 |
| Dollface |
It's a beautiful day.
The room is maple-yellow and warm. The windows have started to steam a little with condensation, but still let little puddles of sunlight into the kitchen. The tile is cool beneath my feet.
I look at the clock. It won't be long until you're home, and I smile to myself. The air is thick with the smell of the food that simmers gently away. It's your favourite. Things have been hard for you recently, I know. You don't tell me very much but I can see that tightness around your eyes, and I've woken up in the early hours to find you awake next to me.
I hear the distant sound of your car pulling up outside. I turn down the heat on the cooker and check my makeup in the mirror. I pour you a glass of wine and set it aside on the counter, taking a small sip from my own glass. It tastes warm and velvety on my tongue.
You've got that dishevelled look about you that I find irritatingly irresistible. You wear your day's frustrations in your rolled up sleeves, your loosened tie, and I hope you don't catch me looking through the window.
I hear the familiar sound of your key in the door. I turn around and smile, reading your face. You place your jacket on the back of the chair and set down your bag.
Your eyes take in the kitchen; the glass of wine, the pots and pans, the plate on the table. Me, a powder perfumed centrepiece.
“What's this?” I barely hear you. I look behind me as if I have no idea what you're talking about. I get that knot of anxiety in my stomach.
“I'm making you dinner. I thought I'd surprise you”.
You loosen your tie further and fill up a glass from the tap. I look at your untouched glass of wine.
“I told you. I'm out tonight”.
I comb through my memory. Did you tell me? I would have remembered given the effort I went to. “I don't think you did. I'd have remembered”.
Your gaze is steely over the rim of your glass. You swallow slowly, deliberately, and I catch the glint of your ring as you wipe your mouth on the back of your hand.
“Are you doubting me?” you ask, one eyebrow raised. I open my mouth and consider my answer.
“No, I…I just don't remember you telling me”.
You take a step towards me and I find myself groping blindly for the worktop behind me. My hand knocks over the glass of wine, and I hear it roll excruciatingly slowly to the floor. The cracking of splintered glass, the slick sound of the ruby liquid spreading slowly across the tiles.
I prepare myself for a blow but find myself surprised by the sensation of your knee insisting my thighs apart. You press your body up against mine and I feel cold spiders of panic crawl down my spine as I can feel how turned on you are. I don't like it when you go from angry to aroused so quickly; it's only ever ended in tears.
Your lips graze my ear, your breath hot thunder. “You are doubting me, aren't you? You should know better than that”. Your fingers slip deftly under my skirt and you wrap them in the waistband of my underwear, pulling it slowly down. Desperately, frantically, I try and regain some ground. I turn my face to yours, offering you my mouth. You respond in kind, nearly sucking the life out of me, kissing me bruisingly hard and making me wince at the clashing of teeth. You bite down on my lower lip until I can feel warm blood and I yelp, drawing back.
Your fingers snake around the back of my neck and you feast on my mouth again. It hurts, and all I can taste is my blood, but you don't care. You take a step forward, pressing the small of my back into the worktop, and the broken glass cracks beneath your shoes.
Your fingers move up and weave themselves into my hair (I find myself wondering if you notice that I'd curled it, it took me forever) and pull my head back so suddenly, so severely, that I hear the tendons in my neck protest. Your other hand slides up the soft skin of my inner thighs and you rudely push two fingers inside me. I try to squeal, but my throat is pulled so tightly that any sound gets strangled before it's born.
“You never listen, do you?” you sigh, almost wistfully. “All this wasted effort, all this wasted time.” Your thumb rubs rhythmically against me and my eyes roll back in my head. “Time you could have spent doing something worthwhile for me”. You expertly manoeuvre your hand and I can actually hear how wet I am, and the blush creeps up my cheeks.
Drunk and fogged with lust, I barely have time to register that you've moved your hands before your knuckles connect with my cheekbone, your ring slicing the skin just below my eye. I stumble and have to twist to stop myself from falling onto the glass at our feet. You grab my jaw and roughly pull me upright, rubbing your other hand all over my face. I can smell myself on you.
“Put yourself to some good fucking use”.
You paw at my hips and twist me around so I'm facing away from you. I feel your palms knock the wind out of me as you push between my shoulder blades. I put my hands out in front of me to stop falling over onto the cooker. The pot falls, the glass lid shattering, and your favourite dinner is all over my new shoes.
You pull my hair out of my face and kick my legs apart. You enter me brutally, unceremoniously. You cruelly hold my hands behind my back so that my shoulders scream in agony.
You wrap your hands in my necklace and push me so that my face is inches from the cooker. I feel my mascara-coated eyelashes become sticky and hold my breath.
“You need to learn to listen, don't you?” You punctuate your words with thrusts so violent they hurt my stomach. “Can you hear that?”
You push my face closer. My eyes widen beyond all comprehension as the heat on my cheek becomes unbearable and I hear the quiet hiss of the cooker.
A single curl comes loose and I jerk my head frantically to keep it out of the flame. I daren't blink in case I can't open my eyes again. I try to cry, but nothing comes. I can feel my silver earrings getting warm.
I try to focus, try desperately to keep still despite your animalistic fucking. The food on my foot has splattered up my leg and I try to concentrate on that pain as opposed to the excruciating heat on my face.
I pray that you come soon.
| 17 Feb 10, 6:18 PM Mr_Worm UK(BN), 5 yrs     |
jhc, throw out the cooker, get a microwave that made me wet between the thighs |
| 17 Feb 10, 6:54 PM poutanaki UK(M), 9 yrs |
Love the way you write. Your so pretty when your on your knees. Disinfected, eager to please |
| 17 Feb 10, 7:01 PM MissKimberley NL, 8 yrs     |
I found it rather upsetting but then I suppose as a Domme I can't quite see the attraction  You write very vividly though so well done there!“During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act” - George Orwell |
| 11 Mar 10, 11:22 PM ScarlettDeWinter UK(BS), 3 yrs |
Oh my god that's so, so, so hot... All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking up at the stars. Oscar Wilde. |
| 12 Mar 10, 10:38 AM Miss_Despotic UK(M), 4 yrs  |
Fucking delicious x |
| 13 Mar 10, 11:11 AM Vinelands UK(LS), 2 yrs |
What a gorgeous piece of evocation and exposition; a case of the writer who is so in touch with her sexuality it burns into vivid atmospherics.. The setting, 'Domestic Goddess' context, and condensed timescale is a great simplicity. Clever stuff, lovely language. A terrain of ecstatic expectation within the minefield! Hot silver jewel. Thanks! |
