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Friday, August 24, 2012

Interludes of a Dirty Romantic–8/24/2012

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Command and Control

The man at the next table once again turns to look at you as you yelp. He has been watching you all through lunch as your noises and moans have intensified.

The waiters have been very attentive, passing by your table, checking that everything is in order, and if you are happy. It is as if they can sense how turned on you are right now, the animal instinct men possess tracking you down, tracking your need, hunting for the easy kill.

Your legs are shaking as the final wave of another orgasm passes over you. Knuckles whiten as you hold onto the tabletop, trying to retain some sense of calm, holding onto your last shred of dignity. You lick the perspiration from your lips, the skin exposed through your open collared shirt glows with its own sheen.

Breathing deeply, you try and control your errant body, command it to relax and recover before the next wave hits you.

Your phone quietly buzzes on the table. You quickly flick it on and read the message. You gasp under your breath. “God, no; please stop.” The words on the tiny screen have just shattered any calm you had managed to claw back. Unable to avoid it, you are forced to read and reply otherwise the punishment will be ten times worse.

You tap the keys quickly as the first vibration rumbles within you, setting up a chain reaction of sympathetic tremors throughout your body. Your fingers stumble over the keys, desperate to answer. Unable to concentrate, you find yourself in a panicked rush to answer and stem the flow.

As you hit send, another burst of nightmare ecstasy hits you, forcing another groan from between your clenched lips. Both hands grasping the tabletop, you lean over in an attempt to rein in your body.

You watch in slow motion as a drop of sweat peels away from your lips and crashes with glacial slowness into your soup, sending waves through the liquid, mirroring the undulations careering through your cunt.

“Is everything all right, madam?”

Waving away the waiter, you run back through the moment which led to this, that second of back chat, the loss of poise and control. You had bought the toy for him to use in the bedroom, but you never thought he would want to take it so far. But you knew, the second the words left your mouth, your fate was sealed.

His retort, the tone heavy with menace and dry amusement created a flood of fear and excitement, a tremor between your legs which left your cunt drenched at the thought of what was to come.

“Let me?” he spits out the words with an amused anger and a snarl on his lips that forces an instant physical reaction in you. Your heart pounds, your breath races, and you feel a familiar heavy heat between your thighs.

“Let me? Oh baby, you really have so much to learn about what we have, don’t you? And there is no time like now to learn.”

The memory of how loudly you moaned as he bent you over his desk and pushed the smooth white egg-shaped vibrator between your dripping lips is still fresh. The impression of his fingers like red hot pokers inside your inflamed flesh is still hot in your mind. The sting from the sudden sharp crack of his hand which forced your grinding hips to stillness still sharp on your skin.

The sound of the door slamming, ringing in your ears is the only real memory of how you got from his hotel room to the restaurant table he booked for you. It is a quiet, refined, select place full of hushed conversations, powerful deals, and elegant laughter.

You vaguely recall the way your heart sank as the maitre d’ walked you passed hushed tables, knowing there was going to be nowhere to hide. The memory of the chill as your blood drained from your face and you recognised the faces of clients and business contacts among the dinners still bites.

Worse still, as he pulled the chair back for you, the first wave of vibrations shook your core, forcing you to wobble and grab his arm for support. His kind concern quickly dismissed with a crooked smile.

The last hour has been relentless, endless messages, detailed descriptions of what was awaiting you once this trial was over. The phone displaying in glowing characters how he was going to use you, enslave your cunt, dominate your arse, and possess your mouth.

His command to you as he led you to the door of the hotel was to read every message and reply instantly. For every moment of delay, another wave of pleasure would be signaled through to the devious device placed deep inside you.

The urgent buzz of your phone breaks into your thoughts. Your trembling hands scramble to take hold, his words flood over you. Again you react, your cunt contracting and pulsing. Flashes of heat storm across your face, as your breasts heave and your heart hammers against your chest.

And then the impending tsunami of pleasure and pain crashes over you, a low guttural growl emerging unbidden from deep inside. It is at this point you know you are lost. You drop the phone, no longer able to withstand his remote onslaught.

Unable to resist, you let go and instead embrace this new wave of pleasure as it hits you, squeezing your thighs together to grab your way towards release. Your core reverberates incessantly, all pretense is lost – head down, growling, moaning, terrified, and wanton.

Slipping a hand beneath the table, you push yourself beyond the tipping point, crumbling under the pressure, screaming out and collapsing on to the table. You can feel all the eyes in the room are on you, but you don’t have the energy to care.

Suddenly, you are aware of a presence next to you.

Even in your post orgasmic haze, you prepare for the reprimand, steel yourself for the final humiliation of being ejected, thrown out in front of your glaring audience. What you don’t expect are his strong arms which wrap around you, his scent enveloping you, or his words of comfort in your ear.

“Time to go, baby; time to go.” He whispers the words into your ear as a handful of cash is thrown to the table and you are swept up and away.

You curl into his chest, eyes tight, hiding from accusing eyes, deaf to the raised questioning voices as you retreat. You remain oblivious to the hushed, urgent conversations of heated couples, ignited to their own fury by your display.

Sliding into the back of the waiting cab, he places you gently on his lap, head cradled beneath strong hands. His quiet words and the caresses from his hands calm you. In defence against the fever between your still burning thighs, legs still slick from your lesson, you curl tighter to find solace in his embrace.

“Good girl.”

It is all you need to hear for now. You both know your lesson has been learnt. Eyes shut tight, rocked by the motion of the cab as it moves through traffic, you take a moment to remember the thrill, the ecstasy of those final moments.

“Yes, Sir.”

And you realise you were never more alive, never more true to who you really are than at that moment. Lost to everything, you hold no pretense, no qualms, no self control, only his command.

A perfect, clear moment.

Command and Control is copyright © The Dirty Romantic
and any reproduction of any kind is prohibited.



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1 comment :

  1. Very sexy, D. I love the remote stuff. Hell, I love anything you write!


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