I am seeing you tonight, and I want everything to be perfect.
As I step out of the shower, naked, with the towel wrapped around my head, I begin to lay out my wardrobe for the night.
My little black dress, the one I bought just for tonight.
I know you are going to like how I look in it, tight around my hips and with a plunging neckline that shows off the top of my cleavage.
When I saw it, I thought it walked the line between elegant and slutty, perfectly.
And tonight, I want everything to be perfect.
No bra tonight, but thigh-high stockings and lacy black panties are definitely part of the ensemble.
I close my eyes and imagine myself on the bed, opening my legs, tempting you with my panty-covered crotch, wanting so badly for you to take me.
I laugh softly, thinking to myself that I am such a romantic.
I know it isn't going to be like that.
I never have to offer myself. You take what you want. You take what is yours.
The things you see look stockings up my legs, I imagine it is your hands caressing me.
I sit down topless in front of the mirror and dry my hair, curling it a bit.
I want to look playful, daring.
There is just a hint of 1940s ingenue in my look tonight.
I want you to feel like you are not just taking me, but that you are stealing my innocence, though we both know better.
Like something out of a movie, back from a time when men knew how to be men.
That is you to a T. You are one of those men, and I want to be that woman for you, too.
Tonight, I want everything to be perfect.
Mascara for my lashes, a touch of smoke in my eye-shadow.
Eyeliner, innocence with just the slightest hint of danger.
Rouge and lipliner and then deep red full lips.
I think of how you'll grab me and kiss me.
Maybe pinning me against the wall, like two lovers who have denied the truth of their desire for far too long.
It always feels that way to me, even though we never deny ourselves anything.
And when I sleep on my dress and my 4 inches stiletto heels, I start to feel complete.
Small gold earrings and a splash of perfume.
I look in the mirror and make sure everything is in place.
I want everything to be perfect tonight.
When I arrive at your place, the door is unlocked, like it always is.
I step inside, slowly closing the door behind me.
The lights are off, but the city outside is bright, and it basks the room in a soft light.
The windows are open, and the curtains flutter in the breeze.
I like the music you have selected for the night.
I don't know the song, but I recognize the voice.
Etta James.
I draw a breath deep into my lungs and stand in front of you.
You are still in your suit, but the top button of your shirt isn't done, and your tie is loosened.
I watch you take a sip from your drink as you look me over.
I feel your eyes on me.
I want to be perfect for you.
You let out a long exhale, as if you are letting go of all the tensions of the day.
Another sip of your drink, as I stand motionless before you.
I lower my eyes as you rise up from your chair, and I feel myself trembling as you approach me.
I bite my lip, instinctively, waiting.
Waiting for you to touch me, use me, make me yours.
You circle round me, like an animal stalking its prey.
When you are standing in front of me again, your forefinger presses onto my chin, and you hold my cheek in your left hand, before slapping my face.
Hard.
It stings, and I can almost sense the red lines your fingers leave, appearing on my skin.
The pain spreads across my face, and subsides into a dull ache.
I still feel it, as you slowly push me backwards towards the wall, until I press into it.
Your hands find my throat and squeezes, as your lips press against mine.
I feel the back of my head hit the wall, as you kiss me harder, your grip tightening round my throat.
I forget to breathe.
When your lips leave mine, I gasp for air, heart racing.
Your left hand is still on my throat, your right, sliding under my dress, forcing it up.
Your hand cups my pussy, and you squeeze.
There is nothing sensual in your touch, you are claiming it, claiming me.
You don't say a word, you don't need to.
Your hand leaves my throat, and finds my breasts squeezing, kneading, manhandling them.
I moan at your touch, whimpering a bit when your fingertips find my nipples and pinch them.
Without warning you spin me around and press me into the wall.
I feel my face pressed hard into the plaster, your hand in my hair holding me there.
You twist my arm roughly behind my back, holding it there.
I feel my shoulders strain and then slowly release.
Your body presses into me, holding me tight against the wall as you take my other arm now, pinning my hands together in yours.
Your grip returns to my hair for a moment, pressing my face into the wall again, harder this time.
I can feel where you slapped me, my cheek against the cold rough wall.
I groan and feel myself slip away, into surrender, as your teeth sink into the soft flesh of my shoulder.
You bite down hard and I wonder for a moment if it was enough to break the skin, not sure if that is what I dread or what I desire.
Another bite, this time closer to the neck and not quite as deep.
I feel myself getting wet and squirming in your grasp, so wet.
I want to offer myself to you, because I want everything to be perfect.
I am lost in how strong you are and how easily you overpower me, not just physically, emotionally as well.
Now a length of rope wraps around my wrists, tying them together.
The rope is tight and I can barely twist my hands.
You pull them up, hard forcing them to cross and pinning them against my back, high up.
I feel contorted, twisted, bound.
You draw them even higher and I feel my shoulders ache.
I throw my head back as you wrap the rope around my neck and I feel the tension now.
If I lower my hands even a bit, I can feel the rope dig into my throat.
Hands bound and pulled up so very high behind my back.
I feel lost, helpless, trapped.
Another rope wraps tight around my arms and chest, squeezing me, holding me, surrounding me.
Everything feels impossibly tight and I struggle to keep my arms raised, even as I feel my shoulders tire.
You spin me back around and press my back to the rope, forcing me to face you now.
The pressure helps me keep my arms in position.
Your finger traces over the rope on my throat.
I try to imagine how I look, what you see.
I want so very badly for it to be perfect.
Every time I breathe or swallow I am reminded that I am yours.
I feel a flood of emotion, fear, desperation, desire, arousal, helplessness, love.
I squirm helplessly as I watch you open your knife.
You press it against the fabric, still covering my breasts, where my dress forms a V between them.
Almost effortlessly my dress parts and falls away, as the back of the blade slides across my skin and the blade slices the fabric.
I feel the breeze in the room wash over my body as my dress falls to the floor.
I can feel my body covered in a thin layer of sweat and the breeze feels cool and soothing.
You trace your fingertip along the waistband of my panties.
I want your touch so much.
I can feel how wet I am, my arousal builds, and suddenly I am aware again of the sting in my cheek and two bite marks on my shoulder and neck.
I squirm at your touch and when I do, I feel you yank my panties down around my knee.
Please, I whimper.
You rise and look into my eyes.
Please, what? you ask.
The only words you have spoken to me all night.
You want me to ask.
You want to hear my need and desperation.
You want me to beg.
And I do.
Please, sir. Please fuck me.
Use me. Make me yours, sir. Please.
I squirm and whimper more, twisting up in my bondage.
Each time I move, I feel the rope on my neck move.
Caressing me, reminding me.
The tears start to flow, not from pain or fear, but from joy.
I am feeling everything I need.
Everything but you, inside me.
I want it so much and I want you to know that.
I want everything to be perfect.
You kneel again, this time pressing your blade to my belly.
I feel the tip of it against my tender skin and watch as you trace the point across it.
Not deep enough to cut, but hard enough to make letters appear, as thin pink welts.
I watch and mourn as letters appear on my flesh, spelling out your own name.
Claiming me, marking me, possessing me, owning me.
In the blur you pull me away and throw me over the arm of the couch, ass raised, face pressed against the fabric of the cushions.
One of your hands presses hard on my lower back, holding me firmly.
I feel my panties stretching on my knees as your other hand presses between my legs, forcing me open.
Your cock is hard and I can feel it pulsing and throbbing as you force it into my pussy, stretching me.
You ram it deep inside me, hard.
I feel the head of it bang against my insides, it hurts but the pain just makes me wetter.
I can hear it, your fucking goes more aggressive, violent.
Your hand reaches down and grabs my ass, forcing my cheeks open wider as I feel your fingernails digging into my flesh.
I raise my head, I can feel the rope on my throat much more now.
Each time you thrust into me, it makes my body contract and the rope tug on my throat.
It's like your hand is gripping me there, choosing when I breathe and when I don't.
Each thrust denies me air, each withdraw gives me life again.
I feel myself growing lightheaded, I stop squirming and just feel.
I feel you fuck me, I feel you use me, I feel you defile me.
I am nothing but a hole for you now.
My body is responding to you and the only way I can let you know what I feel is by becoming even wetter, more accommodating.
Everything smells like sex and when I do inhale the air around me, I feel myself transported.
I go to that place where everything feels good.
Pain and pleasure emerge into a dance of arousal and desperation.
It is no longer about me, I am just a vessel for your pleasure.
Your moans and grunts seem to grow louder and I don't just hear them, I feel them.
I want them, I need them.
And as I feel you flood your hot cum into my pussy, that becomes my whole world.
Everything else shuts down and disappears and I feel your seed painting my insides.
As you withdraw I feel myself collapse in exhaustion.
Still bound I can't stand, my legs are trembling, my body shaking.
I don't know if I came or not, it's like I am completely blank, broken and sobbing.
Used and now discarded.
You are gone and I am alone.
I can really feel the rope now, so tight and forgiving.
I feel the tears on my cheeks and I know I can't wipe them away.
But I don't want to, they aren't mine, they are yours.
You drew them out of me, like every other part of me, you own them too.
I feel the cum inside me start to leak out, dribbling down my legs.
There is so much of you inside me, I am full, filled with you.
Time stops.
Its only measure is slow trickle of cum rolling down my thighs, the sensation stopped as it reaches the tops of my stockings.
It feels like I am shocked out of a dream when your hand touches me again, this time untying me, releasing me.
As the rope slides off my skin and your hands run over the place where they had been, I feel a loss.
You help me stand and smile, looking at me.
Gently now you guide me to the bedroom and I see the rope you have set out for me on the bed.
But before we transition into something softer, you take me to the mirror, as you always do.
And when I look in the mirror seeing my hair must and my make up ruined with trays of mascara running down my cheeks.
When I see my lipstick smeared across my face and remember the image of my dress torn on the floor beside me.
When I see my panties around my knees and your cum still dripping from my cunt.
When I see deep crimson rope marks on my arms, wrists, legs and throat.
When I see your name in red lines, scratched across my belly.
Finally, I feel perfect.