1 comments/ 9738 views/ 0 favorites Control, Me By: Angelica Santiago My first IM exchange with Tom (screen name frkysx) went like this. frkysx: hey maescami: hey back at you frkysx: what r u doing? maescami: laundry for work tomorrow frkysx: how boring maescami: I plan on taking a long hot bath after frkysx: can I help? maescami: you won't help...you'll get in the way ;-) frkysx: I promise to b good maescami: at the bath or laundry frkysx: both maescami: how? frkysx: invite me over and you'll see maescami: why should I? frkysx: I'm wearing tight jeans and button up shirt. I look pretty darn good maescami: how good? frkysx: invite me over and you can see maescami: how do I know you aren't a perv? frkysx: I promise I'm not maescami: then what's the point of having you over? frkysx: interesting maescami: you have no idea Fifteen minutes after I sent him the directions to my place, I heard a knock at my door. I made certain my balcony door remained ajar. It was part of my plan for a quick getaway. All I would need to do is reach the balcony, jump off and land on the bushes growing along the walk. If reaching the balcony failed, I also concealed kitchen knives around my apartment. After six-months of working at the state crime lab, I knew first hand some anonymous encounters did not end happily, especially those which took place in private homes. One of the most memorable involved a seventeen-year old girl. She received a page from a male who had dialed her pager by accident while at a friend's house party. When she called him, they giggled over the mix-up but continued a conversation. Eventually, she invited him over. To her surprise, he showed up. In the police report, her friends stated he behaved respectfully and offered no signs of malicious intent. The festivities ended at about 2: 00 AM, by then she had consumed a lot of alcohol. As a gesture of thanks, he offered her a ride home stating he felt it the safest option. He raped her under a bridge on the way to her house. Forensic scientists aren't supposed to judge the victims of violent crimes, but I thought her a fool since she didn't seem to have any foresight. A second and louder rap interrupted my thought. Through the peep hole, I saw his long legs encased by faded blue denim fabric. My hand trembled while I reached for the door knob, my breathing became more rapid. I thought of just letting him knock. I could easily say he caught me in the bathroom getting ready. "What the fuck are you doing?" I asked softly. The door didn't answer, but it provided my forehead all of its support. Yet, its frigidness provided no warmth, nor did the tile beneath my feet. I worried about my credibility. My livelihood. Certainly, if my name ever appeared on the victim name on a police report, my commonsense would become fodder for defense attorneys to question in future proceedings. I didn't need to meet this man with perfectly proportioned thighs with just the right amount of muscular structure to provide a happy ending. "Leave," I whispered. I looked out again to satiate the siren cry. Then I remembered fairytale princes were often strangers to their respective maidens. Curiosity, while lethal to four-legged felines, proved to be a greater aphrodisiac which required more than whispers to ignore. I needed to open the door. I wanted to meet my prince. I looked down at my outfit. I wore bright yellow shorts and the Sandman's Death character shirt, I wondered why I felt the need to impress. Why had I wasted the time before his arrival lighting the many candles which now provided dancing illumination instead of changing into a seductive outfit. I took a deep breath when I heard the third knock. I tightened my hands then opened the door. His form filled the frame. He stood at least one foot taller than me, and looked as damned good as he had claimed. "Hi," he said as his lips caressed mine. I think my smile let him how of my approval of him. "Didn't I tell you I was hot?" What a jackass. "Here, presents." He handed over a bottle of champagne and a box of Surf. "Soap and champagne?" I said while I cradled the two items. The combination while simplistic served as the perfect amuse-bouche to the evening. My lucidity washed away in the face of the effervescent potential I held in my arms. "You said you were doing laundry and you can't do that without soap." "And the sparkly stuff?" "For the bath." "But, I don't like to drink alone." "We can remedy that if we open it now." His smile made him look even more dashing. I sighed and felt my lower lip tremble from my attraction to him. We walked to my tiny kitchenette that got smaller by his presence in it. While he worked on the cork, I took out a couple of glass flutes, a present from my mom before I moved to El Paso. I felt it best to avoid letting him in on that detail. "Need help?" I asked as I tip-toed behind him. My hands wrapped around his firm waist. He smelled like clean linen sprinkled with musk. "I'm fine, darlin'." The cork popped on cue. He took one of my hands and kissed it, then turned to look at me directly. I leaned into him, my hands rested flat on his abdomen, he held my waist. Our breathing converged as I matched his relaxed inhalations. Our refuge lingered, the silence enveloped the sounds of our breath. All I heard came from the exploding bubbles in the champagne bottle that now rested behind him. I moved away only when he moved his hands beneath my t-shirt. One night stands give greater rewards when the goal isn't reached within the first twenty minutes. Heat travelled from my chest to the tip of my head. Blushing, while innate, betrayed too much internal aspirations. This made me uncomfortable, control left me. An abandonment that rarely occurs. In an attempt to hide my discomfort and regain my restraint, I started to talk. "You want to go to the couch?" I asked. I clumsily pointed him out to the living room area. "You just want to check out my ass," he laughed. He took the bottle and the glasses with him. "You may be right." I hung back to check out his ass its form allowed the jeans to fall in such a manner that it called out to be grabbed. I looked straight at his face when I next to him on the couch. He seemed larger than life and the scene itself appeared ripped from a Lifetime Movie Network film without the gratuitous violence against the female protagonist. I almost wanted him to leave at this point so that I could call my friends to tell them about my big adventure. But, we hadn't even had our first sip of his gift. "You have a nice place," he said. I replied absentminded phrases. Blasé small talk need not be remembered. In the middle of the platitude exchange, noticed the strength of his square jaw and his best attribute - those eyes. They harnessed the blue-like storm clouds before a summer rain, and the flecks of gold mirrored sunbeams breaking though the darkness. His lips, thin and moist, formed a warm brooding grin. All his features fit together like a Van Gogh, individually they held little value, but combined an aesthetic pinnacle became a reality. A quick inventory of the rest of his body determined his jeans too tight to hide a knife or a gun. His shirt, a loose, long-sleeved, button up, also seemed devoid of weapons. Since my employment at the crime lab, a fascination with serial killers made me think all strangers stored scores of cadavers festering beneath their homes and lacked just one more body to complete their set. While the killer vibe didn't ooze from him at this point, all serial killers at one point seemed normal. But I wondered if normal described the stranger sitting in front of me. Did it even apply to me? A few more platitudes flew between us while we imbibed the warming champagne. I learned he served at Fort Bliss, which explained his almost Army regulation hair cut. I also learned that his training rotation in Saudi started in a few weeks. He explained that this involved a series of vaccines that ranged from small pox to anthrax. I gave him kudos for cleverness, since he easily laid out the ground work for a believable exit strategy at the same time as he revealed just enough of himself to appear vulnerable. This, of course, made me find him even more fascinating. I didn't call him on it, I figured he deserved it since someone looking for an easy fuck didn't want to portray the need of a possible long-term relationship. Besides, I had my means of safety and an easy out must have been his. "So you're a military man?" I asked while leaning in closer to him. "What's your rank?" I asked as if I even knew what they meant. All the knowledge I held about military ranks, I learned from Hogan's Heroes and I don't think that sitcom translates well to real life. What I got from it however took the form of my first celebrity crush on Bob Crane. Plenty of my adolescent daydreams involved my crawling around the dark tunnels for a quick illicit rendezvous with Colonel Hogan. "Captain." His turned his entire body to face mine. "Is that good?" "I'm kind of an officer." "That is kind of cool." Or at least I thought it was. "I'm glad you approve. I work with Patriot missiles." "I remember those you were one of the guys all over the news during Desert Storm." This I knew, since the Gulf War had entered into my home by way of the television set during that conflict. I slid closer as he poured another glass for himself, and then topped off my glass. I watched closely making certain no foreign pill or liquid landed in my glass. I wanted to make certain I remembered and felt everything this night promised. Plus, I wanted to make certain that I lived long enough to remember and not be left a lifeless corpse unable to address questions about the events of the evening. "That was us." His smile lit up my room again. "I was in charge of the guys in the field," he said staring at his glass. "So you've been at war? You've killed people?" The question seemed more surreal than my current situation. "Yeah," he said in a casual manner. "That's kind of how I'm here." His knees now dug into the side of my thigh. "Wow," was the only thing I managed to say. My initial fear seemed realized. I sat next to a killer in my own house. But, instead of running him off, I wanted to make sure he stayed. A sense of serenity covered me completely. I felt protected. When we each finished our drinks, he took my glass and placed it on the floor next to the couch; he did the same with his. My tired I forced my tired eyes to stay open. He placed my head on his shoulder and held my hand. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked softly. "Not at all," I answered quickly. "You know it wasn't my intent to get your defenses down by getting you drunk," he said sliding my right leg over his lap. I felt his thigh muscles beneath his jeans push up against my own. Foreplay needed to be over fast. While I hadn't been trolling for a hook-up, getting laid proved to be most urgent "Liar," I said straddling him. His hands travelled beneath my shirt again, this time I moved closer. The brittleness of his facial whiskers on dug into my palms when I cupped his face with both of my hands. Our lips locked. Our tongues pushed against and around each other. He tasted like caramel; smooth and sweet. He lingered on my palate and clung to the back of my throat. I felt his fingers push into my bare flesh beneath my shirt. I pulled his shirt out of his jeans. My hands moved around his bare back, they felt tiny-his skin-smooth and warm. He grabbed hold of my right wrist and twisted my arm behind me. I attempted to wiggle it free, but his grip got tighter. I tried again, with the same result. I figured this was what a python attack must be like, a life and death dance between predator and prey, which advances further at the struggle of the kill. I felt his hips push up between my legs. I ceded to his grasp mostly because I couldn't really fight him and I feared physical harm. The thought of visual proof of this encounter quelled the fight in me. Only victims ran around with bruises and casts. Or, perhaps the lack of fight stemmed from a latent desire to experience complete abandon, or the amount of control I faced daily in my life. I started to struggle again this seemed like the best alternative to gain greater domination. Our teeth crashed into each other as he kissed me. Blood run down my throat, who it belong to meant little. Its salty taste provoked further desire. Body fluids, while a necessary by-product of a sexual encounter, never enticed anything more than a need for a shower. A life-long advocate of safer sex and stranger danger, I generally carried the need for control even in to the bedroom. This came from my first internship in an HIV research laboratory. The knowledge gained there followed me though out my life. The awareness of a lingering wasting death and prolonged suffering made the need for a condom a no-brainer. Responsibility overwhelmed any need for spontaneity. Restraint belongs to foresight. A stranger held me in a vice like grip while we exchanged bodily fluids. A part of me analyzed the situation, but because of an overabundance of champagne it failed to contemplate the full extent of decadence taking place. Perhaps I wanted to tempt fate, or see if I could be different than all of the other victims I read about in the case files at the lab. I wanted to face the unknown and prevail, to prove I could avoid that label no matter what or who I allowed in my house. By doing this properly, I would beat the odds and thus gain the grace of providence. The muscles around my shoulder remained stretched and bent out of normal alignment. I felt his fingers tighten around my wrist. Discomfort turned into pain. I wondered if my long-sleeved blouses would cover the bruise I imagined I would have the following day. My co-workers lived vicariously through other's exploits and offered little restraint in sharing their observations with the rest of the office. While I recalled my wardrobe, he twisted my wrist that shot a sharp pain from my hand and to the front side of my face. He gazed at my face as I tried to break free. His expression remained stoic yet held steady as if taking notes of his observations. My alcoholic buzz dissipated. Every single muscle bundle beneath my skin burned. My struggle for release now included my other hand. I wanted not to panic, I felt stupid. Do those girls whose panties end up on my evidence table feel stupid? I noticed his grin. After a while, I realized the futility of my struggle. I still squirmed. Somehow the instinctive fight or flight response required the continued stirring, and after a few minutes a burning sensation caused by the hyperextension appeared and travelled from my upper to lower back. My back went into several series of involuntary contractions, it fought to bend forward at my waist, and this caused him to keep my hand fixed at my back. His nails dug into my wrist. A few years later, while seeking relief for my chronic pain condition, a doctor introduced me to the Visual-Analog pain scale. While intended to provide a precise measure of patient pain, it does little more than rate intensity of a person's ache by use of an arbitrary number range. The scale runs from numbers one to ten. Accompanying the numbers are words such as annoying, uncomfortable, dreadful, horrible then finally agonizing at the ten mark. At the height of my illness, I writhed around in my bed in my agony. "It really hurts," I said once the pain became dreadful also known as a six. When he let go of my hand, I was able to relax. I shook the blood back into my tingling hand. The relief lasted a few seconds. "Are you better?" he asked massaging my shoulder. I leaned into him, our foreheads touched. "You want me to leave?" I wanted to say yes, but I liked how he felt while I straddled him. I rubbed his face with mine and ran my fingers through his hair. He did the same to me. "Does that mean you want me to stay?" "Stay," I whispered. Just then, he pulled a wad full of my hair while he kissed my neck and chest. He leaned me back rapidly. His mouth moved about me just as rapidly. I found myself curved back further than I had ever been bent. I yelped when I felt my sternum or backbone pop. The sound and feel reminded me of popping fingers only twice if not three times as loud. Silence followed the snap. He released me. I don't know if the sound freaked him out as much as it did me, but his actions held no sign of it. He slid us off the couch then pinned me down on the floor, holding my hands above my head. His knees slid my legs open effortlessly. Instinctively, my hips reached to greet his while my legs wrapped around him. As much as I wanted to stay in the moment, I needed to determine damage. I quickly decided pain, the universal indicator of maladies, needed to present in case of any breaks or tears. Since I had none, I assumed no lasting damage came from the noise. I noticed that some of the candle wicks no longer held flames. I could no longer see the miniscule details of his face. "Are you scared?" He whispered in my ear. A good response appeared beyond my grasp. A true response also failed to materialize. This situation, while unfamiliar, still lacked the intensity for me to respond in the affirmative. I associated the word itself to life threatening danger and the need to scream at the top of my lungs for rescue. "Do you want me to be?" I asked his silhouette. "Yes," Tom whispered into my ear. I smiled at the feel of his warm breath on my skin. I recognized I still controlled the dance. He performed for me, no matter what he imagined for us, he did it for my reaction. I love attention, I always have and at that moment all of his belonged to me. "Give me a reason to be," I responded. I wanted it to sound seductive, thinking this would eventually lead to a greater moment of primordial zeal. Unfortunately, it sounded like more of a dare. I thought of saying I was kidding, that it was a joke. I notice I do that in uncomfortable situations, this ploy allows me to say anything I want, and then pretend that I only cared to entertain. But I didn't get a chance to. We kissed again, I closed my eyes for what seemed like a second then I felt the cold strap around my neck, it was his belt. I shuddered when I felt him tighten it and pulled me up from the floor. Was this when a safe word needed to be chosen? When did I go from woman to pet? Better yet, why did I not mind my new lot in this new relationship? "Come on," he ordered. He walked me slowly to the bathroom. The belt scraped against my chin, I tried not to move around so much, in case I survived this evening, a bruise around my neck would be difficult to explain. I stared at the dancing lights on the dark walls surrounding us as he led me to the bathroom. Since we stood up, I saw his expression a bit clearer, but not clear enough for me to know his next move. For a woman who loves to read the last chapter of a crime novel first, this situation managed to absorbed my complete attention. He tugged me harder when I hung back for a second. When we reached the bathroom, he flipped the lights on. Their quick introduction offended my eyes. The stark white color in that room betrayed the mood the soothing darkness captured in the rest of my place. The dreamlike state moved to a realistic setting. In this room, he was a man, not a screen name, a soldier or a silhouette. It also accentuated his flaws. Tiny wrinkles and dark circles around his eyes replaced the smooth features which entranced me earlier. He sat me down on the toilet and held his belt around his hand as one does with a pooch in the park. While I watched Tom adjust shower temperature, I remembered a Law and Order episode where the girl killed in the shower left no evidence behind. Before I completely recalled that the defendant melted her using lye, he began to undress in front of me. Our eyes locked, as much as I wanted to look at every muscular bulge and crevice I wanted to see if I could read his mind. Eventually, I learned the futility of this exercise. His skin looked so white and soft. Control, Me I pulled off the belt from my neck and caressed his bare chest. His warmth offered comfort. But his forceful removal of my clothing caused some uncertainty. In the shower, Tom turned me toward the shower head. Warm water poured over my head and face. He seized both of my wrists and raised them over my head leaning them against the wall facing me. Eventually, he used just one hand to hold both of my wrists in place. I felt his other hand move along my body. His wet abdomen slipped against my bare back. Each curve found its convex partner. He continued to slide against me. The water accentuated our connection. He placed me foot on the side of the tub. I trembled in response to the repositioning and his side-to-side swaying . All the arguments my friends had about the delights and pleasures of one night stands made sense. The splashing water sounds amplified his steady gyrations. "What are you thinking?" he asked. "Is this all you've got?" I replied absentmindedly. I heard him chuckle. My commentary meant to inform that after a certain point uniform actions proved a tedious than a precursor to a full passion eruption. My mouth opened wide when I felt his full force. He pushed my wrists harder into the tile with one hand, the free continued to glide over me. It then reached the back of my head. From there, he put his index finger in my mouth. I nibbled on its tip. He followed by inserting three others. He spread my mouth open so fast, I found no opportunity to counter this action. The burning from earlier returned. I fought to shut my mouth so much that I bit down hard, I tasted his blood on my tongue. He lifted my head up to face the incoming water. My mouth filled up fast. He moved my head to the side a few seconds after it became full. I forced the water out as best I could with his hand still in my mouth. I took in air quickly, and then encountered more water when he stuck me under the faucet again. His breath became faster as he continued to fuck me. My chest burned. My lips felt chapped. My tongue scraped against his nails. I wanted to scream. I wanted to scratch. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to run. I wanted more. My jaw fought off locking. I coughed when he moved me away from the water. The ache turned to throbbing that moved from the cheek to the neck. He continued the ritual a few more times. Eventually, my body went limp. I had no strength to fight. I had no strength to have an orgasm. While I didn't pass out, I know I wasn't completely awake. I was a prop in his theater. And he was my properly proportioned manipulator. He let go of my hands and I fell back on him. My breathing was fast. His mirrored mine. My legs quaked beneath me. "Fuck, I've never worked this hard for a lay in my life," he said. "Does that mean you're done?" "I guess not," he said laughing. He bent me over. His fingers grabbed on so tight my wet hips his nails dug into my skin. "Make it really count," I said looking back at him. The smirk came back. When he and my neighbors heard my satisfaction, Tom twirled me around to face him. His smile made me do the same. I felt the blood rushing back to my hands, their circulation was returning to normal after being above my head for so long. I laughed at the sensation touching his face with my hands in that condition. Cramping followed the tingle, and as I dried and dressed I found I needed to shake them out. After he got dressed and reached the front door, he turned and gave a lingering kiss. "I wish I didn't have to go." "Wow, that's so cliché," I laughed. "It is isn't it? What do you expect from a WestPoint graduate?" "Better. Go home. I'm sure your wife has a good meal for you. Please, you earned it. Bon appétit," I smacked his butt, and then rubbed it. It was so firm. "You don't mind, do you?" He looked directly at me. "That you're married? Of course not. An hour ago I didn't even know you existed." "Can I see you again?" His question lingered in the air. "Why?" "You enjoy yourself?" "What's your name?" I asked after a few minutes. I don't know how a response to that question would lead to an informed decision, but it had been the only time to ask. "Tom," he extended his hand. We stood after sharing a hand shake for the first time. "Nice to meet you, Tom." His name hung in the air. "Nice to meet you..." I waited to hear him say my name. "Mary Ann, my name is Mary Ann." "Well, Mary Ann I am pleased to meet you." We exchanged numbers and then kissed tenderly good-night. At work the next day, a slew of cases ranging from battery, murder and sexual assault sat on my desk. Today, the police reports held a fascination that extended beyond work. I wanted to know if any of the victims had any fun minutes before the incident that landed their clothing in the lab, but there is no box for that information in the forms cops filled out. I sought out sexual assault murder cases. In each of the cases files I read, the victim had known the assailant. The most disturbing involved a woman raped while still wearing a tampon. Apparently, her ex- forgot their break-up. The blood saturated cotton pad tested positive for semen. He must have loved her once, maybe he thought he still loved her. One thing the public at large does not understand is that most women are hurt by those in their lives. Random violence occurs in Charles Bronson movies, in real life they make up a small percentage. Maybe that fact made the night before a success, the odds were in favor of my survival. That night had been a game, a challenge to my norm. Most of my friends had met on-line people, some had even married a few, but none had ever done it after a twenty-two line exchange. I wanted the fun they talked about, I wanted in on the games and I wanted to re-write the rules. But games not only afforded fun, the most satisfying assume a winner and a loser. Today, I sat at my desk pondering when they allowed death to defy them. I went home early. I needed a shower. Seeing the filth associated with death, while a regular part of the job, still made for difficult days. The sight of the empty champagne glasses brought to mind the reality of the night before. I smelled both glasses. Neither held the scent of the alcohol, but I saw smudges of fingerprints when I held them up to the light. At least some evidence would have remained if I had not. I placed them back down next to them was the box of Surf. I decide to tear into it and do my laundry. As I carried my basket downstairs, I chastised myself for placing myself in the lion's mouth, no matter how attractive it was. I figured I could control any further need for this type of action. I worried about my family getting photos like the ones I had seen earlier in the day all from my quest for the perfect and best orgasm. Although the idea of serial killers falling into the lap of a crime lab person only happened in crime novels, I berated and offered excuses for myself for the remainder of the afternoon. Why couldn't consequences be inconsequential? When I finished folding my wash, I sat on my couch. The room felt empty. My place needed noise. I turned on the television. The local news reviewed the day's events. This is how I kept track of work. Whenever I heard of a murder in the area, I only needed to wait a few days before the evidence from the crime came in to my lab. My shoulders tightened. I turned off the set. I was officially bored. I went back to my bedroom and turned on my computer. The hum lulled my anxiety. I clocked on the AOL icon and signed in. Within a matter of seconds, I heard the familiar chime of the instant message. The blue framed box announced the sender's name. It was Tom. I blushed. frkysx: hey maescami: what's up frkysx: me can I come over? The question surprised me. One night stands by definition last one night. What if he only let me live to extend his chase? And since I now knew him did my chances of brutalization increase? frkysx: hello My fingers moved around the keyboard. I wrote a few unsent lines which ranged from 'come over and fuck me already' to 'leave me alone, I made a huge mistake last night'. frkysx: you there? My deployment got changed I leave tonight, but I want to see you again, I've been waiting for you for awhile, I lost your number. In the end, I wrote only one word. maescami: hurry Control Me Hi Everybody ~ Thank you, Thank you, Thank you for the awesome feedback and sweet words! You all totally motivate me to continue submitting. I read every comment and every e-mail. And I love it all, it really makes my day. I really hope you like this story, it's a huge fantasy of mine. Enjoy! * * * * * Click Here to listen. (18 min/mp3) * * * * * Control Me, Dominate Me, Love Me It was six months into our relationship that I knew I wanted him to own me. To control and to dominate me. He was the sweetest guy; a gentle lover and we enjoyed good conversation. Soft lips, strong hands, and gentleness to his sensuality that I could and would awaken at the most unusual times. Slowly I gave up control to him, letting him decide our intimacies. Our love play. He knew about my ex's, I had been as honest as I could without wanting to hurt him. I knew about his. Now a year on, and I was a different person. Oh, to family and friends I was still the same person. Beautiful, polite, charming, with a hint of sarcastic wit. But in the bedroom, I would do whatever he asked of me. Tonight, he had me wear the new red corset, and thong he had bought for me. My hair was tied back, and I was tied to the bed spread-eagle. He read stories to me before touching me. Erotic stories. After reading, he would touch me to see how wet I had become. He liked playing with my pussy then, feeling the wet, and warmth of me, spreading it over my body. He took pleasure in seeing me squirm under him, against my bonds, as he ran his fingers, wet with my fluids over my breasts, down my belly and back to my wet folds. Then his fingers would be at my lips and he would make me suck them. Tonight however, after the story, and while he played with me, he asked about my day. "And what did you buy?" "I bought silk ties, the bras you told me to get, the lubricant." "Did you see anyone?" "Lots of people," I replied, purposely misinterpreting the question. He squeezed the sensitive nub and I cried in slight pain. "Any one you know?" "No." He squeezed again. "Aagh," I gasped. "Liar," he said. "I saw Daniel." Daniel was one of my ex's, the guy I had been seeing, just before Darien. "And what did you do?" "We talked." He now pushed a finger into me, and I gasped as he thrust it in and out. "About what, little Bird?" "Him, me, us, you, all sorts." He pushed a second finger in and asked if I was going to see him again. "I said I'd meet him for coffee tomorrow." "Good little Bird," he cooed. Another finger, he sped up, he moved harder and faster, knowing this was how I liked it. "Did you want him?" "No," I cried. He hurt me again, just a little. "You did, didn't you?" "A little," I admitted. "I want you to see him," he said, to my surprise. "I want you to bring him here." "Why?" I asked. "I have my reasons." He removed his hand, and lay on top of me and in one smooth thrust, completely sheathed himself in me. When I finished my shower the next morning, I found that Darien had chosen my clothes. The red bra, and a red sundress. No underwear? I looked at him, enquiring. He didn't answer, just helped me dress, and sent me on my way. Daniel was waiting nervously for me at the coffee shop, and I understood his nerves. The dress was low cut, and form hugging. He would be able to see the lack of underwear. "Susie," he greeted me. "Hey," I replied. He ordered our coffees, and we drank, talking about nothing in particular. I could see his eyes on my chest, noticed the quickness of his breath. I was reminded of how I had always felt around him, constantly turned on. We could have been talking about rubbish, poverty, computers, anything and I would still want him to touch me, to enter me, to have me. After I was finished, I stood up to go. He grabbed me hand and kissed me before I could say anything. "Please, let me touch you?" He begged, "I've missed you." I wordlessly led him to his car. He unlocked it, and we hurried inside and kissed again. He tasted like cherries, just like I remembered. I pulled away, and gave him directions to my flat. We drove in silence, not even touching all the way there. When we arrived, I unlocked the door, and led him inside. With it closed, Daniel pushed me against it, pulled my dress up and plunged two fingers into me, closing his lips on mine. We pressed our bodies together, and he pushed further. We heard a low chuckle of amusement and quickly pulled away. Darien stood at the doorway to the lounge, wearing a pair of black pants and nothing else. His crouch was engorged, and straining against the fly. "Isn't his interesting?" He asked, his voice low and seductive. I didn't know what to do, so I stayed where I was. "Poor little Bird, so confused," Darien said. "How about you come sit down." It wasn't a question. My body recognised the voice of its master and obeyed, until Daniel grabbed my arm and held me back. "What's going on here?" He demanded. "I told Susie to bring you back here. I wanted to meet you, and present a challenge." "What are you talking about?" Daniel was confused. "She has a little fantasy, I know she'd never be able to act on it on her own. So I took the liberty of organising it." Darien told me to wait in the bedroom, while he informed our guest as to what would happen today. I was nervous, but knew the consequences that I'd face if I disobeyed, so I followed his instruction. I'd only ever disobeyed him once, and I had been unable to move for a week after. I swore to him and to myself that I'd never do it again. I can push the boundaries to receive 'punishment', but never will I outright disobey him. He always knew. I waited, sitting on the bed with crossed legs. To calm myself I meditated, a practice Darien insisted on. Mind, his idea why I should do it was different from mine. His idea was, quite rightly that if the mind was calm, the body would also become calm, and it would heighten the experience, especially if it was something new. I enjoyed it still, because it was the one place I could go that was truly mine. I could send my mind anywhere and Darien would never ask where. It was an unspoken agreement. I had given up control to him, but he knew that even in my surrender I would be defiant without something that was my own. So there I waited. Minutes went by and there was nothing but silence. While I had told Darien a number of fantasies, I didn't recall being bored to death to be one of them. Then the intercom buzzed. "I want you to put the blindfold on." My breath quickened. Of all the fantasies I had, only a few involved the blindfold. Suddenly I was very nervous. I did as I was told. It buzzed again. "Lie down on the bed, on your back." I again did as instructed. The dark made my heart race. The door shortly opened. I heard nothing else, but knew that someone was entering. Suddenly there was weight on the bed, to my left. Was it Darien? I wondered. He often favoured that side. But then I felt weight on the other side. Which was Darien, my mind screamed at me, which was my Master. Then a hand took my left arm and pulled it above me, tied it to the bed, and then the same happened to the right. Despite the differences in Daniel and Darien's skin and hand types, I still couldn't tell which was which, or even if it was those two men. They wore gloves, tight, fitting, I thought, of synthetic leather. I knew the feel of that fabric. I had worn enough of it over the year. I breathed deeply, to try and calm myself, but when I felt cool metal against the breast of my dress, it caught in my throat. It was a knife. Slowly it cut the dress and bra away. My breasts would be exposed. There was a gasp, but in my panic I couldn't tell from which side. I heard someone whisper, "So beautiful", then a low chuckle. Damn this panic. Then a glove-covered hand touched my right foot and slid up my leg, my thigh, to my hips, by belly, then caressed my breast, my neck, back down. The torture, the exquisite torture, it was driving me to chills, to sweet chills. I knew I was getting wet, turned on. This was after-all, my fantasy. Suddenly another hand touched my pussy, the gentle wet, was getting attention. But still, I had no idea who it was. A finger entered, and a gasp escaped my lips. Another soon followed. Then there was a hand at my anal hole, one finger covered in lubricant, pushed in and I gasped at the uncommon intrusion. Darien rarely touched me there. I found that I was moving in slow gyrations, to match their movements, and they adapted to each other, through me. One would speed up, and I with it, the other would follow. Desire built up, need, pressure. My breathing became loud, ragged, a gasp, a cry and I exploded in orgasm. But the hands, the fingers didn't stop to let me recover, they carried on, riding the waves with me. After I had cum at least twice more, maybe it was three, the fingers at my pussy left, the one at my rear follows suit. Then there was a mouth at my pussy, lapping up the juice that was flowing. It sent tingles down my spine and I tired to wriggle away and into the tongue at the same time. My legs wrapped around the head, and the hair was soft against my legs. I knew that this had to be Daniel. My Darien has course hair that would scratch me. The tongue worked me into another orgasm, and another. Then it left and hands gently pried my legs apart. The strange thing was that from how my legs were being held, there was one at each side. Realisation hit me like a hammer. There were three of them. Then I felt it; the body of another man, mysterious number three, who entered me too quickly. Who took his own pleasure, who fucked me without mercy. Without a condom I realised. But instead of swearing at him, instead of fighting him off, I loved it. I loved having no control. That was something that made Darien and I the perfect match. He loved having control over my body. My legs were released, and I wrapped them around him, whoever he was. I arched up to meet his thrusts as best I could, considering my arms were still tied behind me. Desire pulsed through me, as I fucked, and was fucked. Then he stiffened, gave a cry I didn't recognise, and exploded into me. He withdrew silently, but brushed my lips with a gentle kiss. My hands were being untied, but I heard Darien's voice tell me not to take the blindfold off. I felt one body lie on the bed beside me, and the other two helped me until I was straddling him, his cook at my entrance, and I heard my master tell me to have him. I felt this cook enter me, hands guiding mine to the bed-head for leverage, and I moved. I rocked, taking my pleasure of this man, this body that I had known. We speed up, lust becoming undeniable, and moved as one. A hand at my back pushed me forward slightly, and I felt a ready cook at my rear. I welcomed it; the pain of his entry quickly became pleasure, as the three of us fucked faster and faster. Then I lost whatever control I had had, and I was being fucked harder and harder, the men withdrawing and suddenly re-entering me, but cradling my body, so I wouldn't fall when I finally came. But these two didn't know me that well, because although I grew exhausted with the fucking, and the pressure built, I didn't cum. I rarely do during sex. But they both did, in a final thrust, the man behind me grunted, and spilled his load into me, and the one beneath me did the same. One rolled off me, and I fell to the bed, off the other. We were all panting when I heard Darien. "Did you cum my sparrow?" "No," I gasped, trying to control my breathing. The men to either side of me were obviously surprised, but my master laughed. He came to me, and as I suspected he would, he didn't enter me, but lay his swollen cock between my pussy lips, and moved. Instantly, I wrapped my legs around his waist and moved with him. Then it came, and it was so intense I was shuddering in his arms. With me recovering, he told the other two to wait in the living room for him. Then he himself took the blindfold off, and asked me if I had enjoyed that little fantasy. I told him that I could tell him how much I enjoyed or show him. I'm sure our unrestrained cries had the other two men hard again, but now I was once again Darien's woman. After our lovemaking, he raised himself from the bed, a sheen of sweat covering his body. "I'll go and tell them you enjoyed today." "May I ask who the third was?" "You can ask, but then you'll never be able to face my mother again without blushing." So his brother or father. Either way, I didn't care. I was so tired, all I wanted was sleep. "Rest, my love. Hopefully soon, we'll have that child we want so much, and I hear that sex during early pregnancy can be exhilarating."