Lunch Lesson Fin: Sub's Perspective
--If you read the earlier parts of this story then you will
notice a change in perspective from Dom to sub. Enjoy the
sensations :o) --
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The hard cold wood pressing against the top of my head.
The cool dark liquid coating the skin on my stomach, chilled,
quivering.
The smell of sweat, burgundy, and my sex rushing through
my nostrils.
I stretch my right hand above my head dragging fingertips
across the rough wood of the headboard, searching for a
handhold, something to grip tightly. The muscles of my
arm are aching from the tension.
How many hands have gripped this wood in ecstasy, terror,
and release?
Did her manicured nails chip scratching in vain against
these cold boards on prom night?
You set the camera on the nightstand, your hand curling
around the stem of a wine glass, strong fingers, and solid
hands. You clear your throat, the sound causing me to jump.
You take a deep drink. My toes are getting cold and you just
sit there examining me, committing every curve, mark and
flaw to memory for replay at some later date in your own private
venue. I open my mouth to tell you they are getting chilly,
almost forgetting myself. You glance quickly at my mouth,
then up to my eyes. You hear me exhale, my throat is tight,
and your look implies that you saw my intention.
You make no move to cover my toes. I understand this and the
phrase repeating in my brain illustrates it. As you desire,
the response you taught me on our first date immediately
after the safe words.
The throaty rumble of a new Harley cuts the silence. It sounds
so close, right outside the room. The clack of hard heeled
boots against the pavement echoes off the thin glass of
the window. You are up and to the door like a starter pistol
fired.
I grin and bury my toes under the sheet, claiming the body
heat you left behind. You order me to the bathroom, to clean
up and brush my teeth. Sometimes I forget that you dont
care for my smoking.
The porcelain tile of the bathroom floor presses into and
chills the inside of my arches raising goose bumps on my
calves. The faucet squeaks and water sputters out. The
front door is open, I can feel the cool draft and hear you
in a low voice talking to someone.
shes all yours ...be gentle I hear. But was it your voice?
The slam of the door and roar of the bike follow shortly after.
I finish brushing my teeth, and run a washcloth over my body.
Im sad to see my petal-spots rinse down the shower drain.
The wine has left lavender stains around my breasts and
at the tops of my thighs. Running my fingers over the welts,
thick and raised stinging to the touch the crisscross my
ass. I brush my palm against the hard rubber splitting my
butt. I want to twist it and plunge it, when did it stop stretching
me and making me ache? The hardness and fullness of it inside
me is no longer foreign, only reminding me of your will.
My breasts are full and heavy , normally lazy nipples throb
and are swollen to the size of my pinky tip. I bring my fingertips
to them almost in a trance when I hear you clear your throat.
Quickly with my hands behind my neck and eyes down I walk
to the bed.
Your cold hand is pressed firmly in the middle of my back
pushing me down face first onto the maroon bedspread amidst
the unidentifiable purple flowers.
You made the bed?
My elbows are yanked back and cinched almost before the
pain shoots between my shoulder blades. You fist closes
in my hair and pulls until the back of my skull is crushing
the top of my spine. I am a little nervous now, glad the biker
left, my neck is feeling soft and exposed. I feel the subtle
bite of leather across my throat, as it snakes around the
front under my chin pulling tight against my flesh. The
snap digs into the back of my neck as you secure the thick
leather strap.
I feel fingers curl around the plug tearing it from me,
leaving the cold air to rush in. The groan that rips from
my throat does not please you. I feel your cold rings as your
spread fingers smack down on top of the welts covering the
bottom of my ass and tops of my thighs, harder than the belt
it seems. Even as my eyes fill with tears and I suppress my
scream, I wonder. Rings?
Again I feel the palm and spread fingers sear my wounded
rear. The burning spreads to my thighs and the muscles at
the base of my spine coil like springs. I pull away for a fraction
of a second. Realizing my mistake I quickly push back. The
bed moves and I hear the familiar sound of leather slide
on denim. I know whats coming next, and then nothing. I
hear the water run for a minute. Cordlike fingers grip my
ankles like a vice, pulling me back toward the edge of the
bed. My pelvis screams as my hair is pulled lifting my hips
off the bed, sliding a pillow under them.
Honey youre mine for 8 more minutes, so dont hold anything
back now
I can almost hear her say I hope everything was to your satisfaction
miss.
That thought is obliterated by the rough leather and hard
steel studs laid straight down my back, licking against
my most sensitive of lips. Flame shoots inside me and back
up my crack burning along my spine. My response surprises
even me.
I moan and shudder, sparks are all I can see. All breathing
stops.
My body reacts by soaking the pillow and her cupped palm.
My sent is thick in the room and I can hear her inhale slowly
and deeply. I am blushing at this blatant display of my depravity.
I am deliciously ashamed, Incredibly exhilarated.
The bed shifts, I turn to look back as her hand encircles
my throat over the hard leather of my new collar.
Show me your appreciation, clean my hand.
My scent is so strong I almost gag as her palm presses against
my lips. I should have hesitated, I thought I would have
hesitated. My tongue immediately extends and laps the
warm liquid from her hand. The taste is musky and familiar.
I clean each of her fingers by taking them deep into her mouth.
I can tell she is pleased.
Her hand relaxes and tips my chin up, as she searches my eyes.
Her kiss is soft and almost loving. The lips pressing delicately
as the tongue cleans more of my juices from my mouth.
This sensual kiss is so out of place and unexpected, I moan
and push my tongue into her mouth. She pulls back a little
as I press forward. Her tongue presses mine back into my
mouth as she slowly sucks my upper lip between her teeth.
Her firm pressure sends sharp little shocks into the roof
of my mouth. She releases my lip and I feel her tongue caress
its tender inside running along my gums pressing into
the soft pockets on each side of that thin pink membrane.
This is such a private place and her swollen tongue roughly
stretches the thin walls reminding me that no part of my
body is safe.
Something round and bumpy pushes against my entrance.
I strain to gauge its size, a golf ball, maybe bigger. The
hand squeezing my collar slips three fingers between the
rough material and my adams apple cutting off all but the
shallowest of breaths. Using this new handle she twists
me until I face the ceiling, my left shoulder is almost aligned
with my chin. My hips are trying to turn also , but the hand
guiding this ball through my slick soft skin does not allow
my thighs to move. My side begins to burn from the stretching
caused by these forced contortions. A hiccup in my abdomen
takes my breath as the ball passes into me, no temperature
shocking my inner walls like the ice earlier, but a constant
stretching from this coarse round object.
My nerves fire as her hand smacks wetly against my now closed
lips. Small beads inside the hollow round shell rattle
and vibrate against my stretched insides. Vibrations
rush upward into me carried along by my shuddering muscles.
Another ball is inserted into me firmer and faster than
the last it passes my stretched entrance and bumps gently
into the first. The two balls shiver and jiggle massaging
my stretched womb before settling down. The third pushes
the first two farther back, taking that full, swollen feeling
deeper into me. I feel stuffed with these three shivering
twitching balls each rattling against one another. The
fourth presses lightly against my opening turning rubbing
caressing, humming slightly as the beads inside roll around.
My stomach leaps and my hips jerk higher into the air as my
thighs press together around the thumb that jams the four
balls deep into me. As the first hits my cervix it shudders
with a life of its own. Each ball in turn carries these tremors
back to her thumb. The low rolling groan that pours from
my throat gets louder as she slaps the fourth ball rhythmically
sending wave after wave of vibration crashing against
my cervix.
Its happening without thought, my tightly closed eyes
fill with sparks against the fiery red backdrop of my lids.
My teeth draw a hot salty fluid from my lower lip and my hands
curl into cruel claws, nails biting into my palms. Each
slap is met with a whiplash like reaction from my hips. My
groans undulate with the rolling vibrations carried deep
inside me. I am lost in the raw sensations, my muscles spasm
clenching the four shuddering balls taking each vibration
deep into my belly. My breathing is in gasps and gulps, a
sweat breaks out on my forehead and the backs of my shoulders.
The sensations are almost painful now, too intense, too
raw. The slaps speed up and grow in force. I hear her cackle
as my cries rise in pitch and I hear myself begging her to
stop. Abruptly the slaps stop and her cold hand presses
against my opening rapidly shaking my pelvis from left
to right. The balls crash against each other and slide from
side to side, the friction is too much, my hips fall to the
bed my cries become screams. A wrenching pulse of pleasure
churns through my stomach, My lips pulled cruelly apart
as the fourth ball audibly pops from my body. I gag as two
more are ripped from inside me, rapidly in succession,
mini tremors rattle along my spine. Tears roll down my cheeks
as I gulp for air. She pauses and slowly I feel the last ball
spread me wide, the cool air hitting the flushed flesh of
my inner lips. My cries are softer now and the muscles of
my lower back and thighs twitch uncontrollably. I feel
her fingers meet my flesh as she pulls the last one free.
I collapse crying totally drained, no thought in my mind.
The door slams.
An alarm goes off somewhere in the distance.
I slowly lift my head on a weak and shaky neck to see an envelope
sitting on the clock. It wasnt there before. Minutes pass
before I shut the alarm off and pick up the envelope. It smells
of motor oil, gasoline, sweat, and fading CK1. These are
your scents.
The note reads
The meeting starts in 15 minutes.
Reality
As I pull into the first of the lot entrances I realize that
I have no recollection of the drive over.
I wince as I move to step out of the car. The worn denim of my
oldest jeans chafes my burning thighs like sandpaper.
The edge of the seat presses into the welts on my ass and I
automatically swallow the squeal that wells in my throat.
God my nipples ache. For the second time in 10 minutes I wish
that the shirt I chose this morning was thicker, looser,
and didnt require this awful bra.
The 300 yards to the revolving doors that lead to the lobby
were excruciating. My ass feels empty, the emptiness that
comes from being filled so completely and left wanting.
My walk is slower and more deliberate than usual, but I would
never give you the satisfaction of showing the cause in
my gate. Reaching for the revolving door drags the seemingly
soft material of my shirt across the cotton of my bra. I bite
my lip and feel the faintest rush of pleasure along with
the pain in my nipples. Ordinarily I would take the stairs
to the 3rd floor conference room. Today its all I can do
not to sit in the elevator, although that would bring its
own accompanying problems.
In the elevator the second floor admin eyes me curiously
as I lean against the wall and shift my weight from foot to
foot.
On the 3rd floor I try to stand a little straighter and regain
some composure. I glance at my reflection in the chrome
of the elevator doors. Not too bad. I tuck in the blouse and
brush some stray from my eyes.
I open the door and make no eye contact as I head to my chair.
The standard opening conversations of company stock and
internal scuttlebutt engage most of the rooms occupants.
I take the chair and most heads turn to focus on me.
I clear my throat.
As most of you know in this changing economic climate we
may need to further evaluate our overseas resourcing
Blah, blah, blah. I hate giving this direction. No-one
likes to cut headcount.
This morning his power was palpable and this afternoon
he is powerless to stop my decision. He will find other work,
another willing subject, other fantasies to will into
being. Business is Business, Pleasure is optional.
I pause to open the folder in front of my chair that outlines
my plan for headcount reduction both here and overseas.
The red petals are caught in the updraft as the folder opens.
They flutter eight to ten inches above the table in an impromptu
floral fountain before settling on and around the open
folder. The dark red of the petals starkly contrasts the
three black and white photos framed each below a single
quote.
As I Desire
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