I Trust You 1

Staying wasn't easy. Things couldn't go on like this. They both understood that.

She was trying hard to make it work, enduring a period of near indentured servitude. That was the price of admission. There were only a few organizations where she could work in her chosen field here, and they offered only a handful of well-paying jobs. She was in one of the ones the ones that didn't pay so well. She worked long, unglamorous hours. She would haul a laptop and massive quantities of files every day to and from an office located nowhere near the nearest bus stop so she could do extra work in the evenings.

"How was your day?"

"Long. How was yours?"

"The usual. Fine." In truth, he had had a great day -- no, the best day -- but she didn't need to hear that. Not now. It wasn't important.

"Anything new today?"

"New project. It's an interesting one. It's also more work."

She paused.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

"Keep what up?"

"Working like this. I'm not getting anywhere."

"You're making progress. You'll get noticed."

As he spoke, she drank from a glass of water she'd poured when she got home. With her free hand, she rubbed her neck.

"Is it acting up again?"

"Yeah, my neck is killing me."

"Here." He walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders and began working her weary muscles.

"Sometimes, when you think you don't have anything left, you hold out that little bit longer than you think you can, and that's when something good happens. You love what you do. You're good at what you do. You have to believe."

"I'm working for pennies. I've been at it how long? I'm not sure it even makes sense anymore."

"For what it's worth, I believe in you. I will always support you."

He knew there would come a time when for her to thrive, he would have to make a change, give a little on his dream for hers. He was just waiting for the right time, and that time was not quite yet.

"Man, you are really knotted up. Let's get you upstairs so I can go to work on you."

He got her out of her work clothes. He laid her down on the bed. He started out, truthfully, with no ulterior motive, no goal but to ease the ache she felt. This was strictly a massage, and he approached it in a very thorough, almost professional manner. He preserved her modesty, like a massage clinic would, by covering her midsection with a small white towel. He worked her muscles in an earnest, successful attempt to undo the damage of all the weight she'd carried.

Towards the end, though, he could only be as he was, and he, as she would readily attest, was incorrigible. His hands began to wander further and further under that towel. He massaged the insides of her thighs, concentrating more diligently than strictly necessary on the upper portions where they curved inward. His hand grazed the space between her legs. She didn't object. Eventually, he rolled her over, removed the towel, and began teasing her skin with his fingertips. In a short while, she was begging him to do more.

He did, until he had her in a state of utter distraction, writhing under his touch and moaning softly. It was in this state that she agreed to let him tie her hands.

With her hands restrained, his hands went back to work. He would bring her to the edge, and as her back started to arch in that way it did when she would approach the point of climax, he would slow down until the feelings ebbed, but only just barely. He would rest his finger on her, moving it just enough to maintain a modicum of stimulation, keeping her in a frenzy just shy of what she needed to let go.

He did this over and over until she was pleading with him to give her release from the building tension inside her. She would have done it herself, if her hands weren't securely held, which is exactly why he'd tied them in the first place.

"Please, please, don't stop," she whimpered for what seemed like the hundredth time, as she tried to grind against his finger to relieve the swelling sensation that now consumed her. His finger moved with her, refusing her still as he leaned down and told her, "Tell me your deepest, darkest fantasy, and I'll let you go."

In her desperate and harried condition, she started to share.

-----------------------------------------

I am lying in bed, on top of the covers, trying to stay cool in the heat of a scorching summer night. I am wearing as little as possible: the thinnest little tank top and the tiniest of light blue cotton shorts.

As I read, the words start to blur, I drape the book over me, and I drift off to sleep.

The book slides off, and I wake with a start. I am no longer alone. At the side of the bed, there is a man dressed all in black, a mask covering his face. I lie still.

I can see his eyes running all over my body. My notional clothes barely conceal me. He traces the contours of my breasts, of each nipple. I am suddenly keenly aware of how thin the shirt truly is. It has ridden up slightly, exposing a smooth expanse of skin just above the waist of my shorts. His gaze is moving from my breasts to this naked skin now and further down to those shorts, so dainty that his eyes can follow the inside of my thigh where it curves inward, giving him a glimpse of my panties and the round bulge of my pussy inside them.

He holds a finger up to his lips. I nod.

He kneels beside the bed and places a gloved hand over my mouth. He whispers in my ear: "Don't be afraid. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to have you. I've wanted you for so long." There is an insistent tone to his voice. I sense that he has lusted for me for a very long time. My pulse pounds in my ears.

He takes his hand away and removes a length of black rope from his pocket. He lays it on the bed next to me. He wraps his hands around each of my wrists. His grip is light. He gently stretches my arms out over my head. He picks the black rope back up and wraps my wrists several times with it and ties the loose end to my headboard. The rope is snug, but not tight. It exerts a constant firm pressure on my skin. I am restrained and helpless. I do not resist.

With my hands tied above me, my back arches. He gathers several pillows from the bed and props them up behind me, his face near mine as he reaches around to make sure my back is comfortably supported. As he adjusts the pillows, his eyes move back down to the thin fabric covering my breasts, which are swept in front of me and pressed together. Their mated curves meet perfectly, plunging below the deep neckline of my tank top in an inviting cleft as if tucked into a pushup bra. He admires them anew.

He stands beside the bed and methodically tugs on each finger of his gloves. He is deliberate, unhurried. He removes the gloves and sets them quietly and neatly on my nightstand.

He runs a finger along my arm. His touch is practiced and oh so delicate, teasing my skin just enough to leave a shiver trailing along behind. It makes me want to be touched more. He traces the inside of my forearm, into the hollow of my elbow, along the exposed underside of my upper arm, along the outside of my armpit, around the smooth contour of the side of my breast which spills out of the arm of my tank top.

He slides the bottom of my tank top up my stomach, pinching it at my sides and tugging it slowly up my smooth skin until it is resting just below my breasts. He continues his light touch, now running his fingers up my sides, over my stomach, admiring the graceful rise from my navel to my breasts. His touch feels good. I feel an inevitable swell in the pit of my stomach and between my legs. I shift my hips the slightest bit, my body restless with a longing I try to fight. He notices the movement. The corner of his mouth curves up with the hint of a smile.

He starts to pull my tank top up over my breasts, but quickly realizes he cannot remove it over my bound arms. He grabs the collar in each of his powerful hands and tears instead. The fabric puts up no fight and falls away. It lies in tatters on either side of me.

With my breasts now fully exposed, his touch resumes. His fingers wander over them, skimming their surface and tracing the earlier path of his eyes. He clearly approves of them, the look of them, the shape, the feel. His fingers continue their delicate explorations, now teasing my nipples with that same light touch. My nipples harden. The swelling in my clit intensifies as he leans down and wraps his lips around one of my nipples. With his lips pressed firmly to my skin, he takes in a mouthful of my breast, while the tip of his tongue barely touches the pert tip of my nipple. Each flick of his tongue sends a jolt through me directly to the area between my legs. The swelling grows. I know my clit will soon be aching to be touched.

His hand reaches down towards my waist. He moves it slowly but inexorably until his fingers are sliding between my skin and the elastic of my tiny shorts and into my panties. I can feel his finger getting closer and closer until he presses it into the cleft and rests it on my clit. He murmurs a prolonged "ahhh" as his finger finds what it was looking for.

I try to twist my hips away to escape his touch, but he moves with me. I am powerless to stop his finger from circling my clit. His touch is sensual and slow. The feeling inside me continues to grow. I still try to move away from him, but I can feel my motions becoming calmer and compliant. Despite myself, his touch feels good, and the movement of my hips is becoming as slow and plaintive as those of his fingers. Soon I am moving in concert with his touch. I push my clit towards his finger. I take in a deep breath. My stomach tenses slightly, then relaxes. I am becoming more aroused, the warm feeling inside of me growing. I can feel that I am starting to get wet. I desperately hope that he doesn't become aware that my pussy is close to dripping, but he can see plainly from the way I move that my body is responding to his touch. His finger slides down between my lips. He moves it slowly, leaving me to anticipate the inevitable moment when it will reach the opening of my pussy. When he gets there, he rests his finger just inside me. He clearly enjoys how soft and wet I am and leaves his finger there for a second. When he finally slides it back out, it slips smoothly over the length of my pussy and back to my clit, where his slickened touch feels even better than before. His finger glides across it and around it, back and forth. My eyes are closed. My back arches further against the pillows. My breathing quickens. I can feel my stomach clench and release. My pussy opens up.

He slows down. He doesn't want me to come. Not yet. His finger comes to a stop. He pulls away.

His gaze again falls on my shorts. He wants to take them off, to have me completely naked before him. He grabs them at the waist and begins to tug them down, but I twist away, bringing one of my knees up towards my chest, moving my other thigh away to make it impossible to remove them. He pulls harder, but it's no use. The fabric is pulled taut over my legs. I have achieved a small victory.

It is short-lived. He quickly takes his hands away from my waist and in the blink of an eye, thrusts them between my legs. It happens too fast for me to bring my legs together. He has reached through the legs of my shorts, his fingers hooking into the seams of the crotch. He pulls apart, and the stitching rips loudly. He pulls the tattered fabric away until it hangs in pieces from the still intact waist band. My panties are now fully on display. They are ephemeral pink cotton with lacing along the edges. Looking down, I can see that the elastic is so slight and the fabric so thin that they are suspended from my hip bones, leaving a tantalizing little gap between their waist band and the skin of my stomach. Of course, his eyes go right there. He pinches the waist band and pulls it forward teasingly, and I can see that the fabric has soaked through just above the padding between my legs. My arousal is unmistakably visible, and I know that in no way will I be able even to dream of keeping it hidden from him from this moment on.

He snaps the waist back in place and takes one step back from the bed. I can see the front of his jeans bulge around the outline of his erection. He is so hard that I can make out the ridge around the head of his cock -- it is distinctly visible through the denim. He unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and then climbs onto the bed, at my feet. He pulls his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh. I no longer have to make out the vague suggestion of his cock through any fabric - its turgid mass is visible between my legs. It looks huge to me, so incredibly veiny and thick.

He grabs the waist of my panties at both hips to remove them, but I clamp my legs together and squeeze them as tight as I can. He starts to pull, but the panties quickly bunch up, revealing nothing. Another small victory, but it is again only temporary. He removes his hands and places them instead on my knees. His fingers squeeze between them and he pulls firmly apart. I squeeze against his hands with all my might, but he is so strong. My legs come apart, and he forces his body in between them. Between his body and mine there is only the insufficient fabric of my panties. I feel his naked cock up against them, pressing into my skin.

He is on top of me. His hands reach down to remove my last remaining article of clothing, pushing my panties down my legs. They are stretched out across my thighs, prevented by his legs from going further. He rises up on his toes to make space and maneuvers my underwear down around his legs and over one of my feet. He does not bother to take them all the way off, and they remain draped around my other ankle.

He pauses now and pulls back to look at my pussy. I am shaved completely bare, allowing him take all of me in. He likes what he sees. He runs his hands over my lips with that same teasing touch, his fingers fanning out over my lips. He faces his palms away from him towards my crotch and drapes his fingers on each side of my slit and slowly spreads them apart to admire every soft fold between my legs. From the approving look on his face, I know that my soft pink flesh is glistening from his earlier touch. He takes his right hand away, grabs his cock, and touches the tip of it to the slight opening of my pussy. He squeezes. I can feel his wetness drip onto me. He rubs the head over my pussy, getting it wetter. I feel the massive head of his thick cock slide in between my lips.

Just the tip is inside me. With the soft insides of my pussy, I can feel the ridge I'd glimpsed through his jeans. I whimper, half at the feeling inside me, half in helpless anticipation. I secretly crave for him to slide it in further until he is all the way inside me. He does not. He pulls back so that I can feel the tight opening of my pussy pull against the ridge of his cock. I squeeze in a desperate bid to hold it there or perhaps pull him into me. If only I could.

Then he shifts, his weight leaning forward, his dick now squeezing into me. He moves it slowly, so I can feel my pussy spread apart, yielding to his rock hard dick. He feels so large. With his cock buried all the way inside me, I feel an incredible fullness, the pressure inside me now equally returned by the pressure from his swollen cock.

I close my eyes, expecting him to begin to fuck me, but he pulls out. I open my eyes. He's admiring my pussy again, looking at it with something akin to hunger. He moves away until he is between my feet and gently lifts my knee, one hand cupped tenderly underneath my calf and the other squeezing and lifting my thigh.

He leans down and kisses the inside of my leg, just above the knee. His kiss is surprisingly soft. His lips move further and further up my supple thigh. Each kiss sends a shiver up my leg. His lips are now kissing the spot between my thigh and my pussy. He plants the very lightest of kisses on my swollen lips. He plants the same on the cleft of my clit. He proceeds to the sensitive skin between there and my stomach. His face moves back directly between my legs. I can feel his warm breath on me. His hand wanders in front of his lips, hovering over my pussy as if it were a peach he were holding in his hand, savoring the moment before wrapping his lips around its firm surface. Finally, I feel his tongue slide in between my lips. The tip of his tongue flicks my clit. I gasp and arch my back again against the pillows.

He teases it at first, each darting of his tongue sending a shock from my clit through the pit of my stomach. His hunger is too strong, though, not to embrace me fully with his mouth, and soon his tongue flattens, expanding into the entire recess around my clit. He wraps his lips around the hood of my clit, as if in a deep deep kiss. He practically inhales me as his tongue continues to circle my clit. He possesses me with his mouth, his tongue now sliding down to my pussy. I feel his tongue slide inside of me. His left hand reaches around my thigh and wanders over me, at first pressed firm and flat against my stomach, then squeezed around my breast. His tongue never stops. I do not feel his right hand. I picture it wrapped around his mammoth cock. He cannot help but touch himself -- the feel of me under his tongue is simply too much for him.

My hips rise up from the bed to meet his hungry mouth as I grow more and more aroused. I gasp and whimper as his fingers squeeze my nipple and his tongue continues to press against my clit. His tongue is so firm and yet so soft. My clit feels as if it wants to explode.

He wraps his mouth around my entire pussy again. His lip grazes my clit as his tongue darts inside me once more. I am close to coming when he suddenly pulls away. My pussy is throbbing and open when he replaces his tongue with his cock. He shoves it inside me in one needy motion. I gasp at the suddenness and urgency of his penetrating girth. I take a deep breath and bite my lip.

His hands grab my hips. He pushes my waist down so that his cock will be completely unimpeded in its travel into and out of me. He looks down between my legs, watching as his cock slides inside of me and back out. All of his energy is concentrated on that one spot where our bodies touch. He moves in and out of me with a determination unlike anything I've ever felt. This is not the touch of a lover concerned for me, focused on forestalling his orgasm while pleasing me. He is possessing my pussy with his dick, using his dick to feel it, to consume it the way his questing lips had. He doesn't move like he's worried about postponing the moment when he comes, and yet he doesn't come for a long time. I can tell by the way he slides in and out of me that all he cares about is fucking my pussy, pounding my hips. That's precisely what he does. He does not look at my face or show any concern for me -- he is simply using my body. His cock slides in and out of me with a methodical urgency, his pace deliberate and steady.

With every stroke, I can feel the ridge of his cock glide along the walls of my pussy, which by now is quivering. It relaxes and tenses, then stays relaxed, trembling as the head of his cock once again spreads it apart.

It goes on for what seems like forever. His eyes stay locked on his shaft filling the space between my lips, going all the way inside of me and then coming all the way out over and over, over and over. The lips of my pussy squeeze around the wide base of his shaft. When I open my eyes to gaze along with him down at his cock impaling me, I can see it is glistening wet.

I can feel my pussy open up even further. My orgasm is near. He continues to pound away, never slowing down, never stopping. I do not want to come. I try not to let myself go, my mind resisting, but the rising swell inside of me is too strong. I give in -- my mind wants the orgasm, and it comes. My body releases, my pussy squeezes. As it does, I hear him grunt and moan. He can't help himself, his resolute determination overcome. He can't resist how good I feel on him. He is pushed over the edge by the feel of my orgasm squeezing around his dick. The head of his cock throbs and swells, then his entire cock jumps. I feel the hotness of his come deep inside of me, his dick convulsing over and over and over. His eyes are closed as he stays all the way inside of me, riding out every last ecstatic moment of his orgasm.