She looked cute.
I don’t know how else to explain it. She looked cute. She was always pretty, sometimes drop-dead gorgeous, but tonight when I arrived at her apartment, she looked cute.
I couldn’t really contain my smile, though I tried to for the briefest of moments. At one point you realize that the struggle to contain a grin that doesn’t want to be contained is going to make you look even more ridiculous than just letting it happen.
I released a broad smile from captivity and the one she shot back almost made me question my intentions for her that evening.
She really was disarmingly beautiful, sometimes. I pulled her toward me to hide my admiration against her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed and I felt her body relax against mine. She was always so responsive to my touch. I felt a momentary pang of guilt for what I was going to put her through later.
She broke the kiss first when the oven timer went off. “Oh, dinner….I have to get it out of the oven!” I let go and watched her scamper off to the kitchen while I took off my coat and hung it bit on a hook by the front door.
I chuckled, admiring the jiggle of her ass as she slid around the corner. She wore a white top that was slightly too long to be classified as “shirt” and slightly too short to be classified as “dress.” It was deeply low cut in the front and cinched just above her waist. I could make out the outline of her breasts and wide hips beneath it, but the part of her outfit that made it so remarkably cute were the fuzzy beige slippers she wore with it. Not heels, not sandals, not barefoot – but fuzzy slippers.
We ate dinner on the couch. She talked excitedly about her plans for the coming weekend and I tried to stay focused on what she was saying and not on the line of her neck where it met her shoulder.
I’d bite there first.
I set my plate down on the table and pushed it away, taking her plate mid-sentence and setting it down as well.
As expected, she responded instantly. Her eyes fluttered half closed, and her body language became open and receptive to me.
I tilted my head and took in the sight of her. Still a little too cute. I reached over and pulled her breasts out from the confines of her top. Her eyes grew wide and she looked up at me.
She spread them, slowly. I could already taste her scent on the air. She was getting less cute and more wanton by the second.
Reaching between them, I was pleasantly unsurprised that she’d foregone the option to wear panties. She bit her lip and smiled as my fingers made contact with her wetness.
There we go. All that cute and innocent stuff was properly overshadowed now by the shameless slut that fit in with my plans.
I fingered her while she moaned in response. My inner sadist grew more and more excited as she came closer to climax. And, just like the good girl she always was, she finally asked for permission to come.
Her eyes flew open. She was shocked. I very rarely denied her. Sometimes I’d say “not yet.”
But I don’t think I’d ever quite said “no” before.
She squirmed as my fingers kept probing. “Please?” she begged.
She held her breath and I saw a flicker of panic flash through her eyes. I felt the slightest clench of her pussy around my fingers. She was getting very close. I smiled.
“Please?” The whine was so precious, her voice dripping with longing.
“No…” I mocked her small voice and focused my eyes in on hers, increasing the intensity of the hooking motion with my fingers.
She was struggling now. Her will to obey fighting against a an uncontrollable physical response to my persistent probing. She started to move away from me in an effort to keep from breaking her hold on the orgasm that threatened her compliance.
I’d been expecting that.
With my free hand, I reached around the back of her head and pulled back on her hair, then brought her forward, sinking my teeth into the flesh of her neck and shoulders. She cried out and I felt my own cock twitch.
“Don’t you dare come,” I growled as I kept going.
“Please, no…please! Stop then! I can’t…can’t…. no, no, no, no…oh, God….please….I …..”
I was impressed with how long she was holding out, but eventually she had to cave. I felt the pulsing of her orgasm around my fingers as her body convulsed and her screams echoed off the walls of the apartment. Her neighbors would have heard that.
When she finished and opened her eyes to look at me, the tears were already overflowing onto her cheeks.
“You will be.”
“Oh, God. Sir…I’m so sorry. Please, I couldn’t help it. You wouldn’t stop.”
I stood her up and flipped her around, pulling a pair of metal cuffs out from my pocket and restraining her wrists behind her back. She was sobbing and my cock twitched again.
“Let’s go,” I grunted, pulling her by the hair toward her bathroom. I roughly shoved her into her shower, took a step back and turned the cold water on. She shrieked as she pressed herself back against the wall to try to get away from the cold stream.
“On your knees.” Her hair was flattening against her face, black streaks of mascara and eyeliner tinting her cheekbones, and the white top becoming more and more translucent as it clung to her every curve.
She was so perfect.
I came all over her shivering face.
Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.