I grew up in an average environment. My father was an architect for a mid-sized firm downtown and my mother taught the 3rd grade at a private catholic institution. When I was 8 years old, I was tested for an advanced program called Gate, but otherwise I was never exceptional at anything. I never played a sport, or an instrument, and in memory no exceptionally cute boys asked me out on a date during high school. In fact it wouldn’t be until I started going to college that men started noticing me.
Admittedly, the attraction was towards my pubescent girlish figure. I’ve often stood in front of the mirror and wished my breasts would grow. Instead they stood taunt against my body, half a handful in my palms with the pinkish flesh of my nipples peeking out from between my fingers. My skin was milky, and creamy. A man I dated once told me that my skin was like condensed milk and he wanted to brush his dark, chocolaty skin against it, spreading me apart until he could taste my strawberry center.
I don’t know if that worked for most girls, but he never got the chance. In fact, no one ever has had the chance. It wasn’t as if I were sitting here waiting for a white knight in shining armor to gallivant down the hillside and swoop me from this eerily mundane sexless life. That I would find the one man who could make my breath catch in my chest and moist between my legs. It wasn’t as if I were searching for him, but I did find him.
His name was Domino, and he wore a room, and influenced the people around him. He was neither quiet or stoic, he could be brash, wild, and unreasonable. If I were asked to draw a picture representing the two of us, I’d likely choose a Venn diagram with a narrow waist.
I find myself swallowing as I type, imagining him widening the middle open with his cock, pressed against the inside. I almost feel empty as I sit here alone, in this middling room with a desk and a Macbook to keep me company. I had started off this Monday as I always had, waking up, going to work, and coming home to feed my kitten. Somehow, instead of finishing the work week, I was nearly halfway across the world with a strange man, with a strange request, and traces of a light whipping that covered my body. I moved the tips of my fingers over the raised flesh, and felt its sting.
The sensation of my finger nails lightly spreading the lines apart sent chills down my spine. I felt in a way, in control of my body, and yet detached from it. I wanted him to run his fingers, no, his tongue over my wounds. I wanted him to lick my neck and let the skin burn like a cut, and then leave me on the bed, nude, as his scent dried on my flesh. I wouldn’t touch myself, but I can imagine squirming as the gait between my thighs felt wet, as my body attempted to wring and contract itself until it could shudder in delight.
I couldn’t bear another second alone in this room and did as he requested. I took my clothes off and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The lightly tapped lines splintered across my body. Some a light a pink, others deeper and red. I pulled the one piece swimsuit over my body, it covered the majority of my wounds, save for a few along the back of my leg and arms, one that stretched like a choker around my neck, and in the back, an oval opening revealed an exceptionally deep mark along my lower back that was hard for me to reach by myself. The iconic Burberry logo ran its canvas around my skin, squeezing my small breasts tighter against my body, revealing the softness of my butt as it creased into my flesh. I draped a towel around myself as I was instructed and walked barefoot to the elevator, down into the hotel lobby and then out to the infinity pool that faced the ocean. I noticed a few eyes staring at me, the wind pushed my soft brown hair against my face, and the towel was only large enough to cover my legs like a short skirt.
He was sitting by the pool as he said he would be. I was to come near him and wait for further instructions.
“Suberri,” came his voice. “Do you like your swimsuit?”
I nodded.
He took off his sunglasses and looked at the pool of water in front of us, there were no steps but a constant decline towards the deeper end. It’s movements mimicking the waves in front of us.
“Do you know who built this pool?”
I shook my head.
“Marcus de Armitt. A famous architect from 20 years ago built this pool, it was his first passion project. He wanted to create the ocean floor, hence its name, the Seabed. It maintains nearly 88 thousand cubic meters of salt water. Underneath the pool is a series of mechanical gears and weights that detect the tides hitting the shoreline 48.5 meters away. He chose this distance because if you could imagine the water hitting the shoreline and traveling through the sand to this spot, the wave would continue and end right here.” He put his foot into the water. “And as this pool’s wave recedes, it is in tune with the tide rolling back into the ocean out there,” he said while pointing to the vast expanse.
Domino stood up whispered into my ear, “Let the towel fall to the ground, then walk into the water until you can kneel waist deep. Feel the water touch your wounds, and the waves brush against your body.”
I wanted to say something but bit my lip. I was supposed to listen. That was the deal. So I let the towel fall from my shoulders, and immediately I felt more eyes on me. Their blue eyes, brown eyes, green ones, followed the lines of my body. I felt a hot streak form from my cheeks to the bridge of my nose. More heads turned as I walked towards the pool, a man stopped sipping his drink as I passed. He could see the lines on my ass, the dainty imperfections on my arms and legs. I may as well have been naked the way he looked at me. I walked into the water until it was deep enough and sat down, my knees underneath me, the water hitting my waist, splashing as it touch my belly button. The sting of the salt searing across where I had been whipped earlier. I bit my lip as each wave washed over a new wound and sprinkled its harsh crushing crystals over others that begged to be dry. I squirmed a bit as my chest fought to stay calm. I could hear them whispering now, those who had watched from a sideways glance now stared unabashedly. I could even make out a few women from the corner of my eyes. The salt hit my stomach, the cold penetrated my skin and the water rubbed me raw. I could feel the water run between my legs, pulling me with the touch of a feather. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feeling. He hadn’t said it, didn’t even command me to, but I knew I was suppose to sit here and orgasm through the sheer will of its majestic history. How anyone was supposed to make that happen I did not know. But as I sat there for a moment, with attentive eyes running along my body, the idea of the gears churning underneath me, grinding together as the weights fell heavily against their resting spots, I could not help myself. My lips parted as if they were dry. My breathing ran along my mouth and a part of me wanted something to fill my lips. My breathing became shallow. My clit strained against the cloth, I could feel it reaching out to the water, waiting for every hit and pleasure, and when it all felt heightened and I still could not cum, I felt his hands trace the wound on my back. He dug his finger into my flesh, I gasped out loud and felt a white blinding sensation overcome me. It wasn’t so much the pain but the surprise. It was being touched deeper than anything I had ever felt before. Again he dug his fingers into the wound on my back, and I shuddered. I could see the water shaking as it mimicked the movements of my body. My leg shook underneath my hand. The wave hit my stomach and it were as if Domino’s hands were large enough to grasp my waist, digging in his finger in my back, scraping the salt along my wound, and entrenching his fingers into my belly button as I squirmed in his grasp. I opened my eyes as I panted. The several men that had gathered around seemed to be broken from the spell and turned to hide the engorged areas of their shorts. Domino smiled at me and I wished I could ask for permission to be fucked.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fg4kq0/sugar_hills_pt_1_mf_dom_and_sub_pain_and