Suck, Slave


She had followed the instructions down to the T.

Her outfit was a tight pair of black boyfriend shorts and a black sports-bra that pushed her breasts upwards. Like an offering of the most promising fruit.

The shorts were a couple of sizes too small, and they rode into the crack of her a$s, parting the lips of her pùssy.


That was the second part. Isabella’s legs were parted slightly, the cool air of the wooden floors a breathy kiss against her wet cùnt.


Suspense wrecks havoc on her nerves, and she swallows.

Why wasn’t he here yet?

Yet a part of her couldn’t help the shiver of anticipation that made its way up her arched spine.

Time trickled by…

Seconds fell into minutes.


There it was.

His presence.

She felt it the moment he entered the room. His presence enveloped her, and somehow she could feel the strength in him. The dominance. The utter knowledge that she is on his turf. Playing by his rules.

Soothing her nerves, yet somehow intimidating her further.

Silence ignited tension. and then

“Hmm… I see someone decided a lesson was in order.” He spoke.

His loafers squeaked against the wooden floor as he made the slowest circle around her.

Inspecting. Criticizing.

“Your form needs a bit of.. adjustment,” he mused.

She felt the tinge of disappointment almost immediately. She didn’t mean to disappoint him… yet somehow that was the only thing she seemed to be good at.

He ran his fingers along her spine, causing her to tense and arch her chest out further.

Pressing his hands gently against her shoulders, he forced her shoulders to relax slightly.

“One thing you have to understand, Isabella, is that my goal is to guide and nurture you. There are certain things in your training that will hurt you, yes… but trust that I will never cause you harm. Do you understand, mio piccolino?” His voice was a soft hush in the silence.

[My little one]

She nodded. Barely.

“When I ask you a direct question, I expect I direct answer.” He grouped her hair into a fist, yanking it down with a firm hand. She met his probing gaze. Uncertainty and a slight tinge of fear could be detected in the chocolate irises of her eyes. He stroked her face with one hand, watching as his touch soothed her inner fears.

“Y-yes s-sir.” She whispered in a breathless, hesitant voice.

“Very good, Isabella.” The small praise and smile meant millions to her. She smiled softly, and he let her hair fall back down.

“Now. A few rules before I start; one, you are allowed to be vocal. I want to be able to hear you moan, so communicate with me as you please. Two, no eye contact. Three… I want you to be as still as possible unless told otherwise. Four… trust me to know your limits. Five, listen and obey. Do you understand, piccolo?”

“Yes sir.”

“Very well.” He moved away from her, taking a seat in a leather chair in-front of her. she kept her eyes focused on the floor, tracing the grains of wood as it dilated and floated in waves. . She could only see the top of his loafers so she kept her eyes trained on them. A focus point of sorts.

“Spread your legs.” His command was direct and decisive. “I want to see how wet you are, slave.”

She inched her legs apart wider. Her modesty a direct reflection of her innocence.

“I said spread.” His tone was tense, a tart nip of displeasure.

And so she spread her legs as wide as they could go. And even wider then that. Until her clit could nearly touch the cold floorboards.

He hummed. “Deliziosi… Sono lieto, mio carissimo.

[Delectable… I am well pleased, my dearest.]

A soft moan fell past her lips as the air nipped into her, an intimately cold grasp. It thickened the smell of her arousal.

Damiano flared his nose. Inhaling the sweet musk of desire as it leaked down her thighs.

His next order came fast, “Crawl to me.”

And crawl she did. She placed her hand in front of her, her muscles changing into a crawling position. And then she felt it.

The friction between her thighs. The material pressed against her clit. rubbing slightly against her vagina

She hadn’t yet taken half a step forward before the moan escaped.

“Ohmigod,” she gasped, struggling to keep her eyes open and just… focus on the task.

“Crawl, Isabella. I never said you could stop…” He tsked.

Damiano knew exactly what was happening. He could see the desire that was etched on her face and sculpted in the tenseness of her body. His cock was pressing hard against his belt, straining for her to relieve the tension.

He watched her take a deep breath in, focusing herself. And then another short step. She bit her lip hard, trying to keep the sound of her pleasure in.

“Crawl.” He bit out, clenching his teeth.

And so she did. Taking agonizingly slow steps forward, her tits heaving.

She was gorgeous. And so damn perfect.

It was only when her forehead was about to touch the head of his cock that he told her to stop.

yes. That’s it.

Isabella resumed her kneeling position, eyeing the front of his trouser hungrily.

It was an animalistic desire the one to take and fuck into oblivion. But it was a beautiful one too. The need to own and shelter. To protect and guide.

He placed his shoe beneath her legs, rubbing it slightly to catch just a little of the moisture gathered there.

“Oh…” she gasped, swallowing heavily.

When he moved his shoe back, he smirked when he saw the mess of cum on it. This was by fair, his favorite shoe.

“Tsk, tsk. Look at the mess my little cunt made for me… aren’t you a bad girl? Spoiling your sir’s shoes with your filthy cum. You should clean it up…” He trailed off, watching as her nipples beaded even more beneath that tight bra. She moaned slightly, reaching out a hand to wipe it off but he stopped her.

“Uh uh, take of your bra first. Let me see those t1ts first.”

She froze, chest heaving. He watched as she battled with herself, her modesty and self-preservation.

Would the obedient slave prevail, or her shyness?

But he watched. Smug, as shaky hands began lifting the tight fabric, before drawing it over her head.

Her t1ts hung free. Heavy, plump yet perky. her n1pples were a dusky pink, mingled with brown with just the smallest beaded pebble at the front.

“Beautiful…” He whispered hoarsely.

Shy eyes glanced up fast, before she swung her head down.

“Isabella… look at me, carissimo.” He lifted her face with two fingers, gauging her emotions and studying her reaction.


Uncertainty shaded her face, and he knew better than to take disciplinary actions. For she hadn’t glanced at him out of mere disobedience or defiance; but to try and detect if he actually liked what he saw.

“I think you are beyond gorgeous. You have amazing tits, and I can just imagine sucking them… flicking them…” He leaned closer, “biting them.”

He chuckled when her eyes went wide, anticipation and hope shining through. “You’d like that, won’t you? You want me to suck on these fat tits… on my fat breasts?”

Isabella nodded eagerly.

“Words….” he trailed off. He had to be lenient. Lenient yet strict. A firm, yet giving hand was needed for a beginner.

“Please… please..” She begged. A delectable sight of neediness and lust.

“Tsk tsk… naughty girl… you forgot to clean my shoe…” He taunted watching her.

She glanced down, and once again went to wipe off her own cum with her hand. Quick as a flash, he tugged at her hair, halting her yet again.

“Use your tongue.” He smirked as her pupils grew wider.

She bent down, hair falling forward as her tits touched the floor. She lapped lightly at his shoe, tasting the salty-sweet taste of her cum, whilst the smell of leather invaded her nose. It rose, mingling with the smell of heady arousal.

When she was done, Damiano had unzipped his pants and was staring at her with a smirk.

“Suck, slave.”

A Little Lost (Whats it like to be a wannabe sub p2)

its been a while… And… I don’t know what to say. Life has been a roller-coaster of business.. and… I’m tired and exhausted.

for what?

I don’t even know.

I think I’m going through the identity crisis.

HMM… where to start.

I’ve gone into little space once… And… it was so… relaxing. And… just completely comforting. That was in November and I haven’t gone into it since. In a world that is sorta based on power exchange, It’s hard to slip into a submissive role when you still have those responsibilities taking care of yourself. I can’t completely let go of control without anyone to give it to… if that makes sense. It’s hard to explain…

But… what if I’m not a little? What if all I am is just a vanilla gal with kinky fantasies? What if all this was just… made up?

To be honest… a part of me hopes this was all just in my head.Maybe it is.

It would just make things so much less complicated and intricate…


I feel as if I need “complicated and intricate.”


why is this so damn tough?? a part of me is convinced this is all in my head. that all I learnt about myself in this “journey to what kink I am” I just constructed in my head and made up because I’m a crazy ass bitc*.

I need a glass of wine.

Or ten.

But yeah. I’m so damn confused…

which is also why a part of me wants it to be a made up thing. Because I’m tired of being confused. I’m tired of not knowing where I fit in. Cos… I don’t know if I’m vanilla. I don’t know if I’m…not… I just don’t know.

I’m just…

a Little Lost.

It’s a big world. and… I don’t quite see where the littles fit in yet…


Its complicated


(Warning!  This post is one huge pile of verbal dearhoea.   The good kind.  I think.  I hope) 

its complicated.

It always is.

Emotions are like that- they are messy, and opaque, nothing like the clear glass you wish they were.

And… they’re not the kind of thing that can be viewed under a magnifying glass… Because… the moment you think you can see them clearly, they slip away and change.

Lately… I’ve just felt.. caged. Trapped by the bars of my emotions, and no matter how hard I struggle to push past them… its still there. A lump in my throat.

On the bright side I’ve overcome one of the bigger obstacles- figuring which identity I well… Identify as in the BDSM comunity. Well… I think I sorta have it figured out.

I’m a baby girl =D And I’m a bit of a brat. And a pet. And primal. And submissive (duh).

And a whole lot of other things I don’t understand whack about according to:

But, despite that, despite the utter elation of finally being able to comprehend, I guess, all these small traits and quirks I’ve had.. Theres still this heaviness.

Because I’m no less the stray I was a year ago. No less the dd/bg (or dd/lg) orphan I have been for so long.

I’m a pouty princess whose not allowed to be pouty because I’m adulting 24/7 and that makes me even more pouty.. If that makes any sense whatsoever.

I just want to slip away from people and life and… watch stupid things like Barbie and Dragon Tails and Paw Patrol and… Winnie the Poh (don’t judge- he ish me honey bewar). I want to drink out of a sippy cup, I don’t want to be a responsible adult that makes wise decisions, cause I’ve had to be that responsible adult since my early teens. I want to be reckless and not to worry about the repurcussions of my irresponsibilty. I want to waste a gigabyte of my internet bundle on My Little Pony and NOT worry about the research I need to do tomorrow.

Because using 1 GB is irresponsible. And expensive. And I am broke.

Fudge my life.

No seriously. SOmebody make me fudge cos I wanna eat fudge but I don’t like the store kind and I’m too lazy to make fudge myself. And buying fudge would be bucks out of my pocket and I’m living paycheck to paycheck.

And I hate bras. Which is random but relevant.

They’re a medieval torture device designed to suppress your womenly bits’ right to freedom.


I bet they were invented by men 😂😂😂😂😂


On a more serious note,  I wish I had one of those soft,  lady-like laughs  because sounding like a dying seal humping a rabid cat is SUCH a turn on.


From the Book I’ll Never Write

You Can Be the Moon and Still Be Jealous of the Stars

Excerpt from a story I may never write.

“Because I’m “fat, and nobody likes fat and ugly.”” She whispered, eyes focused on the wooden floors at her feet.

He could see the glimmer of glossiness in her eyes. The shiny quality that had. Her hands were balled into fists, nails digging into soft skin. Her body shook ever so slightly, restraint a thread of bad patchwork on a tattered shirt. He could see the everlasting impact of words said in fury. Words said in hate and haste.

It’s funny how a short sentence uttered in anger can destroy a heart. How it can cause the fragility of one’s growing trust to become pulverized. To turn to ash.

“My god, what have I done?” He whispered, hand reaching out to touch her. Perhaps to feel the grains of her broken soul.

She glanced up, the agony in her brown eyes a knife in his gut. The heartbroken tinges of vulnerability in her shiny eyes crushed his heart like a vice. A part of her wanted him to reach out, touch her. Tell her how beautiful she was. How sexy he thought her curves where.

But how could she do that? Put him in the highest form of power known to human beings? How could she do it again? Give him her heart, her trust, or… what’s left of it?

“Little on-”

She flinched. “Please don’t call me that…” her uncertainty echoed in the wavering of her voice. “If you call me that, I’m going to crumble, and… I can’t let my walls crumble around you. Not again.” Her hand rose to swipe away a fallen tear.

He paused, lips parted. “I’m sorry.”

What more was there to say? What more could he say?

“Sorry’s a short word in a big dictionary. ‘Sorry’ can’t fix this. Can’t fix me.” She said from behind clenched teeth.

He closed his eyes. “I’m so, so, so sorry.” His voice cracked. “I was angry, and I wasn’t thinking str-”

“You can’t try to justify you words, James. You did what you did because you were scared.  You were a coward, running from what you couldn’t bare facing. And… I need to move on. I need to heal.”

“Of course.” His voice was thick with suppressed emotions. He didn’t want to let her go. A part of him will always remain vacant. Lost and unfulfilled.

“Goodbye James,” she took wobbly steps towards him, pressing soft, warm lips against the corner of his lips.

© 2016, withlovesaraa

What its Like to be a Wannabe Sub

Navigating the shore of the BDSM lifestyle is tricky business- especially for people new to it. Like me.

You don’t know where you stand when you talk to Dom’s out there. You don’t know if you should address them by name, or title. Sir. Mister. John. Whatever. you don’t know if you should be ‘yourself’ or… your other, kinky self

You feel sorta like an ex crashing another ex’s wedding. There’s still this awkward anxiety about, because you. don’t. fit. in.

Everyone knows you- but you don’t know anyone.

Although you’re a (wannabe) sub yourself, you find other subs sorta.. daunting. They seem to know E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. They know how to act around dom’s, they know what it’s like to submit, how to address them… and.. you just don’t know a thing.

The only thing you know, is… what you want.

You want to submit.

You want to be spanked.

You have all these fantasies, and finally you can begin to make head or tail of them.

And then… you see these established couples, and you want that so badly, and… a part of you is doubtful you can ever get that. You try to be realistic.

But… imagination, hope and longing can only be tamed for so long.

Eventually, you reach the stage where you can envision yourself in a relationship (Or this is just my wild imagination getting the better of me, and no one else does this… but yeah. I do).

You… create a fantasy guy/girl (guy for me), and you can see it so vividly.. you can feel what they’re like.

Strict,  lenient, strong, tender, comforting, playful, no-nonsense type dom/domme… all that and so much more.

And… you get people out there who are so untrusting and suspicious of outsiders (for due reason, of course) that they tell it to your face that they think you’re just a ‘vanilla experimentalist’ who ‘knows nothing.’ Fair enough. But…

Weren’t you vanilla once, too? At one stage of your life, you didn’t know the meaning of sex. Let alone kink.

But whatever.

You KNOW differently. You know deep down this is what you want. So, you push the negative aside, and focus. You do your research. You get to know the types of kink out there.


Here I am. I’ve investigated, probed, thought, questioned nearly everything…

And… I still don’t know a thing. Yaay! {sarcasm}

I don’t know what it feels like to be spanked, whipped, or flogged. I don’t know what it’s like to be controlled. To follow a command. To be collared.

Hell, up until yesterday, I thought ‘black snake’ was a fetish for calling your dick a snake. Anaconda. Python. Ader. Cobra… you get my drift.

Yeah… that’s not what it is. Apparently, its a really, really painful whip.

Who woulda thought?

So, I’m gonna make rookie mistakes, pardon my naivety. I’m still gonna feel oddish when talking to dom’s, I’m still gonna be a sore thumb loser.

But you know what?

I don’t give a fuck.

This is what I want. I want to be dominated. I WANT to be submissive. I want to be treated like a pet.

And listen up yo, I’m gonna make my foolish, ignorant, naive, stupid, uneducated blunders. But I’m human. All I know.. is that I want this. Really badly. So, despite my errs.. I AM going to do this.


Don’t Forget the Dream

Journal Entry- 2016/November/8th

As a child, I dreamed big. I aspired for things beyond my grasp, because, deep down inside, I always knew that if I tried hard enough, if I dreamed big enough… my dreams could always come true.

When I was a child, I never knew what I wanted to be when I was older- from a caterpillar (there was this short phase when I was four.. don’t judge =P), to marine biologist, to vet, to shark cage diver (cos sharks are really cool), to being an actress. Part of the fun was thinking up new careers, because some got boring, and other things sparked my interest.

As I grew older, my dreams began fading away, ‘reality’ replacing them. I learnt that when adults ask you what you want to be when you grow up, they don’t want to hear about some fantasy dream. They don’t want to hear your  ‘foolish’, ‘childish’dream.
They want to hear about success, so instead of being a caterpillar, I said doctor, lawyer, dentist, businesswoman. Because for them, that was success- financial stability.
And… I lost track of the wonder. The wonder I saw in everything. The wonder that can only be found in a child´s eyes, heart and mind.
The way they play tag with the ocean tide- they know eventually it would catch them, but that won’t stop them from giggling with glee when it doesn’t. Reality and expectations won’t stop them from finding a place in their minds where wonder, amazement and fun grows. Reality to them.. isn’t reality. Reality for them can be improved with a hug, a kiss, a unicorn’s horn, and with love, sparkles and shiny lipgloss.
Reality isn’t permanent. And… that’s one of the things I have to re-wrap my mind around daily. No matter how hard life seems, no matter how much your heart is breaking.. time is fleeting. It. Will. Pass. You just have to be patient.
As an adult, I still find myself spinning. Not to the rhythm of fun, but to the clock as it ticks throughout the day. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Every second is a second closer to my death.
What a humbling thought. This might just be my last breath. Who knows? Not me. Not you.
Death is the ONLY certainty in life. We’re all gonna die. We all are destined to die.
I’ve forgotten how utterly vast the future is.
There are limitless possibilities in a limited life and… I just want to be able to reach for them, even if they escape my grasp. To dream the impossible. Because the impossible is possible when I close my eyes each night.
I miss the innocence of being a child. Because, despite knowing I will never, ever be a caterpillar, I still want to hold onto that dream. I still want to believe one day, my wings will come, and I’ll be a butterfly. The freedom in having no obligations to anyone but fun.
Only now… you have make to those wings.
Make them from the fiber of imagination, and the flesh of dreams. Craft them with the stars, and paint them the colors of the rainbow and earth. Breath your soul into its sails and watch them soar to the horizon.
And in all honesty… reality is just a social conception – we each define our own reality. So let me define mine (that rhymed), and you go define your own.
Ima be a caterpillar… and you can be whatever you want to be. ❤
Love you lots, I’ll buy you lipgloss 💋 <(this thing I used to say when I was small… I had a lipgloss obsession, hehe )

Boys, Tits and Muscles

I love my family. Every single inch of our dysfunctional mess, I love.

For the largest amount of time, my brothers were my everything. Of course, we eventually drifted from the tight knit clan we once were as we hit puberty, but I’ll never forget all the memories we shared.  To give you a bit of background, I have three brothers. Two older, one younger.

Growing up an only girl was hard– a soft voice in a loud house isn’t easily heard. I had a hard time navigating who I was beyond who I wanted to be- a boy. Most of the time, I found myself rolling my eyes at everything they said and did. During my childhood, I was the most badass tomboy on the block. I could burp just as loud, if not louder, then my brothers, I could give twice the punch I received, I could climb well, and play soccer even better. I was ‘one of the guys.’ Thankfully, I outgrow my burpacious ways *snigger* 😉

Certain things about having brothers… changed me. If I said I liked pink, they’d tease me, telling me how much ‘pink stinked’ and… they took the mickey out of me in general. Poking fun at everything girly I did, be it my long hair, or whenever I wore a dress. Which wasn’t exactly often. Because of them, I learnt how to take teasing like a pro. If you laughed off the joke with them, it would take the best part of teasing away- which is getting a rise out of your victim. They had no ammo to tease me with.

You could say I grew a thick skin early.

My brothers, although very over protective (this is an UNDERSTATEMENT)… they weren’t exactly my personal guard. They took it on themselves that I knew how to defend myself when they weren’t around to do so. I remember wrestling with them, be it full on, tag team, and whatnot. I remember how they’d chase me around, tackle me to the ground, wrestle and then tickle me until I needed to pee, and threatened to let go of my bladder control. Pretty soon, I was deemed “meh” enough to handle my own around guys.


Of course, I also remember how awkward (and hilarious) puberty was. Because the three of us hit it around the same time, my brothers went through these huge growth spurts and I grew tits. I’m laughing now, because I remember how utterly confused they were. I’d often find them staring at my chest, eyes huge, a horrified expression across their faces. It must have been confusing for them- not knowing whether or not to look away, or stare in horrified disgust. WHAT the fuc* are those, and what are they doing on my sisters chest??? It’s just not right!


Then, my brothers started competing with each other for biggest muscles. More often than not, they weaseled and blackmailed me into feeling whose was bigger. Gah. Just imagine: 12 year old me squishing my brothers biceps, before giving the FATAL response, that would somehow deem them ‘manlier’ then the other.


Take a pissing contest, why don’t ya.  It affected my younger brother as well. He also started competing, and I found myself having to squeeze his four-year old, scrawny arms as well.

“Look how throng I’m gething!” the four year old, Mike* (not his real name) said, puffing his chest out proudly, flexing non existent muscles in his arm. He couldn’t get the hang of sayig his ‘s’ and ‘t’s right, so every ‘s’ and ‘t’ he said was a ‘th’ sound.

“I’m stronger then you.” my younger older brother, Cody*(not his real name) said, scoffing. He ruffled Mike’s hair, “Nice try, though.”

“Shut it, pipsqueek. I’m here. My muscles are the tree trunks to your twigs,” my eldest older brother, Zack* (not his real name) dised.

“Nuh-uh,” Mike said, frowning. He shook his head violently.

“Not possible. I lifted weights today, so mine have got to be bigger than yours.” Cody challenged.

They went back and forth between themselves whist I sneaked out of the kitchen, tiptoeing into my room as quietly as possible.

4 arm wars, lots of yelling later, all three brothers were in my room, crowding me.


Note sarcasm. 

My eldest bro has anger management issues, and is an utter idiot. But I love him for it.

In fact, they all are idiots. My dad included.

“They’re boys, they’re supposed to be idiots,” my mom said when I asked her why they were always acting stupid.

Fair enough. It made sense.

Just to clarify, I’m not some sexist, generalizing fool. I know not all men are stupid… But the ones I know?

Yeah, they belong in a padded cell, under quarantine conditions. They are a danger to themselves and those around them. Stupidity is contagious after all.


Man, why do guys have such fragile egos??? I love meh boys. Idiot or not.

Anyways… hope you enjoyed this. Do YOU have annoying, stupid brothers? Comment in the section below so we can bitch about how fucking stupid they tend to be.

I changed all my brothers’ names’ to protect their identity and blah blah blah. You get the point.

With love,


Wet Dream

Warning: 18+ Sexy times ahead, folks 😉

Fantasy #1

The bathroom was small, consisting only of a bath, basin and toilet. No shower, no extra luxury. It wasn’t needed. Just simple practicality, the way she liked. White walls, grey tiles and chrome bath heads completed the nearly clinical look. 

Reaching underneath her t-shirt, Bella grasped the back of her bra, undoing the clasp slowly. Once the bra had fallen, she took of her shirt, soon followed by her jeans and navy polka-dot panty.

She reached down to push the plug into place, before switching the water setting to a gentle cascade, hot enough to scald her skin a gentle red.

Dipping her big toe into the water, testing, she slowly  sunk her ankles, relishing the heat as it nipped at her skin. Once she was partially submersed, Isabella began rinsing a day’s worth of grime and sweat away. Massaging  shampoo into her roots leisurely, before she leaned back, allowing the shampoo to diffuse away from her scalp.

 It was as though she could wash away all the negative vibes absorbed from stress, and only harbor the good from the day. Water has a way of absorbing every single drop of stress, causing your bones to feel like jelly and your worries to melt faster than an ice cube in the Sahara. 

Beyond the peaceful silence in her head, thoughts began swirling like white noise,  along with musings and dreams… dreams about a man with dark eyes, eatable lips and broad shoulders…. She could see him, sense him as if he were standing in front of her in his natural glory. She could feel the hard edges of his body, taut muscles and tensed abdomen. Like a lion. Fierce, mighty and proud.

Unconsciously, her hand un-tangled itself from her hair, moving down her body… roaming at a leisure pace, teasing the tip of her nipple, until it reached the slit of her cunt and began stroking and teasing.

She pressed the tip of her finger slightly deeper, taking the time to enjoy the slick gush of warm cum flowing down her thighs.

“Hmm… yeah…” she breathed through parted lips. She could see his strong hands moving over her… into her… lips bruising hers, hands squeezing, and squashing her flesh. The hardness of a strong and utterly masculine anatomy against hers. Moving, pleasing… gripping. Teasing. She pushed a finger into herself, moaning as softly as possible… Flexing it inside of her, curling. She rubbed her the hood of her clit, stoking flames of desire.

“Hmmm…yes… please…” 

She reached out, pressing down on the head of the bath hose. She wielded it like a weapon, water bursting from the head. Her hand slipped down, aiming the spouting water directly over her .

The water pressure made a loud moan slip out… Eyes shut, body taut. She pressed her finger deeper, adding a second one, curling it until her body was ready….

The bathroom door burst open, halting the movement of her fingers inside her. A voice, heady with lust cracked through the haze of pleasure. 

 “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Has someone been a naughty little girl, forgetting all about the rules…” His voice echoed from the walls, oozing with danger and a hint of warning. She opened her eyes slowly, her face the literal picture of “hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Hmm… Am I not good enough for you, that you seek pleasure elsewhere?”The gray-blue eyes enraptured her and froze her. Yet somehow it melted her.

“Tell me, Isabella, is my cock and hand not good enough for you?” He asked once more. He was taunting her. Challenging her to doubt his authority. 

She lowered her gaze, eyes focusing on his black, polished leather loafers. Something about him commanded the very air she breathed in, trapping it in her throat, drumming her heart into a fast tango. He made the already small bathroom, infinitely smaller. Too small to hide. 

“N-no…” she pulled her hand out of her body’s warm, silky embrace, face guilty.. The gush of the bath hose was halted with a slip of her thumb. Despite knowing she was in trouble, she could feel her body react to the tenseness of the air. Waiting for him to make his next move…

“No, what?” He playfully asked.

But Bella knew. There was nothing playful about him.

“N-no, sir.” A slight shudder in her voice betrayed her. Depicting her emotions to be as they were; nervous yet eager for more. 

He hummed. 

Bella couldn’t comprehend as to why he wasn’t  taking this further, just a subtle indication of what was to occur next…  Anything but the silence. It ate at her nerves, butterflies flapping around her tummy.  Her muscles tensing with expectation… He loved putting her on edge. Loved teasing her, taunting her senses until she was sweaty with excitement. 

She glanced up. 

His chest was bare, stomach and abs exposed for her to gawk at. And so she did. Watching him remove clothe after clothe until, he was standing in nothing but his boxers, body screaming of sin. Bella caught his eyes once more. His eyes were twinkling with cold amusement, lips twisted into a mocking grin. He knew she was checking him out, he knew it and all that he did was smirk. Say nothing. None of those cheesy ‘Like what you see,’ remarks most boys gave. But he wasn’t a boy. He was a man. And within his silence, he stated more.

That alone was enough for her to blush furiously and turn her head away.  Another slip and his boxers joined the clothes adorning the floor. 

He climbed into the bath, making room for himself between Bella and the cramped tub. Or rather, she made way for him.

“On your tummy, ass up.” 

She laid down in the limited space, hot water covering everything below the cheeks of her ass cheeks. Soft curves, pressing tightly against each other. Bella’s knees were bent close to her thighs, giving way to him. Her bum was cold, unused to the cool air out of the warm water. Bella’s head was supported by the rim of the tub, elbows keeping her upper body above water. She could feel the heat of the water, lapping at her budded nipples. 

From somewhere behind her, the soft echo of water being disturbed by his presence.  

 A thick arm slid under her belly, simultaneously supporting her, whilst still forcing her bum even higher up. 

“You thought I couldn’t hear you? Piccolino, I could hear you in my office, moaning and groaning like a little slut…

“You want something? You come to me.. I control your pleasure, I control your pain…” He leaned over her, nipped her ear whilst massaging her ass. He slapped her ass,  the sound resounding with a solid crack. He shoved a finger gently, yet firmly into her, filling her to the brim. She clenched around the joint, aching and needy.  A warm, wet envelope to his strong finger.

“So wet, so moist… you think you can make yourself feel this way alone?… Feel so… full?” He drove his hand deeper, gaining a breathless sigh in return.

“Little one, no man, no women, not anyone can make you feel like me. They can try… but nothing will make come close to me.” 

He thrust a second finger in, then out, slowly… tantalizingly promising what she wouldn’t get.


“Beg. Beg me…”

“P-p-please.. please…. Please Master.”

“Uh, uh, uh… No.” He murmured, almost growling. His head leaned against the dimples just above her ass, mouth pressing hot kisses to trembling flesh. 

“Resist, Isabella, resist..” His voice caressing her name, dragging it out, rolling it slowly. The way she loved. The way he knew she loved.

“Please, please, please, please, please,” she chanted, wriggling back against his fingers.

He tsked. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough? I do…”  His voice trailed off, pinkie finger tapping a rhythm against her clit, playing her like his favorite instrument. 

It was his favorite type punishment making her feel so good… than…. making her ache. Ache with want, with need, leaving an abyss of delicious unfulfillment caught in the depths of her aching cunt.

Resist, resist, resist…

“Please…” she whimpered, almost crying, “Please Master, please….” 

Hehehee… am I evil to cut it off here? Probably 😉 Anyway, hope you enjoyed ♥ I know most of it is… unrealistic… and…. choppy… But hey, at least I got this onto paper… err, my laptop? >.> Anyways, I need to sleep before my head bursts.

With love,

Sara ♥♥♥

So… as per usual, this work is under copyright protection by myself, withlovesaraa © 2016.