Him
by Cyanne

You know I want you, I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. It’s rare, that kind of chemistry; it’s not about being good-looking, or funny, or clever, or any of that, although you are all of those things. This is chemical, literally. It makes me feel a bit icky to say it as I don’t want kids, but I guess on some primitive level I want your babies. But I don’t want to dwell on that!

So … we fooled around, we became friends, you told me we could be nothing more. I know you love her and I don’t want to take you away from her, but I know you want more, and I would be only too happy to give it to you. You feel guilty, sometimes you admit it, sometimes you don’t, but I know you want me too. Just give in to it. I hold out hope that one day you will just give in to it. For years now, through other relationships, single times, other crushes, jobs, projects, interests … when it’s time for my mind and fingers to wander, it’s you. It’s always been you.

We get a hotel. We hide our cars in different places just in case anyone recognises them. The sneaking around, the deceit, it’s part of the fun. I know you love legs and shoes, so I’m wearing the tightest skinny jeans and heels. You’ve checked in and are already sitting at the bar when I walk in; you look me up and down and your eyes tear holes in me. I am weak with lust for you, more than any man I have ever met. I don’t want to look like an escort and you don’t want to look like a cheat, we agreed on the phone, so we peck on the cheeks and act like we’re on a second date or something. Just being this close to you turns me on, the smell of your skin, the firmness of your body putting your arms around me. We have a drink and every movement, every comment, every flash of eye contact is loaded. You stroke my hair and it electric-shocks me. Our legs touch and I quiver. We were supposed to have dinner but we can’t wait, we’ll have to order room service later or something. You give me the room key and say you’ll follow at a safe distance. We’re not that far away from home, and you never know who’s lurking around.

I strip down to my underwear, plain black strapless bra and thong with opaque, plain top hold-up stockings. My hair’s black and my make-up’s heavy and gothic, completely different to her and I know you’ll love it. I keep my heels on. I throw a pink scarf over the lamp and put a CD on – Nine Inch Nails. She probably wants to fuck to Celine Dion or something. I’m going to be just the girl you want, which luckily is exactly the girl I am already. The hotel room’s the perfect backdrop, just tacky enough, decorated in reds, perfect for adultery and filth and things never to be spoken of but often dreamed about.

I pile on even more make-up, light a cigarette and sit in the big black armchair. I resist the urge to touch myself; I’m already wet but I want your fingers, or – oh my god! – your tongue, to be the first thing I feel. When you come in I almost faint with lust, and I love the fact that I can see you react to me the same way. I take a long drag on the cigarette, looking you dead in the eyes.

You love going down on a girl more than anything, and you can’t wait but I try to make you wait a little while. I know you’ll be in control soon enough but it’s more fun for you to break me if I’m strong. You kneel in front of me trying to pull my panties off and I tell you to wait until I’ve finished my cigarette. You start to play with my shoes, cradling my foot and stroking my insteps, held firm by the leather. This pulls my legs a little bit open and you tear your eyes away from my foot to try to make out the folds of my pussy under my thong. Stroking up my leg strongly with both hands you play with my stocking tops, staring hungrily all over my body. I’m enjoying the power, for now, but I’ll relinquish it to you in time and you know that. You watch the cigarette going down, like an egg timer for when the roles will change. You kiss my shoes, my ankles and up my legs. At the top of my stockings you hesitate, before blowing, nibbling, licking my bare thighs. I moan as you press your lips to my cunt through my panties. You love female juices so much and you try to pull them aside but I wriggle away, pointing at the cigarette, and taking another drag. You can wait, and you go back to playing with my shoes, a look of fascinated innocence on your face.

I stub out the cigarette and start to submit to you. You motion for me to turn around and I kneel up on the chair, leaning forward over the back and sticking my ass out. You walk round me, admiring every angle, stroking my face as I stay resolutely prone, running your hands over the rounds of my buttocks and down the backs of my legs.

‘You fucking temptress,’ you say, not harshly, but with just a hint of aggression.

I stare ahead, the patterns on the curtains swirling as my eyesight starts to go wonky with lust, and hear you unbuckling your belt. I try to turn and you press my face into the chair with your hand. You stroke my ass and every time your fingers graze just a little bit closer to my pussy. The leather feels different to your hand, cooler and less pliant, as you stroke the belt down my back, over my ass, and down the backs of my legs. The contrast between the feminine gauzy stockings and the manly utility of the leather belt as they meet each other does it for me, and I know you know this.

The first smack with the belt is a surprise, not unwelcome, but harsh and shocking nonetheless. It smarts. My gentle female arousal is punctuated by the flat slap of the belt, right across my arse, and a low grunt from you as you do, loving hurting me, punishing me for tempting you, and loving that I love it. I arch my back up and lift my head, crying out – it does actually hurt, even though the rush and the turn-on are amazing. The music is getting particularly industrial and thrashy and you are getting into your stroke, and three harder smacks crash down on me, and I cry, eye make-up smearing down my cheeks, black lines of drama that lovers love.

My arse and the tops of the legs smart from the thrashing and you stroke me gently, sliding your hand over where the welts are just starting to appear. My pussy’s gushing, aching for your touch. You slowly edge my panties down a little bit, which stings as they graze over my spanked buttocks. How do you know? How can you have the same, equal and opposite turn-ons to me? It’s almost like I’m writing it, almost like you’re reading my mind. You leave my panties stretched between my upper thighs – it’s perfect, I love it. Kissing your way down my back you work your way down and I arch backwards, begging you with my body. You allow me just a few seconds, flickering your tongue into my cunt, wet with spit and pussy we squelch together and I’m spinning with lust, feeling like I’m about to faint.

You tell me to get on the bed and I obey. I want to obey you, and I know that by obeying you I am giving you what she won’t, and it’s so perfect. I am moving carefully, wobbling on my heels a little, my legs weak and my marks hurting. I go to pull my panties back up and you shake your head.

‘You can take those down.’

So I do, stepping out of them, loving the abandon I feel. No knickers, hair aflutter, my shoes bondage in themselves as I struggle to control the high heels in my weakened state.

The bed is dark red, and flanked by a huge mirrored wardrobe down one wall. I lie on my back as you tell me to and touch myself between the legs. I could come in an instant if you’d let me but I don’t think you’re going to quite yet. You smile, shaking your head at me. You’re trying to look harsh but you’re loving this. You kneel on the bed and pull my legs up, over my head, almost into a shoulder stand, hooking the heels of my shoes under the top bar of the high metal headboard. I look at myself in the mirror, looking like a total porn star, a little narcissistic maybe but you love me for it – she doesn’t even shave her legs.

My ass is lifted off the bed by my feet being hooked and you give it another whack with the belt, and another, and my heels take chunks of paint off the wall as I try to wriggle away from the pain. Then your fingers are on my pussy, one finger stroking up and down so gently and I’m almost coming. Then your tongue, and I’m coming against your face, screaming, sweating, not caring – the mirror showing a porno flick of a fully clothed man pressing his face into this total slut’s cunt. But it’s me. And it’s you. It’s you.

The French don’t call it the little death for nothing. I am momentarily destroyed, unable to focus or think straight. And you are up beside the bed, your mind still clear, and you’re undressing. Your body is perfect for me, muscular, tattooed; I love your strength and the contrast of you to me. I want you to hold me to your chest but you’re pressing your cock into my mouth, pulling me up onto my knees so you can see in the mirror. I put on a show, arching my back and licking your cock and sucking just the end, locking your gaze in the glass. I can see your gaze travelling from my mouth around you, down my arched back, to my bare ass and the red marks before my stockings and those shoes. You love everything I love, and I suck you.

You want me on my back again, and I willingly comply. Again, my legs are up and hooked, and it aches, but it’s worth it. You kneel over me, and gently now start to push into me, just the tip, and it drives me wild. I’m begging you to fuck me hard, but you’re so in control, and that makes me even madder. I want you to lose control like I have, and we both know what’s going on, and I love it. I’m so wet and you slide your cock around, getting it wet, and start to nudge it against my ass. I protest theatrically and you smile and carry on. I open up to you and you slide in further, your sudden gentleness both delicious and frustrating. You’re rubbing my clit so gently, and moving the head of your cock in and out of my ass, and I’m going to come again. My wetness is trickling down and you’re sliding in and out so gently, and my clit is swollen and super sensitive under your touch, and I’m coming, thrusting up to meet you and pulling you further into me, the mixture of sensations more than I can handle.

You pull out and wank over me, both of us watching each other in the mirror, and your cum showers me and you hold me tight, open and vulnerable just for the moment. Just for tonight.