Libelulle walked around the bed, mindlessly running her fingers through the red suede strands of the small whip she had taken from the nightstand. “What now?” she paced, bewildered and energized by the possibilities that lay before her.
Mosquito lay before her. She called him this tonight, though she had never thought of him as prey before. She had never fantasized this scenario that had played out tonight as they teased one another, joking still about the green rope still tied to the foot of her bed since November, just kidding about the ball gag and the blindfold. But he trusted her, as he asked her what it felt like when he had tied her down that one time, and she showed him. Now he was Mosquito, and he could not speak, or see, or escape. She would devour him.
Or she could.
She felt her chest lift as her breath became shallow. Her head became light, and Libellule sat down on the large ball that sat still near the balcony door. She bounced to keep her balance, feeling her pelvis rock, which made her giddier still. She dropped to the floor, onto the fuzzy rug that she had moved to her bedroom one afternoon, hoping to fulfill a fantasy that really did often play out in her mind. It was the one where Mosquito simply fucked her, Libellule in pearls and heels and nothing else, on the white plush ground. A simple fantasy, but one that seemed to evoke some level of hotel glamour that at times fit the need quite nicely, especially when the balcony door was open.
But now Mosquito lay speechless and sightless, face down, spread out, on her soft bed. Beneath his hips lay a pillow, and a towel, because he thought to put it there. And it did not feel so much like bondage when they started, because he showed her how to make the knots, and they were laughing, and talking, and he asked her to do it. And now it was quiet, and she was in control, and she knew it.
Mosquito did not move. She had wondered, if she left him long enough, if he would struggle at all against the ropes. He seemed to sleep now, but she knew his breath when he slept, and this was different. His buttocks tensed at times, when she moved at all, or made the smallest sounds. Each passing moment seemed to raise the stakes, as he waited. As Libellule waited, too, unsure herself of what she was capable of doing.
Libellule stood. She took the red suede and let the strands softly stroke Mosquito’s right thigh, then his left. Mosquito’s hips moved back slightly, his head turning just a little into the pillow. She stopped, and lay the whip gently on Mosquito’s back. Libellule was fully clothed, as she often was when Mosquito was naked, even when he was fucking her. She felt the power in his skin, and wanted to be powerful, too. She took off her heels, one by one, placing each heel close to each of Mosquito’s hands, so he knew, at least a little, what she was doing. She let him hear the zip as she removed her dress, let the dress fall on the ground, and bent over to pick it up, her warm body close to his head as she lay the dress beside him, the faint smell of perfume and perspiration now close to his face. She unhooked her bra, let the lace trace his legs just as the whip had a few minutes earlier. He ground his hips into the pillow, now feeling the restraint. She was stripping for him, slowly, and he could not see her, or touch her, save in his imagination. Her panties remained.
Her panties were pale pink lace, pale pink not covering her black hair, pale, pink, sopping. Libellule bent and tentatively picked up the red suede from Mosquito’s back, gently letting it linger on his back, like a feather, first up, then down to his chiseled marble ass, which now belonged to her. Mosquito was incapable of saying no to anything she wanted do to to him now. She could be cruel. She felt it, and the thought excited her, her panties now irritating her plump labia as she stepped back to look at him again.
Libellule walked close, ran the suede down Mosquito’s thighs once more, now aware that she was stalling, that it was time. She had to whip him.
And so she raised the red suede, let it snap in the air, now no longer soft on his skin, but stinging. He moaned–or tried to–and Libellule watched the red mark raise ever so slightly against the white of his beautiful ass.
She whipped him again, harder. Stopped, amazed at her intense anger now, anger at being so excited by this, at having tied him up where his dick was so inaccessible. She was angry at this desire to hurt her Mosquito, angry at her intense need.
Libellule yanked off her panties, and threw them near Mosquito’s face. She reached into her cunt, greedily, sticking in fingers in a frenzy so unfamiliar to her that it frightened her. She had to come, and felt no remorse in meeting her needs as she grabbed the vibrator and placed it directly onto her clit, barely able to contain her excitement.
She could come. Should have. She was too excited, and Mosquito was in perfect control, there thrusting into the pillow as he heard her moan and thrash. He could come just like that, she imagined. She imagined his cock was hard, that he would have welcomed any touch from her. She wanted him, wanted him to take over and fuck her violently. She watched him there, trusting her, saw the red mark across his backside, and felt tears well up, a lump in her throat. It hurt her to leave marks on his skin, and yet it is what he wanted, what she wanted , too from him. She watched him there, as he breathed and rocked. She felt the whip in her hand, and her hot aching need as she thought of the power he entrusted in her. It was wild, intoxicating, this power.
And she knew now. She knew why it had been so long since he had tied her up.
Libellule could stand no more. She walked to Mosquito and pulled off the ball gag.
“What do you want?” she asked him.
“You tell me. I am your prey.”
“I want you to fuck me,” Libellule said.
She untied him. Mosquito rolled to his back, his cock springing up. Libellule felt a sigh of relief, her cunt still aching, Mosquito now reaching for her nipples.
“I want to hear you moan again,” Mosquito said, and he twisted his fingers gently, the blindfold now fallen, so he could see her face, so he could stop as he saw her pain increase.
“Climb on me,” Mosquito begged, and Libellule straddled him, her fire only hotter as his cock glided into her. She fucked. She fucked him hard, and watched as his face changed, as he let go of her nipples and grabbed at the blankets beneath him, as he then grabbed her hips and pushed her down harder, pressed to feel his cock fill her as she screwed him.
Libellule could not stop. She could feel his cock quiver, about to shoot up inside of her, and it would push her to climax, too, just as it had so many times before. But different. She let go, forgot all modesty, let her mind imagine the most forbidden parts of herself, the parts in which she takes the reigns and rides him, hard, the parts in which she abandons all notions of nice–if she ever held on now to a thread of niceness still in bed with Mosquito. She did. She was sweet, and caring, and responsible. But not now. She let go of all of her that was not slut, and fucked him up and down, spreading her legs wider, and rubbing her clit down each time she ground into his hips. He held her there, groaning loudly as she felt his come fill her swollen cunt, making her scream as she clamped his cock uncontrollably, her legs shaking, too, her breasts heavy and sore, her hips suddenly tired like a man’s.
Libellule lifted herself off Mosquito and sat beside him, wild eyed and panting like a panther that has just killed. He kissed her and smiled, and rolled back to reach for a pillow. And Libellule saw it: the red flash on Mosquito’s naked ass, a tattoo of her violence and her lust. Her heart pounded once more as she saw it: the whip on the nightstand, making her shiver, making her want to have him, all of him, once more.