls of pleasure hit a new crescendo. "Sing for me, little birdy. Sing for your Mistress, won't you?" The word 'Mistress' shocks me for just a moment, confronting me with a whole realm of possibilities I've never even thought about before now. I've never been a prude, but I've never been kinky, either. I don't know everything that I'm diving into if I accept this new side of myself and give in to her absolute power over me. I love feeling helpless, I love feeling so utterly controlled, but will I want this tomorrow? And the next day, and the next, and the next?

There's only one answer. There's only one word inside my head anymore, and I can't help screaming it for my Mistress. "Yes!" I wail, and my head swims with rapture as I finally spiral all the way down into Emma's total control and clench my cunt around her fingers in an all-consuming climax that shakes me to my core. I can feel it transforming me, reshaping me, making me hers forever.

She doesn't stop there, though. And I finally, happily accept that I can't make her.

THE END