After Hours

Thank you to all those who read and commented on this story and who encouraged me.

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She had no idea how long she was waiting for him. She could hear the rhythmic ticking of the clock, aggravating her, heightening the anticipation. She tried to count down the seconds, each loud tick echoing within the bare room vibrating through her skin. She knelt upon her cushion, her back straight, head held proudly high, her eyes downcast. Her thighs slightly spread, her hands lightly resting upon her knees.

Where was he?

She didn't dare to move to look at the ever-insistent clock to check the time or to stop the infuriating infernal ticking. She exhaled as she tried to block the sound out, and instead mentally replayed the conversation they had earlier; she had asked him what he wanted to do that night. "Surprise me," he had told her. She had sighed in mock frustration and teased him that she will surprise him all right. With a pile of work, while she sits back and enjoys a cup of coffee. The rich laughter that boomed through the phone still warmed her. She entertained the thought for a moment, of him in a flowery apron, pink bow in hair, knitting a purple sweater. She chuckled at the mental image.

The movement caused the silky sheath to graze her nipple. The garment did nothing to hide her body; rather, it accentuated her nakedness. Her nipples hardened, pushing the fabric away from her form. She settled more comfortably on her knees and straightened her back as the silk flowed from her breasts to the thin, flimsy belt cinched around her waist before following the flare of her hips.

She began to feel apprehensive, with each passing moment heightening the intensity. She wondered if something happened, if he was safe. What happened if he was delayed at work, an unforeseen appointment coming in and he had to work late? What if he was in an accident? Or what if he...

forgot

? She shook her head at the last thought, but it did not prevent her mind from flying to numerous possibilities, each one more dramatic than the last. She firmly told her mind to shut up and giving herself a mental smack, concentrated on her posture and the increasing pulsing of her desire.

Where was he?

Her heart pounded. She heard the engine pulling in and the unmistakable sounds of his footsteps: she recognised the gait of his walk from anywhere. Her skin began to tingle. The door cracked open and he called out as he walked in, "Baby? I am so sorry! The traffic was unbelievable and my phone died."

There was no response. Of course there wasn't. She was on her knees in the middle of the room, waiting. Waiting for his pleasure. "Baby?" He asked again. It's not like her not to answer. "Hey, baby?" Silence. "Baby! Where are you?" She could hear the creeping displeasure in his voice. She swallowed hard, the thrill of excitement shuddering through her body, the anticipation thick, knowing that her silence will only increase the intensity of the moment for them both.

The door to the room flew open. "Baby! You know when I cal..." His voice trailed off as he saw her, kneeling, her thighs open, the glistening hint of her desire for him peeking from beneath the garment, waiting... ready for him.

He walked into the room and quietly closed the door. There was a pause as she could feel him taking in the scene spread out in front of him. In her mind's eye, she pictured what he saw. The room was dark, the light of the lamp reflecting on the highly polished hardwood floor, emitting a warm glow. Her form, sheathed in gauzy silk, was kneeling on the red-black velvet cushion in the middle of the room. Next to her was a low table, their favourite implements carefully placed, the leather of the whip and flogger lightly oiled. She heard the soft chuckle as he spied the wooden spoon too casually laid out. She bit back a smile, her dimples flashing as he continued to take in the display. The ropes were neatly coiled beside the handcuffs, resting next to the lengths of leather. The edge of the freshly sharpened knives glinted under the light, winking wickedly, beckoning him. A single rose, the thorns delicately adorning the stem, stood in a vase, completing the offering. Whether he chooses to use them or not would depend. He may choose to use his hands, his fingers and his teeth instead. He may not, but she knew without a single shred of doubt that he will take her, that he will stake his claim on her, true to who they are. The uncertainty, the anticipation of all the possibilities tightened her nipples, further pushing the silk, belying the calm profile that she presented to him.

He took a step closer, the floor echoing his footfall. She could feel him so close to her. She knew that if she just moved even a fraction of an inch, she would be able to touch him. He grazed her nipple, feeling it harden under his fingers, speaking of her excitement. His growl was music to her. She inhaled, her nostrils flaring, desperate to catch his scent... ah, there it was. The smell of him, of his masculinity, of his unmistakeable primal side, was intoxicating, making her mouth water. She knew, without even looking, that his arousal was growing.

She could feel the slight change in the atmosphere, the air thickening as he began to shed his role that he presented to the outside world and allowed his true self to emerge. He breathed in deep and exhaled the last of his outside self, allowing himself to be revealed in their sanctuary. This was their room, a place where they could be their complete selves, where they could allow their natures to roam unfettered. There was no barriers in this room, no pause, no civility. His breathing became more even, deeper. She no longer needed to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling. She, like him, fell deeper into her true self. She could almost taste him, taste his desire to dominate rolling off in waves from his body and could feel herself radiating her need, her hidden nature that she only presented to the man standing over her, the man who truly understood her. It is in this room that they could freely revel and celebrate who – and what - they are.

He grasped her jaw and firmly lifted her chin; she raised her eyes to meet his. He stared deep into her eyes as she unblinkingly met his gaze. There was no false modesty, no pretty blushing, no coy playfulness in her look. Instead, there was a raw hunger for him as he pierced through her eyes with his desire, the intensity burning his mark onto her soul. He lowered his head and kissed her hard, his tongue probing her mouth, taking possession of her. She moaned low in her throat as she instinctively leaned into him. His hand moved to the back of her head, his fingers weaving through her mane, trapping her to his lips. Her hands itched to touch him, to feel the thundering of his heart, to cup him. Not this time. This time, she surrendered to him, to his pleasure.

He broke their kiss and pulled away, his eyes boring deep into hers.

"Were you anxious?" he asked. She didn't answer. It was something that she had to work on, her penchant to worry if he didn't contact her. She looked away. His hand tightened his grip on her hair and yanked back her head.

"Were you anxious?" he demanded, his voice hardening. He, like her, rarely repeated anything. She licked her lips.

"Yes," she whispered. "For a bit I was." There, she admitted it and waited patiently for the repercussion that was sure to come.

"Why?" This time there was no hesitation.

"Because it's not like you to be late," she replied simply. "And so I wondered." She stood there, her eyes lowered as he taught her, his fist tangled in her hair as she felt his eyes studying her face, contemplating. A brief moment and she felt a sudden sharp thwack on her ass, the pain throbbing through her skin. He decided to use the wooden spoon – a tool of bliss now used for one of punishment. As much as she enjoyed, even needed the pain from being smacked, there was no pleasure in this.

Her eyes stung with unshed tears, not so much from the physical pain but from the pain of disappointing him. She closed her lids to hide her shame from him.

"Look at me," he ordered. With a deep breath she obeyed. He stared deeply into her soul, his frustration evident. Each smacking was harder than the one before. She tried to keep a mental count, but the pain was too sharp, the disappointment in herself too great to do so. She rapidly blinked, holding back. He alternated between the spoon spanking her ass and his hand. She began to choke on her sobs, almost blinded by her tears, but she still held his gaze.

The smacks stopped only to be replaced by the warmth of his hand as he rubbed her sore skin. He enveloped her into his arms, his strong hands kneading her back. She cried, whispering, "I'm sorry" over and over into the crook of his neck.

"Shh. It's okay, baby," he told her, cupping her face, wiping her tears. "It's over." She shuddered and nodded. It's done, it's dealt with, and it's over. His disappointment was assuaged and the punishment was closed.

"You okay?" he asked. She wiped any last errant tears from her face with the back of her hands.

"I'm okay," she reassured him. He grabbed her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes.

"No more of this doubting, you hear?" She nodded. The corner of his eyes began to crinkle. "So now what?" She grinned and lightly cupped him. He chuckled. "Insatiable, aren't we?"

"For you? Always." He wove his fingers through her hair and brought her close to his lips. She groaned as she closed the gap, his moist, warm mouth descending to capture her. She kissed him greedily. She pressed against him, her hips grinding against his. His hands twisted at the base of her head, chaining her to him. She drank in the sound of the rumble of his groan as it vibrated through the room. They pulled apart, breathing hard and staring at each other, their eyes dark with intense desire, their growing heat palpable.

After long moments he released her hair and she fell to her knees. He stood tantalisingly close. She could smell his arousal, his crotch just inches away from her face. She began to pant as his hands began to casually remove his clothes, clenching her fists, nails digging into her palms to contain her impatience. After an indeterminable, even unacceptable, long time, he stood naked in front her, his hardness tempting her. Her mouth began to water.

He reached down and ripped open the gauzy fabric, the belt flying, exposing her completely. Almost casually, he grabbed her turgid nipples and pulled them up. She inhaled sharply through her teeth and glanced up. His eyes captivated her. Staring at her face, they were dark with desire, hard with want, a want that mirrored her own. He twisted the nubs hard, distending them, almost as if he wanted to rip them off of her breasts. The sharp pain was exquisite.

She whimpered as his hands left her breasts. The heat of the pain radiated through her body. She wanted more, needed to feel the power of his dominance. He slowly pushed the torn silk off of her body, rendering her as naked as him. Her back straightened, her breasts thrust forward, her bruised nipples proudly standing in sharp contrast against her skin. Mauling her breasts, he brought her to her feet, making her stand on trembling legs so close to him but not quite touching. She began to breathe heavily. Without any preamble, he slipped in a finger into her apex. Her juices seeped. She rolled her hips against his hand, aching to feel him fully.

"So wet for me, aren't you, my sweet?" She moaned in response, her hips thrusting harder against his hand, yearning for a release. "Don't you dare cum. Not until I tell you," he growled. She gripped his shoulder and bit her lower lip hard, almost drawing blood. She was so aroused, her body was humming and his playing her like his own instrument did nothing for her control.

"Please," she whispered. She throbbed around his finger. He withdrew and cupped her face, her scent gracing his skin. He stared into her eyes before kissing her hard, possessing her, claiming her through his kiss. She knew that some other time he would conquer her with his lips, teasing and tempting and controlling her pleasure, bringing her to the peak over and over until she could no longer see or breathe, but not this time. This time she is his vessel, a tool for his pleasure. She almost came from that thought as her fingers dug into his shoulders, her sore breasts pressing against his chest.

They broke apart and she saw him swallow. They stood there in each other's arms, breathing hard. Suddenly, he pushed her onto the table, the implements digging into her back. As she settled more comfortable, he grabbed her jaw and shoved his hardness deep into her throat. She moaned at the intrusion, welcoming the possession. She arched her back to take him deeper, her tongue rubbing his shaft, feeling his silky hardness.

"Play with your tits," he growled. She didn't need any encouragement – her hands were already flying to her breasts before he even spoke. Her fingers twisted and pulled her nipples, tugging them hard. He groaned as he began to thrust himself deep into her throat. She gagged, the walls echoing the sounds loudly. He slipped his finger into her, toying her clit. Her juices seeped out, covering his hand. She could see his smile as he thrust his fingers into her depth, hooking up, using her as leverage to bring himself even deeper into her mouth. Tears poured, her saliva boiled to cover him as he pummelled her holes, her gags echoing in the bare, wooden room. He placed his other hand over her throat, trapping her, feeling the column expand as he pushed deep. She couldn't move even if she wanted to. Her hips began to grind against his fingers, her body desperate for release. She whimpered.

"Not yet," he murmured. She couldn't have pleaded with him even if she was able to. Her mouth was filled with him, his balls pressed against her nose. She at once tried to push him away and to swallow him whole. He continued to pound her throat, using them both for glorious pleasure. He thrust hard and paused. She could feel him growing thicker, stretching her lips as her tears flowed. He lightly squeezed her throat, feeling it expand with his hardness. "Mine," he rumbled. "My throat, like it is my cunt." She groaned in agreement, her lips tight around him, barely able to breathe. He rubbed his thumb over her throbbing clit, his fingers pressing mercilessly at her deep spot. Her nails dug into his ass, trying to distract herself from his sweet torment.

"Cum for me, my sweet," he ordered quietly. She almost sobbed with relief. She was barely holding on. She arched her body, letting go of the ball of erotic tension that threatened to overtake her, groaning against him, muffling all sounds, her mouth full of his taste. Her orgasm spread through her like liquid fire, leaving her panting and craving more.

He pulled out of her mouth suddenly. She pouted at the loss of fullness. Helping her sit up, he raised her to her feet. She panted, staring him full in his face, her lips covered in his precum. He caught a drop rolling down her chin with his damp finger and fed it to her. She took it greedily, her lips tight, sucking his digit, tasting the intoxicating cocktail of their juices. He pushed down over her tongue, making her gag for a brief moment, the sound loud in the wooden room.

He grabbed her shoulders, spun her around and pushed her to her knees. She could feel him settling behind her, his heat radiating. She shivered as she felt his fingers trace up her spine and settle around her neck, pushing her forward. She bent, her face to the floor, her ass high, her back arched, her nails trying to grip the smooth surface. He drew his hardness through her aching sex, covering the tip with her wetness, teasing her. She moaned, craving to feel him deep within her.

He grabbed her full hips and pushed himself into her moist depth with one fluid motion, buying himself to the hilt. She could feel his full balls nestled against her clit. She rolled her hips, needing for him to pound her, to claim her, to possess her. With one hand on her hip, the other at the back of her neck, he began to thrust deep, the rhythm of their coupling hard and furious. He gripped her hard – she knew that in a few hours, new bruises would form, a temporary tattoo of his ownership. She shivered at the thought, adding to the tension that is threatening to take over. Thrills began to cover her body as she felt him move deep inside her. She squeezed his shaft, trapping him deep within her, knowing that the tightness would make him erupt. He snaked his arm around her and began to rub her clit in response, the assault sweet. Her body tightened, the need for release overwhelming. She began to beg wordlessly, her voice hoarse. Her hips started to buck, trying to make him lose control, to bring out the depth of his complete self. His thrusting came harder, the jerks more unsteady as he was being pushed to his edge.

"Cum," he gasped out. With a loud groan, he pushed in her, his tip kissing her cervix, flooding her and held there as her walls clamped down, milking his seed, needing every drop. They collapsed together, panting hard, his breath tickling her ear. After a long moment, he withdrew from her and rolled onto his back and opened his arms for her to come in. He held onto her tight, cradling her to his chest as the thundering of their hearts slowed. His hands lightly soothed her bruised skin, his lips pressed against her hair. Silence reigned as they basked in the glow, their appetites satiated for now, their true selves celebrated. She raised her head and studied him for a moment.

"Couches." He looked at her in surprise.

"Cou – what?"

"Couches," she repeated.

"Couches?"

"Couches," she nodded. "That's what we need in here. Low couches covered in warm blankets." He rolled his eyes at the sudden, abrupt and totally random topic change. She continued. "I mean, think about it. One or two wide low couches, throw in a few soft rugs, maybe a throw or two, pile it with pillows, and we don't have to lie on the floor, as comfortable as your arms are, my all. Oh oh oh!" she exclaimed excitedly. "We could even have an indoor fire pit in that corner over there. With the lighting and the wood, it could be like a yurt or a ger – earthy and cosy." She looked at him and burst into laughter at his confused look.

"You want to talk about interior decorating

now

?" he asked in disbelief. She snuggled deeper into his arms, sighing, her hand playing with his chest hair.

"I take it that you don't won't want to discuss colour schemes?" she teased. He chuckled.

"How about if I say we'll think about it?" He looked down at her, her head resting against his shoulder. He smiled. "You know I want to build them, right?"

"Now?" she teased.

"Good God, woman! Later!" She grinned at his mock scolding and lightly nuzzled his neck. She leaned over for a deep kiss before settling her head on his chest, feeling the quiet, rhythmic beating of his heart as his arms tightened around her.