Idyll A Sex Scene

(Author's note: This piece is just what the title says it is: a description of two people having sex with some mild BDSM as told from the man's point of view: his thoughts and impressions. There's no plot, no moral, and no pretense at redeeming artistic value, and if you're looking for any of those, I suggest you go elsewhere. Sometimes you just want to knock off a nice, psychological piece of ass.)

From the dark van in the dark alley I can just see her leaving her building down at the end of the block, her hair hidden by a scarf, the belt of her raincoat tied tight across her waist. It has to be her. I know her address, and I've seen a couple of pictures of her. She's walking fast but being careful to keep her shoes out of the slush, carrying herself proud and upright, even though I know her heart must be high in her chest if she's followed my instructions and dressed the way I told her to under that coat.

I can see the gleam of her high heels from here as she crosses under the streetlight. A sudden gust of cold wind meets her at the corner and lifts the bottom of her coat, and I see nothing but stocking- clad leg up to mid thigh where the darkness of her tight skirt conceals the rest. She reaches quickly for the flapping coat and pushes it down, looking nervously up and down the empty street. I wonder if she's as nervous and excited as I am. Probably not. She thinks she's just going to meet me in a bar. She doesn't know what I have planned for her.

Just keep walking, Ashley. Come to me, baby. Come to me…

The van is dark. The heat's on and it's very warm in here and I've taken my coat off. I've got brand new black leather gloves on my hands; black pants, black sweater, and my black ski mask is pushed up on my head. I'm still not sure whether I should cover my face or not. After all, I want her to know it's me. I don't want her to be really scared, just scared enough. She's expecting to see me outside the bar. I'm just going to meet her a little early is all.

I crack the window and now I can hear the sound of the wind in the bare trees and her heels on the wet sidewalk. A nasty night, but that's okay. We're not going to be out in it long. Saint Valentine's Day, but no pink cherubs and Cupid's arrows for us. This is the day to give passion its due and to unmask all your desires. My tastes run more to the extremes of love, and unless I'm totally mistaken, so do Ashley's.

We know each other, but only from e-mailings, from talking on-line. We know each other in that strange cyber way, where you know all about a person's deepest, most secret sexual desires, even though you've never laid eyes on them; never heard the sound of their voice. Tonight that's all supposed to change. Tonight she was coming out to meet me at a bar not far from her apartment for the first time. Only I had different ideas.

I know what she likes. I know what she fantasizes about. She thinks she's going to meet me in a nice cozy bar where we can get to know each other, but I have different ideas. I want to make one of her fantasies come true, and I'm just about to do that.

"Hi Ashley," I say, stepping in front of her. "Going somewhere?"

I startle her and she recoils in sudden fright.

"It's me, love. Rob. I thought I'd meet you a little early, out here on the street. Hope I didn't startle you."

"Rob? You're Rob?" she asks. She clutches her raincoat close and her eyes search my face, but before she can say anything else I take her arm. I spin her around, back to me and pull her towards the van.

"Wait! What are you…?"

I put my gloved hand over her mouth. "Shhh! Don't say a word! Just get in the van. Trust me, baby. You won't get hurt. Promise"

I pull her back into the alley and she staggers against me, confused, walking backwards, not sure whether she should struggle or not. I know I'm smearing her perfect lipstick but already the thrill of using force on her has me excited, and she doesn't know whether she should resist or do as I say. I make sure she doesn't have time to think about it.

The side door of the van is open. I drag her through the cloud of idling exhaust fumes and half throw, half lift her inside and climb in with her. I slide the door closed behind me, so hard that it makes the van rock.

"What are you doing?" she asks in confusion. "I thought you were going to meet me…"

She doesn't know what's happening. I grab a strip of tape off the driver's seat and quickly bind her wrists, wrapping the tape right over the sleeves of her raincoat. I turn her around roughly and tie a scarf against her mouth and she fights me, twisting away, but I persist and when she opens her mouth to yell something else I get the scarf between her lips and tie it snug. I pull her down to the mattress in the back.

She's still struggling and twisting around, but when I get the blindfold on her she calms down. I think she finally understands.

"This is your fantasy, remember?" I ask her. "All the times we talked about this? How hot you got thinking about it? Well now I want to make it real, Ashley. You understand?"

She's lying there on the mattress, her knees to the side. She mumbles something into the scarf, then stops, thinking about it. Then she nods her head.

"I've got to redo your hands. I strongly suggest you don't try anything. I'm a desperate man, and you've got my blood up." I'm smiling as I say this, but it's true. I'm more excited than I thought I'd be.

She doesn't move as I take the tape off the sleeves of her coat. I pull her into a sitting position and she lets me buckle a brand new leather cuff around each wrist. I twist her around and clip her wrists together behind her back with a big, chrome clip, then lean her back against the wall of the van. I can't read her face, not with the blindfold and the gag on, but she's stopped struggling.

Her coat's come open in the little fracas. The tight white blouse she's wearing has popped the top buttons and the tops of her breasts are visible and the line of her bra that contains them. There's a dark inviting cleavage between her tits, soft with shadow.

I look at her face, her red lips spread by the cruel gag, her eyes shrouded by the leather mask. Her chest is rising and falling with her steady breathing, the weight of her breasts threatening to burst the last buttons of her too-tight blouse. She's into it now. She understands the game we're playing. She's already dressed for the part, just as she'd told me she'd dress for our meeting, very sexy, everything designed to incite: what she called her 'play clothes'. Her legs are drawn up under her and the tops of her dark stockings just peek from beneath the hem of her black skirt. I can see the cruel bite of her garters in the top band of the stockings against her naked thighs. I may be wrong but that might just be a tremble of excitement in her lower lip.

"Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look like this?" I ask her, leaning over her so I can smell her perfume and excitement over the stuffy and humid car heat. "All helpless, mine to do with whatever I wish?"

I had all sorts of words prepared, nasty things about cocks and pussies, but seeing her leaning against the side of the van tied up like that, I forget all that stuff. I reach my hand out and touch her breast with the back of my knuckles, lifting it up and feeling the warmth and give of her flesh. Even through the glove I can feel her femininity, the aching loveliness of her body.

"You know I love you, baby," I say, "But tonight I don't want to think about love. Just lust. Just the way I want you, the way you make me hurt with need for you. Tonight I want to use you for my own selfish pleasure, Ashley. I want to treat you like the slut of my dreams, my own sexual toy. Now if you don't want to do this, tell me now. Tell me now and we'll stop. Just say 'no' three times. Make any noise three times and I'll stop, you understand?"

She doesn't move. I'm still breathing hard from our struggle and from tying her up, but Ashley doesn't move, doesn't make a sound.

I smile as I realize what that means.

"That's my baby!" I say, feeling a thrill from her helpless beauty, her surrender, her complicity in my fantasy. She wants it too. I pull her to me with one arm around her, she falls back against me, her hands tied behind her, and I can't resist running my hand over her body, my fingers flowing over her breasts, tracing down her stomach to the black skirt stretched tight across her thighs. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, feeling her pulse in the softness of her throat, and I drag my fingers claw-like up her leg, pulling at the skirt, raising the hem slowly over her thighs.

I lower my face and suck on the exposed skin of her breast, smelling her perfume. I suck it, lick it, and all the time I'm working to gather her skirt up. She must be able to feel how hot I am, because she moans and twists against me, and I realize that she's trying to resist me. That's good. Let her resist. It makes it more exciting.

I can't do anything with these fucking gloves on. I pull the glove off with my teeth, and now when I go back to her thighs I can feel the tight slickness of her stocking, and then the soft skin where it bulges slightly out above them. I can already feel her nakedness and heat. She groans and bucks, clamping her legs together, but I manage to skin the short black skirt up above her hips, exposing her panties, sapphire blue.

"God, look at you!" I whisper in her ear as we fight together. "You're skirt's up around your waist, your panties are showing. Anyone who walks by the van will see what a hot slut you are; will see how much you love being treated like this. Is that what you want? You want me to call some people over to see the hot little slut I just picked up off the street?"

She groans loudly and heaves her body up from the mattress, trying to escape my words and my hand rubbing the soft skin at the top of her legs, but I hang on to her, holding her tight as she bucks and writhes, groaning in protest behind the gag. I work my hand between her legs and she growls in frustration and shame because she can't escape. I touch her between her legs where the thin crotch of her panties protects her soft and humid sex. She's wet and she must know it, and she must know I can feel it too.

"Nice," I whisper against her throat as I screw my finger gently around against her soft and slippery panties, pushing the fabric up against her. "You're already turned on, aren't you? You like this rough stuff, just like I thought. Now open 'em up, baby. Open your legs for me. No use trying to pretend anymore. We both know you want it. I knew it as soon as I saw how you were dressed underneath your coat. Is that how a decent girl leaves the house? Dressed like a common hooker, a streetwalker?"

I love feeling her struggle, feeling her trying to resist. She's going to make me work for it, but that's okay. I like using my strength against her. I like feeling her writhe and squirm as I crush her to me, feeling the hard pebbles of her nipples pressing against me even through my sweater. Her bra's too tight anyhow, and it's very sheer, can barely contain the weight of her breasts and the tops of her tits are trying to spill out of it. I grab her blouse and just pull, ripping the buttons off and yanking it open. Her tits are stuffed into that bra, and they roll softly beneath my hand and mouth as I sink my face down into the intoxicating warmth and sweetness and suck them through her sheer fabric.

My assault on her tits startles her and she forgets momentarily and parts her knees. I grab her leg behind her thigh and pull it up, spreading her legs lewdly and she wails beneath the gag at her sudden vulnerability.

"Should we just sit here and wait for someone to come by?" I tease, holding her legs apart and caressing her through her damp panties. "Should I turn on the dome light so they can see you better, you gorgeous little piece of ass?"

She's worn out now from struggling. Her blouse is open, her tits are heaving behind that bra, her skirt is all bunched up around her waist, and her raincoat is a mess, half off, half on. I take another piece of rope and tie it between her wrists, bring it down behind her and pass it through her legs then up in front and tie it around her neck. I draw it tight so that it's snug against the crease of her sex.

"There," I said, "That's so you can get yourself off while you struggle. Now you can struggle all you want. Get yourself good and ready, baby. We've got a full night ahead of us."

I pull her coat closed and take another piece of rope. I pass it around her legs and tie her knees together, then do the same to her ankles. I lay her down on the mattress on her back, her tits standing up, heaving with her eager breathing, and even in the dimness of the dark alley I can see her nipples saluting and the pulse beating in the base of her throat. My own baby, captured and vulnerable at last, just like in my dreams.

I exit the side door of the van and take a look down the alley. A gust of rain sweeps down the street and catches me, drums on the roof of the van. There's no one around; it's too nasty out. I straighten my clothes, then climb into the driver's seat. I put the van into gear and pull out of the rain-slick street.

The motel's only about a mile away, but I drive through alleys; I go around the block a couple of times. The windows of the van are all steamed up because of the humidity inside, but I'm worried that a cop might stop me and pull me over, so I drive with extra care. Even so I want to take my time and let her to enjoy the fear for a while. I can look behind me and see her lying on the mattress, bands of light sweeping over her bound body as we pass under the streetlights. She lies still at first, but then she starts to writhe a little, and at the next light when I stop for a good look I realize that she's discovered that by arching her back and moving her hands she can work herself off against the rope between her legs. I can hear soft little whimpers and sighs emerging from between her gagged lips. By the time we reach our destination, she's panting with excitement.

I've already checked into the motel, so I just pull the van up near the back, away from the light.

"I strongly suggest that you don't do anything foolish," I say to her as I untie her knees and ankles. I unclip her hands, bring them around in front of her and clip them together again. I take off her gag and blindfold.

I wait for her to say something, to make some joke or wisecrack, but she's too into it now, excited by the part she's playing. Her eyes are smoldering, and when I try to look into them she avoids me, not wanting me to see what's there or risk ruining the mood of the game.

"Come here," I say as I close her coat snugly over her torn blouse and tie the belt in place.

I help her from the van and hand her a suitcase. "Hold this as you walk and no one will see the cuffs."

I get another suitcase from the back of the van and then take her arm, holding her just a little too tight and pulling her along to make her keep up with me, her heels clattering on the tarmac. She staggers a little as she walks but I hold her up, guide her up the stairs and pull her up to the second level where the room is.

There's someone below, coming out from his room to get something from his car. He walks under the overhang, out of the rain, until he gets to a car, then he happens to look up at us and Ashley quickly turns her head away so he won't see her face. I suppose she doesn't want any witnesses to her abduction, and that makes me smile. The man goes back to his task, dipping into the trunk of his car, perhaps getting something for a little party of his own in his room below.

"This is where we're going, love," I say as I slide the keycard into the lock. "This is where you're going to get what's coming to you. Take a good look at the world around you, Ashley, because it's not going to look the same when you get out of here. It's time we both learned just who you are underneath that coat."

I open the door and push her inside. I'd already set things up: I'd turned the heat way up so she won't get cold when she's naked, closed the drapes and turned the lights down low. The ropes are already fastened to the bed, and more sits on the desk chair, already cut to length. The whips and nipple clamps are laid out neatly on a folded towel on the dresser. She sees them and her eyes go wide, but she says nothing.

I take the suitcase from her; unclip her wrists and strip off her raincoat.

"Rob, wait…" she says, her eyes still on the whips. She laughs nervously, but the trembling in her voice is from excitement. "Wait a minute…"

But I've already pushed her up against the wall and taken her wrists in my hands, pressing my body against hers, my lips at her throat.

"What?" I demand, running my mouth along the smooth skin of her neck. "What? You want me to wait for what?"

"I just… It's just… Oh God! God!" She forgets what she's going to say when my lips find the base of her throat. I press my cock against her, letting her feel how hard she's made me.

"Tell me," I say as I press against her and kiss her throat, her face. "Tell me what you want! This is it, isn't it? Isn't this your fantasy? What you told me about?"

I know what's wrong and I know why she wants me to wait. She's embarrassed about how excited she is and it makes her very nervous. If we were back at her place now and making out on her couch I'll bet she would stop things, slow them down with an awkward little joke, or find some reason to leave the room for a minute so she could collect herself. But I don't want any little jokes now and I don't want her to collect herself. I want to push her. I want to see how hot she can get. I want her to forget making sweet and considerate love. I want her to be a whore, a vixen, a slut. I want her to scream and bite. I want her to want me as much as I want her, and I want her to admit it.

I take her face in my hands and I rape her mouth with my tongue. She stands there stunned, her hands still pressed up against the wall where I'd left them, as if she's the victim of a hold-up and she's showing me she's unarmed. But she's armed. Her body is her weapon and she makes me dizzy with desire. As I kiss her I put my thumb into her mouth and peel down her lower lip so I can kiss and suck the soft inside, laying her whole mouth open to me. I grind my cock against her as I kiss her so she can feel exactly what she's doing to me, how she makes me feel even when she does nothing at all.

"Oh my! Oh, Rob…" she remonstrates, breathless with excitement, afraid of what she's feeling. I'm like an animal on her now. She knows there's no stopping me, and she's worried that she's going to lose control as well. Her own body, beautiful and innocent, is like fuel to the carnal fire that consumes me, and she doesn't know how to stop me, or even if she wants to. One part of her needs to pull back and regain control of herself, and the other part wants to let go, so for now she's like an observer to what I'm doing to her, an innocent bystander, refusing to admit that she wants this too, still trying to get by without committing

But I won't have that.

I pull her away from the wall and lead her to the center of the room. "Stand there," I tell her. "Stand right there and don't move a muscle."

I gently pull the torn blouse from her shoulders and remove it, leaving her standing in the middle of the floor in her skirt and bra and heels. The skirt is short and tight: a teaser's skirt, and her wicked high heels make her ass thrust up and out in lewd invitation. Seeing this sweet girl dressed like a tart excites me terribly. She looks cheap, like she's selling herself. Better than that even: she looks like she's just daring me to take it from her, and now she's finding out that I will

Despite my warning to stay still she raises her hands and clasps them together over her breasts as if cold. She's not cold. She's instinctively trying to hide from me. But she looks so sweet and vulnerable like that I don't say anything about her disobeying me. She's the slut discovered: the little girl who was caught dressing up in big girls' clothes and who now has to pay, and even her nervousness and uncertainty is delicious. Just looking at her makes me hot, makes me want to do all sorts of unspeakable things to her.

I walk behind her and strip off my sweater. I kick off my shoes and pull my socks off, then drop my pants and skin down my shorts. I make noise as I undress so she knows exactly what I'm doing, because I want her to know that I'm getting naked. I want her to think about being locked in this strange room with a naked wild man who wants her, all of her, just like in her fantasy.

I go up behind her and stand close. Closer. So close that just my hard cock makes contact with the tight skirt covering her ass, so she can feel that big hard spear all swollen for her. I run my fingers like gossamer down the naked smoothness of her back and watch the tide of goose bumps spread over her skin.

"Do you feel how hard I am for you, Ashley?" I ask. "That's what you do to me. You haven't touched me, haven't done a thing to me, and just looking at you and thinking about what I'm going to do has made me that hard."

My fingers go to her shoulders. I slide one bra strap down her arm, then the other. I'm so feverish for her now that even the bits of skin I expose seem terribly erotic to me, and I can't keep from kissing her there, where the straps have been. Her skin is soft and just slightly salty with excitement. She wants to twist away, but I've told her not to move. She looks lovely with her bra straps down: lovely and vulnerable.

My fingers go to the clasp on her bra. I unhook it and feel the garment sag under the weight of her heavy tits. I push her hands down to her sides. A slight touch and the bra slides from her body, falling like a whisper to the floor.

I take her hands now and clip her wrists back together behind her, emphasizing her nakedness. I don't know what excites me so much about tying her arms, the way it makes her seem so vulnerable, so trusting. I know how it is for her: it's hard for her to express herself sexually, and so she relies on me to express it for her, to bring all her hidden desires and shameful secrets out of her. She's so totally feminine, the way she waits to be taken and fucked, made to do the most horrible things. She doesn't show it, but that's what she wants. I know it.

Standing behind her I extend my arms in front of her. I bring my hands in slowly, until her nipples just touch my palms. They're stiff and eager, and tickle the palms of my hands as they rise to press against me with her breathing. Finally my touch is more than she can bear, and she caves her chest, bringing her shoulders up to protect herself.

I go to the dresser lamp and turn the lights off. I leave the bedside lamp on, and throw a red scarf over the shade. It's crude, I know, but it gives the dim light a lurid, red cast, making the room feel even warmer than it is. I come up before her, and I sink to my knees at her feet.

It's like a scene from some pagan religion, where the captor is now the captured. I reach behind her, pressing my cheek to her belly, and I find the zipper on the back of the skirt. I pull it down, and my fingers fumble at the clasp. I unhook it and I tug the tight skirt down over her hips.

She isn't wearing a slip. She's just wearing her stockings and the sapphire blue panties that are like the barest V of fabric over her groin, clinging to her, almost transparent. Above it is the smooth expanse of her belly, dotted with the inviting shadow of her naval. My face is on a level with her crotch, and I look up at her, my prisoner, over the fluid lines of her stomach, the arch of her rib cage, to the projection of her breasts. Her eyes are closed, her nostrils dilated. This is the moment of her triumph and shame, when she's revealed in her naked beauty, when my acceptance or rejection of her hangs in the balance.

The matter's already been decided, and there's no question that she owns my heart and soul at this moment. I push my face into her crotch as if I'm receiving a benediction, my fingers spread wide around the firm globes of her ass, squeezing hard, as if I could squeeze some feminine essence out of her and into my mouth; squeeze the sweetness out of her.

I inhale her, the smell of her perfume and her aroma of arousal. I push her back. She almost stumbles, but still I push her back, crawling after her on my knees, until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she falls back upon it, unable to break her fall because her hands are bound behind her. My face is still in her crotch, and I'm like a demented dog, inhaling her smell, her humidity. I spread her thighs and I lick the crotch band of her panties, the wetness from my tongue meeting her own wetness from the other side, feeling the puffiness of her pussy, engorged with excitement. I try to move the tight crotch piece with my tongue but it's too tight. I'll have to take her panties off.

But that's all right. I need the respite in which to regain control of myself anyhow. I'm letting my excitement run away with me, the excitement of having her like this with me, the way I've always fantasized.

I stand up and go to the dresser where the toys are laid out, and I take the nipple clamps. She watches me nervously, but she doesn't protest as I slip the little rings down the tweezer ends and open the silver clips.

"Sit up," I tell her.

"Rob, wait. Do you have to?"

"Sit up."

She does as I say and I kneel with one leg on the bed. Her hair is piled in back of her head and held with pins but I can still grab enough to tilt her face back for my kiss, and my kiss is searching, cautious, making sure she's still at that high level of excitement I want her at. She is. She's frightened, but her tongue is eager too, and tells me she's ready for this but I have to hurry, to catch her at this peak of surrender.

I place the legs of one clamp around her nipple and slide the little ring up, tightening the legs. Higher, and the higher it goes the tighter the clip grasps the excited little bud. She watches, frowning, but fascinated as the little arms close on her flesh, squeezing her, until she makes a little sound, a whimper of discomfort. I make it just a little tighter and there I stop.

I do the same with the other clamp, and when I'm finished her breasts are connected by a silver chain that glimmers in the dim light of the room. There's the symbolism of the chain against her naked skin, the sight of the token cruelty of the hard and unforgiving metal on the softness of her flesh, hard like the urgency of my desire. There's the weight of the dangling chain pulling gently at her breasts, like a constant reminder to her of her own femininity.

I sit behind her and pull the pins from her hair. I seek them out and pull them free one by one, until her hair falls down around her shoulders. I gather it up in my hands and use it to pull her back against me, pull her back and turn her face to me so I can kiss her, licking her lips, biting her gently. I can't keep my other hand from coming around and finding the chain. I pull it slightly, distending her nipples and making her gasp. I control her tits, just like I control the rest of her. She's my slave for the night.

"Lie back now," I say, and I arrange the pillows for her.

Then I'm off the bed. I lie her down, take the waistband of her panties in my hands and tug them down. She lifts her hips to help me, fearful that I'll rip them in my excitement. By the time they're down to her thighs they've rolled into no more than a thin band of fabric, and I tug them off and throw them on a chair.

There's no way she can hide now, and nothing she can do but lie there clad only in her stockings and shoes, the silver chain puddled between her breasts.

I kiss the dome of her shoulder, the soft hillocks of her breasts, my hand tracing down the valley of her stomach, the well of her navel. She's shaved for me. She's as bare and naked as a child, innocent, with no secrets. I feel the rawness of where she's shaved, like a baby's face with the beginning of a five-o'clock shadow. It couldn't have been easy for her, but she did it for me.

Then my lips are following my fingers down her body, my mouth open like the mouth of a starving man so I can feel her skin rub against my lips as I go. I don't stand on ceremony and I don't tease. I want her in my mouth. I want the softness of her sex, all that sensitivity and excitement. I want to drive her wild, and more than that, I want to satisfy this carnal craving for her I can feel like an ache in my mouth. My lips slide over her shaved mound and close wetly over her slit.

She jerks in the bed, her hips thrusting up at me in reflex as she arches off the bed with a sudden, unexpected gasp of need. I grab her ankles in my hands and push her legs up, knees to her chest, exposing her before she can think to deny me. I use my tongue on her, my lips capturing her slick labia, my tongue plowing through her unresisting flesh. It's so sweet the way a woman gets excited: how she gets softer and swollen, wet and pink with suffused blood. The sheer tactile pleasure of her beneath my lips and tongue inflames me and makes me groan out loud.

I sink into the pleasure of her body. All the tying and grabbing and forcing is done, all to bring us to this moment. I've had to bind her, not only for the sight of her helplessness, but to keep her from interfering with my own enjoyment of her body. If her hands were free she'd be caressing me in return, trying to reciprocate the pleasure, and I don't want that. She's here to witness what I feel for her, to see what she does to me. She's here to be used for my pleasure.

"Oh God, Rob! Stop!"

"What?" I snarl with impatience, pulling my face from her, yet still holding onto her ankles. I'm like an animal interrupted during its feeding, strands of her thick secretions wetting my moustache and lips. I look down at my victim; see her pussy twitching convulsively like a lover's lips, inviting me back.

"What do you mean stop? I don't want to stop! I want you to come. I want you to come in my mouth. I want you to fill me with your hot come and let it splash over my face, you little whore! I want everything from you, Ashley! I want to fuck your pussy and fuck your mouth. I want to shove my cock into your ass and come all over your tits. I want everything you've got!"

She's dripping wet now and there's no hiding the fact, wet with my saliva and her own lubrications, and she's moaning and whimpering at the spectacle I'm making of myself between her legs. My lust crashes against her like waves against some rocky shore and with each crash I seem to drive her back, drive her deeper into her own desires, where she doesn't want to go. I know it's lewd what I'm doing to her, almost degrading, but she knows that her salvation lies in this kind of degradation, and even as she tries to resist and deny what's happening to her, she can't keep her hips from lifting up blindly to my mouth. She is a whore and I've made her that way, and her fingers twist helplessly behind her back in abject helplessness, trying to gain a purchase in the rumpled bed cover, as if she could pull herself free of my desire for her.

She's close to orgasm and trembling, already hanging on the edge of complete surrender, afraid to let go, afraid to give up her last shred of pride and come like a slut in my brutal mouth. But I won't let her get away. Tonight she's going to let go. Tonight everything she has, everything she is, belongs to me. I let go of her legs and crawl on top of her, kissing her, licking her, feeling her move against me. She's trembling and she turns her face away, trying to hide her shame from me, searching for breath and trying to regain some composure, but I won't let her do that either.

I pull her face to me and kiss her savagely, showing her how much I need her, letting it all out. I stretch out on top of her and feel the soft warmth of her body heaving beneath me. She's trying to get into position, even as she tries to control her urges her pussy's reaching for me, trying to pull me inside. The hard clips on her nipples press into my chest as I work my knees between her slick, stockinged thighs, pushing her legs apart, opening her up. The head of my cock finds the soft wetness in the dripping swamp between her legs.

Her eyes are clenched in denial at her own shamelessness as her body reaches for me, arching off the bed, her legs apart, searching for me. Helpless, her hands tied, her body still seeks me out, and I know that no matter what I do to her now or how I treat her, she will still seek me out. She's at the point where she'll endure anything for me now. Everything feels good.

It inflames me. Her beauty and her surrender and her eagerness to give herself make me dizzy with lust and I groan loudly as I enter her and feel her hot flesh yield before me, feel her hips drive up to meet me in her own impatient hunger. We're desperate for each other now with a desire that feels like anguish, and her body is all the answer I need. In her softness and her eagerness I can feel her need to be crushed by my desire, to be possessed, to let me enfold her in my lust for her and carry her away.

But for all that she fucks beautifully, automatically, like an animal, shoving herself hard up around me, urging me to stretch her open and make a place for myself inside her. For all her mildness and placid beauty and the demureness of the stockings on her legs, she fucks like me like a wild woman, as if she's no longer herself; and that's just what I want. It's the excitement of the game, and the cuffs on her wrists, the feeling of being captured and compelled, as if I'm forcing her to act this way, are all part of it. The bindings on her arms hold her wrists in an implacable embrace and dare her to try her strength against them, and they set her free. They hold her prisoner like my lust holds her prisoner, and there's no way out except this way, by giving herself, by opening herself up to the plundering invader between her thighs.

Her head's thrown to the side, her hair stuck to her sweating face, The tendons in her neck stand out as she gasps for air to fuel the fire raging inside. My hands are on her breasts and I can feel them flex as she strains against the leather cuffs. My thumbs play with the metal clips that hold her nipples prisoner, sending shards of delicious pain through her body. She's everything I knew she would be, everything I brought her here for: a sexual animal, fighting me even as she gives herself; fighting as we both fight: to be the last one to go, to be the last one to be overcome by the tidal wave of orgasm that's building over us even now.

I plunge my cock into her, stabbing hard and deep again and again, driving her ass down into the mattress, fucking her with all the strength in my body. I hold her buttocks in my wide-spread fingers, find her rectum with my little finger and enter her there too. She cries out and drives her pussy up onto me, trying to escape the lewd invasion, but I keep after her, sinking in to the first knuckle, then the second, twisting around until I can feel my hard cock on the other side of her fleshy barrier, feel the way my prick fills her and then recedes, again and again, like a piston working in a pump.

She wraps her legs around me and tries to hold me still, tries to quell the raging fire of pleasure in her loins, but her strength is no match for my desire, and my ass continues to rise and fall, knocking the breath from her body and making the clips tremble on her tits. I duck my head and grab the chain between my teeth, raise my head like a horse with a bridle between its teeth, pulling on her sensitive nipples. Ashley cries out again and arches her back trying to ease the delicious pain, but she soon gives up. She's overwhelmed by sensation. All she can do is lie there and take it, all the punishment and love I'm forcing on her.

I'm close; I have to stop, slow down. I rear up on my knees, looming over her as if in triumph, though she's the one who's brought me to this state of being barely able to hold onto my ejaculation. From here I can look down at the landscape of her body, her curves, the rolling sinuosities of her womanly form. My eyes are drawn to her pussy, where my cock is poised half in, half out, a cruel invader, wet with her juice. Her clit is so engorged that it sticks out like a little tongue and licks along the top of my prick as I slide slowly in and out of her, idling, waiting for her to catch up with me. I want her with me when I go. I want us to be in the same place at the same time.

I reach down and touch her cunt, spread her apart and slide my fingers against the greasy wetness of her clit. I swear I can feel it pulse with eagerness against my fingers, and the sensation of being touched there is too much for her. She jerks as if punched in the stomach. She ties to say something, tries to give voice to her emotions, but she has no breath. She doesn't have to say anything. I can already see that she's starting to come: an avalanche of pleasure is sliding down upon her, and she's powerless to resist. I can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath me, the way she starts to shudder. I can see the sudden surprise in her face and the look in her eyes is almost fearful. She doesn't want to go there, not alone, but I'm there too, and I tell her.

"Do it, Ashley! Get it! Come for me, baby. I'm gonna come, I'm going to make it too! Here it is baby, here it is…"

Her climax is my signal to let go. Let go of everything. I fall forward on top of her, close my eyes, and give myself over to my sexual instincts. My hips slam at her cruelly, painfully, and if she weren't so far gone into her own pleasure I'd be hurting her, filling her senses with me, driving everything else from her mind except me, my cock inside her, my explosion.

I grab the cheeks of her ass in my hands, pull her tight against me, drive as deep as I can. I can and feel her squeezing me with a force beyond her conscious control, her very body telling me: now, now, come in me now, and this evidence of her final surrender is the last thing I need to send me over the edge.

My come boils up, comes hurtling up from some place deep within but always right below the surface with her, always there, always ready for her. I burst inside her in an explosion of ecstasy, splattering her insides with my hot come, jetting my release in thick, hot streams into the secret depths of her body. The tension pours out of me in waves of shuddering pleasure, and in my mind's eye I can see my cock inside her, spurting into her darkness, coating her very insides with all my hot male essence. It's pure ecstasy to empty myself into her, turning all my anguished desire into hot, blinding pleasure; all the savagery and rage to own her pouring out of me in shuddering release, a blinding joy, a spiritual fusion.

Beneath me Ashley quivers like a bowstring. I hear her cry out with each hot blast of my semen into her ravaged depths; hear her give up all pretense of resistance at last. Her orgasm overwhelms her, sends her over the edge falling into her slutty animal pleasure: the sobs and moans of a well-fucked human female taking her selfish reward.

So much come. So much that I feel it seep around the tight plug of my cock, feel it trickling down to where my finger is still pushed into her defenseless anus, coating my finger with the thick, viscous heat, and still my cock jumps inside her, spitting out the last of my load, the shuddering last final drops.

I pull my deflating prick from her, reluctantly, trailing strings of commingled fluids, my semen and her lubricious oils. I roll off her and lie there, watching the pulse hammering in her throat, watching her tongue come out to moisten her parched lips, seeing her very aliveness. She doesn't look that much different from me: two arms, two legs, two eyes, a mouth. But in those subtle differences—the swell of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the softness of her features—what a world of difference there is to make me feel the things she makes me feel.

I'll unclip her wrists and take her in my arms, calm her down, tell her all the things she made me feel. But then when she's recovered, when we've both recovered, I know there's more to come. There's always more to come with her. It's a hunger that can be appeased but never satisfied. It never ends

It never ends.