What She Wanted

Part 4 of 8

The house was quiet, dry, warm, yet I still shivered.

Naked, I waited on my hands and knees on a little white rug, head up, eyes forward, unmoving as instructed yet unable to stay still. I watched her from my place on the floor, the reflection of my Goddess in the long dressing mirror in front of me. She lounged behind me on the red leather divan, her eyes and fingers on her laptop, focused on her writing. And yet, I could see her gaze drift back to me, feel it caress my body, crawl slowly up each leg to the glistening folds on display for her, then over my ass and along my spine, tendrils of desire and lust grazing my skin until her eyes met mine, and she smiled.

She smiled. I gushed, my face hot and flushed with lust, a tear sliding down my cheek. I swallowed, my tongue devouring her, my mouth stuffed with that little black silk triangle she’d offered me as a prize. I’d opened willingly, happily.

“Such a good girl, my darling. Such a good girl. And good girls get rewards, don’t they?”

I nodded, although I’d felt like my rewards hadn’t stopped since the moment I’d arrived.

Just seeing her for the first time had been something I’d never imagined possible, so terrifying and wonderful I’d been unable to look up when she’d first appeared. The way she spoke to me, her voice full-bodied and commanding. It surrounded and enveloped me, her words seeping into my pores, firing along every nerve. I was mesmerized by her walk, the way her hips swayed as she traversed the grassy sea to her wooden sanctuary, the way her ass swayed as it peeked out from underneath her soaking wet t-shirt when she’d freed her toes from her galoshes. I’d driven my clit against the heel of her boot for an age, a reward in and of itself, the first touch of my swollen nub in weeks. And then she’d leaned into the rain herself, her brown eyes boring into me, and pressed her lips against mine.

Just a word from her would have made me cum. A syllable. A sound. And yet, she offered only silence, left me crawling after her again through the rain. Another reward. Another pleasure for me, a diabolical and devious one. Self-defeating. Self-denial. Selfless. She understood what I wanted, what I needed, what I offered, and in denying me anything more than that hopeless, helpless grind, rubbing my clit raw against the heel of her discarded boot, she gave me more of a reward than maybe she realized.

Or maybe she understood me perfectly and had chosen to be my fantasy embodied. I glowed inside. My body cold and wet and shivering while a bonfire raged just under my skin, my cunt set aflame by her again and again.

Kneeling on all fours just inside the door, she’d dried me, wiped away the rain and tears with the softest towels I’d ever felt, and yet if they’d been sandpaper, I doubtless wouldn’t have noticed. Her voice in my ear, her lips so close, a momentary brush of her skin against mine, the scent of her perfume, the coffee on her breath. I felt the first sob when she knelt next to me and ran a silver brush through my hair. The tears came hard and fast, my entire body shuddering as she brushed and cooed and brushed and cooed and said things that made my heart leap in my chest, my cunt begin to throb anew, my clit ache. The rewards piled up, one upon the other, until I was beaming, blinking and smiling through the tears at the top of some distant, misty mountain, some high pedestal, a trophy myself for her.

Then, she stood before me, her legs still wet, and I saw her shift and shimmy, until that little black triangle of tantalizing silk appeared before me, sliding over her toes. My breath caught in my throat at what that promised. I watched her ball it up, and then her words poured over me like molten steel. “Open, princess. Your reward for being such a very good girl.”

I opened and inhaled her, stifling a moan.

She left me there on the rug, clean and dry and warm, my hair brushed and curling around my neck and over my shoulder. I stared straight into the mirror, my reflection staring back, a quiet ease in those eyes, and yet a violent lust as I tongued her panties, savored the tease of her perfect cunt. The reflection’s eyes blinked, seemed to roll back in her head as a wave of need washed over her. The girl in the mirror shuddered, moaned, I watched her nipples harden and wished I could reach out and touch them, tug and pull on them. It’s what she needed. Clamps, weights, the sting of a crop. I couldn’t see past the face staring back at me, but I knew her cunt was throbbing, pulsing as the taste of her Goddess filled her mouth. I knew what she needed, what she craved. The cane on her ass, a hard slap of her pussy, the feel of thick cock deep inside her, her pussy empty and clenching around nothing but need, the orgasm building and building and building and then denied. An icy tone, harsh words that commanded and admonished and told her a tale of denial and surrender that she’d told herself so many times before.

And then my Goddess was back, and the girl in the mirror was gone. There was nothing there except the Goddess, naked on the divan, her legs tucked under her, laptop atop a plush pillow, her eyes everywhere but on the girl in the mirror. She stroked the keys, her fingers playing over the touchpad, a faraway look in her eyes as she dreamed her dreams in words that I’d read so often, that I’d waited patiently for day after day. Even when those words weren’t directed at me, every keystroke was a stroke of her fingers on my clit, every word her warm breath over my dripping cunt, each story her tongue between my pouting, swollen lips. Just a tease, again and again and again.

I knelt on the rug and tasted her, inhaled her, worshiped her in the looking glass.

Each time she found me there, each time her gaze met mine, I felt my pussy clench around nothing, my raw clit throbbing, desperate to be touched even when I knew that touching would be painful. My nipples hardened, begging for her mouth, her fingers, whatever she placed there to punish and abuse them. Would she kiss and lick them? Tease or torture them? Clamp, paddle, twist and pull on them? She’d done nothing but kiss me, a brief touch of her lips to mine, and I was in a fog, a hazy existence I’d known something of for some time, but not like this. It had been like a dream that you wake up from and wish you could go back to. But never like this. Never when the actual moment was realized, when the real moment happens and you find yourself defeated and unable to fathom an alternative.

A waking dream. Watching her type, hearing the click of the keys, seeing her body moving as she worked on her next story. Her mouth turned up at the corners, and I couldn’t help but smile myself. She typed, then paused, her fingers drifting away from the keyboard to stroke her nipples. My breathing came hard and heavy when her fingers drifted lower. I couldn’t see her pussy, positioned as I was. I could only watch her face, see her arm moving, hear the catch in her breath, her breasts lifting and falling more rapidly, until she stopped and went back to her keyboard.

Until she set her laptop aside and her eyes found me. A hard glare. I could see the need in her eyes. And something else. Something that terrified and thrilled me.