You're mine

I like to dominate.  I like to be the boss.  I like to call the shots.  I’m a plotter, a schemer, a dreamer and a lover.  I like to push the boundaries, other people’s mostly, make them face things they don’t want to face and help them realise that their lives are a little fuller because of me.  I like to flirt. I like to make people want me.  I like to be the mistress.  I like to be playful and coy.  I appear soft and sweet.  Recently someone compared me to the beach.  When they are on (my) sand they feel warm and safe.  They like the feeling of sand between toes.  They take a little dip in (my) water.  Wade in a little.  The water seems so inviting.  The water seems to beckon them, come in a little deeper.  The waves get bigger, the water is rougher and suddenly they can’t touch the sand anymore.  They thought they were safe, but now they’re at my mercy as I sweep them out beyond their depth.  I have been called bad.  I have been called dangerous.  I may be these.  I don’t really care.  Within this context, what I’m about to say may not make sense.  Today I did things I would never have dreamed of, in a setting that is foreign to me.  Read on.

I was in the supermarket, talking to myself as usual.  I was looking for a particular jar of olives and found it on the top shelf.  I knew I couldn’t reach it myself, so commanded the nearest person, a man a few metres away, to reach it for me.  My brashness combined with cuteness normally gets me everywhere, but this time I was out of luck.  This stranger I had just commanded to do my bidding looked me directly in the eyes and said, “I don’t take orders from anyone.”  Bang.  Instant attraction.  My heart started racing as I thought to myself, game on. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t think I was ordering you.  I was just asking you to complete a simple task.”

He looked at me again, his eyes holding mine.  I felt power in his eyes.  I felt myself melt a little.

“How about you ask me nicely?  And call me sir.”

“Wh-wh-what?  Sir?  You must be joking,” I retorted.

He shrugged and turned to continue.  I began to panic.  This man had something I had never encountered before.  I needed to engage him again.

“Wait. Ok.  Please could you reach the jar of olives for me sir?”  I asked.  It felt odd, but also gave me a rush of blood to my pussy.  Go figure.  Slowly he approached the shelf and reached up for the olives.  He handed them to me, his eyes locked on mine.  Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a business card. He said three words before turning to go. 

“You need me.”

I was both incensed and intrigued with this man.  When he was out of sight I reached for my phone and sent him a text.  It said, “Really?”  I thought it was amusing.  How did I need him?  He got the olives for me.  He’d served his purpose. 

The next day I was working from home when a text came through.  It was from him.  He told me to come to his house in an hour.  I wrote back asking what would happen if I didn’t.  He didn’t reply.  I somehow knew I would go, wanted to go, to see what he wanted, what he was about, maybe even what he could do for me.  I readied myself, thinking I was insane for even considering this, but excited at the prospect.

I arrived at his house with a few minutes to spare.  It was a house with clean lines and a modern feeling to it.  I liked it instantly.  I knocked on the door and waited nervously.  He opened it, dressed in suit pants and a fitted white business shirt.  Pretty snappy for a day at home.  He ushered me in, to the couch, and offered me a drink.  We both drank tea and chatted a little before he cut to the chase.

“You strike me as an intelligent woman.  A woman who is used to getting what they want.  I think this needs to change.  Sometimes the grass really is greener on the other side.  Come sit by me.”  He used a patting motion to show where I would sit.

“Let’s see how well you do following instructions.  Kneel down in front of me.”

I considered telling him to fuck off, but I thought better of it.  I kneeled down, looking up at him.  He stroked my hair and ran his fingers down my neck and shoulders. 

“Good girl.”  Good girl?  What the fuck?  I wasn’t his good girl.  I was bad.  I didn’t follow his rules or any rules for that matter.  I went to get up.

“Stay as you are,” he commanded in a soft, low voice.  Bang.  He had me there.  I wanted to leave but I wanted to stay more.  I felt my pussy become slippery as I kneeled back on my heels. 

“Pull your pants down.  I want to inspect you.”  My pussy twitched in response.  I did as he asked.  He gestured for me to lie across his lap.  His hand was between my legs, spreading me, probing me.  I felt a mixture of humiliation and desire. 

“You’re very wet,” he said.  “I think you might be a little slut.”  I started to laugh until crack! the sting of his hand on my arse stopped the laughter in its tracks. 

“Ow, that hurt!” I complained.  Crack! His hand came down again.  Again and again.  The pain did something.  The pain stopped being pain and took me into a space so delicious I forgot where I was.  I felt fingers probing again, my juice used to lubricate my clit as he rubbed it skillfully.  I was still over his lap.  I had no access to him, nothing to see, only the feeling of my burning arse and his fingers on me and in me.  I was not in charge.  I was not calling the shots. 

“Come for me my slut.  I know you want to.”

I bucked hard against him and the orgasm wracked my body.  It took me in waves until I was left a mess of tangled hair and sweat.  I got up and sat down, looking at him.  He smiled.

“Welcome to my world,” he said.  “In my world, you are mine.”

Jeans

Do I like jeans?  Not really.  They aren't that comfortable and aren't that flattering.  There is something I do love about wearing jeans - leather belts.  I own two, just two belts.  A brown and a black.  Both are chunky, heavily buckled.  The black one has rows of flat studs all over it.  The brown one has a gold chain running through the centre.  Both have an industrial-come-rock chick feel to them.  Jeans.  Meh.  Belts.  Yes.  I've been waiting, ever so patiently, for someone to unbuckle my belt and pull it from the loops of my jeans.  Fast, so it makes a swishing sound as it snakes out of the belt loops.  Or slow, gently tugging the belt from its haven.  Then what?  Buckle in hand, a few loops around the fist, then across my bare arse.  Leave me some stripes if you dare...

Eat

I hadn't seen him in years.  Decades.  The taxi was coming by in ten minutes and I still wasn't ready.  It didn't help that I had only just got out of the shower.  Dressing up and looking glamorous was never one of my strong points.  I preferred to just look natural, but I guessed a little makeup wouldn't go astray.  I chose a fairly plain dress teamed with boots.  I snuck some thigh high stockings on, just for a twist of adventure.  I had never been to this restaurant before but I knew it was a pretty casual funky sort of place.  I was hoping to look stylish yet understated.  As I looked in the mirror at my reflection, I felt like I was failing miserably.  Time was up.  As I made it to the front door, grabbing keys and throwing on some lip gloss, the taxi pulled up in my driveway.  A rush of nerves took me by surprise.  Why should I be so nervous?  It had been 15 years since I had seen him and there were no expectations.  I approached the taxi, realising he would get a good look of me well before I caught a glimpse of him.  I tried to walk gracefully but grace was never a strong point of mine either.  I ducked down to get in the back seat, and our eyes met for the first time in forever.  The connection was instant.

"Hi" I said nervously.
"Hello" he replied.  He leaned across and kissed me on the cheek, and while he was there I took the chance to inhale him.  I have a thing about smells.  Names dessert me, faces fade but someone's scent stays with me for a long time.  He smelled good.  More than good.  He smelled completely edible.  I found myself wanting to be close to him already.  Not a good start.  We sat in silence as the taxi took us to our restaurant.  The tension was palpable.  There was a static in the air just being in his presence.  I wondered if he felt it too. 

Finally we arrived and walked through the front door together, making small talk, laughing a little and both wondering what the evening had in store.  A few drinks later, we relaxed into an easy banter and started to open up to each other.  We talked about school, about old times, our lives and the paths we had chosen.  I felt so comfortable with him I started to touch his arm as we joked, feeling the spark as my skin touched his.  Did he feel it?  Did he realise how being near him affected me so? 

Time flew.  Before we knew it we were finishing off our drinks, laughing a lot and paying the bill.  Outside it had started to rain.  As we walked out he looped his hand in mine and I smiled my approval at him.  We walked in silence for a while under the awnings of shops before he stopped and turned towards me.  He tilted my chin up to him and kissed me gently.  Just lips at first, soft and warm.  Then came his tongue, darting between parted lips.  I let out a gasp as I began to feel my body respond to his mouth and tongue, his hands in my hair.  He pulled back and looked at me quizzically.  I just smiled and shrugged, unwilling and unable to hide my desire.  As if reading my mind, he took my hand again and started walking.  We came to a narrow alleyway, and without hesitation, he lead me into the alley.  Water dripped from a leaky gutter high above us and he pushed me into the stream of water.  I gasped again as my body felt the ice cold sensation of water running over my dress, down my cleavage and down my legs.  I arched a little as I began to enjoy the water on me.  His hand came to my breast and traced its outline as the water ran down me.  He started to unbutton me from the top down, exposing my bra, my breasts and cold erect nipples.  Through my bra he took a nipple between his fingers and gently squeezed.  I arched again, willing him to touch me more.  My dress slipped down, leaving me in underwear, stocking and boots.  He seemed to approve as his hands explored my body, slippery with water.  He moved in closer to me and I clawed at his shirt, desperate for skin to skin contact.  We kissed hard, both panting and full of desire.  His hand slipped down my panties, bringing with it cold water to mix with the warmth of my pussy.  The sensation of cold and warm made me draw my breath in sharply.  His fingers found me, teasing and sliding, rubbing as I ground against his hand, needing more contact, more purpose to his touch.  He smirked.  He knew he had me.  He got to his knees and spread me wider, his tongue finding my clit in teasing circles.  I groaned with pleasure, watching him work between my legs as water came down over both of us.  I came as he squeezed my clit between his lips, my voice hoarse and desperate.  He stood up and kissed me fully, letting me taste myself as his tongue lingered on mine.  We smiled and dressed again, walking hand in hand to the taxi stand hoping someone would take us in our saturated state.  The night was young and there was a lot of catching up to do.

The Gig

I’d been drinking since lunch. I knew I had to go to the concert with her. I mean I wanted to go but lately, hanging out with the ex wasn’t exactly how I wanted to end up. I needed more. Alcohol was a way of deadening it. Lifting life into a rosier state of mind. It’s all good now and I can cruise.

I had to get changed and was late to meet her and her friends. I hate jeans sometimes. I’d rather wear a suit so settled on my Ben Sherman outfit. God I can be a wanker sometimes. Slacks, shirt, hat and some black leather chucks. Solid. Looking in the mirror I frowned at the sight of my aging face. 40. Sigh.

The band I was looking forward to so I left the house mildly enthused.

A blur of smiles, drinks and my usual inappropriate comments, followed by the occasional frown from the ex, brought me to the gig.

I felt good. ‘Music is my radar’. So in I go mid crowd, rubbing shoulders lightly, feeling the warmth. A plastic cup of beer in each hand.

Support passes and things get a bit tighter in preparation. I see a girl a few rows up. She’s by herself. I stare. Attraction is an unusual thing. How do you spot one person in a crowd? It happens. She’s blonde, not normally my type but there's something about her.

The girls go off to get another drink. Either way I’m on my own so I move forward. Lights dim, queue stage, on they come. I sing, badly and loudly. I love the start, lost in the emotion of the performance.  Emotional as always.

After a few songs I look around. She’s there. A few people away. I stare down finish my beer and look up again. She’s entranced. Lost, intriguing. I see the back of her neck. It’s desirable. I love necks. She looks around and I look down. Hold. I look back up and we are connected. I know her even though we’ve never met. I reach forward. Feel her hand there and we’re on each other. The music surrounds us. Our kissing full and wet. Passionate. She fills my mouth and we parry, dance. On and on.

I grab her ass. And squeeze then move my hand inside. Down the back of her jeans. Feeling her skin. I love the curvature of it, the feeling between, the sweatiness. As I plunge my hand further down and feel her wetness.

I move my hand to the front, there’s hair at the top. Everything else is smooth, wet, slippery. A mixture of sweat and her excitement. My hand rests, firmly. Not moving apart from the swaying of our bodies. We open our eyes and connect again.  ‘Oh God’ is all she says then closes her eyes.  My finger gently massages her clit. A minute later she’s coming. I feel the legs squeeze, her body quiver. She’s good, very good. I lean back and we evaluate each other. I pull my hand up and lace it on the back of her neck. My fingers holding firmly. She breathes in and motions her head towards them. I move my index finger to the corner of her mouth. She breathes in again heavily. And licks the finger.

The concert

She had been looking forward to the concert for weeks.  It was one of her favourite bands and she couldn't wait to get amongst it, to sing with strangers in unison and move to the same beat.  Was it odd that she often masturbated to this music?  Nobody else knew that, and she was quite sure she could control herself at the concert surrounded by thousands of fans.

She spent a long time deciding what she was going to wear.  Sensible shoes were definitely needed.  She was sure she would have her feet stood on and drinks spilled on them, so a pair of ballet flats made the most sense.  Jeans of course were a must, plus a loose fitting t-shirt that dropped off one shoulder at times, leaving her bra strap and shoulder exposed. 

She arrived with plenty of time to go and took her place near the front.  Through the support act the crowd grew.  When it was time for the main act the crowd seemed to take on it's own personality.  It moved and surged as one, and she was carried with it, eager as everyone to see the band.  She didn't have anything to worry about did she?  She could control herself.  This was a big crowd.

The music started.  She was there, in the moment, in the crowd, hands in the air, dancing, singing, loving every moment. Her body started to betray her.  It was used to this music, much quieter, in her room, in her bed, her hands on herself.  She felt the wetness between her legs, her cunt becoming slicker with every song.  She started to become frantic, to wonder if she could just slip her hands into her pants.  Her eyes met with a stranger next to her.  He saw her need, her want.  A simple cock of his head and they were on each other, lips on lips, tongues frantically searching and probing.  With one swift movement, he slipped his hand down the front of her jeans and found her moist pussy as it began consuming his fingers.  He rubbed fiercely on her clit as his tongue forced its way into her mouth.  She was frantic now, the beat taking her higher and higher, his fingers fucking her forcefully.  She came, clamping on his hand, biting his lower lip in ecstasy.  He slid his hand out, caressed her face with her own wetness and went back to the frenzy of the dance.  She stood there, smiling.

Pizza

She picked up the phone. The children were playing in the office. Noisy again. It was him.
'Hi. It's me'
'Oh hello' she said cautiously, that familiar rush coming to her brain and body.  There was silence for a moment.  She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding and breath quickening.  She was unused to any man affecting her this way by merely uttering hello.  She waited for him to speak.
"I hope you are in the kitchen" he said.  "You have the dough ready?"
"Yes" she whispered breathlessly.
"Touch it, knead it, pull it, spread it."
She set the phone in the crook of her neck and began to do as he asked. 
"Now imagine that it your pussy, and I am kneading it, kneading you.  Prying you apart, stretching and squeezing you."
She felt her breath catch in her throat and she uttered 'oh god' to herself, hoping he wouldn't hear, or sense her rising need. 
He spoke again.  "Are you wet?  Does your pussy like what I am doing to it?"
"Yes" she said, "Yes".
"Pinch the dough. Pinch it hard.  That is your clit between my fingers.  I'm squeezing and pinching it and rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger."
She gasped, following his instructions.  Her clit responded on it's own accord, aching and throbbing.  She was close to orgasm, close to surrendering, her belly aching, her pussy twitching. 
"Now" he said, in a low, firm voice, "Now you will come for me.  Come now."
Before he had finished his last word her orgasm took her body in waves, sending her pussy into uncontrollable twitches as she stifled the noise of her climax.  And with that, he promptly hung up, leaving her in the kitchen, weak-kneed, hands deep in pizza dough.