A Different Kind of Dance

It had been three days and we’d barely left his bed, let alone his apartment. This suited me fine. In fact, if he hadn’t been in charge I’d probably have orgasmed myself into an exhausted coma. I’d come pretty close to doing this on my own in the past—days when every hour of self-pleasure just fed the next, until my libido was so revved, my body so sensitive, that only a serious interruption, or drugged sleep, could cut me off.

Aaron was the first lover to understand how much this bored me. I’d been sleeping with men who were as easy as I was. I lost my respect for them once I took my clothes off and they turned into eager, heavy-breathing schoolboys, groping clumsily, thrilled they could make me come—and they always could.

He was different. We had four dates in which he touched me, flirted, even kissed me—hard, possessively—but put me away from him and sent me home after a couple of hours. “I want you,” I had told him, stone sober, my hands fisting his jacket outside the door to my own lonely apartment. “I know,” he said. Then his hand in my hair was holding me still, he took my keys and opened the door for me, pushed me inside, and left. That’s how it started.

The first time we fucked, I came the second he thrust inside my pussy. Later, while we were lying naked together, I had grabbed his hand and pressed it between my legs, whimpering in need. He’d reacted instantly, whipping my arm behind my back and then rolling on top of me. His other big hand closed lightly around my throat as his weight crushed me and he stared down into my shocked face. “I can’t help it if you come the whole time I’m fucking you,” he growled, “but you will exercise some self-control when you’re with me.”

I was hooked.

And by the time, that night, he’d made me describe my masturbation habits and spanked me to tears for being such a slut, our dynamic was pretty well established. Of course, the paradox in all this was, the more Aaron controlled me and humiliated me, the hornier I felt; the more I craved his dominance. So now, nearing the end of a three-day weekend together, I was wound up to a fever pitch. We had made dinner plans earlier in the day but Aaron and I were naked in his luxurious king-sized bed again, I was kissing my way down his chest with cock worship in mind and those restaurant reservations seemed like the least important thing in the world.
His hand in my hair stopped me. “You have to get ready so we can get to dinner on time, kitten.”

“Do we have to go? I’m not married to the idea. I think you still have some food in your cabinets. We can—”

“While you might happily subsist on cereal, sweetheart, I could use some real food.”

“Oh!” I cried, chagrined. “You’re hungry! Sorry, sorry!”

While Aaron laughed at my sudden haste, I disentangled myself and ungracefully climbed off the bed, mentally reviewing the odd collection of clothes I had at his place that were still in presentable condition. “I’ll be ready in—” Stumbling over the trailing bedsheets, I found myself on my knees on the carpet. I leaned on my hands to kick my feet free.

“Don’t move.”

Without even peeking at Aaron, I knew he was lounging like a sultan on the rumpled bed, taking in the sight of my naked ass pointed towards him. With another man, I would have made a joke, wiggled my backside, grinned over my shoulder at him. Another man would have laughed with me, maybe swatted me once, and the playful moment would be over. But with him, Don’t move meant just that, and this was why I was frozen to the spot and blushing, my heart beginning to race in anticipation. A full minute stretched out. Just as sweat began to prickle my skin, his voice: “Good girl.” He hadn’t moved from the bed.

He laughed again at whatever the look was on my face when I stood up and turned around, but shooed me into the shower. We did make it out the door, though we were almost derailed again when Aaron stripped my panties off of me in the street outside his car. I was so used to stripping for him. The way he knelt as his thumbs, hooked into the silk over my hips, slid the fabric down over my legs, the tender and wicked look I could understand even in the faded light, made my knees weak and sent a spasm straight through my core. I leaned helplessly against the passenger side door and involuntarily pressed my hand between my legs.

Aaron, looming over me again, grabbed my wrist. “You know I don’t allow that.” But he was smiling, and kissed the offending hand as he spoke. My panties had disappeared. Pocketed, probably. I licked my lips, unconsciously mimicking the movement I wished his tongue would make against my palm. “I love that skirt,” he murmured, then put me in the car.

We sat next to each other on the hard wood bench of the trendy booth. The waiter brought a basket of bread. Bread was the last thing I wanted. I felt carnivorous, my teeth and tongue restless and heavy. Chewy steak, or fruit with skin... My eyes slid sideways and latched on to Aaron’s jaw, where the stubble was already breaking through. I could see every tiny hair. I was thirsty, but I didn’t want to drink tamely from my tepid glass of water, either. He could kiss me right now—Aaron always kissed me so powerfully, covering my whole mouth with his, no lead-up.
I was shifting restlessly on the bench. Scooting closer to him, I leaned against his side and slipped my leg over his.

“You want to be on my lap right now, don’t you, pet?”

I nuzzled his shoulder and nodded.

“Look at me and answer.”

That was something he always wanted from me. I was being careless. His hand slid over my bare thigh and hooked under my knee, replacing my legs side by side on the bench as I met his gaze and said quietly, “Yes, I want to sit on your lap.”

“For now, pull your skirt up in the back and sit your bare ass on the seat.”

I did as he said, the ache in my pussy sharp and nagging.

“Sit still.”

Damn it! My frustration flared abruptly into anger and I turned to snap at Aaron. “You—” But he caught my chin and kissed me, not the way I was imagining a moment before, but lightly, just grazing the skin on my cheek near my ear. “Poor tormented girl,” he murmured against my hair. “You look so beautiful like this, desperate, but desperate to please. Now order whatever you want. And you can have me later.”

I laughed, but it felt like a sob. He would be my downfall, this man. I squeezed my thighs together, resistless.

The meal was not interminable, as Aaron refrained from torturing me further and we distracted ourselves with spirited conversation, in the end. But in the car going back to his place, within a minute of getting on the road: “Show me your cunt.”

Oh, God, just the command made me clench in a mini-climax. This was the sexiest thing he made me do. I drew the skirt up my thighs and spread my legs. That was all. He let me when I reached out to hold his hand that was draped over the gearshift.

Inside his apartment, I waited uncertainly while he put a plain kitchen chair in the middle of the bedroom floor. He sat in it facing me and said, “Take it all off.” I had learned not to try to make stripping out of my clothes anything special and just did this efficiently, dropping my things on the carpet. I felt suddenly nervous, like I had the first time he had brought me here, like the first time he had spanked me. I was trembling as he signaled for me to approach.

He was intimidating. At more than six feet tall, his big frame was still imposing even seated. And being fully nude while he was fully dressed—still in his suit, actually—made me feel childish and cowed. As I neared, he leaned forward and snagged my waist, pulling me onto his lap with a quick movement that perhaps belied his impatience.

I squealed a little when he grabbed me, half expecting to find myself face down over his knees. But when his arms remained looped around my waist I hooked mine around his neck, squirming my bottom on the fabric of his pants, enjoying the smell and feel of him. I leaned in for a kiss, which he granted. “You got your wish, baby. On my lap.”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly, still not convinced a spanking wasn’t coming. “Thank you.”
Chuckling because he was reading my mind, Aaron lifted one of my legs behind the thigh, hooking it on the outside of his. With both of my legs dangling on either side of his knees, my back against his chest, I was spread open, and from over my shoulder, he had a perfect view. “Put your arms up, behind my neck,” he said. As I reached and linked my fingers behind his neck, my breasts were lifted, and my nipples, in such overt presentation, hardened obligingly. I moaned. “Aaron, I—”

“Shh.” His hands ran up my sides and I shivered and squirmed. “Don’t you dare move your hands.”

At last his fingers went to my nipples, skimming over them, plucking lightly. My head lolled on his shoulder, my back arching, straining for a firmer touch.

“Were your nipples hard in the restaurant, kitten?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Still that tormenting stroking, plucking. “I—I was h-horny for you.” He lightly rolled both  my nipples and my hips rolled on his lap.

“You wanted me to do this?”

“Yes—no!” My fingers gripped convulsively behind his neck. “Harder, please.”

But he went back to just feathering the tips of his fingers over my chest. My control broke suddenly then and I clutched his left hand to my breast. Slap! His palm stung the inside of my spread thigh, hard enough that I was immediately blinking back tears.

“I told you not to move.” His steeliest voice. “Don’t disappoint me, pet.” I had just shakily replaced my arms when he went on, “Why did you do that?”

Pluck, pluck. “I—I couldn’t help it.”

His teeth closed briefly on my ear. A caress? “Why can’t you help but do things like that, pet?”

Oh, God. “Um. I...”

“Is it because you’re an undisciplined slut?”

Unbelievably, I felt more heat rush through me, creeping up my neck and pooling in my exposed pussy. “Oh, please—”

Then he pinched my nipples hard, and held on. “Say it.”

Whimpering, clutching his shirt collar now, I repeated, “I can’t help it because—because I’m—an undisciplined slut.”

His pinching grip relaxed and my nipples throbbed. He flicked them with his fingernails and the sting took my breath away. “How many times did you come today, little slut?”

“I don’t know!” I gasped.

His hands moved to cover the insides of my thighs, one leg hotter than the other, still stinging where he’d punished it. I tried to squeeze my legs together but his knees didn’t give an inch. “So many times you lost track. But you still think you deserve another orgasm?”

This was obviously a trick question. Was I supposed to say something like “Only if that’s what you want?” or “I just want to please you?” Probably. But what if he took me at my word? I was not sure I was really prepared for that kind of voluntary self-sacrifice. And then I watched his fingers slide up and rub over my outer pussy lips and any answer but the honest one became impossible. Oh, fuck. “Yes, please!”

“Such a needy cunt.” He pinched my labia between the thumb and first finger of either hand and spread me open.

I nearly lost it. My hips bucked. I gasped hard, then couldn’t get my breath back. If he would just touch my clit! My hands now felt glued to his shirt collar as I clutched it in a vise-like grip. “It needs you, Aaron. Please, please...” I turned my face into his neck, biting and licking, wanting to writhe with abandon but frozen with anticipation.

But he just rubbed my pussy lips for another long minute, until I did writhe, and when he finally trailed a finger over my clit I felt a couple of tears spill down my cheeks.

“Poor little slut,” he whispered, and gave my clit another brief tickle that had me crying out in frustrated need. He turned my face up to his and I saw the dark desire in his expression. “You think you should get just what you want every time, right away, hmm?”

“No! I won’t! I’ll be—d-disciplined—just please—”

Another stroke over my clit, another pause. Shit and fuck! If he did that just one more time, I would have come! My head thrashed on his shoulder. “You can punish me!” I blurted, desperate.

His hand forced my fevered, teary gaze up to his again. “Punish you for what, slut? For coming without permission? For losing control? For begging shamelessly for more and more pleasure?”

Dimly, in the back of my mind, I was thinking, This is exactly how this game is played. Here is the ceding of a little more power. And: We’ll have to talk about this later. But my distress was entirely real, and I still wanted to kiss his strong compelling face even as I thought I craved nothing beyond his fingers bringing me off, and I cried, “Yes, yes!”

He slid one finger up inside me at the same time as he rubbed my clit in a firm circle and I came so hard I soaked his lap.

Whatever line I’d crossed, I was sure I’d do the same again, if I could go back. But Aaron was cradling my exploded, heated body, and when I recovered I’d only be looking forward.