Knee Deep (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

knee deep poem writing process by Greta Stone

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by VerseAngel (knee deep), Jilted Verse (soaring whispers), and bstarverse (touch me) on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
touch me
with regard,
and make
me whole.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

I like the contrast of low (knee deep) with high (soaring whispers).

While I’m
knee deep
in [sorrow/servitude],
you [capture]
my soaring
whispers,
wishes of
[completion],
and make
me whole.

Going with sorrow or servitude will make this a very different poem in one direction or the other. I’m leaning toward sorrow because it makes the concept more obscure or intangible. “Serving” on my knees to the one I love who makes me whole is cliche and too simple.

But sorrow isn’t quite right. Dejection, lament, melancholy? Maybe despair although it’s a bit dramatic.

While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you [capture]
my soaring
whispers,
wishes of
[completion],
and make
me whole.

I’m going to move on for now and come back to this later. Instead of capture, maybe snatch, collect, gather.

I’m going to stick with completion near the end.

While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
wishes of
completion,
and make
me whole.

I feel like it needs another action before make me whole. I haven’t really been able to stray far from cliche here so I might as well go all the way. haha There was another prompt for touch me by #bstarverse.

While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
wishes of
completion,
touch me
and make
me whole.

The wishes of completion part reads a bit like it should be another action in the list when it’s a clarification of whispers. I could sandwich that phrase in em dashes but in this format, it looks weird.

While I’m knee deep in despair, you gather my soaring whispers—wishes of completion—touch me and make me whole.

Meh. It’s bugging me. Maybe I don’t even need that part. I can use cliche to my advantage here and let it be assumed based on the rest of the poem.

While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
touch me,
and make
me whole.

I could add something after touch me to make it more figurative rather than literal. As in touch me with…kindness? Care? Regard?

While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
touch me
with regard,
and make
me whole.

There we go.

If you enjoyed this post, please share it. ^_____^

Surrender, erotic fiction by Greta Stone

Surrender Part 3

Part 3

Sexy erotic D/s fiction. Sexually explicit, obviously. *smirk* Enjoy.

{1960 words}


If you missed Part 1 or Part 2, check them out first.

Squirming beneath him, I evade his thumb for only a second before he brushes it over my nipple again. It’s hard and aching for a solid pinch.

“I’m letting go of your wrists now,” he says with a reprimanding look. “Stay put.”

I smirk. Leaving my cuffed wrists free over my head is not the smartest move. I keep this to myself. If I don’t, he’ll tether me to the bed and make me pay for the rude assessment of his plan.

He notes my reaction with a raised brow and the butterflies in my stomach spread their wings.

“Is there a problem, kitten?”

“No, Sir,” I say, trying without success to wipe the grin off my face.

He draws back to look at me more squarely. “Move your arms and it’ll be the belt. Do you understand?”

His threat hits me square in the chest, squeezing the breath out of me. Fear of his punishment, or more accurately fear of disappointing him inspires me to be on my best behavior. I will try to stay put, but it won’t be easy. “Yes, Sir.”

Shifting, he lies on one side of me. Instead of taking his bite, he strokes my hair and cheek tenderly, looking into my eyes, setting a false calm I’m leery of. One quiet kiss on my lips, then another on my clenched jaw.

“Relax, kitten,” he whispers against my throat, lifting my chin for better access.

“I can’t,” I say. “Sir.”

“Yes, you can.” With his warm tongue pressed against my neck, he sinks his teeth in. Slowly.

My heart beats hard inside his bite, faster and faster, matching the rhythm of pulses through my core. A vision hits me of him slamming into me over and over while he breaks the flesh of my neck with his teeth. He sinks his teeth deeper, breathing moist, hot air onto my sensitized skin. I’m dying for relief, the pleasure of a violent orgasm mixed with the searing pain of his bite. I throw one leg around him and thrust my hips up, moaning as my clit collides with his hip.

Without thwarting his plan, he reaches down, removes my leg from his side, and pins it to the bed with his own. His strength and determination are hot as fuck. I squirm a little just to feel his power over me.

As he curls the tip of his tongue into the hollow of my throat, I consider grabbing him by his hair, flipping him on his back, and mounting him, watching him slip into a blissful daze as I have my way with him. I probably could if I move fast enough and catch him off guard.

How far will I get before he wraps his strong arms around me and pounds me into the mattress? How fucked will I be for presuming to take control? Will he punish me deliciously or savagely?

He clears his throat. “Am I boring you, pet?”

“A bit,” I say, goading him.

His raised eyebrow is the perfect response. I have his attention. He’s looking at me, waiting for me to explain myself…and beg his forgiveness. The ball is in my court.

“I’m anxious for more, Sir,” I say, lowering my chin and blinking up at him.

He glares at me for a moment, then snarls, “As am I, love. Patience.” He resumes kissing across my collarbone at an even slower pace. Because he loves to torture me. And because he’s punishing me for my misbehavior.

As he nears the peak of my breast, I’m antsy and can’t hold still. Daydreams aside, it’s coming. And it’s going to hurt. I writhe in anticipated discomfort.

“Don’t. Move.” His voice rumbles over and through me.

Heart pounding, I hold still and brace myself.

He nibbles and sucks his way toward my nipple. Then stopping, he grins at me, opens his mouth wide, and lets out a hot breath without touching me.

Fuck obedience. “Do it already!”

Smile gone, he raises his head. “Excuse me?”

Shit. His chide startles and excites me, shoots straight to my groin. He’s not going to let me get away with that. I’m glad. I need his sternness and direction. I need to feel contained by something stronger than myself, a safe place to lose control. I blink. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You better be,” he says, and closes his teeth over my breast when I’m least prepared for it.

I yelp and shove him away, covering my aching nipple. With a swift twist, he flips me over, face down. My hair tents around my face, blocking my view. He pins my hands to my lower back and lies on me, flattening my palms to his stomach. He’s so deliciously warm. I need him closer still. I grasp at his shirt, managing only a pathetic pinch between two fingers.

He curls his hands under my shoulders. “Oh, Kitten,” he says. His breath falls hot on my ear. “All the rules you just broke…” He grinds his jean-clad hard-on against my bare ass.

I gargle some sort of grunt moan, six times wetter and twelve times more impatient for release. I offer a meager apology half muffled against the bedding. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Yes,” he says. “You will be.”

He pushes himself off of me and I cling to his shirt, catching it in my fist.

Smack! His palm cracks against my ass without warning.

“Ow!” I say. It’s more about the shock than the pain, but I roll onto my back to protect myself from further blows.

“Oh no you don’t.” He grabs both my ankles and flips me over. Securing one in each hand, he spreads my legs and holds me there face down. “Did I say you could roll over?”

A vivid image of his view of my spread legs and jiggling ass sends my heart racing and pussy pulsing. I pant against the comforter, “No, Sir.”

“Are you going to do as you’re told now or do I need to strap you the fuck down?” He punctuates his point with a jolt to each ankle. His roughness combined with his words tells me I’ve pushed him too far. I’m shaking with frustration and it hits me that I’ve lost control of myself. Dammit.

My face prickles with heat and I press it into the bedding to hide. I don’t know when to stop being a brat and to start obeying. I act out and end up pushing him too far. Too many offenses stack up against me and I’m crestfallen. “I’m ready to obey, Sir,” I say into the mattress.

He lets go of my ankles and in the brief silence that follows my pulse kicks into high gear and my eyes water.

Then from the depth of his broad chest, a deep, rumbling command, “Submit.”

A tingle slides down the back of my neck and I let out a whimper. This is the worst thing he could ask me to do in this moment of self-loathing and bruised pride. Not only is he asking me to get in a vulnerable position, but he’s asking me to do it on the raised bed. Facing away from him, exposing my ass for his eye-level inspection is the last thing I want to do right now.

Did I miss any spots shaving? Can he tell how bloated I am? Am I clean enough? Is it bright enough to see my–

“Did. I. Stutter? Submit.”

I moan and walk my knees closer to my shoulders, ass in the air, ear to the mattress. My skin tingles with the heat of my embarrassment.

Smack! “Proper response to a question?”

Shit. “Yes, Sir,” I cry. I expect another blow and wince.

“Good girl.” He strokes my ass and the backs of my thighs with a tender touch.

The heavy weight I had put on myself lifts a bit. It’s okay. If he were truly upset, he’d stop play. He wouldn’t react in anger. Hard rule.

The bed dips as he presses his knee into the mattress beside me and anchors my hip to his groin. Smack! “That was for your impatience earlier.” Smack! “And your attitude.” Smack! “For acting on your own will without waiting for instructions.” Smack! “For hesitating to obey my command.” Smack! “And for forgetting your manners.”

My ass and face are on fire. The faint sound of my own sniffling seeps into my awareness. He’s being extra hard on me, and I’m not handling it well. But I asked for this–his force and strength. And I’ve been extra bratty. So it’s only fair. I deserve this. Don’t dish it out if you can’t handle the consequences.

He rubs my sore ass, bringing feeling back into it. “Do you understand why you’ve displeased me?” he asks with a level voice.

The question shoots straight through my chest. ‘Displeased me.’ I do know. All too well. My answer comes as a croak. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” His praise is bittersweet and fires off another round of hot, prickling tears. I’ve soaked the bedding beneath my cheek, and I don’t want him to see it. I’m ashamed that I’m not stronger, that I’ve promised him a certain kind of play and am not delivering.

Leaving me in submit pose on the bed, he stands, letting his hand slide off the curve of my bottom as he goes. He shifts around the room for a moment and I’m rapt by the sounds, focusing on each to try to anticipate his next move.

The shuffling noises stop and I hold my breath.

“God, baby, you are so fucking hot.” He laughs, a deep, husky laugh that fills the room.

I’m stunned by it. Conflicted. Lost somewhere between my own angst and the joy he’s having over me. He likes me like this. He wants me like this. Not to humiliate me, although it does a good job of reminding me who is the submissive one here. He just fucking loves to look at me on display for him.

I should let that soak in and fill me up with hot, pulsing energy. But I’ve fallen too far and can’t quite pull myself back up.

There’s still time to recover though. My face is still hidden.

He steps up behind me and places both hands on my hips, squeezes hard and slides them up to the small of my waist. Reaching to massage my shoulders, his chest presses against my raised ass. I nuzzle back. He rewards me by running his fingers through my hair, something he knows I love. It’s so sweet. So gentle. I close my eyes and let myself relax in his grip as he plays with me.

He trails his heavy fingertips down my back, over the mound of my ass, and down the backs of my thighs.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fucking delicious.”

A few heavy breaths later and I manage, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Now,” he says, sliding one hand up the inside of my thigh. “Spread for inspection.”

All the tension returns to my muscles as I stiffen. My pride has been brutally bruised and now he wants me to spread. I can’t handle that. Not now. Not tonight. Why isn’t he reading me? Why isn’t he moving on to something less humiliating?

“Proper response to a command,” he barks. Smack!

I jump with a gasp. “I’m…s-sorry, Sir,” I stutter.

“I don’t believe you. If you were sorry-” smack! “you would have obeyed by now.”

The second smack does me in. My chest clenches tight around my lungs, forcing me on all fours for a breath of air.

“Excuse me?” he growls from behind me.

Shit. I fall into a sobbing heap as I whimper my safeword. “Red.”

[To be continued]


 

Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed, please comment and/or share.
I’m especially interested in how you feel about the direction of the story in this part.
Thank you in advance!
*curtsy*

Gain Purchase (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

Gain purchase writing process poetry Greta Stone

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by TastyPoem on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
In defeat I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

that I
cannot gain
purchase of

This is what came to me first. Now I’m thinking of how a thing can slip through your fingers and how frustrating that can be. So who or what might the narrator of this poem want? What is slipping away?

In sleepless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
[following/seeing]
the prize
that I
cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets,

I just realized that it probably shouldn’t start with sleepless if there are dreams and she/he wakes.

In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
[following/seeing]
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and hopelessness.

Hopelessness isn’t right. Frustration? Gloom? I like the almost-rhyme of gloom and cocooned. And instead of following, chasing.

In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom.

The last sentence feels too short. Not enough syllables. Should I combine it to make one whole sentence?


just out of reach,
leaving me
cocooned in
damp sheets
and gloom.

No. Too passive.

In [failure] I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.

That’s sufficiently dramatic. I like it. haha Maybe defeat instead of failure.

In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
In defeat I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.

If you enjoyed this post, please share it. ^_____^

Castle (Poem)

Castle poem by Greta Stone

This poem was written from two daily prompts hosted by IntrigueVerse on Twitter.  I post my most popular poem for each half month here, two poems per month. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

While I’m
vulnerable,
disrupt my
frontline,
exploit my
break,
rain arrows
straight to
my heart,
and storm
my castle.

© Greta Stone

Estuary (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

Estuary poem and writing process by Greta Stone

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by DimpleVerse on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled emotions
chokes it and
releases it
into my vast
deep blue.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

 

Love trickles
through my
veins, searching
for that vast
blue playground,
it joins forces,
surging toward
release,
past my
estuary of
gnarled mishaps,
into the deep blue.

First, love needs to be replaced with something more specific or more physical. Fervor, passion, fury. Hm. Interesting switch of mood. If I’m going to switch moods, then let’s switch moods.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces,
surging toward
release,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

It joins forces (with whom or what)? Itself. But that’s not obvious.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging
together
toward
release,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

Any better word than release? Power?

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging
together
toward
power,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

Oh! Vengeance just came to me. I think I’ll swap it with freedom.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging and
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

I don’t like surging and raking. I want to simplify it to just …movement.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

I’m getting hung up again on what I want the final outcome to be. If it’s going to end in a vast deep blue, that denotes a cool, calm finish. So something has to stop it in its path. Which actually makes more sense for the estuary.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled [feelings],
choking it before
it dips into my
vast deep blue.

Well that just doesn’t even make sense. haha

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled emotions
chokes it and
releases it
into my vast
deep blue.

If you enjoyed this post, please share it. ^_____^

Surrender, erotic fiction by Greta Stone

Surrender Part 2

Part 2

Sexy erotic D/s fiction. Sexually explicit, obviously. *smirk* Enjoy.

{3880 words}


If you missed Part 1, check it out.

He’s still sitting behind me with his knee between my legs. With my panties tied over my eyes, I’m hyper aware of his breath on my fingertips. He slides his hands over my ass, thumbs settling beneath each cheek. His grip is firm, solid. When he touches me, he really touches me. Like he needs me. And I want to give him every little thing he desires.

When he speaks now, his tone is gentle, coaxing. “Hands up, please. I want to look at you.”

I could melt into him, find the perfect curve of his chest to fill, inhale his scent, and savor him wrapped around me, compressing me. I could spend all night there. But he gave me a command and I’m ready to behave now.

Bending my elbows, I press my thumbs between my shoulder blades and try not to think about the curve of my belly and the girth of my thighs. My shoulders ache in the awkward position, but I’ll hold it without complaining. He deserves this at the very least. He cares for me and finds the best ways to please me when I don’t even know myself.

The only sound for a moment is the shift of his thumbs rubbing over the soft skin at the crease between my thigh and ass. “You are so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I soak up the praise until I feel weightless. Whimpering, I  press back into his hands. With a growl, he slides his thumbs away and bites the tender spot beneath my cheek. I clench. I need him everywhere at once, hard against my soft, rough against my smooth.

Taking his time, he slides his tongue between my thighs, so close to where I need him. Warm and wet, leaving a chill in its wake. I squirm as he drags it across the same spot he just bit.   

He digs his hands into my soft flesh. “Patience, pet,” he warns.

“Sorry, Sir.” I’m the opposite of patient. Even with my wrists cuffed, I want to spin around, shove him down, and impale myself on his erect cock, glaring down at him as I have my way, daring him to stop me.

But I’m the submissive and he’s my Dom. So I try to be patient. For him.

“Step forward.” He nudges me then holds me until I’m steady.

I relax my arms back down behind me and roll my shoulders to relieve some of the aching. The bed creaks and his shirt tickles my forearms. With one hand, he wraps all of my hair and slowly pulls it to one side, twisting my neck, careful not to disturb my panties blindfold. I can sense the change in his tone before he’s even spoken. He’s rumbling. I can’t tell if he’s heating up for action or if I’ve displeased him.

In a low tone that I can feel through my chest, he whispers in my ear, “Why did you put your arms down, kitten? Did I ask you to?”

Shit. He didn’t. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

I begin to bend them back into their proper position, but my bound hands bump the front of his pants. I freeze. He’s hard as a fucking rock and it shoots aching need straight to my groin.

I’m tempted to cup him in my hand and knead him until he squirts in my palm. I grin.

“Do not touch me unless I tell you to,” he commands.

He knows me too well.

“Yes, Sir.” I do my best to wipe the grin off my face but I can’t stop thinking about bringing him to his knees.

“Behave,” he warns.

I flatten my hands against myself. “I am! I’m not touching—”

He bites the back of my neck hard enough to make me jump and tightens his grip on my hair. “Listen. Don’t speak.”

He’s hot as fuck when he commands. He knows exactly what he wants, what we both want. And I’d be smart to let him lead us there, but I need to clear things up, let him know I mean to behave. “Sorry, Sir. I wasn’t trying to—”

“I. Know.” He tugs my hair and presses me to my knees. “Kneel.”

My toes jam into his boots as I fumble into position: kneeling tall, my back to him, heart racing. I clench, painfully aware of the emptiness inside me where he should be.

He taps the outside of my bare foot with his boot to tighten up my position. With his hand still wrapped around my hair like a leash, he shifts, tilting my head as he moves. His thighs press to the back of my shoulder blades. He curls his other hand around my throat and slides it up to my chin, forcing my head back, crown against his groin.

Low and quiet, he asks, “What did I say?”

“Listen. Don’t speak, Sir.” It’s hard to get the words out with my throat stretched tight. I’m uncomfortably bent, lost in darkness, and raging with thirst for him. I want to suck on him, on anything, to soothe myself. I open my mouth, searching.

He presses his thumb in and I latch on, petting it with my tongue, sucking. He hums his approval. Letting go of my hair, he finds one breast and strums his fingers across my nipple, each catching on it and hardening it. I moan and press my thighs together.

“Good girl,” he whispers, pulling his thumb free. “Now let’s address your transgressions.”

He lets go of me.

I’m lost without his touch. Bound and blind with no anchor but the carpet beneath my knees.

His boots thud behind me, to my side, in front of me. A shadow passes over my hooded eyes. The creak of the cabinet door. Shuffling, wood sliding against wood. I’m clenched and halfway to an orgasm by the time the soft leather tip of his crop grazes the outside of my thigh.

“Up tall, kitten. On your knees.”

I straighten. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He drags the crop up over my hip, dipping at my belly button, then dragging it up and over my other hip. “This is going to hurt. Do you understand?”

Breathless, I nod.

He gives me a quick warning swat on the hip. “I asked you a question. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” With the anticipation of his next strike, my focus fixes on his location. Nothing exists outside this room, his voice, and the crop in his hand.

“Good girl.” He releases the clamp between my wrist cuffs. “I’m freeing your arms. Keep them by your sides. Do not move them. I know this will be difficult for you but I’m positive you can do it. Do you understand what I expect from you?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer quickly. The cuffs are thick and bulky against my thighs.

He drags the crop over my arm, around to my ass, and circles there. “I’m going to swat you once for each offense, three total. Do you understand?”

Three offenses and I can’t think of a single thing I’ve done wrong. Damn my memory. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He traces the curve of my ass with the crop. “You look sexy as fuck, kitten.”

My mind does somersaults between his reprimands and approval. I’m both bad and good. I’m disobedient yet exactly what he needs. I’m sexy. I let a smile form on my lips. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, when should you touch me?” He draws circles on my cheek.

Right. There was that. “Only when asked to, Sir.”

The crop disappears and whooshes briefly before it cracks against my ass, leaving a focused sting. He drops his voice an octave. “That’s one. When will you speak?”

“Only when asked a question.” I want to rub the spot but know better.

Another whine, this one longer, the smack harder in the same spot. It burns. I clench my ass and curl my toes.

“That’s two.” Without warning, he cracks me a third time in the same spot. “But how will you address me?”

My ass is on fire now and it’s hard to catch my breath. “As Sir, Sir.” I really want to rub it. He’s made it harder not to now that my hands are free. I tighten them into fists at my sides, then release and stretch my fingers. But I do not touch the burn.

“Good girl.” He taps the crop between my thighs from behind. “Spread.”

I obey, reluctant to open such a delicate spot to vulnerability.

wiz and crack just below one cheek. I jump.

He raises his voice. “How will you respond to my commands?”

“With a ‘Yes, Sir.’…Sir.”

“Good girl. Best start remembering that, kitten, or you’ll regret it.” His boots pad against the carpet again as he walks around me, dragging the crop over my other arm, to my belly button, and down several inches to the height of the curve between my legs.

I’m shaking with adrenaline and need and anticipation. I want him to stop what he’s doing and fill me, fondle me until I come. But I love this more than anything else. I love the power he holds over me, the absolute control of my every thought and of my body. He owns me. There is nothing for me to think about or decide on or ponder. There’s just him and me and the next place his crop will land.

He pauses. “Kitten, breathe.”

I inhale and exhale.

He slides the crop down until it grazes my tender labia. My heart drops to my stomach. He wouldn’t. While he holds it there, I can feel my pulse in every inch of flesh surrounding his crop, an electric current from him to me.

He slides it back up to my clit. I bite my lips.

“Lastly, when will you argue with me, pet?”

“Never, Sir.”

Thwack.

At first, it tingles more than hurts.

But I fold forward, squeezing my thighs together against my need.

He gives me no time to either enjoy or suffer from it. “Up, pet. Stand please.” He helps me to my feet. “At ease.”

I stand with even weight on both feet, not slouching but not standing tall and straight. I let my arms hang by my sides, leaving my body open to him. Even though he hasn’t asked me to pose a certain way, I still keep his wishes in mind.

He holds me still with one firm hand on my shoulder. The other he slides down over the curve of my ass and between my legs, cupping me from behind, his wrist and forearm pressing between my cheeks. I can’t help but move against him.

His breath falls hot at the base of my neck. “So eager.” He tightens his grip. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you inside me, Sir.” Heat flushes up my neck to my face. It’s a selfish request and not the thing I wanted most a few minutes ago. I wanted to pleasure him.

I can’t think when he’s touching me.

He closes his warm, soft lips over my ear lobe and presses one finger hard against my clit. “What part of me do you want inside you?”

He knows what I want. And he knows I hate saying it.

“Just…you,” I offer meekly, squirming under his grip.

“Say it,” he rumbles.

“I want your dick inside me.” My whole body flushes hot, skin prickling.

“Good girl.” He pulls his hand away and gives my bottom a promising smack.

I’m reeling somewhere on the edge of reality as he unties my panties from over my eyes. I blink in the dim light.

He cups my face with one hand and leans closer, stopping short of a kiss. I haven’t been blindfolded for long but I still lose my breath at the site of him. He has the kind of face I could lose myself in. Every angle, every crease, every flaw. So perfect. And mine. I want to steal a kiss from him, take his whole mouth and have my way with it.

He smirks. “Is there something you want, kitten?”  

My gaze drops to his lips. “I really want to kiss you, Sir.”

The smirk disappears. “Please do.”

I don’t wait to thank him. Leaning in, I press my mouth to his, inhaling his heady scent. His lips are deliciously warm and soft. His skin is unusually smooth.

He’s shaved for me!

I dive back into the kiss with renewed fervor. Our heads tilt in unison, mouths open, fitting together perfectly. Tongue to tongue, teeth scuffing, until we’re breathless and settle into a slower rhythm. I could kiss him all night.

He draws away, and I cling to his bottom lip with my teeth. Don’t go.

He groans as it stretches and releases. One brow shoots up. He’s grinning like the devil. “Biting? You know the deal.”

A bite for a bite.

He wraps his arms around me and we spin, the room whirling, and fall onto the bed. He lands heavy on top of me even though he catches himself. His weight roots me and I’m home. His legs pin mine and he hooks both of my cuffs, locking my hands over my head. Sliding his other hand down my arm and over my chest, he brushes my nipple with his thumb.

His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Now, where shall I take mine?”

[To be continued]

Read Part 3 now.


 

Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed, please comment and/or share.
I would be ever so grateful.
*curtsy*