Hum (Poem)

Hum erotic poem by Greta Stone

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by WrittenRiver 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).

At the end
of the day
when my
strength
is worn
and my
hope is
torn,
cradle
me in
your arms
and hum
a sweet
song of
love across
my skin
soft and
warm.

© Greta Stone

Storm Over Water (2 Poems & Behind-The-Scenes)

Storm over water II poem and writing process by Greta StoneStorm over water 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).

While I rage
you rest,
quiet & still.
Like a storm
over water
I suck you
in until I
grow weary
of the fight
and spit you
out on dry land
far from home.

© Greta Stone

With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I swell,
growing heavy
with frustration
until at last
I drench
you in my
release.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

When I think of a storm over water, I think of how it builds speed in all that open space, how it picks up fluid and drenches the land on impact. Sex can be like that too. (Are you surprised I went there?)

Open yourself
up to me and
I will build like
a storm over
water,

I don’t like build. It isn’t quite the best analogy to leading someone to an orgasm. The orgasm builds, but I don’t.

Open yourself
up to me and
I will churn
[something more]
like a storm
over water,

I feel like the narrator and subject of the poem are getting their actions confused. Who is the storm? Who does the drenching in the end? I think it has to be the same person. One can’t be the storm, churning and building, and then the other have the release. Not in this case anyway.

What does the water do to assist the storm? Nothing. It lies there, open and flat. >__>

Now I’m thinking of an entirely different analogy. Like when you’re raging and the other person is just…chill. It’s infuriating. Let me see where I can go with that.

While I rage
you rest,
quiet & still.
Like a storm
over water
I gather
[momentum],
sucking you
in until I’ve
grown weary
of the fight
and spit you
out on dry land
far from home.

Hm. *ponders* I might just remove the momentum part. It’s more about the all-consuming nature of a fight. I’ll also fix the tense contradictions.

While I rage
you rest,
quiet & still.
Like a storm
over water
I suck you
in until I
grow weary
of the fight
and spit you
out on dry land
far from home.

That’ll do. I’d still like to go back to my original idea though. Let me see if I can make something work with that analogy.

I’m thinking about how the other person can make me build to an intense climax and how those things can relate to the way a storm builds.

With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning
into a dangerous
[whirlwind] of
[ecstasy].
Ignoring my
warnings,
you [kickspin]
me into a
rage, a storm
over water
building
until I drench
the land.

Well, this needs work. haha For whirlwind, I really like cyclone. And instead of ecstasy, maybe delirium? That might be too dramatic.

With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I will [rage],
drenching
you in my
release.

Not rage. Rampage, tear? Like ripping a path. Grow? Swell. Yes! Swell.

With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I will swell,
[an action leading to land/release]
drenching
you in my
release.

The action could be like holding out until the impact of hitting land, or reaching my limit.

With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I swell,
growing heavy
with frustration
until [another trigger action]
I drench
you in my
release.

This poem is getting long. >___>

With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I swell,
growing heavy
with frustration
until at last
I drench
you in my
release.

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*

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*

Surrender, erotic fiction by Greta Stone

Surrender

Part 1

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

{2337 words}


With four bags of groceries over one arm and a jug of milk in my hand, I shove through the door and kick it closed behind me. My mouth waters at the smell of freshly baked pumpkin pie until I spot a Pumpkin Spice candle on the hall table. Three more candles flicker between the front door and kitchen. Every room is lit and the heat’s been turned up.

He wants me naked.

“Baby?” I drop the bags on the counter and exhale at the relief. “Are you here?” I know he’s here.

He steps into the doorway of his office, leans against the frame, and levels a gaze at me. It’s smoldering and speaks volumes. He’s wearing my favorite snug jeans, black boots, and a long sleeved T pushed up on his forearms.

My stomach growls.

Postponing his unspoken request, I bustle between the fridge and stove. “Will you put the cold groceries away so I can start dinner?”

“Dinner can wait,” he says, his voice deep, tone firm. I want to drop to my knees on the linoleum floor and suck him while he grips the oven handle for balance.

I cock my head and try to raise one brow, which I’ve never been able to do. The corner of his mouth quirks up at my attempt but he recovers, crossing the room purposefully.

“Baby, I’m hungry,” I say, backing myself against the counter to buy time. If he touches me, I’ll cave. “My meeting went straight through lunch—”

He’s a step away.

“—and I had to fire Aaron today—”

He takes my face in both hands.

“—and then grocery shopping in the snow—”

The heat of his lips on mine and the grip of his fingers on my jaw ignites me. I welcome his tongue, tasting and caressing it with my own. The kiss is lips and skin and teeth. It’s him and the way he makes me feel wanted. Needed.

I slide my hands around his waist, under his shirt, and up his back, squeeze him against me. I need you too.

My stomach growls and I swear it echoes from my open mouth to his. I grin, inadvertently blocking his tongue with my teeth.

“I’m sorry,” I say against his lips. “I really am starving.”

He groans, rolling his forehead against mine. “Half an hour.”

“That’s barely enough time to cook, nevermind eat. An hour.”

He raises one brow quite successfully. My stomach flips. His warning is one I’m quite familiar with, but it doesn’t stop me from glaring back.

He compresses me between himself and the counter, his belt digging into my belly, and his warmth against me from chest to thigh. “45 minutes, pet. Final offer.”

I fucking love him in Dom mode. And I’ll worship him the way we both need…in 45 minutes. Until then, we are equals. And I plan to take advantage.

“45 it is, Sir.” I attempt to push him away, knowing it will instigate. “For now, will you please put the groceries away?”

“Watch your attitude.” He pins my arms behind my back, his fingers wrapped tight around my wrists. Tucked into the vice grip of his arms and chest, I’m right where I want to be. The only way he could get closer is to get inside.

I deliver a slow grin, pleased with myself for effectively goading him. “I will. In 45 minutes.”

He rumbles a low hum, tightens his grip, and takes his time examining my cleavage pressed between us. “I’m tempted to cancel our deal, drag you into the bedroom right now, and show you what final offer means.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grins. “But I won’t. Because I don’t want you hungry tonight. I need your full attention.”

He lets me go and smacks my ass.

We eat dinner in a flury and he sends me off to our bedroom to get ready. I strip, tossing my clothes over the back of a chair. He’ll expect to find me kneeling at the foot of the bed, hands on my thighs, back tall. I need to fold my clothes into a neat pile the way he likes, but the bed hasn’t been made yet. With a tug, I square the blankets to the headboard. One fluff for each pillow, just the way he likes.

I pick up three socks from the floor and walk to the hamper, toss them in. The light hits my dresser, catching my eye. A thin film of dust covers the surface and then my finger as I swipe.

The door swings open and he halts.

Oh, shit. I drop to my knees where I am and lower my head farther than usual. “Sorry, Sir.”

This isn’t like back in the kitchen. During play, I’ve agreed to submit to him. Failing to do so now is a much graver sin.

The door clicks shut and he pads across the carpet toward me, each step slow and deliberate. By the time the hard toe of his boot bumps my bare knee, I’ve conjured up all sorts of punishments, both thrilling and troublesome. I welcome them, the heart-racing, skin-tingling suspense of what he will do next.

He sets his hand gently on top of my head. “I’m pleased that you’re repentant, but it won’t change your punishment. Understand?”

I study the stitched seam over the arch of his boot while my mind wanders. How will he punish me? The crop on the tender part of the back of my thighs? The paddle square across my ass? Orgasm deprivation? I clench in anticipation.

I trust that he won’t hurt me beyond the threshold we’ve discovered together. The journey has been as exciting as the play. I haven’t found any other way to feel closer to him than this. My Dom, my love.

My scalp tingles as he slides his hand through my hair. I lean into his hold, yearning. I could purr and nuzzle him for need of his attention. More contact. I reach for him, slide both hands around his legs to the backs of his thighs. I want you.

He inhales deeply, and I want to bury my face in the front of his pants, open them with my teeth and—

He tugs my hair. “Look at me, pet.”

I do. He glares down, disappointed, and it sets my chest on fire. That look could send me crawling over hot coals without a second thought. That look stirs rebellion and obedience in me. That look tells me more about his love than any other. What is it about that look?  

His voice drops an octave. “Hands by your sides, please.”

I obey, regretfully removing them from his thighs, and blink up at him.

He opens his mouth to speak but pauses. “God, you’re sexy right now.”

My lungs fill with a sudden deep breath and I smile. I’m never as beautiful as I am in his eyes. I would stay here all day just for him.

“Doesn’t mean you’ll escape punishment.” He smirks. “Got it?”

The disobedience comes easy to me but the punishment does not. “Yes, Sir.” I study his boots again.

He corrects, lifting my chin.

“Tell me why I’m going to punish you.”

I don’t like to disappoint him and I can’t look him in the eye when I have. But he makes me and I’m not happy about it.

“Because you love whipping my ass red,” I say with snark.

The single raised eyebrow again. “Excuse me?”

My heart skips a beat but I glare at him, unflinching.

He digs his fingers into my hair, gripping tight, stinging my scalp. Two octaves lower now if that’s possible. “Kitten…”

I blink once. “Yes?”

He clenches his jaw. “You are very fucking sexy but don’t push it. Answer my question.”

I bite my lip to buy time while I consider ‘pushing it’ or submitting. I think I’ve pushed enough for now. Suppressing a sigh, I say, “I disrespected you by not being in position when you arrived.”

“And?”

I try to lower my head to escape his intense gaze but his grip on my hair doesn’t budge.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “And I touched you without your permission.”

“Yes. And you made me wait.” He releases me and walks over to the chair I slung my clothes over. “Not to mention this mess.” Shifting my shirt and jeans, he finds my panties, turns, and levels a searing glare at me.

I escape his gaze again, biting both lips. My mind sorts through all the possible ways I can beg for his mercy. I’m not afraid of the punishments. I trust him. But I want to do exactly what he wants before he asks. And he likes it when I beg.

“Close your eyes.” He walks behind me so I can’t see him anymore, which shouldn’t matter if I obey his command. But I don’t. Because I want to see what he’s doing.

“Don’t.” He spreads his hand over the top of my head and turns it back before I’m able to get a peek over my shoulder. Holding me there, his fingertips squeeze my skull and I hear the reprimand loud and clear. He’s reaching his max tolerance for my misbehavior. He needs me to obey now. He needs me to submit to him, to yield, to surrender wholly.

Behind me, I hear fabric ripping, then the clink of metal on the wood dresser. Fabric slides over my eyes. I can smell myself on them, my panties. I’m reeling with abashed desire as he knots them at the back of my head.

A breeze blows against my back.

“Don’t move. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” I hold still, kneeling, hands on my thighs, back straight and tall. I’m blind and naked and completely at his mercy, as excited as I am anxious.

The door swooshes open and the room is quiet for a long time. I should be contemplating my errors and my submission to him, the reasons this dichotomy is important to me, to us. But I’m too excited to play. All I can think about are the ways I want to pleasure him, by doing as he asks and by touching him the way he likes. My thoughts drift to steamy daydreams.

When the door clicks shut, I hear the rattle of china, a tea cup on a saucer maybe. The air around me shifts with his movements, sending a wave of fresh soap and citrus toward me. I’m curious as hell what’s going on. A clink on the dresser next to me and the rattling stops.

He places his warm hands on my shoulders. “Recline.”

Following his guidance, I lean back until he stops me at a 45 degree angle.

“Hold there.”

Crap.

His metal belt buckle clinks, followed by the leather flapping through his belt loops. My skin prickles with anticipation, ready for the sting though not sure where it will land.

“Hands back.”

Oh? This is new.

I press my wrists together behind me, my belly and thighs already beginning to ache from the position. He slaps a thick padded leather cuff on each wrist and binds them together with a metal clip, the clink of solid, well-made materials resonating. A leather leash coils on the floor behind me, pressing into my toes.

“Open your hands.”

I’m not sure how when they’re behind me. Palms facing each other, I splay my fingers. The tea cup clatters. He corrects my hands palms up and places the teacup in them. It’s difficult to balance, but I manage.

“Three minutes. Do not spill this or I will be very disappointed.”

Three minutes? I can’t… I’ll never make it.

The leather belt falls limp across my thighs and I jump, the teacup clattering.

His fingers grip my chin and his voice hits so close I feel his words on my face. “If you spill, you will get the belt. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” My thighs burn and the china clatters as I shake. I don’t know where he is. I can’t hear him anymore. But the door hasn’t opened so he’s still in the room. Watching, I’m sure. I want to make him happy above and beyond what he expects. I want him to know that, despite my misbehavior, I am his. He owns me. And I will do anything he asks to make him happy.

I make a concerted effort to hold still and breathe through my time. The tea cup quiets as I pull myself together and find calm. The burning in my belly dissipates. I am an inanimate object yet thoroughly alive, breathing just to please my Sir.

He finally speaks. “Your time is done, pet.”

I hold it for ten more seconds to demonstrate my penitence. It feels like an eternity.

“Bring me the cup. Don’t spill it.”

He gives no acknowledgement of my extra effort. A part of me is crushed, but I carry on.

Still blindfolded, I rise to a standing position, the cup jiggling behind me, the leather leash slapping at my bare calves as I shift. If I’ve spilled, I can’t tell. I’m thoroughly exposed to him with my hands secured behind me but I stand tall, unashamed. My body is his—his toy, his treat, his tool.

The location of his voice tells me he’s sitting at the foot of the bed about three steps away. I take two confident steps then a third careful one. My toes meet the hard side of his boot.

Stepping in front of him, I turn my back and present the cup and saucer. No shenanigans. No snark. Just as he likes. He takes it from me without even a brush of our fingers. I hear him sip and set it down on a hard surface. I don’t move.

“Good girl.” His warm hands land on my bare hips. I want to face him and feel his forgiving arms around me.

I stay put.

He bumps one knee between my legs. “Spread.”

[To be continued]

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