You Need It, Don't You? Pt. 01

We met in a bookstore with a small coffee shop. We were walking around, looking at books and talking. As we stood next to each other in the poetry section, you turned and grabbed my right breast and squeezed it. I looked at you and you were smiling at me - you looked like a kid joking around, and also looked really pleased with yourself. I turned toward you, catching your nipple between my thumb and first two fingers and turning it like a car key. At a quarter-turn I said in a calm, neutral voice, "You do not ever touch my breasts in public without permission. And if you receive permission, you touch them in a way that shows me how eager you are to pleasure them, which you are quite good at. You do not grab them like a piece of meat. Do you understand?"

Your smile faltered, but your eyes burned into mine, showing your interest and arousal. Your maroon t-shirt was bunched and twisted around my fingers as I rotated them further; your erect nipple stuck out through the shirt as you muttered, "Unh." Then louder you asked, your smile returning, "Well, what about you?"

"Oh, I can touch your nipples wherever and however I want to." Twisting yours even further, I stepped closer and raised my knee between your legs, pressing it against your stiff cock, whispering, "Because you like it, don't you baby?" Your eyes closed and your pelvis thrust forward, grinding your cock against my leg, mindless of anyone watching. I let you enjoy the sensation for a moment before withdrawing my leg. I untwisted my hand but, rather than letting your nipple go, pulled it outward, watching it stretch through the cloth until it was pulled taut away from your chest. My thumb and fingers pinched together as they slowly slid off the tip of your nipple. You moaned as it snapped back. "Why don't we go get some coffee?" I suggested as I turned and walked away toward the cafe.

We got coffees and a piece of pie to split and sat down in the small jumble of tables. One woman looked up at us as we found our table, frowning, but most people didn't seem to notice us at all. We sat down across from each other. As we sipped our coffees I told you, "We have talked about how to stay in touch when we're not around each other, and how to make sure we talk when we say we will. I have made a decision about how to encourage this. I think you will benefit from some more accountability. First of all, any day that you fail to contact me once in some way -text, phone, person, or email- will equal one clothespin, to be placed upon your body at my discretion the next time we are alone."

"Those scare me a little," you said.

"Shut up, Wilson," I responded, and continued. "If I text you, and you fail to respond that day, one clothespin. If you do not demonstrate interest in me or what I am telling you, hmmm, that might require two clothespins. But most important, if I suspect that you are intentionally misbehaving to receive punishment, I will decline to dominate you - no sitting on your face, smothering you with my dripping pussy; no helping you know what a good come-eating slut you are by letting you beg for the chance to touch my clit with your tongue - until I am satisfied that you have learned your lesson."

"Now, I do believe in the importance of positive reinforcement. So if I text you and you are busy at work, and you still text back a quick smiley face with a note about when you can talk, you will earn one good slap of your hard cock. If you tell me, "I will have to go after about ten minutes but I'm all yours for that time," you will earn three good hard cock slaps - one for honesty, one for time management and responsibility, and one for giving me your undivided attention."

I reached my hand under the table and grabbed your cock through your pants. I squeezed it so tightly at the base that you felt like you might explode. "Your cock wants to be slapped hard, doesn't it, Wil?" I asked.

"Yes," you almost moaned. I squeezed harder and pulled you toward me by your cock.

"Yes, what?" I asked.

"Yes, ma'am," you said.

"Yes," I murmured, "I want to slap it, too, get a nice rhythm going, over and over. Watch your cock bob up and down for me . . . and if you're very good maybe you'll get it stroked, too? That will be nice."

I released your cock and you sat back in your chair with a sigh. We talked about work for a little while until I had to go. "You still planning to come over Friday?" I asked.

* * * *

Friday evening, you knocked on my kitchen door. I opened it and stepped back for you to come in. I was wearing old jeans and a sheer, flowered long shirt. It looked as though I might not be wearing a bra, but the pattern made it hard to tell. You wanted to reach out and grab my breast to see, but you knew that you had better resist that urge. It was distracting, and you struggled to bring your attention back to the carry-out containers you showed me.

"Good, thanks," I said, "But let's eat later. Let's go upstairs now. Take off everything and lie on the bed and wait for me." When I turned, you could see my large nipples jutting through the shirt, and the way the fabric clung against my slightly rounded belly. You walked past me to head upstairs, using all your willpower not to rub your hands against my belly and feel the thin shirt sliding over it. You reassured yourself that you would get your chance to touch and satisfy your tactile urges.

When I walked into the bedroom, you had done just as I said. You were lying on your back, naked, looking at a book. You looked at me as I walked in and I smiled at you. I unfastened my jeans, letting them fall to the floor, and climbed over you to straddle your hips. I took the book away and set it down, and leaned forward to kiss you. Your tongue eagerly leapt into my mouth and wrestled with mine; we took turns sucking each other's tongues hard and licking each other's lips lightly. "Mmm, I love kissing," I murmured. "You may touch me, Wil." Grateful, you slid your hands up my sides to cup my breasts. A small sound escaped me. You gently rocked your hips against me while your expert fingers found my nipples and pinched them lightly. I stretched out more to almost lie on top of you, groaning as the kissing, grinding, and nipple play had their effect on me. I shuddered, and you thought maybe I'd relinquished my games for the evening, but then I pulled my head away from yours, gently took your hands off my breasts, and pushed them up over your head.

In seconds I had my soft rope cuffs around your wrists, which I attached to the post of the bed with a leader. "Roll on your side," I told you as I slid off you to your right. You rolled sideways and I arranged you as I wanted, putting a pillow under your head and making some adjustments to the rope. You found that when you were lying on your side facing me, your top arm resting on your head, your bottom arm stretched out, you were comfortable and had an unobstructed view of whatever I was planning to do next. You just couldn't pull your hands or arms down from their position.

Even though my long shirt was almost see-through, I seemed dressed compared to you, lying vulnerable and nude. I smiled at you and held up something - a clothespin. "It's only been a few days," I said, "and you've been very attentive. So I only have one clothespin to place this evening. Let's see; I wonder where would be the best place to put it?"

Involuntarily, you jerked, your leg coming up to cover your crotch. I laughed. "Oh, are you worried I might put it on your cock, baby?" I asked, running the clothespin lightly along your thigh. "You hold still, now, and let me decide . . . and don't hide yourself from me," I added, slapping your thigh sharply. You slowly drew your leg back, exposing your cock and balls and took a deep breath. "That's better; now hold still," I commanded.

I ran the clothespin slowly up your belly to your chest, tracing circles with it around your nipples. I opened it and placed the clamp over one nipple, letting it close slightly but not fully. You groaned. "I know you can't take it here . . . yet," I told you, "but don't worry. I have other ideas in store for your nipples." I released your nipple from the pin and continued its journey around your body - would it land on the tender skin of your upper arm? Your belly? The skin right above your hip? I traced my way down your body with the clothespin, coming to the part of your body you had instinctively protected.

"I think since you tried to keep this from me, it almost has to go here somewhere," I decided. I grabbed your cock firmly at its base and almost absent-mindedly began stroking it very slowly as I traced the clothespin around your inner thigh, up through your pubic hair, under your balls. Finally I decided, pulling the loose skin of your scrotum out away from your balls and clipping the clothespin to it. "Ah!" you tensed, and I knew from experience what you were feeling - the initial pressure and sting, the feeling of discomfort, thinking that it's too much and you have to have it off, then finding it slowly subsiding into an odd, warm, slow burn, that somehow almost feels good and keeps that part of your body fore-grounded in your mind. I knew, too, that any time you moved in a way that jostled the clothespin, it would bring it right back to the beginning of the cycle - the sting, the overwhelming pain, the gradual easing and throbbing.

Satisfied, I sat back and reached behind me on the nightstand. You heard a shifting clacking that you couldn't place, and lifted your head from the pillow, trying to see what I had. I placed it on the bed between us, a small box full of small, 1 inch hinged hair clips, each with six plastic teeth. "These are called claw clips," I explained, pressing the hinges on one to open the miniature claw wide, exposing the pointed tips. I began to place them around your chest. I pinched your nipples hard so that they were stiff and stood out. I rolled your nipples between my thumb and index finger slowly, as though I were looking for an elusive radio station. Then I placed the two smallest clips directly on your hard nipples.

Looking at my handiwork, I flicked the hair clips here and there to make you jump, and flicked the tip of the clothespin. Your instincts got the better of you, causing you to jerk your leg in front of you, which pulled on the clothespin much harder. Quickly, you pulled your leg back and breathed deeply, waiting for the initial sting to subside. I grabbed your cock with one hand and slapped it hard with the other. "Didn't I tell you not to hide yourself from me?" I demanded, slapping your cock again and again.

"Oh, yes ma'am!" you said quickly.

"I know you need this cock spanked, slut," I told you. "I understand how much you need it . . . don't you?"

"Oh yes, please slap my cock, ma'am," you answered. "Ow . . .ah, please."

I yanked your cock roughly, then let it fall, bouncing off your thigh.

"Now," I told you, "you say you are a curious person. This is your opportunity to learn just what your mistress likes. You had better pay close attention, because you will be expected to remember how to please me . . . if you are good enough to get the chance." I lay down on the bed and threw one leg over you, scooting close so that you could see the wet mark in the middle of my panties where my juices had started to seep through. I wiggled even closer, until you had a perfect view of the fine hair on my legs getting darker as it disappeared under my panties, and I slid my finger over the top of them, rubbing my clit through the thin fabric.

"It feels so good to grind my clit against you through my clothes, or rub it through my panties - it makes me so hot, sometimes I come before I can even get to touching it directly," I told you. My finger rubbed a slow circle, then began rocking my clit back and forth through the cloth. My fingers pressed my panties into my wet pussy and I started grinding my hips against my own hand. I was getting so turned on, and I pulled my panties off quickly and began rubbing my swollen clit. You could see my whole pussy glistening and now you could smell my excitement, too.

"Oh yes," you whispered, "yes, rub it."

"Be quiet!" I said, "or these panties will double as a gag. But," I said, sitting up, "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" I picked up my panties and rubbed them against your face. "Lick that juice off my panties, Wil. You want that pussy juice all over your face, don't you? Do you smell it? Don't you wish you had my pussy shoved in your nose right now instead of just my wet panties?"

Leaving my panties draped across your chest, I lay back down in front of you. You watched me as I stroked myself, sometimes with one finger, sometimes with two. You took your assignment seriously, paying attention and making mental notes. I loved massaging and moving my clit around under my fingers. You noticed that I had a cycle of getting excited, getting quiet, my body tensing, looking like I was about to come and then dropping down a level, working my way back up. It's like an orgasm spiral staircase, you found yourself thinking. When I thrust two fingers into my pussy, you moaned. You had thought you knew how wet I was but when I spread those inner lips wide, my juice flowed out and ran down my pussy and ass onto the bed. To be so close - to see me, and smell me, but not touch - was agony. The smell of me made you feel high. You thought it would kill you not to be able to lick those lips, to suck that juice out, to be part of pleasuring me.

Soon my body grew more and more tense. My breathing was rough, and my hand moved faster and faster. You held your breath, willing yourself to be quiet. Suddenly, my hips bucked violently off the bed, and I was yelling, "Ah, ah, oh God - fuck!" I managed to keep my legs spread wide so you could see my pussy pulsing and convulsing, squirting more and more come out until I was drenched.

I curled up on my side and lay, periodically shuddering with aftershocks, for several minutes. Finally, I sat up, and smiled. "Well, I'm in a good mood," I remarked. "Would you like a turn to see if you can please me?"

"Oh yes, please, let me make you come any way you want me to! Please . . ."

I carefully opened the clothespin, and you cried out a little, because the release caused a different kind of sweet pain. I took off the clips from your chest, and replaced those on your nipples with the little bobby pins I favored. I flicked the hard tips of your nipples, making you moan. "Mmmm, I love playing with your nipples," I murmured, rubbing one with my palm and pinching the other, then switching. They're so sensitive; it's so much fun." You arched your chest off the bed, thrusting your cock into the air, as I reached above you and released your hands.

"Before you can pleasure me, you have some work to do," I told you. "Look at this mess - come everywhere. You'd better get to work showing me what a good come-sucking slut you are. I'm going to sit on your face until you lick and suck and swallow all this juice and come. But first I want you to beg for the privilege of eating my pussy."

You didn't even hesitate a second, as if you were waiting to be asked to beg. "Yes, please, ma'am . . . Oh, please let me lick and suck your sweet pussy. You don't know how much I'm dying to taste you, please swallow my face with your hot, wet throbbing lips. Please, I'll try so hard to clean you up good so you'll let me make you come again."

I smiled - "That's nice, Wil" - and straddled your shoulders. I pulled my sheer shirt off over my head, and now I was naked like you. You could see the soft nest of hair tantalizingly close above your face, beaded with thick drops of come. You kept talking, "Ohhh, yes, please! I'll suck every drop of come and pussy juice out of your soft bush. It's so beautiful . . . ." Your tongue was thrusting out as you spoke, your head leaning forward trying to catch a bead of juice while you mentally willed yourself not to grab me with your freshly released hands and force me onto your face. But Lord, it was so hard not to. You were talking nonstop; you couldn't seem to quit. What you were picturing in your mind needed to come out somehow: "Unh, please, please, feed me your come. I need to taste you . . . lick you clean . . . service you. I want every drop, I swear. Oh, come on, grind your hot pussy into my face hard, rock your clit against my lips, pleasure yourself until I can't breathe . . . please, baby . . . . "

The smile I had on my face disappeared. I reached behind me and casually flicked the tip of your penis hard, as though shooting a marble. You grunted, surprised from your reverie. "Don't fucking tell me what to do, Wilson," I said, my eyes hard and intense. "I'll use you however I want to, do you understand that?"

"Yes," you said, "I'm sorry."

Slower, I added, "And you want that, don't you, baby?" my eyes still boring into yours as I leaned back, reaching behind me to grab the base of your cock like a vise and jack you slowly up and down.

You moaned. "Yes," you answered.

"Yes, what?" I insisted.

"Yes, ma'am, I want you to use me however you want to."

"Who does this body belong to tonight, Wil?" I asked, my voice quiet, my stroke rough but slow.

"You . . . Unh, please . . . You, my body belongs to you," you moaned.

I didn't say anything right away. I watched your face, while I stroked your cock up and down and it grew harder and harder in my hand. I worked your cock over until it was rock hard and standing up. Then I gifted you with a few more strokes before moving forward and positioning myself over your face again. "Listen," I told you. "You may not touch my clit in any way unless I say to. You haven't earned the right to pleasure me yet. We already know you can be a good pleasure slut. Show me how much you want to service me in every way - how you can be a good cleaning maid for your mistress. Now, get started licking all that come. Some of it's dry now so you'll have to work hard to get me nice and clean."

I lowered myself onto your waiting mouth. "Start licking all the juice and dried come off my outer lips and pubic hair, Wil," I told you. You licked and sucked, determined to show me how seriously you took the task. You sucked all the come out of the downy hair of my bush. You traced the edges of my rippled outer lips, and lapped inward to the thick pool of come my inner lips contained like a moat. You gently sucked me dry, and then lapped further in, toward my still dripping pussy entrance. "Mmm, that's so good, Wil," I murmured. "What a good pussy-cleaning whore you are. That's it, baby, lap it up. Stick your tongue inside me and lap up that juice like a good pet."

So eager to please me, you made your tongue stiff and hard and slid it into my pussy. It was like a furnace - so hot on your tongue - but no furnace would be so wet. You curved your tongue and withdrew it, pulling all the liquid you could out to swallow. "That's it, Wil. Drink all that come you watched me make."

Over and over, you thrust your tongue inside me, extracting come like a hummingbird at a flower. Feeling your hot breath on me made me hot all over again. I started to move against your tongue, and before long I was riding it, shoving myself down onto it hard and rocking back and forth before pulling up and dropping down again. You felt my pubic bone hitting the bridge of your nose and your chin sliding between the crack of my ass with each thrust. All you could do was concentrate on keeping your tongue stiff and being ready for me.

"Oh, that's so good," I breathed. "It's so good fucking your face, Wil. You're such a good come-sucking whore, aren't you, baby?" All you could do was moan in response.

"You got me cleaned up so nice. I love how much you like to serve my pussy," I told you. "I know you're dying to help me come again. Use that sweet tongue on my clit now, baby."