Shifting Sands

This time, it's not play.
It's need.
Sheer, unadulterated need for service.

I'm bound, clipped, and on my knees before you can say "may I, sir?"
Clamped between his thighs, my hands strapped behind him, his hands in my hair.
I am not going anywhere, except deep inside my head.

There's nothing but sensation.
The heat, the hardness, the fine skin over muscle.
The smell of him, subtle and seductive and unmistakably "Sir."
The faint throbbing of the blood pounding through his veins.

And the pain, of course. Anything he can reach is fair game.
But something is different.
Him? Me?
I bury my face deep and listen - with ears and heart and soul.

He said all he wanted was every last bit I could give.
But he's feeding that.
He's opening up, letting go.
He's hurting me, yet I'm smiling softly. 

At the height of this frenzy,
as he's spanking and mangling like a man possessed,
he leans over and bites me - hard.
And it feels like the sweetest of kisses.

(I am in SO much trouble!!)