Reading Time: 5minutes The beginning of a memory is the hardest tendril of thought to grasp, to seize it in hand and scrutinize. But that is exactly where I start.... College.....one of those all girl institutions that promoted not only superior education but the turning out of refined women. Little did they know they were turning out women in the leagues of Sappo.
The beginning of a memory is the hardest tendril of thought to grasp, to seize it in hand and scrutinize. But that is exactly where I start…. College…..one of those all girl institutions that promoted not only superior education but the turning out of refined women. Little did they know they were turning out women in the leagues of Sappo.
Walking through the commons….an outside area of red brick and structured gardens, gentle breezes lifting my skirt…caressing my bare legs…the memory becomes real and solidifies in my conscious.
Humming under my breath.. walking back to my dorm….a sparsely furnished…dismal place, made habitable by her. Elaina. An Australian exchange student. Laughing eyes, changeable with her moods, large pools of crystal blue water, that look best filled with tears. Hair ripe as wheat, kissed by fairy’s wings and just as light. She is what I would describe as a breakable woman…the kind that is so slim my arm can completely encircle her. But her seemingly fragile body was deceiving. She takes the best and worst of my moods…shivering and trembling… whipcord and sinew…muscles taunt.
But today …today is a good day…we will meet in the gym to work out together…she’s been trying to make the tennis team. Smiling to my self.. thinking the racket is as big as she is, but she’s all heart and determination. And so we will work on upper body strength.
Walking with a almost visible skip…. Passing the tennis courts…watching her serve…thinking. Planning her day. With lustful fascination I wonder how much her arms can take. Shoving the door to the gym…I’m greeted with a myriad of smells….sweat and tears…mingle with the odor of lactic acid and female hormones. Breathing deeply I walk past the basketball court, allowing the sound of sneakers to fill my ears and sink my thoughts to that place where I’m strongest. Where no whines or pleading will reach. The Hard Place.
Smiling my thanks at an unknown benefactress that thought seniors should be allowed private work out time, I swipe my ID through the scheduler, soft beep, and the glass door clicks open. Swinging it wide, I twirl the blinds closed and drop my carry all. A black bag – it has seen all of my toys and all of my Scenes.
Extending my arms to the ceiling, stretching up like a cat…I begin warming up to be ready for your hot and sweaty self to join me. Leaning to the right, rotating down … feeling the pull…first in my waist …then back….and legs. Going through the motions …watching you out the window under the careful eye of the coach, but she won’t work you as hard as I will. Secret smile and an audible purr , thoughts churning…single flashes of you…hanging from one piece of equipment or another….begging for mercy…tears falling…
The soft beep and click brings me back to the present, the heat rising from body as I straighten and turn to you. The look in my eyes causes you to drop your things and fall to your knees just inside the door. You risk one glance up and then drop your head.
“That will cost you sweet one, but it will cost you later. Now, on your feet and over here.” I point to the center of the floor. You jump up and spring to the spot. I smile. The thought crossing my mind that you will not be moving so effortlessly in a moment. Handing you a set of barbells and lifting your wrists to shoulder height… straight out to the sides, the dismay in your eyes sending a tingle deep with in me.
“You know the drill. You will lower and raise your arms stopping when and where I tell you. Begin.
Crossing my arms, rocking ever so slightly foot to foot ,from legs spread wide and placed firm, I watch you. The strain in your shoulders…muscles rippling under the skin. Sweat glistening as you lift and lower the weights. “Stop.” You startle and cease motion . Your arms dead center of the movement. Our eyes lock and I challenge you to move. Your shoulders begin to quiver. The shudders continue down your arms.
“Continue.” Gratefulness fills your eyes as you drop your arms….and terror replaces it as you realize that lifting them again is going to be… difficult… Muscle fatigue sets in and your breath deepens. After another set of seven I take the weights from you. You move over to sink down on the bench.. arms hanging limply. I spread your legs and walk over to the wall and pick up the five lb. Frees…Placing them on either side of your feet and move to stand in between your legs. Lifting one foot and insinuating it under the juncture of your thighs…wiggling it forward so it presses… Hard.
“Curls. Come on pick them up. You can do this… you’re not tired. Not yet.” Chuckling to myself as I watch you try to figure out how to pick up the weights without pressing your poor clit any harder onto my arch. You give up and lean forward and to one side.
“ooohhh” Gasp. The breath is caught. But so is one weight. You straighten and smile a little under my eye….blushing. Turning and twisting you reach for the other and lose the battle not to squirm. Your hips hump my foot in search of relief. However, your hand is on the other weight. I place my hands in your hair and drag your face up. Holding either side of your head by the hair… shaking you slightly.
Your eyes will not meet mine, my face is inches from yours. “I felt that. And You Are In Trouble.” Punctuating each word with a harder shake. “Now you will finish what you started. Holding on to those weights and Not dropping them you are going to grind….rock …twist….and hump on my foot until you come.” Dropping you back down on my foot…weights hanging helplessly….tears welling in your eyes. I wrap my hand in your hair and press your face into my inner thigh…feeling you lips brush there…a small kiss of gratitude that your face is hidden. That you don’t have to watch my amusement…or see the lust in my eyes…the dark passion that sends you reeling.
You begin moving ….rocking….your breath coming in quick little pants….shifting for better position. I run my hands down your back…over your shoulders…playing in the sweat. “That’s right sweet one, get lost…enjoy the ride.” Twisting my hand…tugging your hair….smiling down at you. Your movements quicken…become more frantic as you reach the end…. “ummmmmmmahhhhhhhooooooo” vibrates on my thigh. Thrusting steadily…your hips jerking…. “pl…p…pl…please….. pleeeeeeeease Mistress now? Please?” As I savor the sight of you hanging on the edge waiting for permission your orgasm a heartbeat away….a weight clangs loudly to the floor…Discordant tones echo through both of us and you freeze. Time ceases to exist as you tremble. I throw you to the floor by your hair. You kneel …head hanging…breathing ragged…….
To be continued…
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Coleen is a writer, photographer and film maker at Wasteland and Sssh.com.
Here at BDSMCafe.com, she is editor and curator of this comprehensive library of BDSM fiction, informational articles and other educational features that date back to the early days of the internet in 1996 when the site was first launched.
