Taking You (Contrite)
written by:
CatrionaM

I shouldn't be here, I should have stayed aloof and teasing, far away, forever tantalising.

And yet, I am burning, my whole body on fire, smouldering slow, red hot. My skin feels like it is not mine any more but a creature of its own separate existence, alive, more alive than I am myself inside it, electrified with desire, each nerve ending and each synaptic connection aching, hurting for you.

I am burning, my body is like a string, taut and tense, my skin glowing. I am more aware of each square inch of it than I have ever been before: I'm aware of patches of skin that I never realised I had.

I walk towards you, as you kneel there on the rug by the hearth, face down, wrists bound with a black silk tie, arms extending forward.

I stand tall and straight, above you, on your knees for me.

I stand dressed, above you, naked.

I stand in my knee-length, black boots and a coat-dress, astride you prone body.

I don't really want to hurt you, but for once you do deserve real punishment for the way you have been not so long ago.

I stand, wielding a riding crop, above the smooth, blank playing field of your body, the body I missed so much and that you are now giving to me, again.

I am not quite sure whether in cheeky defiance or genuine supplication.

I raise the crop and as it falls, it defaces that blankness. It answers the question. I'm branding you.

The droplets of blood seeping through broken skin mirror the searing lust coursing through my body. The crop is less an instrument of torture that a symbol of my desire, and a test of yours.

I'm taking you, this way, finally, for myself.

You're my fuck-toy. My cum-eater. My pet.

You are my craving and my fix.

With every lash your body shakes and you moan and I don't know if you moan in pain or delight, shame or lust, contrition or longing.

I'm not even sure there is a difference any more. I am not sure if I ever knew.

With my every lash and your every moan my own body tenses up, spasming in a flash of desire.

I place my boot on your bound hands, grinding the heel down.

You groan and cry out and yet don't ask to be released. Possibly because you know that if you leave now you'll have to leave forever.

But you don't and there is nothing more thrilling than that, nothing more exciting that you, now literally under my foot, balanced on the sharp edge between pain and pleasure.

My skin is aflame, my cunt overflowing as I slide the tip of the boot under your chin, then flick it up, raising your face from the floor. What remains of the make-up you had worn earlier is streaked with tears and yet your eyes are half-closed, the mouth half-open indicating the blissful oblivion of the space in which your slutty sub's mind, your lipstick-red soul is floating now.

You kiss my booted foot, and it's almost too much, too ridiculously corny, too reminiscent of the cheapest clichés of subdom, and yet I realise there is a reason why it became such a cliché, because to see you do this, even as I am aware of the ridiculousness, sends jolting shivers of excitement not only straight between my legs but to the deepest recesses of my mind.

But let's not be too conventional.

I crouch down next to you and kiss your back: the angry, raised welts left by my lashes under the infinitely tender touch of my lips. I can feel the metallic taste of blood on my tongue and I lick the drops off one by one, with utmost gentleness.

I lick my way down the curve of your spine, from the neck to the small of your back. Where my tongue meets the scars left by the crop, you flinch, and where the skin is smooth and unscathed, you shiver.

Your ass is untouched by the whipping and I run my hands slowly along your hips, then in circles around the smooth skin of your butt, along the crack, towards your not-virgin-any-more hole and lower, through the soft area between the ass and your balls, where the emerging hardness of your cock starts.

I am now kneeling behind you, my hands holding your hips, my pubis almost touching your butt. I could fuck you now and a slight movement of your hips and a sharper intake of breath, not-quite-a-moan, indicate that this is what you are expecting.

Not now.

I stand up and unbutton and drop the dress, leaving me in the usual sumptuous lingerie: a lace basque, a wide suspender belt, long stockings and boots. My sex is dripping wet, my shaven labia slick and slippery with my arousal.

'Turn over,' I say, quietly and you do, wincing a little when I make you lie down on your back, but obeying wordlessly.

'Eat me out,' I say even though it's not needed, it's obvious what I want from you when I straddle your face, looking down towards your hardening cock, my sopping pussy in a perfect position for your tongue and lips as I grind my cunt on your face. You lick, you lap, you kiss and suck and lick some more, your tongue alternately stiff and narrow, soft and flat, urgent then leisurely.

I can feel your lips on my labia, your tongue sliding inside the velvety, pulsating tunnel of my pussy. I tense and shiver as you lick along the stem of my clit, the waves of pleasure and desire achingly strong as you move around the bud, then take it between your lips for the briefest of moments.

I raise my hips up to lessen the intensity of the sensation. Your tongue moves down my slit, probes the soft spot between my pussy and my ass, then slides in, a flexible, warm, slippery, slightly rough on the inside surface. I moan in a paroxysm of longing, my cunt flowing with desire.

I want more from you now. I want you all.

I slide off your face and pull you up to a sitting position, my legs round your hips, my throbbing sex almost touching your rampant cock that has not yet been touched.

I reach out to your face. I run my nail around the outer line of your mouth and you tremble. I slide two of my fingers inside, then run the tips along the inner surface of the lips. I can feel your tongue, touching them briefly, then retreating. You close your mouth, suck greedily. I retrieve my fingers, move them down your chin, along the curve of your jaw, right up the neck, to the ear, then past the arch of the eyebrows and down the other side. I'm tracing the lines of your face as if I was blind, I'm recording a memory not just of my eyes but of my skin, muscles, nerves, tendons and bones.

I direct your head towards my breasts, hot with desire, the nipples engorged and sensitive against the sheer mesh of my bra. You lick the fabric, then take one in your mouth. I am moaning now under your accomplished and obedient tongue, feeling the heat emanating from your body, the shivers of lust that make you shake, that mirror the waves that crash through me.

I pull the cups of the bra down, my breasts spill out, swollen and flushed with need. I push your head down to lick, slow, long, worshipful strokes of the flat tongue, all of my arousal concentrated in the two red-hot focal points, my pulsating cunt a mere afterthought to the longing made manifest in my nipples.

The pleasure is surging and heaving through my body, the ripples of delight spreading all over my skin.

I can feel your cock, twitching and straining against my belly, ready to serve me in any way I crave.

I raise my hips up and slide myself onto it, my slippery cunt getting hold of it. We are hardly moving now, but I can feel your hardness inside me, holding and squeezing it with the inner muscles of my silky pussy.

I can hear your breathing, deep and hoarse as I cross my ankles behind your back, pushing you deeper into me, reach behind your back with my hands, make it almost impossible for you to move. You try to rock your hips, or maybe it's just an involuntary twitch.

'Don't move. Don't you fucking move,' I say.

'I'm frozen for you,' you whisper and I can feel that you are doing your uttermost to be stock still inside me.

The feeling is exquisite, small bursts of delight erupting from various points inside me, flowing, coming together to form a pulsating river of pleasure that is making me moan and pant. I can feel your cock, hard and hot inside me, growing bigger and hotter with each contraction of my muscles.

I could stay like that forever though I am not quite sure either of us is actually capable of slowing the raising tide enough to last even a few more minutes.

Besides, I don't just want you inside me.

It's now time for me to fall on my back, pull your hips towards me as you support your weight on your knees and hands, your make-up and tear streaked face above me, your eyes only partially open, your lips ajar.

I reach down and grab your cock at its very base, behind your balls. I direct it deeper and higher inside me, I am fucking myself with your cock.

It's my cock, really, it belongs to me now and it's almost like holding a dildo I can control at will, but a hot, flesh-and-blood one that feels both deliciously pliable and rock-hard in my hand.

I reach with my other hand, feeling somewhat blindly for the drawer, finding it, getting my favourite item out. It is a medium-sized, blue and pink striped, springy silicone dildo with a wider base and it feels an eminently suitable tool for my purpose. A fuck-toy is about to get toy-fucked.

I am so wet that nothing else is necessary, all I need to do is to transfer some of my copious juices onto my hand and then onto your ass. I also move the dildo closer to your lips and you mouth it eagerly, sucking like a little greedy slut, imaging it was a living, fleshy cock.

Thus lubricated, and with the help of my fingers at first, the tip slides inside you and after a gasp of pain and a short wait for your muscles to relax, it all goes in in a strong thrust.

I can feel the effects both in the cock inside me and your whole body reacting to your ass being filled, you become tenser and more desperate, your hips start bucking despite being held in place by my legs and as I start fucking you in the same rhythm you are fucking me, both movements get faster and deeper.

My hips are also rocking under yours, up and down, sideways and in small circles that mirror the delicious larger circles of your lower body and are mirrored by the little round motion I add to the movement of my hand wielding the dildo.

It's one of those extremely rare moments of ideal co-ordination, when everything flows in synch and fits perfectly, each movement and each breath taking us both on a higher rising crest of delight, my whole body aflame with delight, with pleasure so intense that it starts skirting the borderlands of pain.

My heart is pounding; my breath sharp and fast and breaking up, yours heavy and panting, we are both moaning and whispering and crying out inarticulate sounds of the extremes of desire; my hand getting numb as I ram the blue dildo up your arse, my other hand's nails scratching your already bleeding back; my legs, the boots still on, wrapped around yours; your hot mouth on my burning breast.

'Oh god oh god ooooh god god god I'm going to cum now I'm going to cum please may I cum please please please fuck me harder harder deeper please please...'

'Make me cum make me scream now now now now yes cum bitch cum you dirty slut cum cum cum...'

And you do just as I say, the instant after I start screaming, you groan and cry out too, your body covered in blood and sweat that mixes with mine as we collapse on each other writhing and shaking; you inside me, I inside you, god yes, thank you.

You are mine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Are you, then?

If this text made you, dear readers, feel like you are - even for a moment - then I succeeded.

It was originally intended as one of the ''Stories for N''. I am not quite sure if it still is - perhaps it ended up a more general sort of mission statement.

Usual thanks for the words and phrases I have stolen from emails, notes and recordings. Maybe more significantly here than before, so more thanks are due.

And also as usual, let me have all your thoughts, both good and bad; public or private. I need to know if anybody but me gets turned on by these scenes or you just all shake heads at my purple prose.