The Wandering Mind

Driving home from their first date night in a while, they both sense it — something is in the air. Maybe it’s the dazzling colours of sunset, drawing out something within them,  maybe it was coming to the end of what feels like a long week, they aren’t sure. They just know — something is there.

With them.

It was with them in the comfortable lull between sentences, lurking beneath their shared glance.

So when he shakily reaches out to her thigh, his body trembling with a nervous, exhilarating energy, she cannot help the smile that slips across her face, cannot stop the blush that burns her cheeks as she feels her legs part slightly, instinctively, at his touch.

The sound of her pant zipper cuts through the air, makes her squirm in anticipation, clench her thighs.

A small piece of her wants to shout his name, growl at him to stop teasing and touch her already.

The words take shape in her mouth — then she feels it. His finger gently brushing along her slit through the panties he picked out for her - just two hours ago - purple cotton, with lace trimmings the colour of teal. ‘Skimpy’, she once described them as to him when they had first started dating. The sudden memory makes her squirm some more.

She swallows - an audible click over the pop punk playing via Spotify - and catches herself uttering ‘fuck’ under her breath.

Hearing her utter that affects him in a way he can’t quite grasp. It’s delightful and raw. Makes him want to reach down his own jeans and lather his cock in her juices and come himself.

But he can wait.

He wants to make her come. Is driven by her guttural moans and curses, by how wet and slick she is for him. He can’t get enough of her, of gliding his finger down along the length of her pussy and back up to circle her clit - of her sweet scent filling the car. Of the idea of her struggling to keep a straight face as care pass them by.

‘Fuck’ He growls, unable to help himself from slipping a finger inside her. He watches her twitch as he pumps that finger in and out of her, filling her to his knuckle, twisting his hand to reach as far as he can.

‘I suppose…I should tell you, you’re not allowed to come until we get you home and undressed.’

He sees her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel and chuckles. Wonders if she just happens to want to pinch her nipples but can’t because she’s driving.

Then the car slows to a crawl. He looks, spots cars ahead of them. Cars besides them.

The lights are red.

His eyes travel over her body, her chest rising with every quickened breath, to her face. She’s biting her lip, her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes wide.

A whimper slips from her lips. So he slowly eases his finger back inside her, watching her closely as he does.

‘Ffffffuckkkk….y-you….’ The words slither out of her wet mouth.

‘Oh not yet, my dear. Gosh, this light is taking an eternity to change, mm?’

Stretched out across his legs on the couch, tangled panties down around her thighs, her bare ass feeling the cool bite of the night air, tits resting against his knees, hair pooling down around her face, she can’t fight the delicious squirm that comes cascading down across her body. The shiver leaves behind a trail of goosebumps that crosses her arms, slithers down her neck to her tits and marks her nipples.

Suddenly she’s aware of everything – the way her tits are pressed against his knee, the way the chill in the air is doing something to her nipples. How she wants to grind them into him, drag them along his knees — just to shake off the shiver she still feels slinking across her body.

That same shiver reaches her ass, skims along the inside of her thighs.

An involuntary twitch wracks her body, knocks a sound from her wet lips, a sound somewhere between a giggle and a whimper.

She wants to reach back and touch her clit, can feel the impulse, the urge, clawing at her mind, but she can’t do a single damn thing about it — her hands are stretched out ahead of her, held together by his.

It hits her then – she’s moving, she’s rocking her hips, she’s . . . humping his leg.

Like an animal, like a wild animal, he thinks as he traces the edges of her ass.

‘You’re an eager little thing, aren’t you?’ The sight of her grinding into him splits his mind into pieces. He swallows, feeling the tightness in his throat, fights the urge to flip her over onto her knees so he can slip into her pretty little pussy from behind — but he wants to torment her some more.

Her cheeks positively burn hearing his words – but she can’t stop grinding into him. She wants this, needs this. With each thrust, she draws out the slither of pleasure that agonisingly runs its course along her slit.

‘Well, I tell you what. You’re going to count every single smack aloud for me, do you hear? Every. Single. Smack.’

His voice takes on an edge that makes her heart kick into overdrive.

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good girl. Let’s begin, then.’

Oh my dear little pup,

Every half hour you’re out at that work function tonight, you’re going to excuse yourself…
Slip away to the bathroom…
Pull aside those lacy emerald panties I picked out just for this festive dinner of yours…
…and edge yourself just for me, like the cheeky little wolf pup I know you can be just for me.
And each time you are done, I want to be notified that you have come — oh so close — to that sweet, pure relief.

I know your work functions. I know they can go on for hours.
I am going to drive you mad. Your adorable little face is going to flush scarlet, you will stifle your moans come the third time you’re in that bathroom. You won’t be able to focus. Hell, you might even curse me out of pure, white-hot frustration in the texts afterwards. I do not mind. 

But we both know this. You are going to come home, maybe a little tipsy, petulance in your eyes, a whine for my cock on your lips, panties utterly soaked, and beg for your release.
Whether I give it to you then and there or drive you to hump my leg while I grin and watch, well…we’ll see.

Have a wonderful time, darling.

There was something unspoken between them, these nameless roommates, when she bid him goodnight. He felt it, a prickling down his spine in ticklish waves, and She felt it as well, the knot in her stomach tightening as she left him standing there in their small kitchen.

And when he barrels into her room, his mind too caught on the idea of putting words to that something unspoken - like clothes on barbed wire - to think clearly, his eyes fall upon HER. Her untamed hair framing her face, her right leg propped up, the thin layer of sweat glistening in the pink nightlight in the shape of dinosaurs to the left of her.

And her vibrator...buried deep within her, buzzing softly in the background.

But even as she snaps her head in his direction, even as her eyes find His, she doesn’t stop. She can’t stop it.
In her panic, her vib slips out of her lips, comes to rest against her clit, causing her thighs to clamp shut in a knee-jerk reaction that sends goosebumps breaking out against her bare breasts.
And she sits there, unable to hide from his eyes, fidgeting at the vib’s relentless assault on her clit, her words fail her, dissipating in her throat, her mouth left to hang open - and whimper in front of him, totally exposed.

He cannot find the words either. His throat is closed up, his mouth is dry. He feels his cock ache in his shorts, cannot help himself from slipping his hands past the waistband to squeeze the ache. But he can’t stop there. He grips himself, begins to stroke, is unable to silence his own low moans.

He edges as she plays, almost slips up and comes hard onto her tangled pair of lacy black g-string before him on the floor as she rides the wave of her own orgasm. But he’s not done with her yet. Even as she comes down from above, he’s pulling her out of bed and into her arms. She’s too far gone now, she’s fallen over the edge, she kisses his stomach frantically, feels her nipples so hard she wants to pinch them badly, but the need to taste him overpowers her.

She wants his cock in his mouth more than ever.

She steps out of the shower, wearing nothing but a white tank top, no bra and plain grey panties — and he can’t help himself.

A change takes over him.

He seizes her by her wrists, she cries out in surprise – a series of squeals that’s a sonata to his ears.

Before either of them realise it, she’s up against the wall, her lovely hips and thighs pinned, her right leg bent at the knee.

He thinks of her ass up against the wall — and feels himself growing hard, can feel the ache with every passing second.

‘What are you d-‘

He raises the water bottle he has in his right hand — and squeezes it. Water comes squirting out. Like paint to a canvas, it paints the image of her curvaceous tits, adding shading to where her areola is, adding lines of depth in the drenched fabric where her nipples are hardening.

But the best part is not how the now-soaked cotton tank top clings to her tits, to the frame of her body, it’s the shifting expressions across her face. The fury, the shock, the indignation. She turns her green eyes onto his dark brown eyes, shaped in her shifting moods, and he can’t stop the smile that comes to his face.

‘Play with yourself for me, little pup. For my own amusement.’

Gone is the fury, the indignation.

But shock remains, so does humiliation. Kinda like how the T-1000 shifts through its multiple forms upon its destruction in the sea of molten steel.

But there’s something else written in those deep green eyes. Understanding.

Her mouth is open, cute little lips glistening with saliva in the light of the hallway, but only a guttural click is coming out, as the words are trying – and failing – in her throat.

As her left hand runs down the frame of her body and slips ‘neath her cotton panties, he says to her, ‘Look at me while you play. I want to watch you.’

And still she cannot talk. She merely nods her head in understanding, knocking loose strands of her wet dark brown hair down around her forehead.

Her hand starts to move from under her panties, knuckles taking shape against the thin cotton. It’s a sight that takes hold of him – he slips his own hand under his jeans, grabs hold of his cock and squeezes out the ache. It only helps for a few seconds. The ache returns almost instantly.

Her eyes don’t leave his. He sees her wavering breath in them, sees the struggle to control her breathing, sees her FEEL her own knees buckling as she touches herself.

‘And what are we doing, hm?’

Her mouth – still open – tries to form the words.

‘I’m…’

She cuts off as her eyelids flutter. She fights them open, keeps her eyes focused, tries again to speak. But he can see the struggle in her eyes.

‘I’m…playing…w-w-ith m-my clit.’

‘Yeah?’

He knows that she’s a little shy even after all their time spent in their shared multiverse of darkness. He pushes her what feels like the right amount.

‘How’s it feel?’

She swallows – it’s an audible click in her throat.

‘So….g…’

Again, her eyelids flutter as her fingers work her delightful slit. Again, he can’t help himself. How has he ever managed to be a dominant around this wild untamed brat when he can’t discipline himself? He yanks her panties, exposing creamy pale thighs and her hand parting a bare, beautiful slit.

Her eyes bulge, almost turning golden from green as she looks at him, that shock registering. But she doesn’t look away, she keeps going. Her fingers are working smoothly, delicately – she has this rhythm down pat.

She doesn’t even register her delight when he tears down his own pants and reveals his throbbing, pulsating cock.

Which wants her as desperately as he does – it bobs in the air, eager to rid itself of that maddening ache.

That ache that he can feel like cobwebs across his arms, like butterflies fluttering about in his stomach, like chills creeping down his spine.

As he watches her, he can hear his own heart in his ears, pump pump pumping away. Badum badum badum badum.

With his right hand on his cock, he reaches out and pulls at her tank top. It comes down in the most humiliating fashion, with her left breast slipping out, her nipple looking achingly hard.

Her pale face flushed a shade of red as she kept her eyes on him. She sucks in her lower lips and bites down.

And he can’t handle it. He breaks his own rule, breaks eye contact, he needs to taste her. He pins her to the wall further as he presses against her, his cock hitting her thigh.

As he grabs her left breast and squeezes it violently, his fingers catching her stiff nipple and pinching, he feels her hand brush against his cock and grip it firmly. He lets her grab it.

He continues where she stops, spreading her lovely lips with his fingers and finding her clit.

By then he presses his lips to hers – and they both exchange a rushed, throaty moan, the scent of their breath appealing to one another in a strange, primal way.

She breaks the kiss to let out another moan, a frenzied moan, a hurried gasp. He gets the message, he quickens his assault on her lovely slit, gliding his thumb over her clit, slipping his fingers inside her soaked pussy.

She’s muttering something in his ear but he’s focused on the rhythm, the feel of her thickened arousal on his fingers.

Then she cries out, sharp and loud in his ear but he doesn’t care one bit, he’s grinning, he’s admiring her, he’s enamoured with this wild beautiful woman that has chosen him to bare herself to.

Her body jolts in a series of spasms as a shy smile creeps across her face, as she pants in his ear.

They lock eyes.

He grins.

‘My turn.’

 
 

I have been reading a lot of high fantasy and the idea for this came to me fully formed. I wrote it in a daze. 

 

She does not understand this – why she has thrown herself down before him, when she is Queen and this is her city and with a single clap of her hands, her royal guard would appear and drag him to the dungeons below. How dare he stand before her with that arrogant smirk upon his face, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture bent, his body not even paying her the proper respects as she finds her own body falling to her knees, bones crunching underneath the hard, cool marble of the throne room.

She wants to stop her hands rising to her hair – she knows what they’re doing, they’re taking off her prized jewels that keep it as her servants made it for her – held upright in a detailed and lavish bun. Yes, she wants to halt the movement of her hands, to freeze them in place, but she can’t. They move on their own accord.

Her eyes are locked onto him! Him in his dusty leather pants and grey jerkin with a torn hole on his left forearm. Him! With what..what looks to be blood smeared across his chest. Bounty hunters and their arrogance!

She feels her eyes draw down into a squint, feels her brow dig down into her skin. There’s a pulse behind her left eye. She gets this when she’s angry – and right now she’s not just angry, she is furious.

Stop yourself, she screams internally, as she watches her hands reach up to the straps of her glittering, glowing ivory dress. You’ve sat at the high seat and commanded armies. You’ve stood in the chambers of arrogant men and voiced opposition. You can do this.

To him she thought with venom, take your prize, your beloved payment and depart this place. I am your Queen, this is my throne room. This is my realm! You have no power here.

Yet no words are coming out of her trembling, dry lips. No sound escapes out of her as her traitorous hands seize a handful of her dress, the rough fabric scratching at her sweaty palms as they pull down her dress, letting loose her full, round breasts.

She feels the warm shame sizzle across her arms, tingling her armpits and flushing her cheeks. She doesn’t like her breasts – a thought she has never admitted to anyone but one maid – Becca. She doesn’t like their shape, triangular almost, with nipples too small and pink.

Realisation like icy water hits her. Why should she care? Curse the man! What does nakedness and body shapes and…and age matter? What was it Janar taught her? To not concern herself with trivialities?

She freezes, dress hanging down around her waist. Her back arches. She can feel her spine straighten. It’s like her body is coming out of a restful sleep, muscles starting to creak and move like some sort of steam powered engine slowly gathering speed.

Why, this man is old enough to be my papa. His face certainly looks it, creasing like well worn leather as smirks. Or is that a snarl? She can’t tell.

No, she can’t tell why she’s in this state. She can’t tell why she’s stuffing the dress further down her waist, revealing more of her pale body.

She knows what’s coming, she can feel the burning heat between her legs reach boiling point as she wrestles the dress down her thighs. Her mind flashes to a moment in time, sitting on the balcony of her bedroom alone and under the moonlight. She had excused her guards, who exchanged looks and faltered at first but left after she had to raise her voice. She wanted to be there, naked under the moonlight. She wanted to feel the cool autumn breeze on her skin. She wanted that breeze to skim upwards under thigh and tickle her bare slit.

More than this, she wanted to be touched. It had been so long since she had a man’s hands on her, rough and coarse and callused. Some part of her knew she could have anyone. She is queen, beautiful, she had that power – but such power was not proper. Was it? For her? She knows what they call her – the young queen. It’s not right. She’s not a child any longer. Her last name day crowned her twenty-two.

She can feel her heart a-fluttering in her chest as she kneels before his man. Where was her power now – now that she was rising to her feet to slip out of her dress further?

And why wasn’t the damned fool helping her? Why was he watching her?

Oh how she could feel his eyes on her bosom, which only made her breathing quicken. She feels untamed and wrong and…and…shamed.

Yet she cannot stop herself from resuming kneeling before him. She cannot stop her hands from yanking the last of her jewels, inherited jewels, free.

Her hair, the lightest blonde, comes tumbling down, tickles her bare back and making her fidget on the spot, her knees shuffling against the marble like some sort of dance.

Her eyes look beyond the bounty hunter to her guards – six of them, their swords unsheathed and ready to taste blood. When had she told them to freeze? Why had she told them to freeze? For payment?

Her hair tickles her left bosom, hardening her nipple. It causes her to fidget further.

The man before her – the dirty bounty hunter – is untying his leather pants. She watches him let loose the knot, which comes unlaced and falls away. His cock spills – no, springs – out of his pants, hard and seemingly aching. It seems to quiver on the spot.

“Your Majesty!” Cries the Captain of The Guard. He takes a step forward, hand on his sword. She has to hold up her hand to stop him, though she’s not sure why. She’s not in charge. It’s all a dream she is watching as a ghost in the throne room. She’s standing off to the side of the Captain of the guard…but she’s also on her knees before the bounty hunter, who takes one step forward. Then another. His hand glides down to clasp around the shaft of his cock. He gripes it tightly and still looks her right in the eye.

His other hand lashes out at her throat.

She feels the grip, doesn’t know whether to feel scared or excited. There’s a place between the two that she wants to reach. A resting place on the bridge between.

It hits her then.

She understands.

His payment.

She goes to open her mouth, to tell him to hurry up about it, wanting to fling the dagger, the barb, at him.

To remind him she is still his queen and in control.

But she chokes on her words.

Can’t get out what’s running in her mind.

She’s looking up at him now, can feel herself frowning.

All the while, he smirks.

She feels her mouth open, her tongue extending outwards.

Not of her own accord.

She takes him into her mouth, her mind racing to categorise the taste of him as he slides further in.

The tip of him hits her cheek, rests its length along her tongue, but he’s guiding it, not her.

It slides further, her tongue wraps around what it can. Taste explodes in her mouth.

She can feel him rocking into her, his cock slipping to the back of her throat and then back between her lips.

She’s torn between catching her breath and wanting more. She doesn’t know why.

“Your MAJESTY!”

She can hear the outrage. She can feel the outrage. Not just from her captain but within herself. She feels alive and dirty all at once.

She does not understand.

 

This is where my mind is at.
She’s making the strangest, muffled cries as her hand desperately and blindly swat at my own hands, both of which have fistfuls of her hair as I hold her pretty little mouth in place over my cock.
I can feel her tongue flick along my shaft as she struggles, as I lean into her so she takes every inch. I’m not much but I delight in the fact that I’m thick, that she will take it all in.

I surprised her while she was on the couch, watching her favourite program.
I stood over her, blocking the view, while the moments ticked by. She tried to look around me at first, giggling, thinking I was having a laugh.
Then I surprised her, surprised myself even, when I lashed out at her and tore her grey, loose shirt, ripping it in half and watching as her tits fell out in a sweet, sweet bounce my perverted mind notes.
Then, grabbing her head with one hand and tearing down my pants to reveal my cock, I guide her over my shaft as she starts to protest.
I hear her but not really — because I’m so driven by the idea of feeling her wet, inviting mouth on me. I want it like nothing else. And it has to be her, this isn’t just any sort of lusting, this is wanting her pretty mouth so I can hear HER pretty cries as she chokes and gags on my length.

Yes, I coo to her, as I gain momentum, as I fuck her slutty little mouth. Yes, there’s a good girl.
Her cries of anguish turn to cries of pleasure. She starts to squeak. It’s almost inhuman, animalistic. I fucking love hearing it because it confirms what I think - deep down, she’s more animal than human and I love that and want to see that more.

I fuck her mouth till I’m about to come.
I want to pull out and blow my load on her tits but to my surprise she stops me. She keeps me there in her mouth. For a moment, we wrestle each other. I want what I want, she wants what she wants.
I get half way. My throbbing cock is spurting over her lips and dribbling down her neck to her tits. She’s looking up at me pleased as she scoops up the thin slithers of cum and licks it off her fingers.

We both catch our breath.

Just a heads up: This features mind-altering panic and anxiety. I don’t know if it will trigger folk but I know it got my skin hot and brought me back to anxiety so I just wanted to warn on them off chance it was triggering. It’s also long. So if you want to read, get comfortable. 

 

The restaurant was alive all around her - a hundred voices buzzing all at once. People gestured animatedly, some laughed uproariously.
Delilah couldn’t shut the noise out. It was going to consume her, this place. She was sinking into the chair and she’d continue to sink until she was absorbed into it, becoming just another piece of the environment. 
“Are you okay?” 
James’ voice shattered her thoughts into a thousand tiny pieces. They fell away from her grasp and scattered on their dinner table as she looked up at his kind face. 
He was looking at her from across the dinner table, a look of concern in his deep, brown eyes. 
Delilah’s eyes fell to his crinkled black dress shirt, to the crooked collar. She wanted - oh so badly - to reach across the space between them and fix that. It was bugging her. 
She could have, by all means. But something  held her still. 
Was it the people around her, out at dinner themselves? She thought. 
Is it because it’s our nine year anniversary and I’d only make even more of a fool of myself? 
No, she thought, feeling her eyes lose focus on the crooked collar before her, it must be the rain outside. It had to be a change in the weather or a full moon or something screwing with her mind more so than usual.

Like a light flicking on, Delilah’s mind was drawn to the uncomfortable warmth in her armpits. She could feel herself starting to sweat. Did she apply enough deodorant? 
Her body started to flush with a disgusting warmth that slithered from her spine down to her ass. She wanted to tear off this simple black floral dress and just get naked. 
That was a feeling that hit her every now and then. A want, a need, to get whatever she was wearing off of her skin, like everything was itching at her, like nothing would settle her mind until she was completely naked. Sometimes it frustrated her so much she’d scream, other times it came with a sickening sensation that washed over her like warm water. With it, came a surreal understanding - a moment of clarity, perhaps - that what she was experiencing was erotic. 
“Lilah? Lovely?” 
Delilah looked at James. Lovely, normal James. Friendly James. Sweet James. Safe James.
“Let’s just go home and order something in. It’ll be just the two of us.” 
James wasn’t just looking at her, he was reading her face. He knew her fidgeting habits, they had been together long enough for him to know, what he calls, her ‘tells’. Like she was a living poker game or something. 
His face curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. They were on her, never wavering. Like he held her in his own steel trap. 
Delilah wanted to run and keep running, till her panting and heaving and body sweat made her incapable of thought. 
She opened her mouth to speak, her lips feeling cracked and dry, but all that came out was a quivering breath. 
James, eyes never darting, smile never lighting them, gave a single nod. 
“We’ll go. Okay?”

Delilah felt resistance grip her body and mind in a convulsion. James caught this too. 
“It’s alright, really. Please, baby. I’m not mad. Okay? I promise this to you.” 
His tone was perfect, his delivery sincere. Delilah had no reason to doubt him but doubt, of course, ran as an undercurrent underneath each word, sizzling with each sound the word itself made. 
Think of something else, Delilah told herself.

I am a cat, slinking away in the night.

Something else.

I rest my head on a neat pile of foliage.

Something else!

This is the place I call home.

“Let me pay the check and we’ll go, yeah? I won’t wait.” 
Before she could get out one word, if she even could - her mouth was hanging open - James rose to his feet and left their table to hunt down the bill. 
Delilah’s palms were resting on either thigh, nails dug deep into the fabric of her dress. She could smell the remainder of their food mixed with her perfume. It made her want to be sick. 
Her mind fell onto the audible track of her heart beating in her chest and in her ears. 
Be quiet, she wanted to hiss. No words came.

What is wrong? With me, with this?

No words came.

The restaurant was going to open its jaws and swallow her whole any minute now - just bare its teeth and consume her, dress and shoes and pretty little panties and fucking everything. She would be gone. Totally.

Run, a voice hissed at her. Her own voice, calm and cool.

Delilah felt acid churn in her stomach, a terrible burning sensation gnawing at her insides.

Run! The voice hissed at her - louder this time.

Delilah shot up out of her chair, her crumpled dress falling back down around her pale legs. 
Stumbling on legs like a newborn calf, she moved out from their table and down the gauntlet that had populated tables on either side. 
Voices were all around her, overlapping one another. Laughing people, animated faces. Hundreds of conversations filling her mind. 
Delilah couldn’t breathe. She stumbled towards the exit in a stupor, waiters and waitresses eyeing her as if she was ill or a ticking time bomb seconds away from erupting and disrupting. 
Their eyes on her only drove her forward more so, the sick feeling in her gut rising. 
As she reached for the doors to the restaurant, she began to retch. Her lips, sore from being dry too long, held in a sputtering cough. 
Was the door to the restaurant push or pull? She didn’t know, she didn’t think. She shakily reached out and pulled the door. Pull was right. 
Stepping into the evening was like stepping into a walk-in freezer. 
Boy howdy, the chill was a snake winding up around her leg and underneath her dress. She could feel it’s icy touch run over her breasts through her thin, lacy bra and stab at her nipples. 
Outside, the city was alive and very much awake still. People flooded the walkway before her, some eyeing her just as the workers behind her did, some pushing past her. 
Delilah didn’t notice this. Feeling lightheaded, she crossed the road, her mind on the park across the street from her. Her eyes fixated on the tangled bushes that would shield her from..from all of this. 
A yellow taxi came to a screeching halt before her. The driver stuck his head out the window to yell obscenities. This only shot more adrenaline into Delilah’s system. Pinpricks of heat flushed down her head, as if she was standing up suddenly.

Delilah’s legs knew what to do though. They moved quickly - one foot in front of the other, heels click-clacking on the asphalt. Delilah mimicked their rhythm vocally, as if humming to herself, as she crosses the road and pressed her way through treebranches and into the park ahead of her. The rhythm soothed her, distracted her.

When she felt the light from the road disappear behind her, darkness enveloping her, her legs kicked into a run. 
A wooden pathway twisted and turned before her and off into the distance but Delilah didn’t care to be led - she just ran. 
Was it normal for her heart to beat this fast for her age? Was this going to be her end, having a heart attack on the park grounds? 
Delilah let the thought swirl around her and engorge her. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, sweet, sweet air gushing down into her lungs. 
She felt her left heel fall off...then the right. She let it go. The ground, the dirt crunching beneath her feet felt right. It felt light, lighter than she had been in months. 
Tears dribbled down her eyes, blurring the dark park and bush ahead of her while wetting the corners of her mouth. She could taste it - the light salt taste of herself. She could lose herself in it, the blurred parkway around her her. 
Something grabbed ahold of her bare foot and Delilah’s vision lunges forward. She was flying through the air, soaring over a pile of leaves and sticks. 
Suddenly pain exploded in her chest, as if she fell on solid concrete. A heaviness that rattled the teeth in her mouth. 
Delilah was on her stomach on the ground, leaves in her hair, tears in her eyes. She let out a cough that had been building since she left the restaurant. Her chest heaved, her breasts aching with faint pain. A dry cough came out once - twice, clawing her throat and bringing more tears to her eyes. 
She was going to be sick. She just knew this, some sort of sense her mind was firing off to her. Her whole body prepared itself as she began to retch, her stomach muscles convulsing. 
She emptied her dinner out on the park grounds in a series of guttural cries. 
Breathless, teary-eyed, somehow feeling fucking amazing from the endorphins flooding her system, Delilah knelt there on the floor, her dinner underneath her, sizzling into the leaves in the ground, kinda like the blood from the creature in ALIEN. 
When she felt she was done vomiting, when she felt she was done catching her breath, she  climbed to her feet, dead leaves sticking to her red and crinkled knees. 
She wanted to scream. She wanted to let loose a scream that she could feel lodged in her throat like phlegm. 
The only thing that kept her quiet was the idea of being caught - either by someone walking along the outskirts of the park or within. 
Fear crept over now, replacing the primal urge to run and be naked. Here she was, standing on trembling legs, in near darkness. The only source of light seemed to be the moon in the night sky.

Delilah felt the cold once more then. It came in waves traveling over her skin. Wind kissed the back of her neck and tickled a strand of her hair. 
Somewhere ahead of her, a twig crackled. Leaves rustled. The forest began to move  - trees shaking as if they were the limbs of the forest coming to life. Delilah felt more wind skim across the back of her legs. She spread her legs another inch apart to let it through and felt it rush through the gap between her thighs and leave her. 
Her heart was working overtime again, her mind aware of its pumping in her chest and in her ears again. 
I’m going to be attacked, she thought. I am going to be attacked or raped or both and it’s going to be my fault because James was back there and James was safe and why did I ever leave the restaurant. I do not like this place, not now, not at all.

From the shadows, a shape emerged - and Delilah willed her legs to move. Nothing. 
Delilah couldn’t look away. Her eyes, her mind, was frozen on the shape before her. 
She thought of a rapist, of a killer, of a figure with the body of a man and the head of an owl. 
The shape itself seemed to ripple, as if reality was distorting around it, bending it to its will - and now Delilah would be next in line to be forced, wouldn’t she? 
She caught sight of a leg stepping into the light...then another leg. Leg dotted with hair.

A man, Delilah thought and understood. A naked man. A junkie? A homeless man? 
Shame flushed her cheeks for jumping to that conclusion. 
Piercing green eyes materialised from the darkness. Dazzling emeralds fading into existence. Stars being born. 
The rest of this man’s face emerged from the darkness, staring blankly at her, his medium length dark hair - or shadowed hair - seemingly slick back with something. Sweat? 
The man stepped further into the light, his toned arms catching the kiss of the moon. He was naked, Delilah realised. Utterly naked. 
She wanted to avert her eyes but couldn’t. Something was holding her in place, keeping her vision on his eyes. 
Even out of the corner of her eyes, as he took one step further, Delilah could see his cock, masked lightly by a thin cover of pubic hair.

A breath caught in her throat as the naked man stood before her. He did not speak, he did not smile. He only stood watching her, his glowing eyes never leaving her. 
Delilah felt her knees buckle - and tried to right herself - but she collapsed to her knees, inches away from her own vomit. 
She knew this, she was thinking this, but her eyes never left the man before. The handsome man, the gorgeous man. Was that a dimple on his right cheek? 
Delilah felt lost in a daze, like waking from a dream. Her eyelids felt heavy when she blinked through the tears forming in her eyes. 
Before she realised what she was doing, her hands were lifting simultaneously to the straps of her dress. They peeled the thin tangle down her lightly-tanned shoulders.

Suddenly, she knew, deep in her mind and heart, that she wanted to get naked for this man. She wanted to him to see her naked. She wanted him to gaze upon her small breasts, upon the freckle above her belly button, upon her belly button herself. 
Why she wasn’t naked already, waiting for him, she didn’t know. How silly she had been, not to be proper.

Delilah stuffed the dress down around her waist, hoping - secretly hoping - this man would like the fluffy detailing of her white lacy bra that hugged her cool skin. She thought it was fun and girly and maybe He would appreciate it more then James did when she was getting dressed for their date. Maybe He knew what to do about her, unlike James. 
Delilah peeled off the dress further, wriggling out of it. 
She blinked tears away as her hands didn’t miss a beat, they reached behind her to deftly unclasp her bra. Her small breasts felt the bra become unhooked and savoured the freedom, savoured the night air. Her little pink nipples hardened at the touch of it.
Delilah only wanted to please this man. She knew she could do this by offering herself as a tribute. Her body, her mind, her soul. Deep in her heart she knew this to be true. 
As her bra fell away, as she tossed it aside, not minding where it fell, she could hear blood pumping away in her ears. The deafening, sickening noise created for her some kind of thick, pulsating beat to which she could continue to undress to. 
She shifted from where she was, peeling her dress away from her legs and letting it fall to a clump by her feet.

Now she was just in her underwear - black, lacy underwear, with a little pink bow front and centre. Delilah couldn’t shake the girly feeling that washed over her mind, slathering her body with slick sweat. She couldn’t shake this feeling that before Him she was a child - or worse, an infant. 
Panic started to zigzag across her body in thousands of tiny pinpricks of heat. What if she wasn’t good enough for Him? What if He rejected her offering. What if He rejected HER? 
The man knelt beside her, her eyes darting between hers, unreadable. His lips parted, he spoke something, his voice deep, the words in a language Delilah’s mind couldn’t process. 
Her eyes fell. She wasn’t doing that on her own accord, she just followed the line of sight as they dropped down to his thick, hard cock. 
A strange hunger filled her suddenly. She wanted to crawl on her knees towards his cock and guide it into her mouth. That felt, to her, like the right thing to do. 
Just letting the idea play out in her mind, like a short film only for her, made her chest swell with pride. Would He enjoy her mouth? Would she be a good girl?

It all happened so fast.
The man shot out toward her - lightening fast, Delilah thought, before her vision went tumbling upside down. She felt the drop in her gut, like she was plummeting down a hill in a roller coaster. 
The forest before her suddenly became still. Delilah could see the skinny trees stretch out into the darkness before her. That darkness seemed to swallow everything in front of her. Delilah was on all fours at the edge of the world, leaves and dirt crunching underneath her hands and knees. 
Heart rabbiting in her chest, blood thunderous in her ears, Delilah struggled against the Man’s grip but he had her held tightly. She could feel his fingers digging into her sides, her mind painting the picture of reddened fingertips and her flesh turning white at the grip. 
Delilah’s nostrils filled with the earthy scent of dying leaves and dirt. The scent of — 
Her senses exploded, blood rushing to her head, swaying her vision. She could feel it, burrowing deep into her cunt - His cock. She wasn’t prepared for it, her body wasn’t prepared for it. Her cunt wasn’t ready for it. 
Her chest seized tight, knocking air from her lungs. It came out of her in a wheeze. 
“J..James...” Delilah managed to struggle out, her mind reeling and racing and running wildly with thoughts. Thoughts that didn’t come fully formed. Something was happening to her mind.

It came to her attention, then and there, her cunt muscles were clenched as His cock was buried within her. It only came to her because when she felt his cock slip out of her, she felt her muscles retract. A moan escaped her lips as she felt a tickle there between her legs, something she hadn’t felt in a while. Something she now wanted more of - desperately. 
Delilah heard Him grunt behind her as she felt the thrust, as she felt his balls smack against the inside of her thigh. 
Feeling him fill her again filled her with a giddiness she couldn’t describe. Her mind reeling, vision swaying again, she fell forward, small breasts hitting the rough texture of dying leaves. 
They crunched underneath her, pricking her flesh. 
It all happened so fast, being flipped over and penetrated like this. And yet...pride was swelling in the back of her mind. Pride tinged with satisfaction - at being chosen. 
Her life seemed all the more distant with each thrust the man took.

Delilah welcomed all of it. The force behind her, the earth underneath her, scratching her skin raw. Her knees, buckling under the weight of Him. 
Oh she was pinned to the Earth and unable to escape but she wasn’t a victim. No, she was an offering. She felt that more than ever now, pride swirling with the ravenous hunger that had been building in the pit of her gut. She was a fitting offering. Possibly even the best ever. Was that too much to ask of Him?
Delilah felt her body grind into the dirt, creating a little crevice, a little groove. She felt flecks of dirt stick to her skin, rub at her skin. 
A part of her wanted to crawl up to her knees and rest up against the Man. 
In her mind, she could see it just as she could see the ground before her now - she would climb to her knees, His cock slipping out of her cunt, smacking against his legs as she came to grind her ass back into him, teasing her in a way she never could before she had run into the park. Into this other world.

Delilah let the moment wash over her. She could feel his cock stretch her lips apart, she embraced this fullness feeling that made her giddy and made her feel sick at the same time. 
Behind her, He grunted with each thrust, muttering under his breath in between panting. 
Delilah lost herself in the rhythm of the act, each thrust for her becoming a welcomed embrace and a welcomed retreat. It was intoxicating, addicting. She wanted it, she wanted HIM. Again. And again. 
“Harder” She tried to say - but all that came out of her was a squeak. 
Delilah tried to speak again. She opened her mouth, her little tongue ready with the words, but instead a growl came out of her. She felt her throat burn with the low noise, she felt her jaw clench as the end of it came rippling out of her lips. 
Frustrated, she balled her fists into the earth and shakily rose herself up on them, in a way that felt like she was doing push-ups. Her arms ached as they took the weight. 
Her intent was in lifting her ass back into Him. She wanted to grind against him, to feel His cock nestled between her ass cheeks. 
Her whole body started to shake as she rose higher, arching her back and lifting her ass.

An explosion went off in her temples, tears formed instantly in her mind. She had been hit. No - smacked. Her body was back down against the dirt, her breasts squished underneath her. 
As Delilah blinked through the tears, her mind unraveled the thread of the mystery. Her ass was stinging where the man had smacked her. She could feel the bite on her left ass cheek, radiating pain. Pain that felt strangely good. 
A memory came to the forefront of her mind, as if rattled loose by the smack. 
Delilah was lying naked on her stomach on the bed she shared with James, her head buried into the bed quilt. Her ass was lifted into the air, feeling the cool kiss of the winter night. 
Smack me, she had asked James - and he had obliged, only gently. Too gently for her own tastes. 
Harder, she had asked, and James tried, but a sinking feeling began to manifest in Delilah. She knew his heart wasn’t it. She just knew.

That was a few months ago now.
Delilah’s mind returned to the present. She was panting, body sinking into the ground, ass stinging even with the cool night air clutching at her skin. 
She opened her mouth, to respond to Him, but before the words could leave her lips, pain  burst across her right ass cheek, rippling across her body. His open hand. 
Then came shuffling and crunching - dirt and leaves and grass rustling. Then crackling. As if a camp fire was nearby. But if a campfire was — 

Another eruption of pain, clawing at her ass, this time in the centre, and tougher. Harder. Not a hand this time, Delilah thought, her mind still processing the pain, but something else. A stick? 
The something else came across her bare skin again, sending pain pulsating up across her thighs. 
Delilah felt the pain, red hot and searing, and knew her skin was scratched open and bleeding. She just knew this to be true. 
And yet...that feeling of pride was still with her, still in her, still aching like her soaked cunt. She understood to take this without a word, without a complaint. She would show him that she was worthy, that, yes, she was wrong to lift her ass to Him. Things could’ve come to her in due time.

That’s when she felt the crack of the stick against her cunt. 
Delilah let out a howl - not just at the pain of it against her wet lips — she was extremely sensitive. That was an explosion of pain and pleasure in itself. 
Before her howl had finished, Delilah was smacked again, this time a jagged piece of branch clawed across her clit. This caused the end of her howl to come out in a strangled whimper. 
She could feel it there, the presence of the branch, even when it wasn’t there at all. She could feel its sting along her exposed slight.

And yet, exhilaration throbbed through her body, leaving her a quivering mess on the ground. She had always wanted this, to be spanked, hard and fast and raw. She had always wanted to be at the mercy of James but he confessed to her that he didn’t know how, that he couldn’t find that space.

All of this come flooding back to her as her cunt and ass throbbed with pain and pleasure simultaneously.

 

“Please.” Delilah managed to choke out. “Please. I will behave. I —“

She felt him enter her tortured cunt then. The rest of her sentence came out in a strained wheeze.

It fell upon her without warning, clawing at her cunt, seizing her leg muscles, blood rushing to her head, her senses in disarray, her vision a blur. Her orgasm came gushing over her in waves, forcing a grunt, deep and alien, out of clenched mouth.

Her face collapsed into the dirt. A dust cloud swept upwards into the air. Delilah let herself rest in the dirt. She was frozen. She couldn’t move. Even when she felt the cock rip itself from her sensitive little cunt, she couldn’t move. Her body went into a spasm but she didn’t move.

She lay there dazed, breathless. Her mind unable to string together a thought.

It was only when she heard the sound of something behind her exposed self crashing into the grass behind her, followed by silence, that she crawled up into a squat on shaky arms and legs. She lost her balance and fell backwards onto her ass. Pain once more shooting up her body in flaring hot tendrils.

Swerving around in a spin, Delilah looked and —- the man was gone. He was gone. Her lover, her punisher was gone.

Her mind was stuttering, trying to form a cohesive thought. Who was-

Why was —

Why did He —

What was so wrong with -

“Come back..” She whispered to the darkness around her. “I’m sorry I....please come back...”

Delilah hugged her knees. Brown, dead leaves stuck to her legs.

She felt her inflamed ass and longed for another smack to focus on. Anything instead of this encroaching darkness.

Her dress and underwear were where she left them. They were covered in dirt and leaves, just like her naked self.

Stunned and dumbstruck, reeling from the orgasm, from the absence of pain and of Him, Delilah began to slowly get dressed again.

 

***

 

James was sitting back in his seat when he saw Delilah emerge from the park.

He stumbled to his feet, the forks and knives on the table before him clattering.

All this time he thought she was in the bathroom. Calming down from a panic or what, he just did not know. Calling her resulted in going straight to voicemail. And who could he ask to check in on her? His only option was to sit and wait.

To hell with looking silly to those dining around him, his mind was only on Delilah and whether she was okay.

James was out the restaurant doors in just one breath. He was crossing the road in another breath, his eyes darting from her dirtied knees and bare feet to her distant eyes, caked with tears.

“Jesus, Lilah, what happened?”

When he reached her, he went to put his arms around her. She shrank away from his touch, her eyes looking down, her lips trembling.

James understood. He knew she didn’t like to be touched at the height of a panic.

Questions and answers would come later. Now she needed rest or a safe place or a bath or Netflix or something.

James put his arm around her slowly, gently. Delilah didn’t shrink away this time, her eyes were frozen on the ground.

Together, they made their way back to James’ car in silence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BDSM and D/s is almost a spiritual thing for me. It’s not just protocols and control, obedience and discipline or the thrill of one primal chasing another - it’s a way to find peace and balance within myself as a dominant that has discovered he has ties to feeling like a Daddy or a primal predator or even a Master. I have all of these aspects within my dominance and it’s important to me to explore what that means for myself and for the submissive I would command and worship and protect and even use.

As important as it is for me to earn submission, to earn that right in a submissive’s eyes, to be allowed to take control and guide as the two of us see fit, it’s also important for me to find what satisfies that urge to BE dominant.

And that can change because sometimes I’ll want tenderness - a leash around a Submissive’s neck while we watch TV together, sometimes I’ll want to push her up against the wall, just to scrape her body on the concrete and see the marks left behind while I take her ass. Sometimes I’ll want to lead her into a forest and go absolutely wild with her - a run, a psychological dance of the minds, growling, seething, biting.

It’ll all change from one day to another. But all these pieces, all these tiny fragments, are what make up my dominance and bring me balance and peace of mind.

Outside of who I am as a dominant, I’m an awkward introvert. I’m quiet, I’m shy.. I suck at words. I love my friends and my family and I love to talk but sometimes I’ll love sitting on the couch with a blanket and reading — or gaming in another world. I’m an avid fan of films, television, reading and music. I love discussing life and love and psychology and I love to do it with a sense of humour. 

 

Out in this clearing beyond the trees, out in this hidden place of theirs, she stands straight as she’s been taught, she prepares herself to read aloud using her big, projected voice as she’s been taught.

The book in her hand, the book in question is a classic - Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. Fitting, for this hidden place. It’s a rabbit hole in a whole different way.

Every Saturday they come here to read a chapter or two. She dresses for him - a comfortable dress, slinky panties. His choice. Then, once they arrive in the clearing, once he pulls out a chair from their small cottage in the woods - the tiniest structure with no power or plumbing, just a place to be with nature. A home away from their home. Once he pulls out this chair and sits down in it, sometimes crossing his legs, sometimes not, always burning a hole through her chest with those searing dark eyes of his - once he sits, he would always say those few words. Read to me.

The first time they tried this, she had asked him, “Why get dressed if I’m only getting undressed?”. She sat and listened when he explained to her why. That he wanted to see her in a ritual just for them, to shed her clothes and bare herself just for him. She had noted the glazed look in his eye as he spoke of being bare just for him. She kept that look with her through the winters, through the fifteen minute hike to the clearing. She kept it in the back of her mind when she read.

At first she was nervous to read. She never liked the sound of her own voice and though she was enjoying Alice and her odyssey into wonderland, the language and the rhythm of the language wasn’t always that easy to wrap her tongue around. When she’d mistake a word or made an error though, he did not chastise her, not once. He always watched her, that look in his eye, a smile spreading out across his face. He’d comfort her and tell her how well she’s doing, that it was okay.

When she was done, he’d rise from his chair, keep his gaze upon her as he slowly undressed down to nothing. She’d note his erection and find herself salivating as he led her to the comfortable, reliable double bed in that little shack where he’d take her.

Sometimes he took her where she stood, sometimes he’d take her roughly. One time he took her by the ass. She had only let him take her anally. It felt horrible to admit but deep down, she never trusted the ones that came before with that level of intimacy.

Now she feels his eyes on her as she stands there, holding the book in her hands, her heart kicking into overdrive as she feels the gentle breeze around him brush across her breasts.

He crosses his legs, loosens his tie - all the while holding her gaze.

“Read to me.” He says.