It is all very simple, a well-rehearsed dance by now. I enter, we fuck in a manner of his choosing, we drink a cup of tea and I leave. He’s much taller than me, and when he greets me at the door with a kiss on the cheek I have to stand on my toes to reach him, which sets the tone for the rest of the evening- he is very much in charge, and I am his to be used.
But this time I feel a little different. My confidence is higher than usual, and I feel ready to explore something slightly different. I don’t rise to greet him, instead I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him down to my level. I kiss him, like we did on the first night we met, deep and hazy drunk on beer and table tennis next to the canal. I hook my fingers behind his belt and lead him towards his sofa, pushing him down and return to stand in front of him. I’m used to being ordered to strip before we fuck, and I hastily oblige, excited for the promises of what is to come. However this time I wanted it to be slow, and on my terms.
He’s quiet, and I can see him working out what is happening- the cogs in his brain turning and waiting for more clues. I slowly remove each individual piece of clothing in front of him, rewarded by his smiles and nods of approval, and drop them to the floor. Except my pants, which I take in my hands, roll into a ball and stuff into his mouth. I kiss him on the cheek, undo his belt and shift his trousers and underwear down just slightly- enough for his cock to escape.
After I place my legs either side of him, straddling him on his sofa, I instruct him to touch my nipples. He knows how much I enjoy this, but usually I get little say in the when and how this happens. I start to grind against his cock, rubbing my clit against him as he hardens. I moan as he pinches me, and matched with the stimulation of my clit, I start to get wetter.
I return to stand in front of him, and I watch his cock twitch. He moves his hand to touch it, and I move it back to his side.
‘Don’t you dare touch yourself’ I remain calm, but keep my voice strong, as I look him directly in the eyes.‘You can touch yourself when I allow you to.’
His moan of frustration through the pants in his mouth is delicious, and I part my legs. I don’t take my eyes off him as I stand before him and I lick my fingers and begin to play with my clit. One hand rubs whilst the other pinches my nipples. He doesn’t move his hands but I notice him starting to shift his hips upwards. I bite my lip as I feel myself getting closer and closer. I want him to watch me orgasm, powerless and unable to contribute. Not denying me, or forcing me, or edging me. But then I remember how much I fucking love that, and I watch his left hand twitch, desperate to play with his cock. And fuck, I want those hands on me. I want him to hit me. I want him to fuck me with his fingers whilst he holds a doxy on my clit and tells me I am not allowed to fucking come.
And I cave. I turn around and touch my toes, peering around to look him in the eye.
‘You may move now, I’m yours.’
Written as part of Smutathon 2018– a fundraiser for Abortion Support Network. Donate below, enter the raffle and follow the conversation on Twitter under the hashtags #Smutathon2018 and #SmutForChoice.