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You can’t recall precisely when desire, domination and depravity became one for you. Only that it’s always been this way. They’ve always been merged. Intertwined. Like strands of DNA. Your heart is capable of tenderness so delicate in its purity that it stands as a juxtaposition to your desire, urge, to express said tenderness in this way.
The first time that you explained this to Jianna, one gloved hand on her cheek, the other tenderly caressing her neck, you saw a flash of fear in her eyes and immediately backed down.
Brenda is different.
She doesn’t back down. Doesn’t let you go. Her long, bronzed arms stay wrapped around you (though her fingers itch for a post-fuck cigarette) as she patiently listens. She has the courage to look you in the eyes. To take in every depraved thing you want to share with her. To do to her. You wait, heart hammering in fear, to absorb her shock. Her denial. Her disgust. But she gives you none of these things. Instead, she utters a single syllable.
“Sure.”
“S…sure?” you repeat. Ironically, you’re unsure of what you’ve just heard.
“Yeah. Sure. Do I getta safe word or something? Ah, no that won’t work. I guess I’ll tap you on the shoulder if it’s too much?” Brenda wonders.
You wrap your arms around her thick middle more firmly. Bury your face in her plump breasts. Exhale an emotion you’ve not dared to vocalize for any woman in decades.
Brenda rubs your back. Kisses the top of your head. “Wanna give it a go now?” she suggests. Suddenly her craving for a post-fuck smoke is gone. Replaced by the thrill of getting fucked hard and fast once again.
“You’re not serious,” you drawl against a tit. It’s covered in bite marks from where you were gnawing on it just moments ago.
“Sure am. Go on,” she goads. And you feel her wriggle under you. Your thigh slips between her legs and you feel her cunt getting hot and wet again. Her nipple hardens. “You know where my piece is. Go get it. I want you to fuck me with it.”
You scrape your teeth across her breasts again. Your clit pulses over her crude instructions. Your back arches ever so slightly and your own nipples tighten.
And of course, she notices it all.
“Are you wet for me, Joan?” she husks. Her voice is so irresistible it almost makes you reconsider your stance on smoking. Almost.
“You know that I am,” you gasp. Each day in her presence you blossom. She emboldens you to embrace your desires, your urges. She is your saviour. Your lover. And you love her.
You dare to hope that someday, she might embolden you enough to tell her.
Brenda’s hands land on your arse. She encourages the soft grinding of your hips. Those thick, wonderful fingers of hers dig into your flesh and spur you on.
“That’s it, love. Slide that pretty pussy of yours all over my leg,” she growls. “And tell me again. What it is that you wanna do to me.”
“I want,” you moan.
“Yeah?” Her wrists snap and blows land on both of your arsecheeks.
“I want,” you gasp, nostrils flaring, “to fuck you. To pin you down. Fuck you hard.”
“And is that all my dirty girl wants?” Brenda taunts. She tilts her chin up and offers herself up to you.
“No.”
Brenda licks her lips. Her green eyes are nearly black with lust. “Tell me,” she commands.
“I want to throttle you. I want to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze as hard as you will let me. Fuck you with your own toy while I do it!” you snarl. You rub yourself against Brenda’s thigh. And your clit is so hard that you wonder if you’re leaving scratch marks against Brenda’s beautiful skin.
“Go on, then. Fuck me,” Brenda moans. Her eyes flicker to the dresser next to the bed in an invitation.
It takes every ounce of your self-control to peel yourself away from her and yank her drawer open.
“Fuck, Joan. Your hips were made for that,” she sighs as you wrestle with getting the straps over your much wider hips. “I wanna take a picture of you wearing that,” she growls as she reaches a hand between her legs and starts unabashedly rubbing her clit while staring at you. “A polaroid. Something I can keep in my wallet.”
“I’m sure that your memory will suffice.”
“And if it doesn’t? If I smack my head or something and forget how fucking hot you look?” Brenda pouts at you in that way that indicates she’s only half-serious.
“Then I’m sure that you’ll quickly recall. Seeing as I live here. With you.”
“Fucking right ya do,” she chuckles. A lazy grin curls across her face as you adjust the straps over the swell of your arse. She rubs herself a little harder and you can hear her fingers whirling around in her own wetness.
You slap her hand away and mount the space between her long legs. She lifts them up onto your hips, crosses her ankles at your mid-back. One of your hands pins her dominant hand above her head, you allow her to rest the other by her side. Your other hand caresses her perfectly symmetrical face.
“Kinda wish you still had your gloves,” she teases.
“I don’t,” you whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because I wish to feel you. All of you.” Her skin demands to be felt. Touched. Caressed. Tasted. You think it a sin to even consider shielding yourself from it.
“You say the most poetic things while my legs are spread for you.”
And you both share a soft chuckle, because it’s true. When she parts herself for you, welcomes you into the sacredness of her womanhood, you are transformed.
“You will tell me if it’s too much?”
Brenda tugs on the leather strap nearest to her free hand and lets it snap back against your hip. “That’ll be my signal if I want you to stop. Or, you know, if my face goes purple before I can do that, take that as your cue,” she snickers.
You’re so tempted to roll your eyes at her. But the fear is very real. If she died at your hands, you could never forgive yourself.
“Enough of that. My cunt’s empty and waiting to be fucked,” she crassly barks up at you. “Put that where it belongs,” she says as she wiggles her hips enough to catch the tip of her toy against her curls.
You lean your full weight down on her, allowing the thick, textured shaft to rub against her sticky frills. Your hand caresses her chin, your thumb circles her mole. The imperfection which you’ve come to find perfect. You move your hand lower until you are stroking her neck. That sensual column which is so often obscured by her wild curls.
“Oh fuuuuuck. I need it, you bloody tease!” she gasps as the ridges on her toy grind into her diamond-hard clit.
You rub your lips against her cheek as you flatten your hand across her throat. “Put it where you want it,” you hiss as you still your hips. Her free hand frantically wedges in between your bodies to grasp the sticky shaft and align it with her entrance. You sink into her with one thrust and she cries out her delight. You feel the vibrations against your palm. Her desire tickles the lines that intersect the flesh there, seeping right into your very soul.
“Are you ready?” you ask.
“Go on. Fucking throttle me, Joan,” she dares.
You piston your hips. Drive the shaft of her ridiculously bright fucking blue toy into her wet cunt. Feel the heat rising in her cheek against your lips. Hear the sound of her dripping pussy welcoming each powerful thrust of your hips. And so you press harder. Until your fingers start to curl around her gorgeous neck.
She tries to vocalize her pleasure, but you’re gripping her so tight now that all she can muster is a croak. You watch the colour in her face very carefully. And tighten your fingers again.
Her eyes are wide. They find yours. And in them, you see the euphoric mixture of pleasure, pain, wonder, and fear. Her eyes, so green and sparkling, are a galaxy of emotion. And the harder that you choke her, the more potent that emotion is in her eyes. You find yourself wanting to drown in it. To abandon the darkness that plagues your own soul and dive into the kaleidoscope of feeling that she seems to so effortlessly carry in her.
Your hips slap against her own. And you snarl as your wider, larger hips overpower her much slighter frame. You feel it; that seldom indulged desire. The hedonistic pleasure of your darkest, more depraved urges. Her face is red now, her eyes are tearing. The force of your thrusts and grip on her neck has her pinned to the bed, sending her slightly belly and full breasts jiggling between your pitoning hips.
“You are so beautiful like this,” you whisper.
She lets out a gurgling sound in response. It makes you wet.
“At my disposal. In total submission to my every want,” you hiss as you angle your hips so that the toy is hitting her right where she needs it the most. “The first day that I met you, I wanted to do this. Your hair was pulled back and I could see your neck. I saw the mole just below your ear. I wanted to wrap my hands around you and squeeze until your lovely skin turned purple beneath my fingers.”
Hot tears stream down her face. Her full lips begin to form an ‘o.’
“I wanted to throw you to the floor of the brawler. Lift your skirt. And feel just how wet your cunt was for me. You would have let me, wouldn’t you? I could smell how aroused you were. You never could hide it from me. You would have let me fuck you in the back of that brawler. One hand wrapped around your throat. The other buried in your cunt,” you hiss.
A whimpering sound leaves her lips. You rut against her as hard as you can, throw everything behind your thrusts until you feel her whole body convulse. Her back arches off the bed despite your firm hold on her. And she thrashes around, ripping through each pleasurable spasm.
You drop the hand at her throat and she lets out a heaving gasp. It sounds like your name. You bury your face in the side of her neck and keep fucking her. You’re grateful for her tears because they disguise your own as you feel your own cunt explode; the suction cup of the toy rubbing your clit until you collapse on top of her.
Her hands smooth up and down your back. Gently playing with your hair. Oh, oh. Even when it is you who should be caring for her, she cannot resist taking such good care of you.
You love her.
You force yourself to roll off of her, disrobe, and check her neck.
“S’fine,” she wheezes. “Did you -?”
“Yes.” You curl up against her side again and place a possessive hand over her strumming heart. “Thank you. For letting me -”
She presses her lips to your forehead and rasps, “love you, Joan.”
And you dare to hope that someday, she might embolden you enough to tell her that you love her too.