Her Power Between His Knees
Untold millions of words have been written about the parodoxical power exchange dynamics of the uncommon blowjob. How many of those words have been insightful or original? Safe to say, many fewer than that. But occasionally, at least, we get a scene in fiction that grasps at the meat of the issue (so to speak) and gives it good service:
A sudden and very specific need resonates through my chest, sparked from the marrow of my being. A need to satisfy him, to feel the power in giving him that gift.
I tug at the foot propped on his knee until he lowers it to the floor. He shifts to stand, but I stop him with my hands on his rock-hard thighs. Then I kneel between his spread legs.
He grabs my hair, his tone stern with warning. “Ivory.”
With a surge of bravery, I grip his cock through the trousers, touching him for the first time. “I want to taste this.”
“Fuck.” His exhale ricochets through the vast room. The hand in my hair pulls, pinching pain across my scalp. “Not here.”
If we go back to his house, I’ll lose my nerve on the way. I’ve loathed the feeling of a man in my mouth since the first time Lorenzo took me there. The gagging, loss of air, and utter humiliation of something so vile squirting across my tongue…
I want it to be different with Emeric. I need him to show me how to do this willingly.
Surrounded by the stiff muscle groups of his chest and legs, I stroke my hand over the pulsing swell of his erection. “I will crawl to you. Bow to you. Whatever you want, I want. Just…give me this.”
A thick, hoarse noise escapes his lips. “Christ in hell. How the fuck do I say no to that?”
He wraps my hair around his fist, his gaze cutting through the theater and pausing on the closed doors.
Is he thinking about Joanne and the time they were caught?
It’s after seven on a Friday night. We’re probably the only two people in Crescent Hall, and no one comes into the theater after school hours. But if those doors open, I’ll be on my feet before we’re spotted. Besides, only my back is illuminated by the dim edge of the lights. No one can see him in the shadows.
I know he considers all of this before he whispers gruffly, “Take me out.”
Excitement shivers through me as I loosen his belt and slide down his zipper. My hands shake, and my mouth floods with moisture.
The fist in my hair clamps down as tension ripples from his body. He lifts his hips, ripping at the trousers with his free hand. As the zipper shifts below his heavy sac, my gut quivers with anticipation to touch him.
In the dim space between us, the largeness of him juts up, long and beautiful and throbbing with veins. My hands gravitate toward it, fingers curling around the thick base.
He wrenches me backward by my hair and studies my face, his blue eyes a faint glow in the darkness. “The moment you want this to stop, raise your hand in the air.”
Because I won’t be able to use my voice? Fear trickles in, but I shove it away. I have the strength to be vulnerable with him. “I will.”
He releases my hair and grips the arm rests with both hands. “Now suck me.”
Kneeling to him, with my fingers trembling against the dark short hairs on his groin, I lower my head and slide my cheek along his shaft, nuzzling, kissing, and savoring the feel of steel sheathed in silky flesh.
His entire body melts into the seat.
I drag my nose along his length, inhaling the scent of a man I trust, pulling his woody musk deep into my lungs.
A groan notches his breaths, and his legs widen, stretching the seams around his fly. “Stop playing with it, and suck it.”
Smiling, I swirl my tongue around the tip, shredding a gasp from his throat. The sight of his blanching fists around the arm rests produces a throb between my legs. The jerk of his cock against my lips rushes wet heat to my core. His pleasure is my pleasure.
As I suckle and lick the crown, I reach into his briefs to tease his balls with kneading fingers. Then I close my eyes and draw him into my mouth.
“Ah fuck.” He grunts. “That’s it. Deeper. Flatten your tongue. There you go.” His legs shake. “Jesus, Ivory. Just like that.”
I thrill at his praise and bob my head faster, tightening the suction of my mouth. When he’s not turning his neck to glance at the door, I know he’s watching me, absorbing the contentment on my face as I give and give. Imagining the desire hooding his eyes charges me up, almost as much as the way he bosses me every step of the way. Spit on it. Lick under the head. Twist your wrist. Take it deep.
Holy hell, this man. He can’t just sit there and enjoy a blow job. His harsh whispers demand I do it the way he likes it, ordering the exact motions to make. Suck faster. Stroke harder. Make it wet.
He’s a control freak through and through, but I knew he’d respond exactly this way. I love him like this. His filthy fucking mouth and the coarseness of his timbre makes my lips tingle and my nipples harden.
When he loses the last of his restraint, there’s no warning. In a blur, he grabs my hair and slams my head down. I gag, slobbering atrociously and sucking for air. A pained moan escapes him as he bucks his hips and drives harder, deeper. I choke so violently my eyes water against the pressure, and my fingers scramble for purchase in the folds of his slacks.
Both hands tangle in my hair as he holds my face against his groin, his cock digging against my throat, his voice hoarse. “Raise your hand, dammit, and I’ll stop.”
My hands are free. I can lift them anytime. Then he’ll release me, and the discomfort will end. The power in that breaks something open inside me.
I want this. I feel it at gut level, this need for him to fuck my mouth savagely, carelessly, and without thought. Maybe because he’s held back for so long, restraining himself for me, and I ache to give this back to him. Or maybe because I want his hurt so hard and deep inside me that he’s all I feel.
With the broad head pounding the back of my throat and taunting my airway, it already hurts. My tonsils feel like painful masses of swollen tissue. He’s doing this because he wants to, and I love that, crave it, like no decent woman ever would.
I’ve never been decent. I’m dirty—Emeric’s kind of dirty that leaves a claiming painful pleasure in my throat. He tries to fuck me as deeply as he can because he’s my master, the man I hunger for in the darkest, most terribly beautiful way possible.
“Raise…your…fucking…hand.” He punctuates each word with jabbing strokes in my mouth.
I bury my nails into his thighs, a silent plea. Don’t stop.
He stabs his hips and pulls my hair, legs shaking, and breaths wheezing out of control. Just when I think I can’t take any more, the balance shifts. He goes quiet, slowing his thrusts, stroking my hair, and filling my mouth with his release.
My name reverberates through the theater as his body convulses and sighs.
The power is mine. I bask in it. His hands tremble, and I grab them, hold them, our fingers intertwined. I have him.
That’s from Dark Notes by Pam Godwin.
Similar Sex Blogging:
