Alice Rabbit Being

I don't want to be the leader... I lead too many things already

I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. 
I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness.
I want a man lying over me, always over me. 
His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot.
I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; 
but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated.
I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding.

- Anais Nin

What are you doing to me?

bendingsumbission:

She was petite. Small, but tough. A little raven haired doll you could bend but never break. Hips and ass at an angle that dares you to fuck her properly. It was clear to me no one had. Comfortable with her sexuality, but unable to comprehend the depths of it. Not her fault. She was used to grown men who became teenage boys when clothes came off. Around them she enjoyed being forward, shocking them with her attire and language.

Our first night together she thought she’d show me something. Took my wrist and led me to a chair, lowered her jeans and bent over it, looking over her shoulder. A dare.

Rather than drive into her, I let my cock fall on the valley of her lower back, then slowly fucked her skin. Clearly not what she expected. I watched her writhe under me, shifting her weight from one leg to another so her lips would brush against each other. Seeing her like this caused me to flex involuntarily, leaving a huge bead of precum on her back. Using my cock like a brush, I painted her with it, enjoying the way she arched her back and hiked her ass, hoping to slip me into her.

Fighting the urge to impale her little body, I slid between her legs but not in, lightly grazing the length of my shaft against her lips. Perfectly wet. “Don’t tease me …” slipped out of her parted lips. I smiled, took her hair in my hand and pulled her head back. When her ear reached my mouth, I whispered, “I’m not teasing you. I want you to come for me. Just like this.”

No words came back, just a sharp intake of breath. I pressed against her harder, until I could feel her swollen clit dragging back and forth on the thick vein that runs along the top of my cock. She started to move her hands between her legs, to speed things up. I took both her wrists and pinned them behind her back. “No hands. Just this. Grind until you drench me.”

I smiled as she bore down on me. I knew this was in her. Waiting to be unlocked. Had seen it for the year we had known each other, curled smiles and hugs that went a little too long saying what we couldn’t due to circumstances.

Her legs were starting to tremble.

“I don’t think I can do it like this.”

“Yes you can, you just don’t know it yet. You’re already starting to shake. Just let go.”

She arched her head back and whispered, “Oh fuck, what are you doing to me?”

“Showing you who you are.”

Small Circles

bendingsumbission:

The night in the car. Slow rain and foggy windows.

It started an hour earlier. At the gallery. A fingertip drawing small circles on your neck as I stood behind you. My hand resting on your hip. Quiet words left ringing in your ear. Looked innocent to anyone watching. An affectionate couple discussing art in hushed gallery tones. They don’t know the way small circles send shocks down your spine. How often I use that hip as a handle. How words in a low whisper can bend you.

No longer interested in art. Interested in finding an exit. The familiar glint in your eye on the way out the door. The way you wrap yourself around my arm as we walk reminds me of the times you’ve hung off that arm, shaking. An urge to stop here on the sidewalk and make you shake again. Instead, a long, slow kiss by the car. Your arms and hands around my neck. Mine framing your face. Your hip and thigh graze me. A gentle inquisition. The way our kiss deepens tells me you feel my cock, thick and growing against you. How easy to back you against the car, hike the dress and fuck you where you stand. Tempting, but too easy. Much harder to press myself against you … and open your door. As I walk around the back and glance through the rear window, you attempt to collect yourself. The way your head rolls back as your fingers slide through your hair tells me it’s not working.

Your hand has found my thigh before I start the engine. Patient now. Idle chat about which pieces we liked. Not a bad exhibit. Your fingers edging closer. Talk of the people at the gallery. Observing and reporting. One of our favorite things. The hum of desire behind all our words. My hand drifts from the gear shift to your thigh. Always that little spark when I first touch your skin. I did see the woman in the hat and want to believe she has a closet just for them. Listening to your description of the couple with the matching shoes, I slide a finger slowly upwards. As the dress slides up to reveal my true destination, your paragraph fills with ellipses, trailing off as I find your already wet inner thigh. More small circles here, inching higher, until there is nothing but rain and road and your shallow breathing. My finger so close you can feel the heat of it. Yes, I’m dangling you over this edge intentionally. No, I can’t tell if that light was red.

The infinite ache

“Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my unbounded desire, my uncertain road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.”

- Pablo Neruda