Penetration Testing

How do you do this.

How do you feel so warm.

He lets go and steps back, holding my gaze for a moment, and I nod. The doors open, we step out together, fingers entwined. The carpet is soft, a rich royal blue, like a river between the golden walls- the hallway drenched in warm honey colored light.

We reach his door. He swings it open. I step inside, and a moment later we kiss: eyes closed, lips tight, curling, twisting over one another, the lemon sweet taste of his tongue pressed against mine, and our bodies pressing against one another in turn, my fists balling up and scrunching through the fabric of his shirt, bodies bumping against the walls of the entranceway.

A hand reaches up and clamps around my throat.

I'm pinned, stunned.

I feel the pressure of it. Not squeezing. Not letting go. Holding me against the wall.

He smiles down at me. I feel like a dear caught in headlights. Something inevitable coming my way.

I want...

I want I want I want...

I want to have the power to choose, but I can't, my legs have already parted, he's standing between them, and I don't have the will and I need him, need him to touch me, and his skin, but suddenly it seems so wrong, and not the fun kind of wrong and I-

He studies my body. Studies my hair, my chin, my forehead, my chest, rising and falling now as I look at him looking at me.

I feel powerless, in free fall, the entire sky laid out beneath me. I can't tell if I am excited or afraid.

You look like an angel... but would you rather rule like hell or serve me heaven?

And which... which would I prefer?

Neither? Both?

You are a stranger.

I'm not...

"There is of course one last question..." He murmurs.

He lets go of me, and I am standing, limp, before him. He looks away, withdrawn, in thought, his gaze tracing along the furniture.

"The most important question, really, when it comes to penetration testing..."

Relief. Relief blossoms through me. Relief and desire.

Desire, amusement, warmth...

I reach out to touch him, and suddenly his skittish eyes lock on to mine.

"Do you want this?"

"Yes," My voice sounds so sure. Powerful, in my willingness to give myself away.

What happened to that just moments ago?

Where does confidence come from?

Where does it go?

"All of this?" he insists "However far it goes?"

"I trust you," I step forward, fold myself around him. "If we need to slow it down, I'll let you know."

He smiles, something brilliant, warm, bright. Affection, connection, admiration.

Hands press against bodies, tense, dragging over one another. I can feel him crushing, squeezing at me, feel his solidness in my arms.

The ice between my legs is intolerable, yearning to by made warm. I am hollow, transparent, like water, eager to coat every surface, fill every gap.

We slip each others clothes off, kissing and stroking each new patch of skin exposed. I don't smile, don't moan or beg or laugh. Just breath. Hypnotic. The path we have to follow. Water flowing downhill. The currents of the ocean.

Stone and sea...

His hand slides up, settles once more around my throat.

This time it feels good. There's still excitement. There's still fear. But that question, that hesitance... not a trace of it. I feel trust... expectation...I want him to have power over me.

I never wanted to be a toy. I never want it when I don't, and when I do...

He guides me to the bedroom, presses me down against the bed.

Touch me.

Fingers. Back and forth along my inner thighs.

Both of us are naked. I can feel the firm warm touch of his cock against my leg. The room is lit by a single lamp- candle soft and dim enough that our bodies are made of shadow. His fingertips find that sweet gap between my legs, press in, twisting, stretching. I'm pinned down by my throat and cunt, and he kisses me, my lips, my shoulder, my breast, his tongue lapping at me, friendly, exploring.

Each touch is pleasing, but never enough: a pot of water placed on low heat. Warmer... warmer...

My breathing is slow, drawn out, and his fingers worm deeper and deeper, his thumb circling around that tiny button of flesh, slick with desire, its never enough, and I don't care.

Maybe he'll keep me here forever.

Always over heat. Always almost there.

I could be okay with that, just lost my mind, it wouldn't be so bad...

Maybe he'll draw a picture of me. Strung out. Like this.

I squirm.

I want him more than ever.

I want him to want me, and when he looks up, I see it: Hunger.

I nod.

Heat, and suddenly fire.

We twist, he pulls, controls me, turns me over, he's standing behind me, and I'm bent over his bed, and utterly utterly defenseless.

His bed.

His room.

Everything here belong to him.

My legs spread wider.

Heat.

Pressure.

A cavity being filled.

At first I simmer, my breath coming in fast quick pants as he presses in to me, sweat condensing on my back and flanks, his grip around my waist vice like, controlling.

We get into the rhythm. He starts to call me names. I'm his whore. I hear myself gasping, yelping in surprise as picks me up and turns me over, his hands upon my legs, pressing them wide. I stare up, stunned, and he peers down at me, curious, as a great cat might regard a slab of meat.

A watched pot never boils...

My eyes close. My lungs tremble.

I know that I am made for this man, and he was made for ruling me. His hands around my ankles bend my legs back further and further. I feel his heat between his legs, feel the pressure of it, a hot lance burning away years of apathy.

I twist, scrambling to escape his grip, scrambling to push myself harder against him, the bed sheets twist and tangle around me. I catch a brief vision of them twisting around my neck, choking me to death. I can't bring myself to care.

I'm lying on the raw mattress now. His hips slam against my cunt over and over. My lungs tremble.

I start to boil.

Its a feeling of connection. Violation. Something sacred, earthly, damned. It feels like such a gift. Something selfish. Receiving him inside my body. Giving myself away. The ultimate fusion of body and soul, his hands still tight around me, muscles tense as I buck up into him, as my pussy clenches tight around him, his cock hardening in reply.

"Fuck me baby, fuck me, I-"

He pounds.

The pot boils over.

I scream.

Raw heat.

Slick white fluid.

There's yelling, and I don't know if its me or him.

The world does not exist.

Nothing exists.

Broken.

I am like particles of water. Torn apart. Rendered insubstantial by the fire forced upon them. Forced within them. Fire becoming part of them, and that is who I am now:

Hollow, empty, defeated, compliant, proud.

Why does my body need you so?

He eases me down.

I'm still trembling.

"Oh god."

"You alright love?"

I nod. Barely conscious.

Nothing matters.

Nothing matters.

This is all I need.

He pulls out of me and the feeling of hollowness returns.

I don't exist.

I can't move, so instead I beckon, calling him over with my finger tips.

He crawls, bulk and weight and power, kneeling over me, hairy legs pinning my arms to my sides, ass pressed against my tits.

Both of us are clammy. Drenched in sweat. His cock droops over me, sealed in its latex rain jacket.

We are so fucking filthy.

Disgusting.

Wretched.

I want to be wretched.

I lean forward and catch the end of the condom in my teeth, tugging at it, catching at it again, the sterile taste of latex buried beneath lemon and salt. I pull it off- spit it out, only managing to spit it out onto my own shoulder, where it sticks, dribbling the products of our joy across my skin and down to the bed sheets.

He takes my hair, fingers brushing through it. Tender rather than forceful.

I lean up and lick his cock. Lick the long smooth shaft, tasting the salt from him, tasting my own desire.

I lean back, twist my head around, lick the other side, relishing the occasional twitch and flick, the way it bounces. The low simmer. Basking in the warmth of it, cleaning my boy up and showing him just how much I want to be his toy.

"So... wha'dya say we pay our respects to St Michael's Vestry?"