Women Seeking Women #28

She climbed on top of me like she owned the hour. October 5, 2006—I can still smell the cheap wine and perfume clashing on her skin. Eyes half-closed, hips locked tight, she pushed me down, dragged the air out of my lungs as I sat bound to that rickety chair. Tape bit into my wrists; every small twitch sent blood rushing harder between my legs. She gripped my throat. Nails sharp. Didn’t ask permission, just took the pulse straight from the vein. Then she rocked back, sliding me inside her inch by inch. The friction sent sparks licking up my spine. Her cunt gripped tight, slick heat and grit all at once. Slow grind first, circling, taunting, then quick, hungry thrusts like she wanted to bruise herself on me. I flexed against the restraints, muscles wired hot. Fabric tore somewhere—maybe the chair seat, maybe my shirt, who cared? Sweat pooled at the small of her back. I watched the muscles in her thighs jump and lock every time she slammed down, taking everything I had and still demanding more. She breathed like she wanted to bite the air. One hand stayed on my neck. The other reached behind her, dragged my balls into a tight squeeze. I bit down on a curse; the noise turned into a growl. Her grin flashed through the dim light. She twisted, ground deep, thighs shivering. I could feel her get slicker, wetter, the heat slicking my skin. She owned the rhythm, the pressure, the timing—owned me completely. And every thrust felt like the clock itself stopping, right there in the middle of a stolen night.