Kneeling before Him...
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Tuesday, February 12, 2008
A love letter written to my Husband.
"Open your legs." He said. Matter of factly. Like he knew he would be obeyed.
Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the arm of the chair tightly. Her fingernails started to scream in protest. This was not going as she planned it. It was not going well at all.
"Do you really think that is appropriate right now?" She asked and to her horror she discovered that her voice was thick. With what? Lust? Christ. She just knew he would know it. Immediately.
"I didn't ask for a fucking debate. I said open your legs, cunt."
She felt an urge to point out that he had not called her a cunt the first time, but it passed as his eyes never wavered from hers. She lowered her eyes and her head, letting her hair fall across her face. And to her horror, to her own disgust, she found that her legs had already parted. She was no longer sitting across from him as an equal, a partner, like a lady. She was sitting there with her legs parted, her skirt hiked up, like a whore.
"Good." He said and she felt herself blush even deeper. "Now move forward in the seat and pull your skirt up more."
She clenched her teeth, really clenched them hard so that she could feel a pulsing in her temple, feel an ache in her jaw but she moved forward in the seat and raised up what was left of her skirt.
She felt exposed, more then she would have felt if she had been naked. She had not bothered to put on panties because they had planned on being home all day. It was only her pussy that he could see, something he had seen so many times before, but now, sitting there in her shirt and bra, her skirt up around her waist, scooted forward on the chair, she felt so completely vulnerable. He had all the control.
"Now you may continue." He said. "What do you want?"
What did she want? Right now she wanted to scream at him that she was not a toy. She wanted to make him understand that he couldn't just do this to her. She wanted to make him understand that she had feelings, needs, emotions that needed tending. It was unfair of him just to use her the way he was right now. It was so damn unfair. And it was unfair that she could feel herself getting aroused, could even smell it. How could she tell him any of that when suddenly all she could think of was making him come?
She just slowly shook her head in defeat.
"Not going to talk?" he said. She shook her head again. "Ok, well you can entertain me by playing with yourself. I want to see your fingers inside you, your thumb on your clitoris. Make yourself come. For me."
She looked at him for the first time since her legs had parted. Then she quickly looked down again. He was watching her, studying her like she was a sport, possibly rugby, and his team had the ball.
Her head sank lower to her chest as her hands trailed down between her legs. She held herself open with one hand so that he would be able to see as her fingers pushed inside her easily. She withdrew them to paint her clitoris with her juices before putting them back inside her again. This time as they withdrew, a horrifically loud squelching sound filled the silence in the room. She stopped, completely mortified.
"Keep going." He said quietly. "I want to hear that noise again."
So she did it again and again and before long she was panting, groaning, grunting and her head was thrown back, her body arched as she spasmed over and over. She begged for it to stop and not stop and she pleaded with God and with him. Then it was over and she was slumped, drained and exhausted in her chair. She looked at him, really looked at him. She wanted him to know that it was for him.
"Christ." He said. "You are gorgeous." Then he was out of his seat and over to her in two strides. He lifted her to her feet and pulled her fingers into his mouth and kissed her with her fingers between them, both of them tasting her. "Just fucking gorgeous." He whispered again. He lifted her so that her legs were wrapped around his waist, his hands holding on to her ass. She clung to him like her life depended on it and they kissed violently again. "I want you." He said when he came up for air. "I need to have you right now." Her lips were caressing the flesh of his neck while her teeth grazed the skin. He growled like a hungry animal and her mouth found his once more, her tongue thrusting desperately against his.
He laid her down on her back on the floor and crawled up over her. She tried to rip at his pants until he slapped her hands away and freed himself. Then he was entering her and she was arching up to meet him, her legs wrapping around his back. It was fast and it was vicious. She said things that left her mind as soon as they left her lips and he grunted with every thrust he made. She wanted him. She wanted him even more, she thought, than he wanted her. She would have done anything, said anything, given him everything just for that moment. For that one precious moment where his back stiffened and he made a noise caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. He could have it all, everything he wanted, just as long as he gave that to her. She took it from him. It was hers.
He lay on top of her so heavily that she could hardly breathe, his head tucked neatly into her neck. She idly caressed his hair.
"What was it?" He said when he had managed to catch his breath.
"What was what?" she said.
"What was the important thing you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Oh." She blushed. "It was just that, I miss us so much sometimes, it hurts." She held her breath, hoping that he would understand.
He kissed her softly. "I miss us too." He said.