“Body like a battleaxe”

Remember when I said that the Emperor sent me a series of hot emails that I very much wanted to post, but decided not to? Well, I think I can get around the whole consent issue by writing the imagined scenario from my point of view instead.

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[via Viviane]

"Were I to dom you, Wilhelmina..." he said in his email...

We're in that room, in the basement. I'm sitting in the middle of the floor on a stool with my hands on my knees; and even though I'm fully clothed I feel completely naked. You're circling me, slowly, and I know you don't want me to move so I'm trying not to, but it's difficult. Your gaze is so intense and it makes me feel self-conscious. I want to look away, but I can't...

Finally you say something.

"Close your eyes."

Relief. My eyes flutter shut but almost immediately I want to open them again. I want to know what you're going to do. But I make myself keep them shut; I make myself obey.

I gasp in surprise when I feel your fingertips lightly trace along my shoulders and up my neck. You're barely touching me but every movement is electric. I can hear you breathe now, as you bring your cheek close to mine. Not even skin brushing skin. Merely the fine hairs on your face displacing mine.

I'm tense. I want to move but I'm utterly unable to.

And then you're dipping your hands under my shirt, easing it up my body and over my head. My bra soon comes off as well. A few seconds of breathless nothing - I can feel your gaze raking over my naked back - and then you're sweeping my long hair over my left shoulder.

My eyes are still clamped shut when I feel your mouth on the small of my back. I yelp. Your soft, warm lips and sharp teeth graze my skin all the way up my spine until you reach my neck. At which point you bite and suck hard at my tender shoulders and throat. Tasting me.

I groan, letting my head tilt back ever so slightly, feeling myself start dripping. God, I want you so bad, and I want to tell you as much...

Then your hands. They press against my quivering thighs, run over them and my hips, my stomach and stop at my naked breasts. You tease my nipples between... your thumb and forefinger, probably... so lightly, while you continue to bite me roughly enough to make me cry out.

"Are you aroused?" Your voice is velvet and liquid sex and dark, dark chocolate.

"Yes," I mutter. You pull me to my feet briefly to ease my skirt and panties off.

"Then touch yourself - tease your clit out. Don't masturbate. Just make yourself ready."

My mouth is a thin, straight line. I've only touched myself in front of another person once, and that was only for a few brief seconds. Nevertheless, I move one hand from my knee to reach in between my legs and rub myself. Soon I'm swelling, standing to attention. Meanwhile, you're moving my legs, spreading them apart, and tying my ankles securely to the back legs of the stool.

You're in front of me; I can feel it. The silence twists itself around us like a snake. My eyelids have flickered so many times since you told me to keep them closed but I've managed to not fully open them. Yet.

I feel your hand at the small of my back, your breath on my vulnerable chest and then - god - your tongue on my nipples, laving one, then the other, and then your lips wrap around it instead. Sucking. I try hard not to whimper, biting my bottom lip hard.

You stand back up again and I'm panting and you're pulling my hands away from where I was still caressing myself. And you bring my arms behind my back, tying my wrists together as firmly as my ankles. Before I can even hazard a guess at what's going to come next I feel your tongue, again - on my clit now - slick and wet and quick and maddening. I swear you're making figure-eights with your tongue. (If you're supposed to be domming me, why does it still feel like I'm being serviced?) I want desperately to thrust against your face but I can't because of the rope, the damn rope.

I'm panting hard when you withdraw again and almost shriek in frustration.

I give a wholly different kind of shriek when the first blow from the riding-crop hits home.

You strike my breasts, my sides, my pussy with sharp, smart thwips, and with every strike I have to press my lips together harder to stop the cries that threaten to escape. The crop stings when it hits my sensitive folds, but then why - why - am I getting closer and closer to coming?

You rip my orgasm away from me when you stop spanking my pussy and instead move behind me. You make sure to move my arms further up my back before raining blows onto my lower back and ass. You're not holding back now. I can tell. Each strike has a crisp, audible slap to it, and feels like fire. My jaw is slack - my mouth is open and wordless and I can practically feel my skin rising into red welts all over.

After what seems like hours, you stop. I hear the crop falling to the floor and a soft bump as you fall to you knees behind me. Your hands are at my hips, and you ghost light caresses over me - caresses as light as your blows were rough.

I assume that you're done and I let myself relax. Big mistake. Before I'm even aware of what's happening, two of your fingers are deep inside my dripping cunt. You hook your fingers, pumping me, your fingers banging hard against my walls. And I'm moaning. My eyes are open wide and I'm hoarsely moaning. You're standing now and I can feel your ample breasts against my back. Your breath is hot in my ear.

Yes. Yes. Yes. More. You continue pounding me relentlessly and when I finally come, I scream.

A few fuzzy moments later your hand is in front of my face and I'm licking it clean. And then you come in and kiss me properly.

Me: "That was... wonderfully hot. And so, so perfectly fitting. And I'm going to be horribly distracted for the rest of the evening"

Him: "Always glad to be of service."

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