Friday, 5 November 2010

Waiting (500 words)

She holds the pose, standing with ankles slightly apart, bent at the waist, spine inclined so that her shoulders are lower than her buttocks. Her forearms rest on the back of the low modern seat. She looks straight ahead, eyes focused into the far distance, into her own needs and cravings.

Nothing – except her own intention and desire – binds or restrains her in any way.

She is waiting for what is to come.

Her body is not quiet. It sings in time with her rising pulse. She feels the leather of the chair under her arms, her hair falling from her shoulders. Her breasts hang pendulous; they should be rubbing insistently against something, yet brush feather-lightl against the fabric of her bra. She feels the way her hips want to move, the stretch in the backs of thighs, the way her heels want to drum against the floor. She feels cool air on her pussy, since her skirt and somewhat expensive briefs, the kind where you pay for the cut, for how little material is in them, are on the other side of the room.

Her head is not quiet.

Why am I doing this? Posing like a naughty schoolgirl. I need to be punished. I’m strange. Yet so many women like it. I get through the pain it turns to pleasure. I know this. I trust him. I think! But he’s a bastard he’s making me wait. He’s playing me. He knows I’m getting juicier. I’m getting juicier. I’m getting… my own body’s betraying me. All the wrong instincts… but it’s not like there’s some weird childhood trauma. I don’t know what makes me do this. What makes me…? I need to be punished. Like a naughty schoolgirl. Innocent. Juicy. Please, now

One heel kicks petulantly against the floor. Ass wriggles, a display of impatience. Impertinence. Anticipation.

He’ll fuck me afterwards. In this position? Only if I stay quiet don’t yelp that’s the real punishment the wanting to be fucked. I have to stay in control stay quiet maybe he’ll make me suck him first that would be good.

A minute. Two. Pulse racing. Takes every nerve to look straight ahead, not turn round. Her entire body bones veins nerves flooded with the prickly heat of sex, the hard-to-ignore visceral gnawing of sex, a feeling of being eaten from the inside.

I’m a bad filthy-minded slut. Nasty guilty twisted fantasy. Fetish about a time before I had my first fuck. About being in someone else’s control and being made to suffer ecstacy. It wouldn’t have made any sense then. Still doesn’t, but I want it–


Shit that stings.

She moves position slightly, in readiness for the next one. Exhales so as not to yelp when it comes. Pleasure extends like a snake uncoiling the length of her spine from pussy to brain. The familiar, strange reaction. The desire for hurt because it makes her feel pleasure.

Please he’ll make me come so so so hard…

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