beauty, love, lust, sex, Sir, women

Sir 2.0 Clean

You wait two days until your name is called. When you follow the lights, you find that you are not directed to the shower facilities and you fight a growing trepidation that the routine is not being followed. The guard who escorts you, a dark, muscular young woman with Senegalese braids and a nose ring tells you not to worry which doesn’t actually help.

You are escorted to Room 26. The guard walks on and you press your palm against the pad to open the door. Each door has opened onto a different scenario, and your heart thumps hard in your chest at the common factor in each of them.

Daddy.

You are concerned that he has not chosen an outfit for you this time. After waking up in your own bed, you wonder if something has changed between you, and if you are within your rights to address it. His trust is the foundation of the dynamic after all, and the idea that his tenderness might be feigned disturbs you. Such thoughts are common to you, a last push before you enter into his dominion and he takes care of it all.

You walk inside and the room is dark. The door closes behind you. There is carpet beneath your feet and each breath brings

‘Take off your clothes.’

You feel a ripple of gooseflesh. Daddy’s voice is low and soft. He is here in the room but you cannot see him. You start to undress. Your nipples harden and your skin tingles as you remove the top and the pants as he has instructed. You hear his footsteps come towards you. You sigh when you feel his hands placed on your shoulders. His fingers stroke in slow sweeping motions and you shiver. You feel his breath on your cheek and you reach your hands out but he tells you no, and you put your arms down by your sides.

He leans forward and inhales through his nose.

‘You smell so fucking good, little girl.’

There is a thick hunger in his voice, a deliberate slow uncurling of his intention that reaches down into the pit of your stomach and stokes a deep, unbidden heat within you. You part your thighs, feeling how you have started to respond just to the sound of his voice.

‘Why are we in the dark, Daddy?’

He inhales you again, and he trails his fingers down your arms. You shiver and he pulls you towards him, putting his mouth to your ear.

‘Because I want it that way, to begin with.’

Your palms are damp. You want to touch him, to confirm that he is real to you beyond his hands and his words. These thoughts are swift and breathless, little concerns manifesting and the response to your collected anxieties. How you twist before him, and how calm, how certain he is in the face of that. His touch injects femininity into you. You sparkle with want, and his fingers graze over the backs of your hands.

Tell me what to do. Show me. Command me. You bubble with warmth and it is all you can do to remain upright and silent.

His hands circle around your wrists. You sigh as his grip tightens, and he leads you forward.

‘Come with me, little girl.’

The wildness within you, beatific and destructive makes you pull back and he chuckles.

‘Don’t be scared. Trust Daddy.’

You follow him, clutching at what you’ve known, and still following his lead in the darkness. Another door opens and the light spills in and you shut your eyes against its glare.

2.

He keeps hold of your wrists as you look around at the black, sparkling tiles and the shower heads mounted into the ceiling at angles. The lights reveal him to you, in a white shirt and jeans with his feet bare. He has a black leather belt buckled with a large pewter version of the bat symbol which makes you chuckle.

‘Daddy’s a nerd, huh?’

He smiles at you. On a shelf to your left, is a clear squeeze container of shower gel, a sponge and beneath, on a rail, two large white towels, fluffy and thick as sheepskin.

‘Undress Daddy, little girl.’

Your fingers tremble with the work of the buttons and his eyes take you in with a warmth that makes you focus. Beneath the breath of his encouraging whispers, you pull the shirt from him, revealing his furred hard chest and taut stomach, his wide shoulders that make your tongue run across your lips in anticipation. There is an anxiety here, but the alchemy of his presence turns it into something else entirely.

You unbuckle his belt and then start to unbutton the fly of his jeans. You can feel the length of his cock through his jeans and you look up at him with wide eyes.

‘Will I get to play with this if I’m a good girl, Daddy?’

He smiles and steps out of them, kicking them away behind him. He has blue knitted boxer shorts that cling to his thighs and ass and you hook your fingers into the waistband and slide them down his legs.

He strokes your hair and sighs as his cock lengthens against his thigh.

‘You are a good girl.’

Your cheeks burn red at the demonstration of his approval. His voice goes deep into you, it finds the wounded places and offers them a chance to turn into light and heat. He kicks his underwear away and points to the shelf.

You come back with the shower gel and the sponge. He looks up and clicks his fingers, activating the water which comes in, hot and teeming.

‘What do you want me to do, Daddy?’

He grins and lifts your hands to his chest.

‘Wash me.’

3.

You squirt some of the gel onto the sponge. It gives off a scent of coconut, vanilla and mint that pleases you and you let the water soak the sponge before you press it against his chest. Suds fall against the muscles of his chest and you rub the sponge in slow, deliberate circles. The steaming water caresses your skin and you brush your wet hair from your face as you focus on the task of washing him.

The sponge serves as an agent of your will, soaping up his skin as you squat to wash the insides of his thighs. His cock juts upwards, and you glide soapy fingers down its length before you run the sponge gently over the tight skin of his scrotum. You squeeze the sponge over his cock, enjoying how the suds fall off it.

‘You have the most beautiful cock.’

He sighs and gazes down at you.

‘Show me how you appreciate it.’

You kneel in front of him and look up at him as your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, licking your lips as you bow your head and take him into your mouth. His fingers slip around the back of your head and you take him as deep as you can, drawing him out to the tip as you look up at him. You want him to feel your devotion, you want to test that calm resolve and see how he behaves when unleashed.

The beast in him roars louder than your demons and you want to be wrapped up in that envelope of energy.

Your want becomes need and you gulp him down, breathing through your nose and his fingers tighten on the hair at the back of your head.

‘You love my cock, don’t you little girl?’

You glance up at him and answer with a wide-eyed look of adoring surrender. Here, you are the object, the vessel and he makes you frantic with the need to be full of him. He hardens in your mouth and strokes your face with his other hand.

‘I’m going to fuck your mouth, little girl.’

You keep your head still, relaxing the back of your throat as he moves his cock out of your mouth then guides it slowly back in. You focus on breathing through your nose but the arousal, the surrender that you offer up has you soaking wet and on a whim, you put your right hand between your thighs and stroke yourself.

He stops and pulls his cock free of your mouth.

‘What are you doing?’

His voice has an edge to it. You look up and struggle not to panic.
‘You turn me on so much, Daddy, I wanted to come when you did.’

He shakes his head and picks you up to your feet.

‘What did you forget to do?’

Relief flares in you. He offers you the chance to make it right, every time and you look down at the floor, disappointed and excited at the same time.

‘I didn’t ask permission, Daddy.’

He tells you to place your hands against the tiles and lean forward. Your hair hangs in sodden trails, plastered against your cheeks and you see the shimmer of movement as he stands behind you. He kisses the line of your neck where it meets your jaw, and you gasp with delight and trepidation.

He puts the fingers of his left hand between your lips and tells you to hold them there. You brace yourself against the wall. When his right hand cracks against your buttock, you suck on his fingers to muffle your cries. The hurt makes you shut your eyes and you mumble a thank you between each one. Your buttocks sting, tender with the force of the blow and the constant stream of the shower. There are lights behind your eyes, enough to chase away the darkness that comes with the thoughts and you soften with each blow. When he nudges your thighs apart, you rest your head against the tiles and arch your hips for him.

You want all that he has to give you. You are greedy for it, and he spanks your tender, throbbing pussy with a deliberate force that provides escape velocity for the doubts and thoughts. A column of bright, shining hurt and arousal soaks you more thoroughly than the water does.

He steps to the shelf and picks up a small clear plastic bottle. You hear the squirt of liquid dispensed into his palm as he steps close to you.

‘Check in?’

He pulls the cheeks of your ass apart with his splayed fingers and you melt as a lubricated finger massages oil into your tender, tight asshole. He brushes in small circles, inserting it for the least amount of motion. His glacial patience belies your mutual hunger.

‘Green.’ you say.

You remember to breathe out as his finger applies small, deliberate amounts of oil and relaxes the tight ring of muscle. You push back as you feel the raw head of his cock press against you and suck down on his fingers,

‘Take it like a good girl.’ he says

Each inch of his cock sends a storm of tight, nasty sensation hurtling through you. He moves inside, holding position there and you breathe through accommodation with the fullness and power of him cradled inside your ass. The power of it oscillates between your spine and your pelvis as you push to take him deeper.

He removes his fingers from your mouth and slides them down your collarbone, taking each nipple and pulling on then as he squeezes them between his fingers. The hard, bright flash of pain makes you push back and moan with sensation. He strokes over the soft curve of your belly then down between your thighs. Your pussy is soaked, and when his fingers start to massage around your throbbing clit, it is all you can do to remain standing. You are pinned, unable and unwilling to do anything but surrender to the feeling.

His feeling.

‘Can I come, Daddy?’

You manage the words with a tremendous amount of difficulty but he leans forward without losing the slow, steady rhythm of his cock moving in and out of your pouting, tingling asshole.

‘Yes.’

He strokes your clit in small light, feathery circles. You put all your weight onto your palms, shutting your eyes and letting the packed, tight feeling off the leash of obedience that he has you wearing. The universe spins around you, soft flashes of red and white filling your vision as you show this tender beast something of the beautiful wildness within you.

You buck and thrash, screaming out as he holds himself deep inside you whilst his fingers press against your clit, grounding you in place as you return to yourself. He brings his arm around your waist and breathes out as he withdraws his cock with a careful, practiced motion to ensure that there is no discomfort.

Aside from the emptiness that comes, the drop into emotional free fall that follows such intense experiences. He turns you around and pulls you into his arms. Beneath the water, he holds you tight, tells you to breathe.

‘I’ve got you, little girl. Just breathe.’

You cry in his arms, without shame or inhibition. He does not seek to understand or mitigate it, sourced in the steady, resolute consciousness of masculinity and dominance that you crave. There is no work here, no negotiation beyond your limits and the courage for you to test them. The steam fills the air, adding a dreamy, surreal air to proceedings as you clutch at him until the tears pass.

You are drained and elated as he steps back, picks the sponge up from the tiles and begins to wash you. He works with gentle, profound care as he soaps you up, and turns you around to massage shampoo into your hair. The tenderness of it brings tears to your eyes again and you lower your chin to your chest.

His warm lips kiss your shoulder and a fluttering of joy palpates through every limb as you accept the gift of his domination. He rinses your hair, then massages in conditioner and washes you all over again, parting and scrubbing until you are pink and glowing, soft and child like in the kind of innocent allure that would have made Adam and Eve sing with want.

He tells you to hold still as he dries you and wraps you in the surrounding towels, taking your hand to the other door at the end of the shower room. It is a small room, a double bed laden with pillows and he invites you onto the bed with him. He embraces you tight enough to make you struggle for breath at first, covering your face with sugar, sweet kisses until you fall asleep in his arms.

He is there when you awake.

‘Thank you.’ you say.

He grins and shakes his head.

‘You never have to. I give my gifts without expectations of reward or acknowledgement.’

You run your fingers through the curls of hair on his chest as he stretches out.

‘You’re real, aren’t you?’

You say this to yourself as much as to him. He grins and runs his fingers through your hair then down the line of your jaw as he kisses your mouth again.

‘Yes, I am real.’

He is laid next to you but he is enormous in his power. Ten feet tall next to you, and you curl into him, closing your eyes and craving the anonymity, the cessation of self that he offers without a caveat beyond surrender.

You never want to leave and you drift off into sleep again.

‘Good.’ you say.

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6 thoughts on “Sir 2.0 Clean

  1. Pingback: Weekend Omnibus | MB Blissett

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