Page 38 of The Dommes

Yet I can’t lie. I want to yank that hair, bite that flesh, and spank her so hard that she squirms away from me every time I come near her – because she can’t help it. Because she needs it so badly that her body doesn’t want to let her have it. It’s one of the most exquisite reactions a Domme like me can witness, and I know I’m not going to get it right now.

Fuck I don’t fucking care I just want to fuck her.

“Katie.” I growl her beautiful name over and over, squeezing her breasts through her blouse, feeling my whole body fill with blood every time she gasps. This fucking top. It was so hot watching her strut around in it earlier, but now I have no idea how to get to her tits without ruining her outfit. The best I can do is reach my hand up the bottom and claw away her bra, pinching her nipples and listening to her cry out in the most delectable pain you’ve ever heard.

“Say it again,’ she begs, and oh God do I love her begging. That little whine in her voice. Fluttering. Unwavering. “Say my name.”

I’m losing myself, but I’m still with it enough to suck on her ear, plunging my tongue deep within it, letting my voice roll off my feral tongue. “Kathleen.”

She’s shuddering. Her legs are spreading around my hips. Her moans are so simple yet lustful, and just fuck me sideways like I want to fuck her sideways because I’m completely losing my mind listening to and feeling her come undone like this.

I nearly rip her blouse trying to tear it off her torso. Kathleen lifts her arms, letting me toss it to the side as I attack her breasts with my mouth and hands. So soft. So supple and malleable. They’re the perfect size. I can’t get over her areolas. I can’t get over the fact that I remember a word like “areola” right now.

They’re so round. So elastic. Every time my lips tug at them they get harder, and Katie moans, her hand clutching the back of my neck and threatening to bring me closer.

Oh, I will get closer.

“I want you.” She’s not whining anymore. This is that confident woman who strutted around her presentation, cutting off heads and mounting them on her fireplace like treasures. She’ll take mine too – but in a completely different way. “Fuck me like you did last week, Ira. Right now!”

I open her legs wider, tearing away her underwear and plunging my thumb into her warmth. She’s aroused. Of course, she’s aroused. She’s begging me to fuck her, and now she’s got my thumb inside her, twisting around, searching for her wetness. There’s not enough.

The table creaks as I nearly drop to my knees to fully taste her for the first time.

“Ira!” Breathy, raspy, I dunno how to describe it. My nose is so full of her scent that I can’t help but lick the length of her slit, fondling her clit with my tongue and tasting everything that is Kathleen Allen. It doesn’t take long for that sweet and bitter taste to hit my tongue.

I want more.

I want her so wet that she devours my hand, which is conveniently down my pants. She pulls my hair. I’m eagerly stroking myself, damning myself for not having the foresight that she’d want Round 2 this evening. Why did I leave my equipment at home? So I wouldn’t call attention to my crotch when presenting in front of a hundred people? I’m discreet, but not that good! Shit, shit, okay. It’s not that I don’t know how to fuck a woman the old-fashioned lesbian way, but you know, she asked. She has a request. I’ve made this composed Domme beg for something that few women around here offer. Like, I’m good! That’s the best review ever!

I want her on me. Under me. In front of me, behind me. I don’t just want her mouth on me. I want her in me.

That’s the wildest thing I’ve ever thought. I never want someone in me.

Crazier quickies have been had in my life. Yet this is giving me such a rush that it’s all I can do to keep myself from coming right now. Maybe if I take my stupid hand out of my pants I can spare myself. Dare I?

Her thighs hug my face. Her hips are so solid in my hands. Everything about her body screams for me to take her. All I want is to hear her voice say it again.

“I swear to God, Ira, if you don’t fuck me right now I will scream until somebody hears.”

I want to ask her what that will accomplish, but I get the point. I kiss her thighs, her stomach, her beautiful breasts as I ascend her body and find her naughty lips.

Kathleen wraps her legs around my hips and attempts to thrust against me, but the table contains her, and for a brief moment, I fully enjoy this kick-ass Domme attempting to swallow something that isn’t there with her greedy body.

I’m doing this to her. I’m turning her into a fiend who only wants one thing. Me.

She tenses as she realizes she’s not quite getting what she wants. Even though it interrupts our flow. Even though she looks as if she’s going to eat me whole if I don’t hurry the hell up and produce something out of thin air. I don’t know if you know what it’s like to disappoint a beautiful woman who wants everything you’re about, but all my id can think about is how good it would be to penetrate this woman for the first time today with something, anything – and how well I can savor it.

Before she expresses her disappointment, I do the next best thing. I’ve got fingers, yeah?

“Holy fuck!”

I concur. It feels fantastic to plunge them in, to feel her warm, soft inner walls surround the length of my fingers. This isn’t something that you can experience in your fantasies. You can only get it from the perfect woman clinging to you.

I’ve barely entered her, but I pull my fingers out, teasing her entrance as I attempt to control the excited sensations inside me. Oh, who am I kidding? You can’t control it. All you can control is the rate at which pleasure attacks your brain, yearning to meld yourself into the perfect creature you find yourself embedded in.

There’s only me. There’s only her. I’m taking her, pushing slowly at first, and then driving half my hand deep into her, feeling her muscles clamp onto my fingers.

Women are so greedy. Whether innocent or demure or raging sex fiends who take every dumbass to pass by, women are all the damn same once you’re inside. Women’s bodies have this majestic way of holding onto you, drawing you in deeper until your brain hits a poisonous fever pitch that makes you feel like you’re going to end everything right there. But you hold on. For your pleasure, for hers.

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