Some Erotica, Part II

Here is some erotica. It contains some oral sex sort of, rope bondage, some power play, and a little bit of pain. If you don't dislike those things, read on. But please be kind to it. It is the first erotica I ever wrote, so it's a little bit silly.

He grabbed my wrist and flung me across the little room, face down onto the bed. He bent over me, and I could feel his chest pressing me to the covers, his quick breathing on my ear as he held my wrist to the bed post in one hand, using the other to tie it in place. His hands left invisible bruises: the kind you never see, but can feel for weeks after. He tied off the knot and started working on my other hand. I tried to turn over, but the rope had been tied expertly, not tight enough to hurt, but firm. No matter how I struggled the smooth coils would not give an inch.

Something must have gone wrong with the play again. He was a stage manager, and a good one. When he walked into a room everything in it was suddenly under his control. He would glance in, step out, and be able to tell you everything that was there, and where it was, who was talking to whom, what they were doing, everything. He knew what needed to get done on a set, how to get it done, or who to call to do it. People were drawn to him like nails to a magnet. The only thing he didn’t have a firm grip on was his temper. When things were out of his control, which rarely happened, he was upset, he came home looking for something to be firmly in control of.

He put his hands on my waist and pressed against me from behind. I could feel his penis against my thigh. I gasped as he leaned against me. The bed was high, and my toes barely touched the ground. I strained to keep my weight balanced, to keep my feet on the floor. He slid one of his hands up my back and I felt his fingers run through my hair before he grabbed a fist full of it and pulled my head back. He pushed his other hand under my body from my stomach down to between my legs, and pressed a finger against my jeans over my clit. I ached for him already. “Tell me what you want, ” he breathed into my ear as he slid his whole hand between my legs and pressed harder against my jeans, nearly lifting me off of my toes. He knew I hated it when he made me beg. A little moan escaped my lips, but I didn’t say anything. He let go of me and stood up. Cold air washed over my back. He stepped away, and I could hear his footsteps as he paced, but I couldn’t turn to see him. The ropes held me too tight. I wanted him to touch me again. His even footsteps taunted me. “Tell me,” he said again. He stopped and held a hand over the small of my back where my t-shirt didn’t cover, nearly touching me, but not quite. I could feel the warmth of his skin near mine. “Tell me!” He moved it up, trailed a finger over my shirt, up the back of my neck, behind my ear, into my hair again. He pulled it back, and walking around the foot of the bed he entered my field of vision, twisting my hair and pulling it until he was in front of me and there were tears in my eyes from the pain. He let my hair go, and gently lifted my chin. “Tell me,” he said, softly this time.

“No. I hate it when you do this to me.”

“Tie you up?”

“No.”

“Tease you?”

“No.”

“What do you hate then?”

I had fallen for his little trick. Shit. Well this time he won’t get what he wanted. I closed my eyes. He kissed me softly, his head tilted to avoid bumping his chin on the bed. Then harder. “What? What do you hate?” Silence. He pulled away and glared at me. I glared back. He turned away from me and sat on the edge of the bed. I lifted my head, and saw his wrist just in front of my face. He had thrust his hand into his pocket. It created a tiny window with his sleeve cuff. I blew a little stream of air onto his wrist. He turned, and I pushed my toes against the floor, straining to brush my nose against the sleeve of his shirt. He glared again. He was in no mood for nonsense. Neither was I. I gave him a smoldering look. His eyes started to close before he remembered himself and turned away. I heard his breath quicken though. He walked back to the side of the bed and straddled me. His thighs pressed against my waist, and he sat down, pressing my hips into the bed. I moaned a little at the pressure. I felt his muscles tighten as he bent over to untie one of my wrists. When it was done he rolled me over twisting my other arm against the bedpost it was still tied to. He bent over to kiss me, and the pain in my shoulder, or the heat of his lips on mine, on my neck, disarmed me for just a moment. I moaned as his fingers brushed my nipples through my t-shirt, sending aching all the way through my body. My back arched. I wanted to feel his weight on top of me, to push me against the bed, and I gasped when my shoulder felt like it wouldn’t twist any farther. He must have seen the pain on my face, or heard it in my breath, because he immediately slid his hand under the small of my back, lifting my weight off of my shoulder, just before I let our safe word escape my lips. I have never had to say it. He always knows how much I can take, and when to stop.

“What do you want?” he asked again. And immediately I remembered myself. I stiffened and looked away. I reached up with my free hand and ran my fingers up his chest, around his back to the base of his neck. I looked him in the face. I wasn’t in the mood to be bossed around today.

“Untie me.” I commanded, though really I was in no position to command him to do anything. He glared. I ran my hand back down to his shoulder and pulled myself up, a pain shooting through my tied arm as it twisted the other way. I gasped, as my lips brushed his chest. “Untie me,” I said through clenched teeth. “I hate it when you want me to beg. Untie me.” I let my teeth graze his skin, and felt his body relax a little, press into me a little. He gently set me down on the bed. He was as quick to shake off his anger as he was to loose his temper, and must have been glad to know that he didn’t have to make any more decisions for the day. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the knife he always carried, which he flicked open expertly, and used to cut the rope binding my other hand. I pressed my palm to his chest, raising my self on my elbow and pushing him down onto the bed.

I straddled him, as he had done to me, and kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin. He tilted his chin up, trying to put his lips to mine, but I pressed his chest down and he couldn’t reach. I ran my hand over his temple and into the hair at the back of his head, holding him down as I ran the tip of my tongue up the side of his neck, to just behind his ear. I took his earlobe in my teeth for a moment before letting a breath of warm air into his ear. This time it was he who moaned. I moved my mouth back down his neck, sucking until I felt his body arch upward and his head pulling against my hand. I let him up only long enough to take his shirt off, and then pushed him down again, running my nails down his chest, and lowering myself from my knees just enough to feel his cock straining against his pants.

“Please…” he breathed as my hand reached the waist of his pants, I brought one hand down next to the side of his head to support my weight and kissed him hard, smothering his words while the fingers of my other hand undid the button and zipper of his pants. I would have none of this taking nonsense. I didn’t want him to beg like he wanted me to. I pulled away slowly and looked him in the eyes for just a moment. He slid his hands to my hips and pushed me back a little as he sat up. He pulled my t-shirt off and quickly reached behind me unhooking my bra. He kissed my neck, and cradled my breasts in his hands. I trembled as his fingers circled my nipples teasing me. And then his tongue, warm and wet started flicking back and forth over one nipple, then the other. I was breathing hard, my head tipped back, and felt my fingers grasp at his back, my nails scratching him. I could tell he felt them, he pulled me closer to him. He eased me down onto the bed and undid the row of buttons on my jeans, pulled them off and stood up, looking at me in just my underwear.

I blushed, but looked him strait in the eye and sat up. When he came to the edge of the bed I undid the buttons of his shirt. He let it slide to the floor, and this time it was I who looked him over. He was handsome. Deep brown eyes and light brown hair, strong from working at the theater, and slender, as he had always been. I knew that body like I knew my own. I grasped the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of me. He crushed me to him and thrust his tongue into my mouth. My nails dug into his back again. He gasped and then smiled at the pain, pulling one of his arms from around me to slide his hand over my collarbone, my breast, my stomach, and under my under wear. And then he stopped, his hand poised with one finger on my clit, for just a moment.

Slowly he slid his finger inside me. I moaned with aching and pleasure all at once, and just as slowly he pulled it back. With strong slow strokes he pushed his fingers in and out of me stopping for that torturous moment each time, until I was moaning and panting. When I thought I couldn’t take it any more I pushed him off of me and knelt above him, leaning forward to reach for a condom in the drawer of the night table. My breasts were just above his face, and he kissed them as I fumbled with the drawer. When I found the condom I held the corner of the wrapper in my teeth and stood up, pulling off his pants and gray boxers. I carefully opened the condom and held it between my lips over my mouth. Bending over I pressed the tip of the condom to the tip of his penis with my tongue and rolled it down over his shaft with my lips. He moaned and I saw his fingers grip the sheets next to his hips. I crawled over him back onto the bed, letting my breasts brush against the entire length of his body.

He tried to kiss me and I pulled away again, sliding his cock into me instead, and sitting up. He gasped, and with his eyes closed he had the look on his face, like he was concentrating very hard. His whole body was tense and trembling. I raised myself partly onto my knees and came back down again, feeling the tip of his penis deep inside, and the shaft sliding against my nether-lips. His expression intensified and he forced one of his hands to let go of the sheets and reach for mine. I put my hand into his, and his fingers promptly closed around mine, squeezing them together so hard they hurt. I put my other hand on his chest to help support my weight. I could hear his hard breathing, and feel it under my palm. I could smell him, see his face his face and feel his skin hot against mine. He was rocking his hips under me and our pace went faster and faster, though the strokes stayed long and steady, until my whole body was shaking and raised nearly all the way up on my knees. While I came he kept rocking his hips, and put his hands on my hips, pulling me back down toward his body as he came too. It wasn’t till I felt one of his fingers across my lips that I realized how loud we had been. Poor neighbors. Oh well, they must be used to it by now. I wondered what it was that had made him so mad at work. I’d ask later. I laid down next to him, resting my head on his chest, and gave him a kiss.

“How was it?”

“Amazing, and for you?”

“Great. I need a shower. Feel like making dinner?”

“Sure babe.”

The hot water ran over my face, through my hair, and I heard it rushing in my ears. I smelled the soap and the world shrank to the size of one person again. That guy and his temper. I know him better than anyone, but fuck if I’ll ever understand him. Perhaps there will be insight over dinner. I wonder what he’s making.