Tuesday, 3 June 2008

Raw

I follow you into the movie theatre.

On the phone I instructed you tersely where to be and what I wanted you to wear - a sundress, no panties... and the contents of the package I had left in your mailbox. I could hear the hesitancy in your voice but I know how I make you feel and I trade on that, insisting that you should go in first and wait for me, sitting in the middle of the theatre but off to the right hand side against the wall, where it's the darkest. I directed you not to turn around, just to wait.

I told you that I knew that your nipples would be rock hard, definitely obvious if the lights were on. And not just because of the chill. For you would be sitting there, remembering being cuffed in a myriad of rooms, the feeling of my hands on your hips, all over you, and the continual thrusting of my cock, slamming into your cunt from a multitude of angles. And I would know your shame as you grow so wet at the memory of it...but you do, much more often than you can even admit to yourself.

'Whatever happens, you must resist the urge to turn around.'

And then I replaced the receiver, my cock stirring at the thought of the afternoon to come.

What am I doing here? It's cold and my nipples are reacting, although, if I'm honest, I suspect he was right in his commentary and they were hard before I ever entered the theatre after that phone call.

I can't help myself. I shouldn't be here but I am. I can't stop remembering. He was right. I do get wet thinking about him. My cheeks burn because that's the only reason I agreed to see him again after the intervening silence. I had thought it was over.


One part of me is appalled by the power he exerts over me... but another is unbelievably excited. I want to turn round to see where he is. I know he won't be far behind but I am compelled to obey his instructions. So I sit facing the screen and wait.

I stand at the back of the theatre for several minutes, watching you. A slender figure taking her seat at the side of the auditorium. Once in your chair, I can hardly see you but, in my head, I can still hear your moans, still feel the way you eventually let yourself go, slamming your hips against me, joining the violent rhythm as I ploughed my cock deeper and deeper into you.

The theatre is completely dark and I silently slide along the row behind you. Moving my lips an inch from your ear, I whisper: 'Don't fucking move...' and watch with satisfaction as you begin to tremble.

It's that voice in my ear again. The one that will countenance no negative. The one that requires me to submit; to overcome all my instincts in order to comply with his will. It cuts through me until I can feel it down my spine, in my belly and, most of all, between my legs.

'Have you missed me, my English Bitch?'

I nod and lean my head back, aching for some sort of touch, any contact at all. There is a brief pause before his fingertips trail, almost reluctantly, down my bare arms... and my thighs instinctively part in recognition of his mastery.

We can both feel you shudder as the goosebumps erupt over your flesh, leaving your skin like braille under my caress. It is a most gratifying response to such a slight movement.

Without thinking, my left hand moves to your hair, pulling it back, your neck resting on the back of the chair. Almost by their own volition, the digits of my right dexterously unbutton your sundress, exposing a hard nipple, the cloth bunching to the side of it. Searching it out in the darkness, the tip of my finger sliding across it back and forth.

'I'm going to fuck you in this theatre and you won't be able to make a sound.'

My thumb and forefinger roll your taut nipple between them, three other fingers surrounding your breast, cupping it, massaging it. The thumb and finger begin to move slowly up and down the nipple, stroking it. You recognize the metaphor and close your eyes. Your whole body begins to shake as the finger and thumb move faster, squeezing, releasing, stroking. Pinching harder, I know you can feel your cunt echoing the throbbing of my cock.

'Touch yourself.'

As my left hand moves under the sundress, two fingers blissfully sinking into the moist groove and riding my clit, my body tenses and the hips begin to very slowly gyrate.

I grip the device in my pocket, waiting for the optimum moment... for both of us. Your soft, breathless moans gather pace and, when I can hold on no longer, I depress the button with my thumb.

The bullet clamped inside your cunt begins to vibrate at my command and your entire body stiffens in my grasp, your back arching as the shivers thrill through you. I can hear your breath against my ear, panting softly, faster and faster into an extended staccato inhalation. Each gasp a tone higher than the last before erupting into a scream only stifled by the strongest of wills into a sighed exhale.

Sat there, pinned to the chair by the demands of his pleasure, my body twisting and turning from his remote ministrations, I feel him release my breast and move away.

As he leans back in his chair, I am well aware that one hand remains focussed on my continuing torment. The rhythmic stroking of the other on his released cock communicates itself through the floor and into my feet as I concentrate on maintaining my silence. And, all the time, he controls the little egg inside me. Its pulses producing warm ripples that translate into Atlantic rollers by the time they reach my nipples and threaten to overwhelm my brain as they flood through it. The pressure builds upwards and upwards and forces the name hissing from my mouth.

I love watching you like this... so helpless and, well, yes, under my thumb. I had forgotten how completely your scent and your sounds intoxicate me.

Until I hear you whisper the word and I remember the truth.

I am not supposed to be here. I told myself I would not see you, would not touch you again. I can see your shoulders shaking with the trauma of restraining your cries, the soft light from the movie screen picks out the tracks of your frustrated tears.

The phone call and the 'clever' plan behind it were a moment of weakness in the face of my desire for you. A lust so raw it never leaves me; I have to fight it all the time. I had promised myself there would be no physical contact, that I would just watch... I thought I was strong enough but that one word rips my composure to shreds.

I must regain control before I am lost in you once more.

The semen spurts its betrayal onto the back of your seat and, forcing myself not to turn my head for one last look, I rezip and walk up the aisle towards the exit. My thumb continues its contact with the button, keeping you at boiling point until the extent of the signal has been reached and you know that I am gone.

I have punished us both enough.

9 comments:

BenefitScroungingScum said...

Brilliantly written as usual, and so achingly sad, BG x

Vi said...

W.O.W!

I loved it! Made me feel VERY horny!

Lady in red said...

wow

cake you really are very good at this. I'm left feeling such a confusion of emotions from this. excitement, fear,delight, desire, frustration and ending in complete sadness for them both.

K, the lonely housewife said...

Ditto from me. Brilliantly written. I'm extremely aroused, but saddened and angry at the same time...

Riff Dog said...

Wow! Great stuff! I love these kinds of "don't turn around" stories.

2 Dollar Productions said...

Punished, but in one of the best ways possible. Great back and forth perspectives.

nitebyrd said...

Great story, Cake! That's definitely an exciting way to spend time at the theatre.

asweetnectar said...

Umm yea I wanna go to the theatre! Very nice!

Ro said...

What a fantastic story - beautiful pathos amid the erotic.

I rather like remote-control gizmos too :D