For those who haven't looked at the title: this is some random erotica. It's light D/s & hetero (again...I must be on a kick). If that's not your thing, you'll probably wanna move along. I might post some pretty pictures after this, if I'm still unwillingly awake.
She glances at the clock--the old-fashioned kind, complete with a ticking second hand. It's a quarter to six. He should be home soon.
She makes her way to the kitchen, checks the slow-cooker. She doesn't want dinner to burn; she doesn't know how long they'll be. That done, she walks through the house, fingers trailing along the hallway wall. At the bedroom door, she pauses to survey the scene. Her hand lifts to her throat, brushes against the pearl necklace there, then drops to rest over the swell of her breast, rising above the top of the costume corset.
The key turns in the lock, and she turns, too, sliding one arm up against the door frame, posing.
He enters, looking nervous; she knew he would. He's been down, moping, afraid he's not good enough. The anxiety permeates their relationship, and she knows only one way to banish it for a while.
He pauses when he sees her, then tosses his mail on the entry table and drops his bag. Any other day, he'd then rush her, push her back into the bedroom, take her in a mixed fit of giggling and growling.
Not today. Today, he just looks. She permits his look for a moment, then slowly walks down the hall toward him, one heeled foot deliberately placed in front of the other.
When she reaches him, he lifts a hand. She intercepts it, takes it between her two hands. Gently, she lifts it to her lips, kisses the backs of his fingers while looking him in the eyes. Then she turns, keeping one hand laced with his, and pulls him to the bedroom.
Once there, she drops his hand, pushes the door closed. Locks it. Turns to face him, and her eyes flash.
"You understand I love you, yes?" she asks as she circles him slowly.
He swallows.
"Answer, please," she requests.
"Yes," he says, but his voice is wary, almost apologetic. She has a lot of work to do.
Coming full circle, she stops, faces him, and begins to undress him. He moves to help her, and she pushes his arms back, almost impatiently. Once she has him naked, she places her left palm flat against the center of his chest.
She looks at him, makes sure his eyes maintain contact with hers. "I love you."
Then she pushes, forcefully enough to make him stumble back against the bed. She pushes again, and he sits.
"Lie back," she commands, and he complies. His muscles are tense, his body a bit awkward. She bends over him to pick up the feathered whip lying on the sheet next to him.
"Tell me," she says, almost gently.
"I'm not...I can't," he whispers, his eyes seeking hers.
Unaccepting, she commands: "Tell me!"
"I'm not..." his eyes close. "I'm not good enough."
fwp! The flat end of the whip makes contact with his skin, lightly, over one rib. He winces slightly, his eyes opening.
She studies him, then commands again: "Tell me." Her voice and pose grow harder.
"No...I'm not good enough, I can't..." he says again, before the whip sounds again against his skin, a little farther down.
He makes a sound, almost a cry. She lets the feathers trail over him from neck to stomach, giving him gentleness for a moment, then asks, "Do I consort with those who are not good enough?"
He looks into her face, searching. After a few seconds, he sighs. "No."
She puts one knee on the bed next to his hip, swings her other leg over, leans forward. "Then I suggest," she says, "you act as if you are worthy."
He says nothing, and she flicks the whip down lightly across his chest. "Do you understand?"
When he does not reply, she flicks her wrist again, more sharply, delivering a bit more sting with the blow. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," he says, sounding defeated. She gives a little frown, then moves back, situating her hips above his knees. His cock twitches a little as her gaze moves over it. She reaches her free hand out, trails her fingers over his stomach. She slides her hand down...down...but veers to one side, avoiding his most sensitive spots. Her eyes move back to his.
"You," she says distinctly, "are good." She bends, drops a kiss on the skin she just touched.
His breathing changes slightly. She looks up at him again, gives him another soft kiss just above his tip. Then she pushes herself up.
"What are you?" she asks.
"Good," he answers, too quickly.
"Do you believe that?"
He just looks at her mutely. She gives a little growl, lifts the whip, flicks it down. He flinches from the sting.
"What are you?" she demands.
"I'm...I'm..." he says, but cannot get further. For his honesty, she rewards him with a soft kiss over the spot the whip marked.
"You," she says, "are loved." She punctuates with another delicate kiss. His body trembles underneath her. "You are good."
He nods weakly.
She moves her face until her breath blows over his shaft as she asks again, "What are you?"
"I'm...I am...good," he says hesitantly. She looks at him hard, discerning. Seeing less doubt, she dips her head, gives a soft lick.
"Yes. Yes, you are good." She moves her free hand under his cock, lifting it. "Say it again for me, louder, please."
"I...am...good," he says clearly, a little louder. She brushes her lips against his head, then commands him to say it again. "I am...good!" She smiles, then opens her lips, takes him between them softly.
When she lifts her head, she also lifts the whip. He glances at it, a bit nervously, but she asks, "Will I need this anymore this evening?"
He shakes his head, and she puts it aside, satisfied for the moment. She moves back up his body, dropping small licks and kisses along his torso until her hips rest above his, her folds just brushing against him.
"Tell me again, and make me believe it," she says.
A worried look flashes across his face, but as she begins to frown, his face clears. "I am good," he says.
"Again," she orders, and he obeys. Her hips rock over him a little. "And again..."
As he gains confidence, his body relaxes. When she sees the tension drained from him, she smiles, shifts...and slides down.
Wonder crosses his face as she envelops him, and then they move as one. She keeps control for a while, until she feels him nearing climax. Then she leans forward more and lets him take over. When he slows, she takes the reins again, carries them both beyond the crest of another wave of pleasure, then just sits atop him, catching her breath, her hand back on the center of his chest.
He glows. His entire being is lighter, happier.
She smiles, slips to the side, reaches a hand behind her to untie the corset. She lets it fall beside the bed, then lies next to him, kissing his shoulder and then his lips.
"Love," she whispers, "what are you?"
He turns his face to hers, smiling, relaxed. "I am good," he whispers back before kissing her confidently.
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