Pinning you down is my favorite part.
It's especially true when I telegraph that I'm going to do it. That I show you, tell you, that it's coming so that you can put up the biggest, best fight you have in you. So when your eyes narrow and your breath quickens and your muscles are bristling with all that extra strength and I sweep it away? Push you down into the position I want you in like you're not even there? That way you know that I own you. And we can call it whatever you'd like and we can pretend it doesn't happen, whatever it takes to sooth your ego and make you want it again.
But we both know the truth when I do it. As strong as you get, as smart as you are and as dedicated to the fight as you can be—the moment I want to take you, I can.
So keep struggling, keep grunting, keep narrowing your eyes at me like you're not claimed. I want that part of it, too. I want to gaze into your fire with my perfect calm and demonstrate again that you're being taken. That you cannot clasp your legs together tight enough that I can't pry them apart. That you can't push your arms against mine to move them as I do.
You're mine. You're all mine, you're only mine. And it is only through grace and respect that I don't show you more often.
But we're not talking about grace and respect tonight, are we? We're talking about what we are, who we are, to each other. And I am the monster that stands so tall above you that my shoulders are half your height. Whose hand is nearly the size of your face and could easily take the air from your mouth or neck despite every effort made to stop it.
I love you because you admit where other couples hide from it. I love you because you'd deny every word of it to any other man or couple, any friend or relationship in your life, but as soon as you close our door you'll admit it's true. Even when infuriated. Even when defiant. I love you because you're the only girl I've met that isn't afraid.
My second favorite part is when you stop struggling. I never know if it's a feint or not, and that is alluring beyond my ability to state. Sometimes you run out of gas and others you're just looking for an opening.
So what's it going to be? Good girl or bad? I won't ask you to answer. I suspect you often don't know yourself.
I move my hands from your wrists and tilt my head as I look down upon you, wondering what you'll do.
You simply breath heavily, eyes ignited, gazing up at me and if my cock wasn't siphoning so much blood I'd probably feel some guilt.
When I rip your blouse open it sends a few buttons off like rockets. You gasp and then narrow your eyes. “I liked that shirt..”
Why do you think I did it?
I lean down to kiss and lick your stomach, to take a little of it between my teeth and roll the flesh around. I want to hear you acknowledge me and sing my praises and the only song that sounds good is gnashing and groaning and screaming.
It's only when I feel your hand on the back of my neck that I know you're going to be a very good girl indeed. That's okay. I don't mind it when you submit. It makes me up my imagination game. Anyone can dominate an opponent. It's a bit harder when they're playing along.
A quick jerk back, two hands on your hips and I flip you over. A quick swat to your ass, only because I can't resist it, and I pull the blouse off you. It tears, here and there, but it was already acknowledged in past tense.
I strip you down, piece by piece.
“You can't just do this when you like.” You say it with your head still buried in the mattress. “What if I had a bad day at work? What if I wasn't in the mood?”
Which I assume is trying to draw me out of the moment because as much as you want this, you love making me concede even more. There isn't anything you could say though. I'm as much yours as you are mine. I am tied to this outcome with all my being.
I need you to cum for me. I require it.
When the last of your clothing is off I push two fingers into your cunt without pretext or warning. If you aren't wet now then what are we even doing together?
I slide in with some ease, some groaning on your part.
“You're hurting me.”
If you think I am now just wait, your life is going to get very difficult.
You start to say something else but the blood is rushing to my ears and I've reached the point that I can't hear a thing. Sometimes your pussy does that to me, and just knowing that you're wet makes the drumbeat louder.
So I turn you over again and I push my lips against yours. The only difference between this kiss and strangling you is which part of my body I'm using and you feel it. You go limp beneath me except for your kiss.
I'm a verbal person by nature and so I hope you take it as the compliment it is that I refuse to speak to you in this. That instead of telling you what I want I wrap my wrists around yours and pull you up and pin you again the wall. That I guide your hands above your head and your body a foot from the wall, like you're under arrest, and that I stroke you and cup you all over once you are.
I take special pains to play with the parts that I sometimes neglect. I run my knuckles down your spine. I stoke the side of your neck like you're a pet. I hold your hips in my hands to show you just how much bigger I am than you.
Then I spin you around and slam you against the wall to make you gasp for me. When you reach for my cock I knock the hand away.
I find this is more effective than telling you I love you or having a discussion on the matter. Don't you?
Normally I'd lift you against the wall by your hips or the back of your thighs but you make the devil live in me and only cumming in you gets him out again, and I'm going to hurt you for it.
Both of my hands come up to your neck and squeeze slightly, slowly, firmly. I look into your eyes to make sure that you can see that something in me wants to keep taking the oxygen from you almost as much as it wants me to fuck you. Do you see it? Can you feel it now? Do you know that you make me need you in such a way that it hurts?
I don't know any other way to ask it, or to get you to answer honestly, so I start lifting. I start pushing your throat towards the ceiling.
At first you don't understand and tilt your head back but when there's no more room to go you gasp. The air is actually going to leave you now, if you don't do anything. At first you rely on instinct, you get up on your tip-toes, but I'm still lifting. So you start scratching, clawing, kicking at me now that you're suspended, mostly by me, some by the wall, but that's still instinct. That's still the animal in you.
Then you do the thing I wanted and you grasp onto your attacker. You hold me with both hands, you swing your legs around me and grapple. You latch on to me so that you stop being hurt.
I'd normally ask who's sicker for wanting this, but given how hard my cock is, I have a pretty good idea.
There is the added benefit of your pussy being exposed with your legs spread so wide, and once you're elevated to the correct height, pushing into you is easier than the fingers.
You wouldn't know it from the violent strokes, or the growls and grunts or the fact that I just wont take my hands from your neck but inside you it feels like home.
I have to keep my hands from tightening with every thrust. I have to remember to hold them back from the impulse as I shove in and out of you hard enough to make a wet, slapping sound when your ass hits the paint.
You close your eyes and I am grateful because it allows me to let all my demons out and push in and out of you until I am so close. Close enough to know that I can't push in any further in fear of harming you.
So I toss you up into the air, by your throat, in a way that I am certain will leave mark all so I can grab you by your ass, cart you back to the bed, and push you into the mattress.
From there it's arms around you as tight as you're clinging onto me. Somehow tighter than when you were holding on for life.
I push myself beyond my limits to make certain that when I cum in you, I'm going as hard and fast as I can. I want to ache tomorrow in the same way you will. A minute or slow later, I cum deep within you.
A minute after that I roll onto my side, still slick with sweat and gasping.
When you start speaking I move my nearly dead hand over your mouth to silence it.
Your laughter is muffled, but the kiss you give to my palm is louder than trumpets.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/22ol37/rise_mflight_bdsm