Descend to Heaven Ch. 02

I slapped her breasts again and she shuddered. I could see in her face that she was shocked, scandalized that anyone would treat her so crudely, but at the same time her eyes lit up with fire; the liberation of being mistreated, the thrill of being forced.

Finally I could wait no longer. My hand found its way under her skirt and crept up her thigh to that cloyingly soft and tender flesh right next to her sex, that warm and humid triangle. I felt her freeze in anticipation and quiver.

"Remember, you're not to move, Arianna. You remember the rules?"

"Oh, God yes, David! You're evil! Don't tease!"

Her affirmation was hardly more than a strangled little whisper as she awaited my touch, not daring to move a muscle. I was too excited myself to smile at this capitulation, or even take any pleasure from it. The fierce seriousness of male sexual desire was on me, and smiling had no place in it.

I pushed the crotch of her panties to the side. She was wet and warm and sticky, her labia swollen with impatience. She jerked spasmodically when I touched her but I didn't go far. I just opened her furrow with the tip of my middle finger, then inserted it only to the first knuckle. My finger just parted her labia and poised at the entrance of that secret, mysterious hole, and despite my injunction not to move, Arianna's mouth came down on mine in a fierce, sucking kiss that told me just what she wanted my finger to do. And when begging wouldn't do, her fine white teeth sunk into my lower lip and bit down, trying to provoke me into a savage and punitive response.

But I wouldn't give her the penetration she was begging for. Just the tip. Just my finger tip barely opening her and waiting at that nerve-saturated vestibule. Her legs opened and closed, clamping down on my hand. Her kisses became desperate, wild and chaotic with her need and frustration.

"More! Oh David! Please! More!"

She whispered feverishly between kisses, but still I refused. Want and need, control and denial. We were locked in a tight little ball, Arianna in my lap and half hunched over, arms still bound behind her. Me with my face in the tangle of her bra and breasts, pressed against the hot and fragrant flesh of her tits which were filmed with sweat and smelling of her perfume and her softness and her rising sexual musk. Inside her I felt the autonomic muscles of her pussy gripping me like elastic bands, trying to suck me in.

"Listen to me, Arianna," I told her. "New rules. You are not to orgasm without my permission. No, change that. You are not allowed to orgasm until my cock is inside you. Until I'm fucking you."

"God!" she whispered. Her pussy continued to pulse on my finger tip. "What are you talking about? David, I can't do that!"

And now I smiled. With my face pressed against her tits, maybe she felt it.

"Well you'd better learn." I pulled my head back so I could see her face, flushed, worried, hungry with lust, she was genuinely concerned. "Because only a slut comes from being fingered like this. Only a hot little fuck-toy. Is that what you are, Arianna? Are you my little fuck doll? Is that pussy going to cum on my finger so hard you can't even stop it?"

Arianna whined, my lewd words hitting a nerve. I began to move my finger tip, withdrawing, pushing back in, circling around that tight little hole, distending her, stretching her, but never past the first joint. My thumb found the hood of her clit, that eager little pearl, and I slathered it with her own juices so I could slide around and over it and press and make her moan.

Hand jobs are underrated. There's something deliciously degrading about being brought off by someone's hand, as if they couldn't be bothered to give you a good honest fuck or suck. Handjobs are demeaning, and maybe that's why they get such bad press. But that's also why they can also be wonderfully intense, especially for a newbie trying her best not to cum because she believes it might mean she's a slut.

Arianna was through with one game. I felt her untangling her wrists from the scarf as I held her and teased her with my finger and thumb, and soon she had her arms wrapped around me, holding on for dear life.

"Oh God, David, I can't! I can't! I can't stop it! Please! Please!"

And then she just broke. A strangled whine, the feel of her pussy spasming madly on my finger, the hot gush of her release in the palm of my hand as she clung to me, chocking, sobbing, cumming.

I slid my finger from her and held her as she caught her breath and stopped shaking. But as soon as she'd gained some level of equanimity she pushed herself up off my lap sand backed away, crouching protectively and holding her open blouse closed over her breasts.

"David, what are you doing to me? I'm not like this. I'm really not."

I was shocked, stunned. "What are you talking about?"

"The chains you have in the bedroom and on the walls in here. They're for sex, aren't they? You're one of those men, a dominant, and you think I'm a submissive. You think I'm going to be your slave."

"Arianna, I don't think anything. And I'm not 'one of those men'. Come back here. Sit with me."

"I'm not going to let you do those things to me, David. You've got to promise. Give me your word."

"Don't be silly, Why are you so upset?"

"Promise."

I sighed. "I promise I won't do anything to you that you don't want. Ever. What do you think I am? Now come back and sit with me."

She looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then meekly came back to the chair. I didn't think having her sit on my lap would be appropriate, so I moved over in the chair so she could squeeze in beside me. I put my arm around her.

I was still hard and needing relief, because Arianna had turned me on fiercely. But I had to be cautious now, because she was clearly spooked. She'd agreed to my game and played her part perfectly, but now her feelings of shame and regret were almost tangible.

"What's the big deal?" I asked. "Why the labels?"

"I just want us to be clear. That stuff scares me, David. It turns me off. I worked hard to get to where I am today. I know I look young, and everyone treats me like a girl. But I'm a woman, and I'm strong and capable and my own person. I'm not someone's slave waiting to happen. That disgusts me and turns me off. I just don't want any misunderstandings."

I nodded sympathetically and said nothing. My mind was racing.

Arianna brushed her hair out of her face and did her best to pull her bra up and arrange herself. She nestled in, pressing against me and the side of the chair and making herself comfortable. Her blouse was still unbuttoned, but closed over her breasts. I thought of several things to say. I could point out that she just came like a little banshee from the very things she said she hated; or that labels were silly and meaningless; or I could ask her what was so horrifying; or I could just remind her that I still hadn't come and she owed me a lover's debt.

But she beat me to the punch.

"That's what those chains are for, isn't it?" she asked. "When's the last time you used them David? Is that what you used to do with Dana? Was she a submissive?"

I laughed bitterly. "Dana? She was as vanilla as they come. No. We never used them. I kept them up hoping, but she wasn't the least bit interested."

"So you are a dominant? You like to order women around?"

"No!" I exploded, tired of this nonsense. "I don't know what I am. I don't label myself, and I don't know why you should. I make love how I make love. I do things I like. What's the big deal?"

"Okay, David. Don't get mad. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She kissed my cheek.

"You remember Renee, my best friend from college I told you about?"

I nodded.

"I told you how amazing she was and how she inspired me. She was absolutely gorgeous and smart and funny and could have had any guy she wanted. When we got out of school she had all these job offers. She took a job with DDF&B in New York, the big advertising firm, and at 22 had the world by the tail.

"But then she met this guy and he was a dom, and she became like his slave. It was awful. We used to talk and I saw her go from this beautiful, successful woman to a complete burnout who cared about nothing but pleasing her master. Master Ron. That was his name. That's so stupid. He got her hooked on cocaine and then crack and meth and he was cheating on her right and left, but she couldn't tear herself away. She followed him all the way down. It was horrible."

"And you're afraid that's going to happen to you?" I asked.

"No!" she exclaimed. "I'm not a submissive. I'm not like that at all. I looked into it, you know? I looked at these web sites and at the kinds of things they do and they turn me off. I don't want to go near that stuff."

"Well, I have no intention of getting you hooked on crack and meth, believe me," I said. "But may I point out to you, Ms. Zamora, that you just had a rather marked sexual response to having your wrists tied as you were fondled. So apparently there was something in it that appealed to you."

She squirmed in the chair and pressed close to me, slipped her hand inside my shirt and touched my bare skin.

"That was different," she said. "You were showing me something so I let you. I wanted it. You weren't forcing me. It's totally different."

I turned as far as I could in the close confines of the chair and looked into her eyes to see if she was serious, and she was. I wasn't about to get into some sort of semantic argument with her at this point, but it was obvious that that Arianna had some very weird ideas about force and free will.

The bottom line though, was that she'd done what I said and enjoyed it. Enjoyed it greatly. All the rest was academic.

"Ethan used to tell me what to do. I guess I was shy—I still am, a lot—so he'd tell me what to do. But it was nothing like this. He just used to make me feel stupid. With you it's different."

Yeah. I knew why it was different: it was the difference between ordering a woman to service you, or just taking from her and being thrilled to the marrow by her willing compliance. One way makes her a slave; the other way makes her a woman.

I pried myself out of the chair and stood up. "Come on, then. Let me show you another game."

Arianna's no dummy and she could see the powerful bulge in my pants. She knew what was going on and she gave me a mischievous little smile as I helped he to her feet.

"In the bedroom," I said.

My bed is high. Just about ass-level for me. I led Arianna to the side of the bed and stood her in the middle of the floor, then I sat on the mattress and confronted her.

"I want you to take your clothes off for me," I said.

"What?!"

"It's another game. I want you to undress in front of me. I want to see how it makes you feel."

Her blouse was already hanging open, suspended on the hillocks of her breasts, with a little slice of naked tummy showing beneath. But I'd done that myself when I'd unbuttoned it in the chair. Making her undress before my eyes would be a whole new experience with a whole new meaning and a whole new set of feelings.

And she could pretend it was just a game or a preparation for love or anything else she wanted, but I knew that making her strip was a very dommy thing to do, and would probably provoke some very subby feelings inside her.

I liked watching her as she stood before me in some considerable doubt and uncertainty. On the one hand, Arianna was a very proud young woman and had the confidence of someone who knows she's attractive and desirable.

On the other hand, undressing cold like this, while being observed, was something no woman could do without considerable deference and ill ease.

She flushed slightly but managed t keep her poise, and hesitated only slightly before leaning back against the wall and starting to unzip her boots and take them off.

"Can I tell you something and you won't get mad?" she asked.

"What is it?"

She pulled off a boot and started on the other one.

"I like the fact that you're older," she said. "I don't think I'd do this for anyone else. But seeing the gray in your hair and your voice... I don't know what it is."

I said nothing but I felt the thrill of her words. There aren't many positives to getting older. Your body starts to fail, your mind isn't as sharp. But some of us develop an air of authority that comes from a lifetime of experience of separating life's wheat from its chafe, an appreciation for the more subtle yet important things.

And I could understand what she meant. I couldn't imagine her doing this for someone her age, a lover or peer, a competitor. My age made it safe; even exciting.

She finished with her boots and socks and stood up. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall and I saw those beautiful, curvaceous legs. She was a strong little thing—ballet lessons when she was a girl, she'd told me, until her boobs got too big—and her calves were just a little chunky. I knew the power in those smooth thighs, though.

She folded the skirt and laid it over a chair, then slipped off her blouse and folded that too, taking her time, determined not to be rushed. I could almost hear her telling herself to act as if I wasn't there, as if she was home alone getting ready for bed.

She was blushing slightly, but there was nothing hesitant or self-conscious about her moves. She might have been undressing at home.

"Everything?" she asked.

I nodded. "Everything. How does it feel?"

"Honestly? Honestly I'm kind of embarrassed. Nervous. But also so excited I think I might pass out. What are you going to do to me afterwards?"

"You don't worry about that. Just do as you're told."

That was a violation of the rules of the game, but she said nothing, and this was obviously not a game anymore, nor had it ever been. Arianna could understand it any way she wanted, but I knew what was going on.

The fog was pressing in against the windows. The world outside was hazy and dim. Thankfully there aren't any buildings opposite me, or someone looking in would have seen this beautiful girl standing there in the middle of the floor and undressing.

She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, lowered her arms and let the weight of her breasts push it off. Now, breasts fully exposed, she blushed. She colored deeply but kept her face calm and impassive. She stood and rolled her panties down her thighs and stepped out of them and laid them carefully on her skirt.

She stood up naked and faced me, and swept the hair from her face. I studied her, deliberately taking my time and letting her sweat. There isn't a woman in the world who doesn't know her body's every flaw and shortcoming, and none of them like being stared at this way. Pride and shame fought within her, and I wanted the shame to win. I wanted to let Arianna stand there long enough that she'd be willing to do anything to make me stop looking at her.

"Get on your knees," I said, and meekly, she obeyed.

I stood up. I was still fully dressed and she was naked. I took a step towards her and stopped. I pulled down my zipper and fished out my cock, still hard from our session in the chair and dark reddish-purple from all that congested, excited blood.

"Open," I said.

Arianna obediently opened her mouth and her tongue came out as if she were receiving communion. I slid my hands into that long lustrous, hair and gripped her as I fed my prick into her mouth, and Arianna's initial protest turned into a visceral moan of oral satisfaction.

With my prick halfway in she raised her hands to my thighs but I brushed them aside. "No. Hands down. That's not allowed. This is a lesson, Anna. This is instruction. Now suck."

It was beautiful. Just gorgeous. This naked, over-ripe pixie kneeling at my feet with her mouth around my cock. I wouldn't let her touch me, so all she could do was kneel there with her hands on her knees and her mouth open and give it to me. She gave it as best she could but she was no expert and no submissive. She curled her generous lips over her teeth and used her tongue on the bottom of my prick, but it was high school stuff. Beginner's oral, cautious and tentative.

"No, baby! Open. Wider. Open your throat."

She mewled abjectly, not sure of what I wanted, so I showed her, holding her hair and pushing even more into her mouth till I hit the cartilaginous soft palate at the back of her throat.

Arianna choked and gagged. She started coughing and spittle flew from her nostrils and the corners of her mouth. She grabbed my thighs to stop me.

"No! Hands off! What did I tell you?"

She pulled her mouth off. Strands of saliva mixed with pre-cum and throat mucus trailed from my cock to her lower lip

"I can't! I can't! You're too big. I can't do it."

I tightened my hands in her hair and shook her. "Don't give me that shit, beauty! You can do it if you want!"

I tilted her head back to force her to look up at me, and I gazed down into eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.

"Do you want to, Arianna? Do you?"

There was something about using her name, something about applying the name of that sober and respectable young woman to the naked, abject slut who knelt at my feet that thrilled me deeply, as if I were merging these two aspects of Arianna that she seemed to work so hard to keep separate.

For now, though, I think she had no doubt as to which she was. The chair, the undressing, the mouth-fucking had put her firmly in the slut camp, and it was only now, when I'd asked her to do something impossible, that the straight Arianna reappeared,

"Please, David, can I use my hands just a little? Just to keep from gagging?"

I looked down at her. I had everything I wanted. Why should I deny her this small consideration? I was Zeus, Poseidon, Atlas, standing astride this young goddess with my cock and balls looming over her like some heavy, massive threat.

I nodded. "Go ahead."

There was no question now as to who Arianna was. The sober yet curious young bank officer who'd first sat in my lap and let me unbutton her blouse had given way to this fully operational and obedient little submissive kneeling naked before me with my cock in her mouth. And judging from the way she dug her nails into my thighs as I set up a lewd and punishing rhythm, she was every bit as excited as I was.

I could just tell—and how is it you can tell?—that she'd been aching for this kind of rough love for a very long time, wanting it so much she couldn't even allow herself to think about it. But the way she clung to me, bobbing her head this way and that to take my cock in different parts of her mouth, the way her tits swayed and wobbled from her exertions, and the soft, urgent sounds she made in her throat all told me this was just what she wanted.

Her throat was like butter. Her mouth was hot and wet, and sucked me like a swamp. Chills ran down my spine as she tentatively let me into her throat a little bit at a time, gradually learning to suppress that gag reflex and open her epiglottis. And the deeper I got, the more excited she became. She stopped bobbing her head and just concentrated on keeping her throat open, and the saliva and pre-cum that filled her mouth spilled over her lips and hung in lewd, viscous threads that broke and landed on her swinging tits. Her stiff nipples brushed my knees.

"Good girl," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "Good, good girl, Arianna. Your mouth is fucking heaven."

I didn't know what was with her and her fear of being labeled submissive. I didn't know, but at the moment I didn't care either. She was giving me everything I wanted, and even better, she was trying to give me more, concentrating on keeping her throat open so my cock could slither over her windpipe like a snake into a hole. I could hear the slushy sound of my prick churning up her saliva and her low moan of obsequious pleasure as her throat was violated again and again.