January 22, 2014 | Posted in Editorial Features by
When I enter the room, she's standing in a corner. Why she's being punished, I don't know. But I'm glad she is. Black corset, black stockings. Skin as pale as the moon on snow. A cherry red ball gag against cherry red lips. Blonde curls.
It's the hair that does it.
This is how I know it's a dream, even submerged under heavy layers of sleep. Blondes are not my thing. When I fantasize, when my eyes follow a woman down the street, it's always dark hair, short, androgynus. Dark haired pouty butch girls make me swoon, not curls and ribbons and red, red lips. My subconscious has it's own fantasies.
Oh God. She's beautiful. Perfect. I walk all the way around her, her bright blue eyes stare straight ahead, never wavering, such a good girl. When I stand behind her, I see her hands aren't tied behind her back, she's holding them there, just so. She's such a good girl that I ache for her in my sleep.
There are little frills on the bottom edge of her corset, barely skimming her thighs. Black on pale. I want to lick that place where the lace touches. I reach out…
Here's where I wake up, full of wanting. I keep my eyes shut to hold her close. Don't let her fade, must not let her fade.
I want to bite through the elastic on the garter belt, watch each one snap back in slow motion. Run my hands down her thighs, ease down those sheer black stockings, unwrapping my present like a terrible greedy child.
I want to take those corset strings, and tie them just a little tighter, until I hear that sharp gasp of breath. That's how I would ruin a good girl like this, centimeters at a time. I'd brush my fingers through those curls, leave a strand or two tickling her nose. I'd be so cruel, in so many little ways.
Panties, is she wearing them? Yes, midnight black, like the corset. Reach around back and yank so the lace edging scratches the inside of her thigh, so the crotch pulls up tight and uncomfortable between her legs. A little pain now to make the pleasure that much more of a treat later.
I'd kiss her around the ball gag, my lips pressed against hers, my tongue teasing hers from the other side of the prison wall. Her lips would strain to kiss me back, her eyes finally focusing on mine. I'd step back because I'm not hers to have quite yet.
Or maybe I am.
Impatiently then, because she's such a good girl and I hate waiting, I'd slide my hand between her legs, I'd pull those goddamn panties down around the tops of those perfect fucking thighs. I wouldn't tease her clit, I'd shove fingers in, cram them into her wet and lovely cunt. She'd spread her legs, tremble, trying to be a good girl, struggling to remember that she had to be good no matter what. And then I'd break her. She'd cry out, muffled by the gag. She'd flinch, moan, and then she'd reach for me, but she'd stop herself, just a little too late.
Her blue eyes would go wide when she realized her transgressions. Then I could really punish her for being such a good, good girl.