I asked her to tell me a secret.
After having courted and dated once before to a small resolve, we started talking again – over a year later. Hundreds of thousands of words into our reunion and she told me something that she never had spoken aloud before: that she wanted to be tied-up and used for pleasure. She said that, for years, she had been aching for someone to completely take control of her: mentally and physically. Sexually. Just once.
She was a high-paid executive. She lived on a hill in a ridiculous house with marble in the foyer. She said that, like her drawer full of toys, everything in her house was carefully chosen. Selected. Commissioned.
She said that she was tired of making decisions.
She said nobody knows, not even you. She said that she hides it all: her thigh-highs, her piercings and the constant aching between her legs while she is staring at millions of dollars in meetings all day long.
Previously having moved in the direction of love-won and the alchemical heart, our relationship forever changed with the utterance of her secret desires.
After another week, she and I had built a pact on trust and lust. Everything robust and erotic we carefully diagrammed-out. Tides of blood swirled around our midsections when we spoke. After awhile, this was the only thing we talked about. She told me everything. How and when and where and what it looked like when she closed her eyes and reached for her throbbing cunt at night.
She said that the front door would be unlocked. She said that she didn’t want to know when I would arrive. She wanted a surprise.
Impress me, she whispered.
Invisibly, I opened the door. It, nor my feet, made a sound in the glassy foyer. I went up the grand staircase with stealth precision. I saw a bedroom light on and entered. She was not there, nor in the closet or bathroom. I opened the top drawer of the credenza where she hid everything naughty. Dirty. In the drawer below I took with me a strap-on and some handcuffs.
Walking down and into the great room, I spotted her in the kitchen. She was cooking. Pots and pans on the stove were steaming. The sink was running and her back was to me.
I slipped-off my shoes and moved-up behind her like a predator.
Intoxicated by the culinary delights and everything chopped around me, I grabbed her dangling arm. She howled. I reached around and clutched her other hand as it flailed around and pinned it behind her startled, shaking body.
Both of us exhaled, breathing each other in, in this quiet moment before the abusive torrent. With one hand I clutched both of her arms, handcuffed them and pinned her neck to the counter.
Flipping up her skirt, I shoved my face into all of her. Wet she already was. Newly, suddenly wet. She gasped as I lapped and sucked at her, furiously inserting my fingers into all of her holes. With a fistful of hair, I pressed her, hard, into the wall.
I squeezed and slapped at her ass until her pitch was melodic with pain and pleasure. With her ass tortured red, I reached around for her throat. I pushed her further into the wall and, without word, I punched my cock into her cunt with a relentless savagery. Immediately I began pounding at her, gripping her throat even tighter.
I pulled and tore at her shirt with my other hand, twisting and slapping her erect tit. My fingers occasionally flying up to fuck her begging mouth.
I then reached back for the strap-on, stepped into it and put my cock through the hole below the dildo. As she told me to, I slapped her face and said don’t look.
Then I slid both of my cocks into her. I spit on her ass but the dry dildo made her yelp as I began to pound away. I put my whole hand in her mouth, yanking down on her jaw.
After several minutes of hammering away, I threw her to the ground. Once on top of her and straddling her head, I squeezed her ears between my legs, gripped her throat tightly and let a hot jet of come shoot out all over her clothes.
Just as we diagrammed.
I didn’t uncuff her, nor did I say goodbye, ever again.