Control



 
Control:
Bondage Stories
2007-09-21
Archive-name: Bondage/control.txt

Archive-author: K.J.Gray

Archive-title: Control





Copyright 1993 by K. J. Gray. All rights reserved.





Take me. Take control of me....



After I am naked you lay me down on the huge four-poster. You

take a smooth, silky, emerald green scarf and tie my wrists together.

Holding my arms above my head, you whisper to me, "Submit."



"No," I say defiantly. I am in an uncooperative mood this evening.



You kiss me gently on the nose and say, "You're in no position to

deny me anything. You will submit to me--willingly or unwillingly."



"Ha!" I snort. "Make me."



You grin wickedly. "If you say so, m'dear." And then your

teasing, tickling tongue is at my throat, licking and flicking over the

tender, pulsing artery just underneath my skin. Then your teeth, nibbling

gently--then a little rougher. I suppress a groan, try to keep my hips

still. Your cock is hard, poking aggressively against my thigh.



Your mouth then trails lazily over my collarbones, and then down,

eager to capture a dusky nipple between your teeth. Your fingers tickle

my ribs through my trembling skin. I giggle a little. You suck my

nipples hard between your lips, and this time I cannot quash the sounds of

pleasure emanating from my throat. "Victory!" you hiss, forcing open my

thighs with an insistent knee.



"Not even," I say through clenched teeth. My hands strain at the

silken bonds. My body steels itself against the onslaught of your desire.

And still you attack: your tongue now exploring the recesses of my belly

button; your hands underneath me, kneading my soft, round bottom.



"Submit," you command again.



"No," I reply, my voice shaking. My resolve is weaker now as your

strong, nimble fingers trace lazy figure-eights on my inner thigh.



"You are quite the irreverent Little Miss Thang this evening," you

murmur, continuing to stroke my thighs. Your breath is hot against the

thick hair of my mons. My core is throbbing, liquid, on the verge of

exploding. Tiny colored stars arrange and rearrange into showy

constellations in front of my eyes. You continue to stroke and breathe

against me. A tiny "please" escapes from my lips before I can bite it

back.



"Beg pardon?" you query mischievously, lightly brushing your thumbs

across my clitoris. There is laughter and a hint of triumph in your voice.

My body quivers in torturous pleasure.



I try to arch my hips towards your touch, but you pull your

fingers away. "Say it," you command me. I open my mouth to utter the

phrase, to say the words that will guarantee me explosive ecstasy. But a

final swell of rebellion takes control of me and I shake my head. "No," I

say again.



Gently, very gently, your tongue arcs out to flick over my clit.

The tiny colored stars condense, implode, and then explode, raining down

over all five of my senses. "I submit, I submit," I moan over and over

again, my body bucking against the silk that holds me captive. You grab

my hips to hold me still and inflict your exquisite torture again, and

again, and again....

--

 



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