surrender

nsfw

I am sitting right in front of his desk, blindfolded and gagged. I can hear him dragging his expensive pen across paper. His eyes are on my exposed breasts. I know this because I can feel them; I know how his stare feels: heavy and imposing, though not intrusive.

A drop of my saliva falls on my right nipple. His office is very cold, so the contrast of its warmth sends chills down my body. I lean forward on my seat just a little, trying to put pressure on my clit to find even the tiniest bit of relief. I can feel the small puddle growing on the leather seat.

“I told you not to move,” I straighten up, waiting for the punishment that he won’t give me; he knows I enjoy it too much.

I want to whine. The desire I have to have him inside of me is almost unbearable. I hope that when he’s done, he orders me to ride his thigh. I haven’t told him because I don’t want him to deprive me of it, but I almost adore riding his thighs. I love the feeling of their hair tangling under me.

I hear his chair drag. I smile with anticipation. I need my nipples in between his teeth. The thought of it alone is almost enough to make me cum all over this chair.

“I love seeing you like this,” he whispers in my ear without touching it, and I try my hardest not to move.

I can’t reply, but he’s fluent—an expert, if I may say so—when it comes to my body. He knows just how much I crave his skin on mine.

We haven’t known each other for long, but he’s the only person I’ve been able to open up about my desire to surrender control completely. I naturally have a dominant personality—or maybe I just developed one because I’ve had to—, which, for some reason, translates to me being incredibly submissive in bed. Willingly and consensually giving up control this way is the only way I can let go.

And this? This is exactly what I need.

It keeps me in the moment. It erases everything in my life without me having to disassociate. I focus on everything I’m feeling and on everything happening around me because I want to be here.

When I first met him in that hotel bar in San Juan, all it took was for him to grab me gently when I stumbled after getting down from the bar stool next to his. I was the tiniest bit drunk.

For a man to be that gentle while still maintaining strength, he has to know exactly how to break a woman while leaving her intact.

That night, he fucked me exactly how I’ve needed to be fucked my entire life, and he hasn’t stopped since.

I feel his pen on my inner thigh, urging me to open my legs. The sound of him putting the cap in between his teeth excites me. I can picture it.

The tip of the pen starts gliding on my thigh, making me shake, almost crying out of pleasure. I can almost hear his smile.

He is writing his name on my skin.

I moan at the thought of it.

“I want you to care for this. You are not to wash this area roughly. I want you to look at my name and remember what I did to you until we see each other again next week. Are we clear?” I nod excitedly. “Good girl.”

I love it when he calls me that. Every time he does it, it’s like my ears are directly connected to my pussy, and I can’t help but leak.

A tear rolls down my cheek. That’s his cue to remove the gag; my jaw is starting to hurt. He does it carefully so as not to let my lips get caught between the gag and the straps. Two of his fingers slide into my mouth, and I instinctively close my thick lips around them, licking right where his fingers meet. I hear him sigh, and I desperately want him to touch me.

He doesn’t pull his fingers away. Instead, he hooks them slightly, shifting his weight so I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Do you feel that?” his voice drops an octave, drowning out every other sound. He’s everything to me right now. “The weight of every single letter?” I nod again, my chest heavy with lust. “Every time your thighs rub against each other this week, you’ll think of the ink between them. When you’re sitting in a meeting, when you speak, when you’re being exactly who the world expects you to be, you’ll think of this exact moment, and remember that you belong to me.”

The blindfold makes his breathing roar in my ears. I hear the cap on the pen click shut and hit the mahogany desk with a dull thud. I want him to throw me and bend me over it, but if I ask for it, I won’t have it.

“Tell me,” he whispers, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip, “what is it you’re craving most right now?”

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