0 comments/ 10051 views/ 0 favorites The Top By: Richard Crawford Exploring the tantalizing limits of teasing would fire up both of our libidos in a game of one upmanship neither of us would ever forget. Richard had carefully taught me all of his buttons and now I could press each one, orchestrating the succession of taunts until he could endure the suspense. At the right moment, the right phrase or look could utterly break him, making me smile. We knew each other primarily through email, but also through phone calls and photos. We had met twice in torrid hours of sex without rules, love without boundaries. Richard’s need for sensual torment was contagious and the game evolved from unsaid sensations born of dark places inside us. How slowly could we advance the progression of our lust? In control of this tempo, I saw my hands winding a toy top with twine. My fingers wrapped it slowly, steadily, knowing that each twist would add power later. The careful layers of string could later be pulled with manicured fingers, releasing a torrent of emotion and desire that might still be under my direction, if I played Richard just right. A delicious game, one that made me wonderfully wet in the middle of the night , thinking of him writhing in bed, alone, desperate for my choice me because of a choice tidbit whispered in his ear. We both ached during the night for each other. The difference was that I would gladly ease my tension while Richard held it for many days, hoping for my permission, my seductive guidance, before at last seeking his own orgasm. In these purely sexual moments, I wonder if there is not a twist on our relationship. It can be seen as a friendship with tendrils of love and desire, but it can also be seen as an incredibly pure dominant submissive relationship so intoxicating it has extended into friendship. I let no person so deeply inside my psyche. I also wound his string as tightly and perfectly as the fine copper coil of a motor, until nothing mattered but making that motor purr for me. The tension between us grew palpable with time, and I chose a set of photos carefully designed to drive him mad. I salted the set with simple shots of my daily living, but created a core based on Richard’s greatest fantasies of me. As the camera captured me, I felt electric-hot, imagining his response. My mind knew that these poses were not simply Richard’s fantasies, but his fantasies of me, based on his never ending desire to see more of me. The morning that I sent him these photos, I commented merely, “as you wish.” The implications of this phrase from our favorite movie were of love, devotion, and control. Richard responded with an email that almost quivered as I opened it. He began with a vain attempt at an objective opinion of the photos, but soon digressed until I could hear his panting, smell his uncontrolled pheromones, taste his skin. Many men complimented me, but few with the depth of honesty and desire of my Richard. Yes, MY Richard...and I was enjoying his conversion deeply. The photos? Just me in colors, really, emphasizing the aspects Richard watched most closely. The overall set included three colors of lips and nails, always matching and either matching or contrasting with the color of my clothing. Before the shoot, I masturbated to the brink of orgasm over his stories so that during the shoot I could share all my moods and expressions through my eyes, lips, and face. I thought of him each time, but chose not to share that detail. I could use it one day when I wanted to draw him in tighter. I gave him bold stares with dark lipstick, gentle smiles with pink, and openly lustful looks with red. I rested my face in my palms, knowing he would think of fingers and lips all night. I parted my lips, let him see my tongue inside, then bit my lower lip, then licked my lips until the thought of him moaning my name forced me to stop and bring myself off. The post-orgasmic series revealed languid shots of breasts and legs and feet, always partially clad. I grinned at him over a bare shoulder, lifted my thick hair over my head, wet down my hair so he could not avoid my face, and knew this would be my best set ever. I felt light, like on the wings of a warm wind, and free to be whoever I wanted. I sighed slowly as i read his appreciative hungry email. This was going exactly where i wanted it to go. The next day he signed on as I was answering email. Messages poured in that I did return, but he stayed online. I wondered if he stayed online to surf the web, or respond to email, or because he saw me online and hoped I might message him if he waited like a good boy. Might he enjoy the anticipation that much? I smiled, watching his name on my buddy list. My breath came a touch faster as I thought of him watching my name on his list, feeling his body respond and hope for my message. it’s true I did not have time to converse with him properly, but it also true that I like keeping him hot and frustrated. The next night I only made him wait ten minutes, then messaged him. He messaged me back in seconds and again the fantasy of him waiting and wanting made me wet. I guided the conversation from chat to teasing and back, several times, keeping him off balance. I intentionally controlled our conversation, and him. I kissed him at the end as i always did and he melted as he always did. Sweet, and very, very sexy. On the phone it was even easier. Richard’s verbal and intellectual nature weakened him, and I could manipulate him with my tone of voice or a slight breath to punctuate my thoughts. Sometimes I did this while my words remained casual or even business-like, loving the easy control that he did not even suspect. The line between his desperate ache and my conscious control blurred and I removed his control, making his mind softer and more open to suggestion. I wound us both tighter and tighter, making it hard to breathe when around the other. He eventually broke down, begging for a pair of my panties. I wore them all day, made sure they were ripe with my sex and my perfume, and sent them with a personal note. His voice shook hard the next time we spoke on the phone and when I laughed, he moaned. I could make him want anything, and the rich dominance filled me with fear and lust. I began to email him directions, little things i wanted him to do. I knew he succumbed to each one. I requested nasty things, feeling his control diminish each day and allowing the sexual demon inside me to enjoy the power. I questioned my motives and my abuse of power, but the power overloaded me and he begged me for more each day. More and more I gave him, testing his mettle. Teasing him on the phone became exquisitely pleasurable. I used my words and voice to drive him into quietude, into that silence that begs for more. I would listen, amused, until his voice broke as he moaned for more words. He adored me; I owned him. I called him my Pet, called him my slut, called him for five wrenchingly hot minutes then left him. I began to silently masturbate as we talked, as I used him. I knew he could hear something, but I was discreet and he was now too submissive to ask what i was doing. I often came right after we hung up. He did too, when I let him. Would you like to know more about us? About our subsequent meetings and the erosion of his will? Most of the stories posted here are ours. The Power Drive is in my car. Meeting in May was his first story, all about the beginning. And the Demon Unleashed is in me, and claiming me even as I write this. Next the demon will claim Richard, again and again. The Top 10 Reasons Not to Date Me The following is a complete and unabridged list of the ten best reasons that no female should ever be afflicted by or otherwise have the misfortune of being my girlfriend. The reason this is being done is to simplify and streamline the rejection procedure. From now on all females can now simply quote the reason by number rather than actually explaining or otherwise quoting the reason. 1. I am too clingy, I often desire much more physical contact and affection than I deserve or am entitled to receive. Much worse is my constant need to hug, cuddle, kiss, give back rubs, foot rubs and other such annoying things that women find aggravating and "unmacho" (but I am working on it) 2. I have this annoying habit of being cheerful, happy and otherwise delighted when in the company of a woman I am involved with. It seems to take little to please me when I am near a woman that I find appealing. Alas I tend to demand much less than I should and even find myself doing things for her without being asked. Even worse is the fact that I don't ask or expect anything in return. I am truly a lost cause in this regard 3. I tend to focus on her personality and who see is as a person and somehow ignoring her body in the process. I have no idea how or when this happens but almost every time it does. I have a weakness in this regard to be sure. I don't know how it is that I can loose sight of the shape of her figure or the wiggle of her hips but I do. I know it isn't fair for me not to drool over her figure or compare her to every woman I meet (as I am expected to). However, I find I would much rather talk over a cup of coffee at 3am than parade her in front of my buddies. (Disgusting trait I know) 4. I find myself (at times) asking her "What do you think about that dear?" and actually wanting to hear the response. I know this is usually a formality and nobody actually cares what the answer to the question is. However I find myself in long, drawn out conversations and even wanting her input on various matters. I know that since I am a man I am expected to have the answer to everything but regrettably I like another point of view now an again. 5. I should encourage her to stay at home more. I have a lack of desire to see her stay at home and raise the kids. I know that I should be more supportive in this regard and insist that she stay at home until the kids are out of the house. I find myself thinking subversive thoughts like "If she wants to work go ahead, if she wants to stay at home, that's okay too". I know that I need to put the needs of the family ahead of my own anti-social thoughts. 6. I have this obsessive compulsion to trap a woman in a committed monogamous relationship. For some unknown reason I have this bizarre notion that one woman is all I need for the rest of my life. What's worse is that I actually look forward to this romantic drudgery of living with the same person for the rest of my life. This must be my most offending trait by far. 7. I tend to forget to give a woman the customary level of disdain and disrespect that all women need and expect from their man. My women seem to always wonder why I am being so nice and are suspicious of my pleasant nature. They keep wondering what I am up to, and when they can expect things to return to normal. (it is not fair to keep a woman on edge for so long, I know) 8. I don't watch enough television, yes it is true that I need to spend more quality time with my sofa but it tends to get neglected. I usually prefer to go for a walk, go for a bike ride or various other destructively healthy things. What's worse is I have this tendency to drag my girlfriend along with me on these excursions. So if you are with me be warned you might find yourself in some park type setting surrounded by a group of trees and other vegetation. 9. I have not yet memorized the list of expectations and roles of a man and a woman in a relationship. I tend to take the lackadaisical approach and prefer to believe that it is an equal partnership between two people. However I know that there are clearly defined roles of what is expected of a man and what is expected of a woman. I know that I need to study up and work on this, as my anarchistic approach will not do, after all centuries of order can't be wrong. 10. I tend to torture and annoy my girlfriends with whatever is bothering me. I have this unearthly belief and need to talk about what is bothering me. I for some unknown reason I have this need to talk through things rather than properly bottle them up. I know that as a man I am expected to keep the woman guessing as to what is on my mind, but I have a hard time doing that (but given time I will rectify this). So there we have the top ten list of why no woman should date me. So in the future if you see me on the horizon, just refer to this list and quote the reason by number and you won't have to explain why you would not touch me with a ten foot pole in a Hazmat suit. I feel that I have done my service to humanity so I will crawl back under my rock now, good day The Top Deck of a London Bus He breathed heavily as he hauled himself up to the top deck of the bus. A long day behind him, a few ups slight consolation for a string of disappointments. Another day, a little more in the bank, not much incentive to keep on day on day walking the narrow line between keeping clients on side and telling them directly their chances of media coverage for their hair-brained ideas were slim -- and zero without his contacts. There was only one other passenger on the top deck -- it was after the main rush and before people started out for the evening. He glanced in her direction as he slumped into his seat. Was that a hint of a smile? He couldn't be sure, but smiled in her direction, and turned to his newspaper. The bus seemed to be crawling even more slowly than usual -- one red light after another. Then it turned into an unfamiliar street. "This bus is on diversion," over the PA system. Very helpful, he thought, no indication what the new route would be. "Does this bus go to Liverpool Street?" The voice of his fellow top-deck traveller aroused him from the trivia of the gossip column. "It normally would but I've no idea where this route will take it," he replied. "I've a train to catch to Norwich -- it's the last one tonight," she said. "I've got about 10 minutes and if I miss it I'm in trouble!" Not sure how to respond, he returned to his paper. The bus hardly moved. From the corner of his eye, he could see her check her watch, take out a cell phone and then put it away without making the call. "Look," he said, "if we jump off here we should be able to get to Liverpool Street in time." "But that's taking you out of your way, surely?" "Not really, I can catch another bus from Bishopsgate -- it will only add a few minutes." It didn't take much persuading for the driver to agree to open the doors -- the bus was firmly stuck in a jam that ran the length of the street. "Sewer works," the driver said. "They start earlier each evening and it doesn't give the rush hour traffic time to clear." "Down here," he said. "Let me take that." He took her small bag. "Not going for long?" "A visit to a friend. It's a long story -- not something I want to talk about." "Of course -- sorry to intrude." Oh no, not an intrusion. But it's well, just difficult for me to talk about it right now." They walked on in silence through the narrow city sidestreets. There were even fewer people around and the evening was growing chilly. "Do you think we'll make it?" "It isn't far now -- just to the left and another 50 metres or so. How much time do we have?" "About three minutes." Neither spoke -- it would be a close run thing. Instinctively they walked faster. She took his arm as the pavements near the station became more crowded. He liked the feel of her hand on his forearm, the fingers pressing against his muscle. "Come on, nearly there." The lights of the station shone brightly across the road. They reached the escalators and looked at the departure boards. A line of red ran across the screens. Cancelled, delayed, cancelled.... It seemed not one train was running. A crowd was milling on the concourse, deepest around the information point. He stopped a station official, firmly asserting his authority. "What time do you expect the Norwich train to leave?" "A total power breakdown just outside the station. Engineers are working on it, but the inbound train for that service has been terminated at Chelmsford. It won't be able to get here -- and even if it does it won't be able to leave in time to reach Norwich before the station there closes for the night." "But you can't just leave people stranded." "They'll be able to claim compensation -- now I'm sorry but I've a million things to do." He hurried off, anxious to escape from the growing tide of anger and frustration on the platform. Her hand still held his arm. If anything the grip was tighter. She said nothing but he could sense her mind racing as she calculated her options. She took out her phone again -- called up a number ... and hesitated. "Your friend is meeting you?" "No -- he doesn't know I'm coming. I need to arrive without warning -- but I need to talk to him tonight. Tomorrow will be too late." "It looks like a phone call or nothing. The chances of getting to Norwich tonight are zero." She looked up at him. Her green eyes seemed mistier than he remembered from the bus. She swallowed. Looked down. Looked up -- were those tears? "What's the matter?" "If I don't get to Norwich tonight I don't know what I'll do. If it isn't life or death it isn't far off..." she sniffed. "If it's that vital the only option is a taxi -- you may find a cabbie who'll take you but I'd hate to guess the fare." "Can we try? It is important to me?" Her eyes searched his, looking for help, for certainty. "OK, we'll try up here." They took the elevator to the street and the main cab rank. Not a cab in sight -- obviously taken by other equally desperate travellers. "There's another rank down here," he said, taking her arm. Two or three cabs were lined up at a rank at the rear of the station. None had their "for hire" signs lit. He tapped on the window of the first. "Are you free? How much to Norwich?" "Norwich mate? You gotta be jokin'. Wouldn't consider it for less than two-fifty at the best of times but the fucking A12 is blocked -- lorry fire at Witham -- and the M10 has 15 miles of roadworks. I'd even rather go to Stockwell...." He looked at her. It might be possible to persuade one of the cabbies to take her. "You won't get a fare for less than £250 -- maybe £300 with the tip. You could get to New York for less." This time there was no question about the tears. They welled up, and poured down her cheeks. "I really don't know what to do," she said. "What is so important that it won't wait until tomorrow?" "I have to say I'm sorry -- and it must be tonight. The papers will have the story tomorrow." "Let's find a pub that isn't too crowded. Tell me about it." "A drink would be great, but no, neither you nor anyone else will know." They walked towards Spitalfields, crossed the Commercial Road. Passing the 10 Bells, they stopped at a pub near the old brewery. It looked like any other but it had artistic connections. Gilbert and George, Tracey Emin and others were regulars. The landlady was a "character". It was easy to find a quiet corner. He ordered her a large vodka tonic -- no lemon, she instructed, and asked for an alcohol-free lager for himself. "Will you go home as you can't go to Norwich tonight?" "I can't go home -- it's ... impossible. I'll find a hotel." "I'm sorry, I haven't asked your name. It's so rude of me." "Dan," he replied. "People call me Dan." "Dan. Sounds a cliché to say that's a strong-sounding name, the name of a person you could trust and rely on." "Thank you. And yours?" "Elaine." "What do you do, Elaine?" "A dancer. Ballet." "This is going to sound awful -- but you seem just a little old to dance." "My corps days are behind me - mainly I produce and work on choreographs now and again. For exotic dancers." "Strip en pointe?" She looked at him with contempt. "You fucking bastard. It's hard enough to earn a living in the ballet, but when you reach 35 and you haven't made the headlines it is a struggle. And exotic dance is an art form -- if only for the performers -- the audience doesn't care about technique. It just wants to see tits and pussy." "I'm so sorry. Thoughtless of me." "Too right -- so much talent goes to waste so that a bunch of investment bankers can get their dicks out of their boxers in the gents." Fire had replaced tears in her eyes. "Don't lecture any of us about morality. All the morality is on stage ---and the hypocrisy is all in the minds of the customers." "Elaine, please let me apologise. I understand and agree -- it was a cheap jibe." Their drinks were largely untouched. "Look, are you hungry?" She looked at him, tossed her hair, and nodded. "But can we make one last check on the trains?" They left their drinks and walked to the station. The same crowds, the same hopeless message on the departure boards. "I think I should find a hotel," she said. "OK, we'll try the Great Eastern first." They went up to the street level and entered the hotel reception. "A room sir? I'm afraid we have nothing left. There's a problem with the trains." It was the same story at the other hotels they tried. People had got there first, or they were block-booked by City firms. "I know a good hotel in Wapping", he said. "Perhaps they won't have been affected." "OK, wherever," she sounded tired. Still no cabs so they caught the 100 bus and were in Wapping in 15 minutes. The hotel was a converted warehouse -- it claimed you could still smell the spices that had been its staple product in the heyday of the docks. "That will be £150 for the room. Breakfast is from 7.30-9.00. I see you have no luggage -- would you mind paying in advance." He was too tired to argue over whether her valise counted as luggage -- it was no larger than many handbags he saw in daily use. Instinctively he handed over his own credit card. She looked at him. "Are you going to help me with my bag?" "I'm sorry? Oh ..." She took his arm again. "Please take me to my room. We can have a drink from the minibar." "And then I must go," he said, whether for her benefit or for the ears of the woman at the reception desk, he neither knew nor cared. The fourth floor room had high ceilings and a richly hued wooden floor. There was a huge bed, a bath strategically placed so that the occupant could see the river below. There was no mini-bar. "Shall I call up something from room service?" "No, I must go." "You pay for a girl's hotel room and then run off... what kind of message is there for me there?" She looked into his eyes again. She held both of his arms. "Stay for a while at least -- the view of the river is stunning." They stood by the open window and watched the lights twinkling on the inky blackness of the river swirling below. She held his arm. Gently he took her hand and pulled her towards him. Her head inclined upwards, her lips parted. Their lips met, lightly brushing as she moved against him. The kisses became firmer. His fingers traced her ears, the line of her neck. The tips of their tongues met as if by accident -- though neither was surprised. She slipped her hands under his jacket, slipping it over his shoulders and off his arms. He felt her fingers unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his denim jeans. The soft caress of her fingers as they traced his chest aroused his passion. When she touched his nipples, his inhibitions vanished. His hands slipped under her tee-shirt, tracing her vertebrae up to her bra. He unclasped it and held her breasts firmly, his thumbs searching for her nipples. He found them, felt them grow firm under his fingers. She pulled off the shirt and removed her bra, standing topless in front of him. "Well?" "You are so beautiful." They kissed again and he felt her fingers unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans. He reached behind her and grasped her bottom, pulling her close to his stiffening prick. "Let's go to bed," Elaine whispered in his ear. Discarding clothing as they moved across the room, they fell on to the bed, rolling over, their lips locked, tongues probing. "It's been a while," she said. "Treat me with care." His hand followed the line of her stomach until he found the soft warmth of her vagina. His fingers deftly traced its lips, moving backwards from the clitoris and back again. Her breathing became more obvious, her eyes partly closed. "I want to feel your tongue there," she said. He moved to kiss the lips of her pussy, feeling her become moist as he did so. Gently he probed with the tip of his tongue, softly stabbing at the clitoris and then running it firmly over her labia. "Hmmmmmm," she said. "More, deeper..." His tongue ventured deep into the velvet depths of her cunt, tasting her, driving her further into ecstasy. She reached down to hold the shaft of his prick, moving her hand up and down. Both were close to climax. "Fuck me," she said. "Fuck away my fears." He entered her and slowly but firmly drove his prick deeply into her cunt. Her warmth and moistness overwhelmed him -- he had no thought for any other sensation. She could envelop his whole body for all he cared. Her juices flowed copiously over his prick as she gently held his testicles and softly massaged the soft skin behind them. Without apparent effort she rolled so that she was on top, lifting her body so that only the swollen tip of his penis remained inside her. Then she rammed her body firmly down, enjoying the sensation of the hardness against her yielding body, enjoying being in control. As her orgasm grew she moved with greater abandon, forcing his orgasm to coincide with her own. He felt the tip of his prick deep inside her and knew that this was the moment. Thrusting his hips upwards, he felt his spunk shoot deep into her, just as her orgasm came in waves of pleasure and carnality. Their juices mingled as they kissed deeply and softly, falling asleep with their fingers locked..... He awoke with a start. The bed empty. Her clothes and the overnight bag were gone. He rang down to reception. "Was Mrs Smith in the breakfast room?" No, she had left early to go to the station. The lines were repaired and trains were running again. There was no message. He knew her only as Elaine -- she had never shared her family name. All he knew of her was her link with the ballet -- and with Norwich. Would that be enough to find her again. There was a sound at the door -- a newspaper was thrust through. He opened it -- and there he found his answer...