Control Ch 02 3

He lay there, idly stroking himself, as she walked into the room.

"Get your hands off that," she said, a sneer twisting her painted lips as she looked down at him. "That is, if you want to do anything

but

play with yourself tonight."

He looked up, a bit shocked – but at the same time, the tone he'd never heard in her voice touched some hidden part of himself, and he felt his cock twitch in response. His hand slowed, still curled around his swelling flesh, and he licked his lips nervously.

"You heard me," she said, and her fingers curled as well, around the black vinyl belt she wore. Slowly, she undid the clasp, and with an almost-imperceptible hiss it slid through the loops of the midnight-blue miniskirt that clung to her thighs. She held it threateningly, wrapped around her palm, until he slowly withdrew his hand and let it lay flat against the mattress; and at the same time, she let the belt slither from her hand and fall to the floor.

"Very good," she said, turning her back to him and toying with the zipper to her skirt. "Just do what I say, and remember that I'm in charge," and slowly, she slid the zipper open to reveal just a hint of the cleft, only a shadow beneath the back of her stockings, but enough to let him know that she was not wearing panties.

Without his hands moving, his cock jerked again, pointing somewhere between her head and the ceiling, and a low whine escaped his lips. He could feel his blood rushing like rapids, driven by the trip-hammer beating of his heart; he could hear it in his ears, could feel his face growing warm. She took another step closer, rolling the top of the skirt down over her hips, her belly curving over the tight band of fabric, her navel a soft, inviting shadow. She pulled the skirt down lower, a few downy hairs springing free, and let her hands roam back up her body for a moment, caressing her breasts through her shirt and then back down.

She turned around again, and worked the skirt down over the swell of her ass, closer and closer to revealing the undercurve where it would meet her thighs. He groaned, clutching at the sheets to keep from moving, and wondered if a man could come without being touched. "Don't move," she warned him, and bent over to pull the skirt down, pressing her thighs tightly together, letting the fabric fall to the ground. He watched, rapt, that sweet, half-hidden valley his complete center of attention.

When she turned around again, still clad in a dark tube-top and black stockings, the scent of her drifted to him, barely enough yet to sense, but it was there. "That's all you get," she murmured, half to herself, as if only deciding that moment. "You don't deserve to see the rest ... you don't need to see me." Her eyes, half-lidded, snapped wide open in an instant to capture his. "You aren't here to get anything, you're here to give." She came closer, her knees at the edge of the bed. Her stockings whispered against the sheet, taunting him with the nearness of her thighs. His fingers twitched, but he held her gaze and didn't even allow himself the luxury of shifting his weight forward.

Her thighs parted further, like a curtain drawn open – but she covered herself with one hand, hiding her deeper mysteries from his eyes. Her palm covered her mound, her fingers trailing down between her thighs – and slowly, those fingers sunk even deeper, and he knew she was stroking the slick folds, testing the waters, circling her clit teasingly; though he could see none of these things, was allowed to see none. She bent her head back, seemed to forget him for a moment, lost in her own pleasure.

His cock ached, too long hard without the slightest touch, and he wondered if he could get away with leaning forward enough to move against the bed, to at least know some sort of contact. She continued to stroke herself, now sinking two fingers deep into her own wetness, her scent stronger in the air, humid, almost palpable.

She's just going to stand there and get off in front of me,

he thought.

She's going to humiliate me and leave me with nothing. The least I can have is to rub off against the sheets.

He held his breath, uncertain what to do. He almost moved – but no, he would not give an inch.

And then her head came down again, eyes wide and warmer than before, as if she knew his struggle and was rewarding him for the restraint he'd managed. He felt what he'd given her so keenly, how the choice was so much more than if he'd been bound or blindfolded, how pleased she was. She kneeled on the bed beside him, bent down until her lips were beside his ear, her breath hot on the side of his neck.

"You are mine, lover. You know how much that means, how much you've earned, just to belong to me." It wasn't a question, and he knew she didn't want a reply. He could feel her breasts around his shoulder, the fabric taut between them, sliding up and down as she spoke. "I wouldn't choose just anyone, you know. This –" and she suddenly, roughly, took his cock in her hand, twisting her fingers tight about the shaft – "is never enough."

One time, she let her hand slide down to the base, down to rest against the dark curls of hair, and back up until her fingertips slipped from the slick head. She wiped a gleaming streak of wetness across his chest, from navel to nipple, and then moved around in front of him. Somehow, her tone was more intimate, though she was now straddling his stomach.

"This is the final test. This is where I decide on one night ... or many." And without another word, without any instruction, she slid back at just the right angle and took him smoothly into her body. Her stockings rasped against his hips as she sat up straight and he was as deep as he could possibly go.

Before she ever moved, before she even rippled her muscles against him, it was almost unbearable. His whole being was centered in her flesh surrounding his, in the heat, the tidal, shifting wash of her, and he could already feel a matching surge starting from somewhere deep inside him and rising. She leaned forward just enough to put her hands on his shoulders, only to brace herself – she knew he'd not need to be pinned down – and only then, looking deep into his eyes, did she begin to press down on her knees and raise her hips, lifting and falling around him.

The sheets weren't enough – he reached out further, clutching desperately at the edges of the mattress, and gripped them until his knuckles turned white. She was beautiful and liquid and pure impossible pleasure all around him, and he had no idea how he was holding back from moment to moment.

She began to cry out, riding him faster, her pelvis crashing down against him, one hand sliding between them to stroke her clit and then back out, both hands spreading behind his back, arching it, lifting his body further against her. The surge had turned into the crash of some powerful surf inside his body, rising higher each time it flowed through him, and he gritted his teeth and thrust his head back, pushing it down a little but wanting so badly to give up the fight, to lose all control and let it fill him.

Somehow, she could feel it in him, she could read the tautness of his muscles. "No, not yet, not yet, my sweet," she moaned, while her body countered her words by gripping him tighter, and she lifted her shirt, falling down against him to rake her nipples up and down his chest before riding him again, breasts flying free, hair wild and clinging to her neck, to her forehead. Her body shined in the streetlight from the window as her body began to shake, as her cries became louder.

She screamed then, a cry starting deep in her throat and ending at heights beyond hearing, gripped him tighter than ever, and flooding him in a burst as she came. He could feel each wave of pleasure, the first few pushing him back flat against the bed, then becoming a bit more bearable, and suddenly he could feel the rush of his own orgasm, teetering right on the edge of being inevitable ... and somehow, he pushed it back one more time, while she rode, gasping, through the aftershocks –

And then she looked down at him, smiling, and speeded up her pace again, saying evenly at the same time only one word: "Now." Tears filled his eyes.

At the same time as each barrier he'd built was destroyed and he exploded within her like a miniature star being born, crying her name over and over, she came again as well, her whole body shaking. She clutched at him, crushing her body against his, and as he turned his head to breathe, she took her earlobe between her teeth and hissed, "Oh yes, you are so fucking mine." He remembered nothing else.