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After two years of dating, you finally cave and move in with Ethan Winters. Your lease is up, and his house is nicer than your apartments have ever been, and you’re hopelessly in love with him anyway, so when he offers, you say yes. Then he bends you over your shitty little dining room table for some celebratory sex, which is amazing, and the table survives – barely. You decide to just get rid of it when you move out. Most of your furniture is going into a storage locker, but you never really liked that table anyway, and it was making some pretty alarming noises at the end there. (You were giggling about it while Ethan was making you come for the second time, which he clearly thought was adorable.)
He makes room for you in his heart, in his life, in his closet, and in his upstairs hallway, because you have a little accent table that will just look so cute there in the corner. Move-in day isn’t too bad; you handle the movers while Ethan brings your stuff over to his house for you, and by the time you get done dealing with putting your furniture in storage, he’s already unpacking your things. You have a crock pot and he doesn’t; your vacuum is nicer than his. It works out pretty well, all things considered.
“First night in the new place,” you say. “Should we celebrate?”
“Millionth night in the old place,” Ethan counters.
“Only for you,” you say. “Don’t deprive me of my joy, young man.”
“Joy, huh?” he says, giving you a thoughtful look. He’s helping you hang up your clothes – you packed them on their hangers, since you were only moving across town – and he pauses, one of your sundresses bright and cheerful in his hands.
“Yeah,” you say. “Joy.” You toss your head and pick up a cardigan.
“Maybe I should have carried you across the threshold,” Ethan says, hanging your dress up.
“Come to think of it, why didn’t you?” You pout at him.
“Guess I really dropped the ball, huh.”
“Guess so.”
“This is fixable,” Ethan says. He whisks the sweater out of your hands and tosses it back in the box, then takes you by the wrist. “Come on.” And he tows you out into the hallway.
“What – aahh! Ethan!” you shriek gleefully as he sweeps you up into his arms.
“Will the bedroom threshold do?” he asks you.
“Sure,” you giggle.
“I can take you outside if you want,” he teases.
“No, this is good.” You’re still laughing. He holds you so easily, cradled against his chest; he doesn’t pick you up particularly often, but every time he does it delights you.
“Okay, then. And don’t let me hear any more complaints after this,” he says, mock-stern, and then carries you into the bedroom and sits down on the bed, settling you in his lap.
“Thank you,” you say, putting your arms around his neck. “That was lovely – ”
He cuts you off with a kiss. You give the softest little breath of a moan into his mouth as his tongue slips past your lips; your hand tightens on his collar. Ethan holds you close, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other hand on your thigh. You’re wearing jeans today and you wish you weren’t, you wish you were in a skirt; you want him to push it up, nudge your panties aside, and start pleasuring you. He seems to have the same sort of idea, by the way his hand caresses your thigh, sliding up towards your hip, his thumb easing down between your legs, pressing against the seam of your jeans like he wants to touch you.
“Ethan…” you sigh.
“You wanted to celebrate?” he murmurs.
It’s getting late – you’d be going to bed soon anyway, you think. You draw back to look at him in the warm, golden light of the lamps in his – no, your – bedroom, and smile. “Yeah,” you say.
He gives you a little squeeze, then relaxes his grip on your body. “Strip for me,” he says. “I want to watch.”
You get up off his lap and step back, heat kindling between your thighs. You’re not particularly good at stripteases, you don’t think, but Ethan seems to enjoy yours; you make a show of taking your shirt of, then shimmy out of your pants, turning around to give him a nice view of your ass as you do so. Then you work your way out of your bra – you’re wearing one with a back closure today, which is basically impossible to take off sexily, in your opinion, but you do your best. When you turn back around Ethan is visibly hardening inside his pants; he leans back on his hands, watching you with a prurient gleam in his brown eyes.
“Now the panties,” he says.
“I was getting to it,” you protest. Ethan laughs. You ease out of your underwear, sliding them slowly down your thighs before you let them fall and step carelessly out of them, tossing them aside with your toe as you go. You’re naked in front of him, now; you run slow hands down your breasts, playing with your nipples for his benefit; his eyes follow your fingers. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you feel a surge of arousal at the sight: he wants you. Ethan holds out an arm to you, an unspoken request – or maybe an order. You come to him, and he pulls you down into his lap again, kissing you hungrily. You straddle him, pushing him back onto the bed, your tongue delving into his mouth; he moans, his fingers in your hair. You run your hands down his chest.
“Ethan,” you murmur.
He bites your lower lip, then lets it go. “Let me tie your hands,” he breathes against your mouth.
Excitement sparks down your spine. “Yes,” you whisper.
Ethan rolls the two of you over, pinning you beneath him. You can feel his erection through his jeans, pressing against your pussy; you arch your back, rolling your hips into it, and he bites his lip. Then he leans over, digging in the nightstand –
“You unpacked that already?” you say.
“It was the first thing I unpacked,” he replies, huffing a laugh.
“Oh,” you giggle.
“Laugh all you want.” He returns with your leather cuffs, and reaches for your wrist. “I have my priorities in order.”
Moments later, he has you tied to the bedstead. It’s funny to think that a year and a half ago he was nervous about this; now, he handles the cuffs like it’s second nature. He runs a hand down your sternum, stroking between your breasts. “Comfortable?” he asks.
You nod, biting your lip. The cuffs are looped around one of the spokes of the headboard, and you lie there with your arms over your head and Ethan between your parted thighs, trying not to fidget with anticipation. He bends to kiss you, lying down fully clothed on top of you, his hands cupping your face, holding your head still as he enters you with his tongue. You moan helplessly, trying to arch under him, but he’s resting his full weight on you and you’re pinned to the mattress. It’s intensely arousing.
“You like that, don’t you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire.
“Oh god,” you whisper.
He bites your neck, sucking slowly on the sensitive skin, but not leaving a mark. “You’re so fucking sexy like this,” he tells you, and sits up to pull his shirt off, then gets up on his knees to get out of his pants and boxers. Soon he’s naked above you; you lie there with your legs spread, staring up at him. His body is lean with muscle, his brown eyes burning; you can see golden-brown stubble on his cheek, just barely long enough to catch the light. His erection rises from a nest of brown curls, flushed and heavy, and the sight of it makes you ache between your legs. God, you want him so much. Ethan bends to kiss you again, then pulls away and takes your breasts in those strong hands, playing with them, pushing them together, then toying with your nipples, pinching and teasing them to hardness. You suck in a breath, arching your back, and his eyes rake over your body. “Fucking beautiful,” he all but growls. He takes your thighs in his hands and spreads them wider, looking down at your pussy as he does so. “Look at you all spread out for me.”
Arousal rushes through you. “Ethan…”
He touches your entrance with gentle fingers, strokes his fingertips through the slick gathering there. “You’re already wet for me,” he says softly. “I’m gonna make you beg to come tonight.” You swallow hard, rocking your hips down, hoping to get his fingers inside you, but he pulls away.
“Needy, needy,” he says, and then licks his fingers clean of your slick, savoring the taste. He settles himself between your thighs, taking gentle hold of your hips as he lies there, his face inches from your most intimate parts. You can feel his breath on your clit; you know what’s coming now, and you want it desperately. When Ethan finally lowers his mouth to your pussy and begins to lick, you moan.
The pleasure rises through you steadily, another ripple of it with every stroke of his tongue, and you feel yourself beginning to drift away. He eases a finger into you, then two, stroking your g-spot with his fingertips as his tongue licks soft, fat stripes up over your clit. You feel yourself flexing against his mouth, baring yourself to his touch, and he takes full advantage; his lips seal over your clit and he sucks gently, teasing you with the tip of his tongue. Heat sparks deep inside you and grows, burgeoning as he tickles your clit so delicately; you cry out and bite your lip, clutching at your restraints. Ethan grips you hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh padding your hips; your back is arched, your feet twitching a little.
“Oh god,” you pant, “oh god, Ethan – ” You can feel yourself tightening around his fingers. You’re going to come soon, you know it, you can feel the little seed of the orgasm inside you starting to grow, to bloom –
He stops.
“Ethan!” you cry, protesting. His fingers are still in you, but they’re not moving. You arch and roll your hips, struggling, but he holds you down, using his free hand and the fingers inside you to pin your hips to the mattress. The inability to move only further arouses you – your toes curl in the blankets, your pussy tightens around him again. You ache with your thwarted orgasm.
“I told you I was gonna make you beg.” There’s something wicked in his voice. You look down at him and meet glittering brown eyes; his mouth is wet with your juices, his lips flushed, his pupils dilated.
“Please!” you say.
“Naughty girl.”
Your head drops back onto the pillows with a frustrated sigh; Ethan chuckles. His fingers shift a little inside you and you try to rock your hips down onto them, but he holds you fast, holds you tight – you still can’t move your hips. He’s unfairly strong. It’s so fucking hot.
“Please, Ethan, I need to come,” you try. “Please, please let me come, I’ll do anything – ”
“Anything?” He wiggles his fingers inside you, pressing on your g-spot a little.
“Mmh,” you moan. It’s not much, but it’s something, some stimulation for your aching pussy. You’ll take it. “Please, I need it. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Like what?” he asks.
“I’ll suck your cock – I’ll let you fuck me – ”
“I have you tied up here. I can already get those things from you whenever I want,” he points out.
“Oh god,” you gasp. You hadn’t thought it was possible to get wetter, but being reminded of your helplessness just does it for you. Fuck, you think. “What do you want? What could I give you?”
“Hmm. Maybe I just like not letting you come. What then?”
“Please,” you cry.
“Let me think about it,” he says, and lowers his mouth to your pussy again. You wail with pleasure as he suckles at your clit, stroking it with a light tongue; his fingers are moving inside you and you feel the ecstasy filling your hips, the tide rising higher, higher, up into your chest and down your thighs. You’re arching under him as he pins your hips down with his free hand, pleasuring you with the other. He moans against your skin, his tongue stroking lower, over your entrance and back up to your clit, soft and wet and sensual. Your legs are spread wide for him; you feel split open, helpless, his to do with as he likes, with no control of your own. You tug at the restraints and they hold firm, keeping you bound in place; excitement races over your skin at the feeling of it.
“God, oh god, oh god,” you pant, “Ethan, oh fuck – ”
You’re getting close again. You know he can feel it. You can only pray that this time he’ll let you come, that he’s had his fill of begging, and the pleasure is flowering inside you, getting bigger and brighter, and you’re tightening down on his fingers, your pussy starting to twitch around him, your toes curling, and you whimper his name –
He stops again. You’re almost ready for it this time. “Please,” you gasp. “Ethan, please, please let me come. God, I was so close – ”
“I know,” he says easily. If it weren’t for the hoarseness of his voice, you could be out to lunch together.
“I need it,” you beg.
“I know.” He kisses the inside of your thigh; you feel the slick on his lips.
“Then let me have it!” you say.
“Mmm. No.” A deeper kiss to your other thigh; you gasp and bite your lip as he sucks a hickey into the tender skin just below where your thigh joins your body. He blows on your clit just to make it twitch, a thin stream of air making a mockery of the stimulation you want so badly. You feel it cool on your skin, feel the way your muscles contract in response.
“Will you let me come next time?” you ask him.
“Probably not,” he replies.
“How long do I have to wait?”
“As long as I like.” He kisses the fresh hickey he left on your skin; you sigh. Your pussy aches like a bruise. He’s still inside you.
“I decide when you come,” Ethan says. “You know I can feel it when you get close. You feel what I say, when I say.” He crooks his fingers into you hard and you cry out desperately as pleasure goes lancing through you; just as quickly as it came, it ends as his fingers relax inside you. “See?” he says, his voice rough. “Just like that.”
“Oh god,” you pant, half-dizzy with it. Two years spent learning what you like, two years spent figuring out what turns you on, and he comes at you with this, and you’re putty in his fucking hands. He can do whatever he wants to you tonight and you’ll love it, framed like that.
“You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs.
You swallow hard. “Yeah,” you whisper.
And Ethan bends his head and takes your clit into his mouth again. You don’t quite scream, but you come close. He suckles on it ever so gently, tickling it with his tongue, and you try to arch, try to writhe under him, but he pins you down firmly. You toss your head from side to side, half-crazy with pleasure already; it’s hot and bright inside you, filling you up, his fingers thrusting into you steadily, the friction at your entrance and the pressure on your g-spot and the glory of this tongue on your clit, the way he’s licking it ever so softly, pulling back the hood with his free hand and pleasuring every square millimeter of it, lavishing attention on every nerve. You feel like you’re going insane; you feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t let you come this time. You’re crying out helplessly, inarticulately, mindless sounds torn free from your lips with every lap of his tongue against you. You want to stop yourself from getting too close; you want to enjoy this for as long as possible. But you’re helpless to prevent the oncoming orgasm, you can’t control it, can’t beg him to ease off – not that he would even if you could form words right now – and it comes on hard and fast, the pleasure rising, rising, and he’s not going to stop in time, he’s going to make you come, you can feel it, Oh god, you think oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god –
He stops. You wail in frustration, a wordless cry that fills the room. Ethan kisses your pubic mound, closemouthed. “Needy,” he says.
You lie there panting; you can’t speak. Your throat tightens with frustrated tears. You want to beg, want to bargain, but – I decide when you come, he’d said. It won’t do any good to try to convince him to let you come sooner. He’s not going to. For all you know he’s going to tease you all night; the idea of it is painfully arousing, in the most unbearable way imaginable.
“How was that?” he asks you.
“So good,” you whisper.
“Do you want more?”
You let out a harsh breath. God, you want his fingers pounding into you, you want his mouth on your clit, you want his cock, you want him to fuck you until you scream, you want a mind-bending orgasm that shatters you like glass, you want – you want – so much. Too much. Everything. “Yes.” It’s more a breath than a word.
“Good girl,” he says, and licks you, just once, slowly. You moan.
“You want to come?” Ethan asks you.
Yes, god, fuck, please – “You decide,” you whisper.
“What?”
“You decide if I come,” you say.
“Good girl,” he says, pleased. He licks you again. You shiver, your breath catching in your chest. You’re being good – you’re submitting. You’re his. That’s the game he’s making you play – you don’t get to come until you submit to him utterly, until you break. He has you right where he wants you, now. You force yourself to relax your thighs, letting them fall open, spreading yourself wider for him. Ethan kisses your pussy, his lips soft against your clit. You whimper.
“That feel good?” he asks.
It seems like almost a rhetorical question, but you answer it anyway: “Yes.”
“You ready to come?”
“If you want me to,” you say softly.
“Hmm. Good girl.” Ethan lowers his mouth to your pussy yet again, and licks you yet again, slowly, almost thoughtfully. You gasp as pleasure surges through you, and then he’s sealing his lips around your clit and sucking ever so gently, his tongue teasing at that sensitive little nub. Your eyes clench shut; your throat tightens; your hands clamp down around the restraints. The pleasure is like fire, like liquor burning in your belly, the heat of it, the swift rise; you’re burning up.
“Ah, ah, ah – ” You’re whimpering uncontrollably, shuddering against his mouth as he pleasures you. You can feel your legs twitching, muscles jumping in your calves and thighs, and the ecstasy pours over you, incandescent. You want to say his name, but you can’t – can’t speak, can’t think, can’t do anything except hold on as he toys with you, pleasing you – you’re not going to get to come this time and you almost don’t care, it feels so good; you let yourself sink into it, not fighting it, just drowning in the bliss of his mouth on you. But you’re getting close, so close it almost hurts, you’re achingly, painfully ready to come and he’s not going to let you come and you’ve given up, you’ve broken, you’re his to do with as he pleases and he’s not going to let you – Oh god – oh god –
Ethan stops. You collapse back onto the pillows, gasping for breath. His fingers are still moving in you, still stroking your g-spot, and the pleasure of it is a steady, banked fire compared to the white-hot waterfall that was his tongue on your clit. You can feel yourself twitching around him, your orgasm bare inches away – but he won’t give it to you, and you’re his, and that’s his choice. It’s his right. You belong to him.
“Good girl,” he breathes, and you don’t even have time to enjoy the praise before his mouth is back on your twitching pussy, licking you, suckling at your clit, his fingers moving faster inside you, faster, pressing harder and deeper, and the pleasure rises through you like – like – you can’t think of a fucking analogy, god it feels so good you can barely think at all, your whole body filling up with it, from your fingers to the tips of your curling toes. Your back arches involuntarily; you’re shaking under his mouth, your clit twitching against his lips, your inner muscles flexing around his fingers, your body tightening, clenching, teetering on the edge of something – and then the world goes white.
You know that you screamed, after wards, because your throat hurts. You lie there limp, completely unable to move, your eyes shut, your breath coming in deep, desperate gasps. You can feel the little tremors inside you, the way your inner muscles jump after hard use; even as he pulls his fingers out of you, you still feel it. You feel hopelessly empty without him inside you. Ethan kisses your belly, your sternum, then your neck; he grips your thighs in his hands, easing them wider apart, and then lies down on top of you, taking his cock in his hand and guiding himself into you where you lie there, prone and helpless. The pleasure of him filling you makes you gasp, your eyelashes fluttering a little.
“You’re mine,” he grates in your ear. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you slur.
He draws his hips back and thrusts into you. “You’re mine.” His voice is tight with pleasure.
“I’m yours,” you whisper.
“Mine,” he gasps, and then claims your mouth with his, kissing you deeply, hungrily; you open for him gladly, taking him into both your mouth and your pussy with a surge of bliss.
“I’m yours,” you whisper as he fucks you. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours – ” It becomes a mindless sort of chant in time with his thrusts, your hands still bound over your head, clutching at the restraints as Ethan pounds into you, sending lances of pleasure deep into your body with every thrust of his hips.
“God,” he pants, “god you’re s – ah – so good for me ah baby – ah fuck – ahh – nnh god – such a good girl – ah Christ – mmh – ” You let the words wash over you, the delicious sounds of his lovemaking. He bites your neck, your shoulder, presses close, his fingers tight on your waist; you can feel him groaning, the vibrations working their way from his chest into yours. The pleasure of his cock inside you is a deep, steady thing, heavy bliss pinning you to the mattress after an orgasm so intense you whited out. You lie there and take it – you belong to him. Pleasing him is what you’re for. You tighten yourself around him at that thought, and Ethan moans.
“Ah fuck, you fee – ah – feel so good – ah god ah, ah – Christ – ” He’s losing himself in it, that much is obvious. He pumps into you harder and harder; the pace would be punishing if you weren’t so well-prepared for it. You think about curling your legs around his waist, but it’s a vague, passing sort of thought, not a real one; you’re his, and that means doing nothing he hasn’t told you to do.
“I’m yours,” you breathe.
“Goddaah – right you are – mine. Mine,” he chokes out, painfully close to coming. You clench yourself around him as tight as you can and he gives a harsh gasp, then another, and comes inside you with a guttural cry – as desperate and helpless as you were earlier, coming under his mouth. He shudders above you, his cock twitching inside you as he spills deep in your pussy; you have to resist the urge to wrap your legs around him now, wanting to hold him in you, never wanting him to leave. The pleasure of his orgasm surges through you, then settles into a bone-deep satisfaction that warms you to your core. You’re his. You’re his good girl.
Ethan collapses on top of you, panting for breath. “God,” he gasps. “Oh, god.” He kisses your cheek, then cups your face in one shaky hand and kisses your mouth softly. “Was that good for you too?” he mumbles.
“Mhmm,” is all you can manage. You’re still deep in subspace, lying limp under him with your legs spread wide, your hands bound, his.
“Shit, sorry,” Ethan says, and reaches up to undo your restraints, fumbling a little. He always hurries to untie you after sex, but you wouldn’t mind if he left you a little longer. But you’re his, and you don’t get to argue with him, so you just lie there as he undoes the cuffs and rolls off you to set them on the nightstand. The loss of his cock inside you and his weight above you leaves you feeling bereft; tears start behind your closed eyelids.
“Hey, c’mere,” he murmurs, and gathers you close, taking your arms and curling them against your chest one by one, since you’re still lying exactly where he left you, with your arms over your head. “C’mere, baby.” He cradles you against his chest, kissing your hair, your face, your lips. “You were so good for me. Come on, come on back.” He strokes your skin with gentle hands. A year ago, this would have freaked him out – now, he’s calm, well aware of what’s going on and ready to roll with it. “Come back,” he murmurs.
“Ethan,” you whisper.
“Hey, there you are.” He kisses you; you kiss him back, a little weakly. As kisses go, you’d give it maybe a four out of ten, but the way Ethan beams at you, you’re getting an A for effort. “Was that good?” he asks.
“Mhmm.” You nod, smiling, then nuzzle against his chest, shutting your eyes. You need him to hold you, need to be touched and kissed and fussed over a little bit, and Ethan obliges gladly. So you lie there in his arms for awhile, let him settle you on your side and tuck the both of you in. He gets up for a lonely moment to turn out the lights, and then he’s back, fairly wrapping himself around you in his efforts to be a good big spoon, and you sigh happily, snuggling into his embrace.
“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair.
“Love you too,” you mumble.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he says.
So you do.