dominant woman

She said: “I love your back.” To her surprise her voice sounded smooth, confident. Her fingers danced across his skin, and she felt him respond, his skin dancing to her touch. It seemed so natural to be this way with him, his flesh giving to her, unfolding, as her hands eagerly explored him. She could feel him inviting her, opening himself to her physically and emotionally, speaking his need through his body and his sighs. He arched his back and flattened his stomach and a gap opened between his jeans and his hips, at the base of his spine. She slid her hand down and felt an incredible surge of power. Suddenly she wanted … to fuck this man.



Her right hand ran down over his hard ass and she felt him open to her, arching his back further. She reached her left hand around his waist and she felt him suck his belly in. She put her lips to his ear and whispered “You fucking little slut.” A soft cry, mingling agony and shame and helplessness, escaped his lips. Her hand slid down below his belt buckle and she grabbed his cock — long and thick and erect — holding it firmly as she slid the index finger and then the middle finger of her right hand into his anus. He yielded easily, hungrily to her, pressing his tight ass down to take her into him, his cock throbbing in her grip. She said, “You nasty little boy.” She was pulling on his dick and he was moving against her, grinding his hips and making slutty little boy sounds, his head thrown back, mouth half open, eyes closed, saying “Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah.”



And something furious and predatory took hold of her. This man’s desires were so powerful and so … low. They spoke to something deep inside her. She wanted to force him to realize them — force him as far down as he seemed to want to go. To feel that way, and to feel that she had given him that feeling, driven him into it. Power flowed into her. She pulled down his pants. His ass, beautiful, round and soft and full, rotating in tight, feverish circles. She ran a finger up his crack, and he lifted himself to her. She teased his asshole. “You are such a whore.” Her voice was hoarse, and she could hear the harsh edge, sense it coming just a moment before she lifted her hand and brought it down hard on his white skin, and a red mark bloomed there and he gave a high pitched squeal of pain. But he lifted his ass up to her.



And she knew. Something came over her, some spirit, her nipples stiffened and her pussy got suddenly very wet and her lips quivered and she struck him again, and he cried again, and then she began hitting him rhythmically, cracking her open hand against his ass, his body leaping at her blows.



She felt so strong it terrified her. She felt like she was riding a bolt of lightning. A driving, brutal furious power. And she felt a hideous, terrible delight in using it on this man — physically, yes — as she whipped her hand once more against Alex’s tender, hungry ass with a violence she had never before allowed herself — but much more, emotionally, his face turned over his shoulder, his eyes half lidded, greedy, possessed — she could see right into his soul — his depthless need — his lust for pain and punishment and violation — and how with each blow some perverse thrill swept through him, as he lifted his ass again to her, and she was making him feel this way, sinking deeper and deeper into that black water at the bottom of his heart where all the perversion and corruption in his soul rose up to overtake him, and he sank into it, eagerly, and with each blow she took him deeper and his eyes glowed more and the pain and lust written on his face betrayed him to her utterly.



She beat him and beat him, her arm, hand whipping against him, crying “Yes! You fucking slut!” as each blow landed. Until — gasping for breath — she drew back. His ass had become bright red all over. He had gone entirely inside himself, his whole body moving to the rhythm of her blows, still — even though the blows had stopped.



Calming herself, she paused. She stroked his body, sliding her fingers in and out of his anus, and he moaned and leaned into her. Then she turned him over. He was totally in her control. Her mind was on fire. She pulled his pants down around his knees. She stroked his penis. Then she took his nipples between her thumb and forefinger and pinched them. He writhed in pain. She said, “Look in my eyes.” And he did as she told him. She pinched him again, as hard as she could. And she looked into him. He was exquisitely naked to her, and it was as if his soul too was … writhing in her grip.



And staring into him, a vision came to her. As her fingers ground down on the tender flesh of his nipples, it was as if she could truly, looking into him, reach right into his soul: grasping it, wrapping her fingers tightly round it, the power flowing down her arms, wrists into her hands, twisting with all the fury and rage in her, gripping and wringing it, warping it, bending, distorting and misshaping it, pouring her violence into his very being, and watching as his body responded, not to her physical punishment but to this utterly personal torture — writhing beneath her, white limbs twisting, agonized and helpless, his beautiful, defenseless heart, betrayed by his lust, totally given over to her, becoming her perverted thing, a butterfly broken on her wheel.



He looked back at her, at her glowing eyes, and saw his destiny. She let all her strength flow into her fingers and then, brutally, into him. Tears formed in his eyes. A whimper escaped his lips. And he twisted again, helplessly, beneath her. A smile played across her lips.



She felt his cock get stiffer as she increased the pain. Still looking into him. She took his belt off, still not breaking her stare. One time he looked away, as she ground the pain into his heart. Instantly, not thinking, feeling the power of not thinking, she slapped him, hard. Crack. His head snapped.



“Do Not Look Away.”



And she slapped him again. He looked back at her, hurting, naked, the humiliation flooding him. He whimpered. She took his chin in her fingers and said, this time more softly, “Do not look away. I want to see all that is in you.” And he softened and his body gave to her and he whispered, “Yes.” And she smiled at him and said, “Filthy boy. I own you.”



She turned him over again. Her hands were quivering now as she ran them over his ass. She pulled his ass cheeks apart. The skin of his ass was so smooth. His anus was sooo inviting. She just could not … resist. She leaned down and licked it. And he gave a little cry of pleasure. She ran her tongue round the circle of nerve and muscle.



A thought occurring to her, she lifted herself up and put her lips next to his ear. She let a finger play around his asshole. “It just occurred to me. How many dicks have you had up your ass?”



He said “I don’t know.” She slid a finger into him and he responded hungrily.



“But you love that, don’t you,” sliding in another finger, ” — some guy fucking you, sliding his cock into — your such a slutty little boy,” and he was now fucking her hand, making soft, breath-catching cries every time he took her into him. “I bet you lie awake at night fantasizing about that, don’t you? Some guy fucking you in the ass?



“I’d like to see that. I’d like to watch you get fucked in the ass.”



She knelt behind him, fucking him with her hand, his hard ass giving to her as she slid her fingers in and then teasingly out of his anus. As she watched his beautiful ass coming to her, saw the arch of his back, heard his moans of pleasure, she felt him giving himself to her, opening to her. She felt him … lowering himself before her. And she seemed to grow huge and strong and he seemed to … not grow small, but turn softer and softer. Beautiful, helpless, craving. Soooo submissive. Wanting to be under her. To be used by her. Hurt by her.



This, more than the sex, was what he yearned for. And something had turned in her. Suddenly she felt like rubbing her pussy over his face; like pissing on him; like –



She no longer just wanted to just fuck this man. She no longer just wanted to give him what he needed. Or take pleasure in their bodies.



She slid the belt out from his jeans. In a voice suddenly harsh, she said, “Bend over and hold your ass up.”



His voice came, whimpering, hesitant — “yes.”



She beat him furiously with the belt, five times, lashing his ass, raising broad red welts on it. And as she did so, she said, “Yes, Mistress. You say yes Mistress any time you open your pathetic little mouth to me.”



And then she whipped him a sixth time and he said it: “Yes Mistress.”



Something dark began to pound in her. She saw that she could do anything with him. He wanted that. But the real thing that mattered was not what he wanted but simply that he would let her. Do anything. And she was possessed with a desire to utterly humiliate him, to defile him sexually.



Always, before, with men, she was the pleaser. But more, always, she held herself in check, because there were only certain things it was “nice” to do. But she saw, with Alex, that — however nice he was — he was so submissive that she did not have to be nice. She flushed. She could just use him, and abuse him, and he would let her.



She got up and knelt beside his head.



She said, “I want to watch you masturbate. You’re going to masturbate, and I’m going to masturbate.”



She began rubbing her clit and felt the pleasure wash through her body. She looked into his eyes. Every once in a while, she looked down at his cock. Swollen, his hand sliding up and down it rhythmically. His hips moving.



She loved that look in his eyes — vulnerable and open and somehow pleading. She spoke to him in a soft, half mocking voice, as his fingers rubbed his cock in cycles of increasing intensity. “Oh, you are a dirty little boy aren’t you — just really filthy.” She ran a finger over his lips, sliding it into his mouth, and he sucked it hungrily. “You love to suck cocks.” She slid in another finger. “Nod your head. Admit it. You really want a nice big cock in your mouth.” And a third, and his tongue was sliding up and down her fingers and he was nodding his head and she just loved that weak, shameful look in his eyes. “Go on –” she looked down at his fingers working and up and down his cock and then over the swelling read head and then back at him “Go on, rub your hot, nasty cock. Yes it’s big, but you know that you are just a little fairy inside. You want a dick in you in your ass and in your mouth.”



He shook when he came. And as he lay there at her feet, and she felt the rush and rush-again of climax after climax, she exalted that she owned him totally.

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