Hello, this is Saurabh. Thank you for the overwhelming responses to my previous story, ‘Dominance Game.’
This is not exactly a true story, but it is inspired by a few instances that I went through with a girl.
“Always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
Her eyes flashed up to him, dark and intelligent under obnoxious, perfect lashes. A smile danced on her lips, but it didn’t touch those eyes. Cool amusement. Planned out. “Someone has to.”
He observed the way her fingers toyed with the stem of her now-empty wine glass. Restless. Like her.
The low hum of the remaining guests at the gallery closing event filled the space around them, a backdrop of polite laughter and meaningless talk.
It grated on his nerves. Everything grated tonight.
She grated.
Thinks she’s clever. He leaned a fraction closer, invading her space just enough that she’d have to lean back to restore it. She didn’t. Her chin lifted instead, a silent challenge.
“Amusing,” he murmured, voice low, pitched so that only she could hear over the noise around them. “I figured the idea was the talk, not the points.”
“Maybe for you.” She slid the glass onto a tray of a passing waiter without glancing up. Smooth. Easy.
Her eyes wandered out of the room, specifically evading his. He followed her vision and saw a suit-clad guy grinning at her. His mind sparked recognition – some collector, perhaps. It didn’t matter. What concerned him was the manner in which she provided that subtle tilt of her head, an offer he hadn’t fucking granted her permission to make.
Mine. The idea was not soft. It was a raw, possessive beast pushing its way up his throat. He moved forward on purpose, stepping in her path and blocking her sight of the other man. Her attention snapped back to him, annoyance finally lighting those dark eyes. Good.
“Problem?” she asked, tone short.
“You tell me.” He allowed his gaze to linger over her body, slow and purposeful. The simple black dress she wore outlined curves he knew all too well. The gentle rise of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the curve of her hips. He recalled the texture of her skin between his palms, the moans she’d produced when he’d driven her to the brink. Fire curled in his belly, hard and resentful. Arousal was tangled with a bitter anger she alone had the power to incite.
Wants to pretend I don’t impact her. He could sense the strain emanating from her now, a thread of tension pulled tight under the mask of practised composure. He enjoyed it.
Enjoyed knowing he was the one creating it.
“I think,” she started, wetting her lips faintly, a nervous gesture she likely didn’t even know she had, “that you’re being.”
“What?” he cut across, taking a step closer. Close enough to catch the waft of her perfume, something dark and sweet that always made him hunger to bite. “Intense? Possessive?” He watched her swallow. “Maybe you just bring it out in me.”
Her breath caught. Barely. But he caught it.
Heard it. There. That crack in the mask.
“Excuse me,” she attempted, trying to sidestep him.
His hand flew out, fast and sure, fingers closing around her upper arm. Not tightly enough to hurt, not yet. Only enough to hold her. Firm.
Immovable. “Not done talking.”
Her eyes widened a fraction. Shock. Then stubbornness.
She attempted to tug her arm free. He did not release her. Bodies swirled around them, lost in their conversations, their realities. Blind. Blind to what was happening in their midst.
The realisation coursed through him. The danger. The proximity of discovery.
“Release me,” she snarled, breath a mere whisper, eyes scanning frantically about.
“Why?” He drew closer, his lips against her ear. Her flesh burned beneath his touch. “Afraid someone will notice?” He ran his lips against the curve of her ear, watching as she shivered. “Afraid they’ll notice how readily I can make you shake?”
She pulled back, yanking harder this time. He released her suddenly, standing there as she staggered a little before regaining her balance. Her chest heaved rapidly. Colour flushed her cheeks. Rage blended with something else. Something he knew.
Want it. Even furious, even battling him, she desired it. He could see it in the minute darkening of her eyes, the way her lips parted minutely.
He gave her a slow, deliberate smile. Predatory.
“You look flushed. ”
She glared at him, momentarily embarrassed into silence. Then, recovering her poise, she smoothed down her dress, a. gesture meant to. Show. Indifference.
It failed. He noticed. The. Slight. Tremor in her hands.
“I am embarrassed,”. She. Said,. Turning. Sharply.
He allowed her to walk away this time. Observed the movement of her hips as she made her way through the thinning cluster, aimed for the exit that served the lesser-travelled east wing hallway – restrooms, service entrance.
Not the exit. Interesting.
He granted her a ten-second lead. Then he followed.
The hallway was dimly lit, with a faint echoing of the noises from the main hall. Vacant. He had no trouble catching up to her halfway down, her high heels clicking loudly on the clean concrete floor. He didn’t shout out.
Just increased his stride until he was standing directly behind her.
She’d have to have felt him, noticed his coming, because she came to an abrupt halt, her shoulders freezing. She didn’t turn around at first.
He extended his hand, caressing her spine, fingers splaying possessively over the cool silk of her dress. “Thought you were leaving,” he whispered against her hair.
She turned at last, glaring at him with a volatile combination of anger and passion. “What do you want?”
You. “What do you want?” His hand crept downward, cradling her buttocks in his palm. She gasped and attempted to slap at his hand, but he trapped her wrist deftly in his other hand and pinned it behind her back.
“Stop it,” she whispered, eyes staring wide now, the defiance for a moment overridden by something more akin to terror. Or perhaps excitement. With her, it was impossible to know. Always threatening to blur the lines.
“Make me.” He pinned her against the chilly, smooth plaster of the corridor wall. Her body gave, sandwiched between the wall and him. He pushed his luck, crowding her, making her feel the hard bulge of his erection against her belly through their clothing. Her breath was coming in rough little pants.
“Someone. Someone might come,” she whispered, her eyes frantically scanning the deserted corridor.
“Let them.” He ducked his head, pressing his face into the hollow of her neck, breathing in her perfume. He bit at her skin, and she gasped again, more sharply.
“Desire to know how you belong to me?”
His other hand came up, yanking the hem of her dress up in crude haste. The rustle of the fabric was obscenely loud amidst the silence of the corridor. His fingers found the thin wall of her.
Panties, already wet. Fuck. Always so eager.
Even when she struggled against him.
“You’re.” She began, then cut herself off with a strangled noise as his fingers slipped under the elastic, probing her wet heat. Two fingers moving inside her with ease. So fucking wet.
“I’m what?” he snarled against her skin, sinking his fingers deeper, feeling her reflexively clench them. He circled his thumb hard against her clit through the thin material. She whimpered, head rolled back onto the wall, eyes scrunched tight.
“So tight,” he grunted, his eyes on the pulse racing at the base of her neck. He stroked his fingers deep inside her, slow and deliberate. In and out. Sensing her slick walls clench. His thumb was under constant pressure.
“Ah. Please.” It was not a request to desist. He recognised that voice. It was a request for more.
“Please, what?” he insisted, pressing his hips more firmly against hers, grinding gently. “Speak.”
Her eyes snapped open, burning now. “Fuck you.”
He laughed, a rough sound. “Soon.” He sat back enough to look at her face completely. Flush, gasping, eyes dark with desire. Gorgeous. Exasperating. He pinched her nipple hard through the material of her bra and dress with his thumb and forefinger.
She cried out, pushing against his hand within her. “Don’t—ah!”
“Don’t what?” He turned his fingers slightly, getting another strangled gasp. “Don’t touch you?
Don’t make you come right here to the wall where anyone could come walking in?”
He screwed her harder with his fingers, sensing her inner muscles trembling wildly. “Is that what you want, huh? To be denied?”
“No.” The word was wrenched from her, harsh.
He pulled his fingers out suddenly, leaving her panting, with a slickness spread on her inner thighs.
Her eyes flew open, dazed, angry.
“Then say what you want.” His voice was low and menacing. His erection pounded against her belly.
Her breath caught. She gazed at his mouth, then back at his eyes. A flash of calculation, then raw heat. “Kiss me.”
He glared at her for a good, long moment, the rage seething alongside the raw hunger. She thought she’d command it? After all her games? But hell, how she gazed up at him, lips parted, anticipating.
He slammed his mouth down on hers. It wasn’t soft. It was a crash. Teeth scraping together lightly before tongues meshed. He kissed her hard, deep, savouring her desperation, her struggle, her defeat.
His fist in her hair, head thrown back, deepening the kiss until she was holding on, fingers digging into his shoulders. He stopped the kiss, both of them breathing hard.
“Not here,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“Someone.”
“I don’t care who sees,” he growled, but the idea of taking this out, taking her in there, taking her to somewhere even more dangerous. It set something off in him. He jerked her away from the wall, his grip still firm on her wrist.
“Come on.”
He didn’t give her time to reply, set off, dragging her with him. Rearward towards the space of the main gallery, but away from the door. He glanced around the room. Most of the guests had left.
Staff were discreetly beginning to remove glasses and lower the lights. He avoided the main displays, making for a side room that at the moment contained a temporary exhibition – huge, abstract pieces wrapped in half-darkness. It was empty.
He shoved her through the door, into the comparative gloom. Spilling from the main hall was the only light. Shapes towered above them, metal and stone, and painted the wall with long, bent shadows.
“Here?” she whispered, gazing around, uncertainty struggling with the unmistakable flush still on her cheeks.
He ignored her, striding further into the room until they stood at the centrepiece – a high, gleaming granite plinth, slick and cool-looking, presently vacant, awaiting its purposeful exhibit. Next to it was a velvet rope barrier, stretched between two wide, heavy, ornate chrome stanchions, intended to hold patrons back. An idea, cutting and devious, cut through his mind.
He stepped back to turn her, moving her slowly backwards until the base of one of the stanchions bumped against the backs of her calves.
Her eyes were enormous in the dim light, following his every step.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice shaking a little now. Not fear. Tension. He could tell the difference.
He did not respond. Instead, he dropped down, unfastening the soft velvet rope from its neighbouring stanchion. The weighty clip mechanism produced a gentle clink in the silent room. He grasped the rope, allowing the thick, soft velvet to flow through his fingers.
Her breathing caught. “No.”
“Yes.” He moved in closer, looping the rope loosely around her left wrist. She didn’t struggle, merely stood there, transfixed. He pulled her wrist upward, clipping the rope’s clip back onto the top ring of the stanchion she was leaning on. Not tight enough to hurt her, but firmly in place. Her arm was fastened above her head.
He did the same with the other wrist, clipping the other rope’s end to the same stanchion ring.
Her arms were loose in the air, tied to the chilly metal, embracing her face. She tugged at the restraints, testing. The rope stretched a bit, but remained firm.
“You’re crazy,” she whispered, but her eyes blazed with a desperate, wild passion that mirrored his own. Her chest heaved.
“You drive me crazy.” He took a step back, pleased with himself. She was tied to a display stand in the centre of an otherwise vacant gallery room, her dress still rumpled around her hips, flushed and panting.
Completely helpless. Completely his. Fuck yes.
He stepped forward once more, spreading his hands on the cold granite plinth alongside the stanchion, trapping her. He leaned in, his brow against hers. Her breath tickled his lips.
“Lift your hips,” he ordered, speaking in a low growl.
She delayed for a second before complying, arching her back and thrusting her hips out involuntarily. He reached down, pulling her panties off her legs in one hard yank. They bunched around her ankles. He pushed them away with a kick.
“Spread your legs.”
She did, spreading her feet farther apart on the chilly floor. Exposed. Waiting. The shadows danced over her body, showing and concealing. He felt the responding ache in his cock, aching in its ferocity.
His eyes met hers. “Tell me again. What do you want?”
A shiver shot through her. “You,” she panted, speaking the word so softly it was almost silent. “fuck me. Please.”
That was enough. He unbuckled his trousers, releasing his throbbing cock. Hard. Heavy.
Ready. He didn’t go for finesse, simply placed himself, the tip of his cock against her wet folds.
She gasped, eyes wide, knuckles white where the velvet rope pinned her hands. “Wait—”
He didn’t wait. He pushed into her with one hard, deep stroke.
“Ah! Fuck!” Her cry was truncated as her head battered against the stanchion pole. Her eyes screwed up, her body twitching around him. So fucking tight. So wet. It was like coming home, if home was a place of gorgeous, violent disorder.
He retreated slowly, almost completely out, seeing her face twist with the refusal, then thrust back in, embedding himself to the root. She screamed again, a raw, keening cry which rang slightly in the big room.
Fuck. The noises she makes. He held her hips, shifting their angle by a fraction, finding that place deep within that always caused her to come apart. He began to move at a hard, urgent pace. Pounding into her.
The stanchion at her back shuddered softly with the impact of his thrusts. Her tied hands tugged reflexively against the velvet rope.
“Oh god. Mmm. Yes,” she gasped, her voice coarse between thrusts.
He leaned down, nipping her shoulder, not softly. She gasped, jerking back against him. “You’re being rough,” she strangled out.
He closed his hand around her throat, fingers digging into the racing pulse, not hard enough to hurt, hard enough to take control, to remind her who was boss. His hips didn’t ease. “I’m being honest,” he growled, driving deeper. “This. This is what you do to me.”
Her eyes sprang open, dark and wide, looking up at him. Fear, excitement, submission, defiance – all mixed up. He adored it. Adored seeing himself in that turmoil. Adored the knowledge that he was the one responsible.
He let go of her neck, taking a handful of hair instead, jerking her head back and exposing the long line of her neck. He licked up from her collarbone to her jaw, savouring the saltiness of her skin. “Look at me,” he ordered.
Her gaze met his, blurry with pleasure and the magnitude of the moment.
“Make me stop?” he asked, grinding into her, his senses capturing the desperation with which her inner muscles closed around him.
“No. fuck. Don’t,” she begged, her speech thick.
His other hand closed over her breast, his fingers hard on her. She screamed, the sound half-pain, half-pleasure. Good. He wanted her to be overwhelmed.
Drowning in sensation. His thumb probed her nipple through the material, rubbing it ruthlessly. Meanwhile, his hips thrust mindlessly, pushing her back against the chill metal pole repeatedly. Shattering her mind.
“Ahh! Yes. Right there. Oh fuck.” she cried, hips attempting to meet his thrusts, impeded by her position.
He sensed her moving in, the tension building tighter and tighter within her. Her breathing came in brief, abrupt gasps. Her moans increased in volume, less restrained.
Too loud. They were still out in the open. The danger, ever a thrill, now engendered a different type of ferocity. A possessive desire for quiet. He abruptly readjusted his weight, pulling back.
She whined at the retreat. “No.”
He closed his hand over her mouth, silencing her. Her eyes went wide with terror at his fingers. He looked down at her, and his body was sensitive to the furious hum of her muffled moans against his palm. And then he began to move again, his slow, deep, grinding rhythm. Each plunge in, each slow withdrawal, was pain and pleasure mirrored in her eyes that were too wide.
“Want the entire building to hear how wet you are for me?” He whispered in her ear, his voice hidden by her hair, his hand still clamped over her mouth. “Want them to know I’m fucking you on top of their precious display?” He drove in deep, holding it there, feeling her squirm, seeking release. “Or should I quiet you up right?”
Her stifled cries grew louder behind his hand. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, whether from ecstasy or the sheer aching intensity, he had no idea. Didn’t matter. It was uncooked. It was honest. It was her, laid bare by him.
He was watching her face, interpreting the storm there. Feeling the shudders convulsing her body. She was teetering on the edge. He put more pressure on her clit with his thumb, which he could barely reach, and rubbed hard while still grinding deep and slow inside her.
Her spine arched in a spasm, bucking against the velvet rope. Muffled cries resonated against his palm. Then, she broke apart. Her body clamped around him, spasms of pure pleasure wracking her body.
Her eyes rolled back partway. Her muscles tightened hard, milking him. He gripped her hard, enduring her orgasm, his hand still pressed over her mouth, muffling the silent moans of her climax.
It wasn’t until her shudders grew weaker that he took his hand away. She leaned against the stanchion, taking great, gasping breaths, flushed-faced, sweat beading on her skin. Her eyes flickered open, locking with his. Dazed. Exhausted. Exquisitely ravaged.
He could feel his release gathering, a searing pressure low in his gut. Gazing down at her, dishevelled, tied, bruised by his teeth, completely taken by him… it sent him over.
He drew her hips against him tightly, growled deep in his throat, and spilt himself deep within her with a last set of rough thrusts. His own body convulsed, head dropping forward to lie upon her sticky brow. There was silence for an instant, save the harsh rasp of their breathing within the black, shadowed chamber.
He remained within her, throbbing, sensing her weak after-shocks. The wrath had seared away, leaving in its place a possessive contentment so strong it was bordering on agony.
He withdrew slowly, unwillingly, from her. She swayed, skeletal. He pulled up, unfastening first the velvet rope from the stanchion ring, then carefully from around her wrists. Red blisters erupted on her skin where the rope had restrained her. He idly rubbed one wrist with his thumb.
She didn’t say anything, just watched him with those dark, unreadable eyes as he straightened his clothes, fastening his trousers. He didn’t help her with her dress or the panties, which still pooled at her feet.
He turned without a word, walking back towards the fading light of the main gallery. He stopped at the doorway, glancing back.
She was standing, still resting against the stanchion for support, dress halfway down her thighs, hair dishevelled, lipstick smeared. She was wrecked. And stunning.
A muscle clenched his jaw. The rage was not yet gone.
Not exactly. It was just. Satiated. For the moment.
To be continued! (maybe)
Do leave your comment. If any girls want to hook up or play around, mail me at [email protected]. I assure utter secrecy. I’m from Trivandrum, Kerala.