Excited Fire

Surrender

I won’t stop…until there is nothing left between us…until your jeans are torn and lying in the corner, your thong ripped and stuffed in your mouth to silence your screams, your bra…missing and in multiple pieces and you bent over the table…ass cheeks swollen and red, with me deep inside you whispering into your ear…asking you questions that you can’t answer…pulling your hair when I don’t hear the muffled scream loud enough…scratching your back when I don’t feel you arch it forcefully.

You don’t have a choice. You give me what I want…eventually.

After all the fight is gone, all the resistance spent…all of the fire and attitude channeled into places that swell with the anticipation. You surrender to me and whatever I have in mind. You yearn for nothing but to pleasure me, you dream of only my touch…rough at first, to tame your spirit, then soft, to soothe your broken will.

You desire my body inside of yours, hard…wanting…searching and delivering. You anticipate every thrust and respond with your very being as if nothing else matters but pleasing your master because in the end…nothing else does.

The cycle repeats…

I ask you deny. There can be no denial…I slap you…playfully at first, you smile…so the next one…is harder. You’re surprised. I’m not. I ask again…you deny out of spite…I push you into the storage room and close the door…turn off the light. I force you to your knees, you resist. I push you against the wall, my hand to your throat, I look you in your eyes…close…so close you can taste the sweetness of my breath upon your lips. I tell you what you will do, you nod…you understand.

The choice is no longer your own.

I remove my hand and force you to your knees, your hands find my zipper, that earns you a slap. My rules, you do as I command, only when, not before. I undo my belt, pull it from the jeans, undo the button and pull down the zipper. You reach for it…

Slap. Again. My rules.

I lift you to your feet and bend you over a box. I take the belt and slap you on your ass with it…

once, twice…you cry out…

three times, four…your legs start to quiver…

five, six…I can hear the moans mix with the repressed screams…

seven, eight…you start speaking in spanish…rotating your hips into each strike…

nine…you hold your breath….

ten.

You cum on the spot…legs almost collapsing a puddle soaking the floor. Silently calling my name…”Master”…”yes Daddy”…”I’m sorry”…

Again, I force you to your knees. I lead your mouth to my body and you eagerly taste…your tongue, your lips, licking and sucking hungrily of everything I offer…until finally I can’t hold it anymore…

I explode and like the good little slut you are, you devour every drop of my essence, leaving none to waste.

You ask…“Is Master pleased with me?”

After slapping you for speaking out of turn, I answer by pulling you to your feet and kissing you deeply.

-Malcolm Lloyd

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 24th, 2008 at 3:31 am and is filed under Erotica, Sex. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.