8. Session Two | Instruction #4
I dropped to my knees behind her. Put my mouth on her pussy from behind.
She screamed. Her body jerking against the bench.
I licked her the way she'd taught me: flat tongue, firm, finding the swollen spot and staying there.
My hands gripping her ass, spreading her open, my tongue buried in her pussy while she writhed against the leather with her hands tied behind her back and nowhere to go.
"Jarvis... oh my God..."
I ate her from behind with everything she'd taught me an hour ago. Every correction. Every instruction. Every harder and slower and right there filed away and applied with precision. My tongue on her clit. Circling. Pressing. Sucking. Biting the way she'd said she wanted.
She came fast. Grinding back against my face, her thighs shaking, her voice filling the room with sounds she couldn't control. I felt her pussy pulse against my tongue and stayed. Kept licking through the orgasm until she was whimpering from the overstimulation.
Then I stood. Lined myself up. And pushed inside her.
Her body arched. A guttural sound left her, low and deep and satisfied.
Full. My dick stretching her open from behind while her hands stayed bound at her back.
I could see the rope against her skin. Could see her fingers flexing, gripping nothing.
The visual of it: her dark skin, the blue silk, her pussy wrapped around my dick from behind.
I gripped her bound wrists. Used them as leverage. Pulled her back onto me as I drove forward. Deep. Hard. The sound of my hips hitting her ass echoed off the charcoal walls.
"You feel that?" I said. "You feel what you did to me tonight? How hard I am for you? How much you made me need this?"
"Yes." Her voice muffled by the bench. "Yes, I feel you."
I fucked her hard. Relentless. Gripping her rope-bound wrists and pulling her body back onto my dick with every thrust. Her ass bouncing. Her pussy gripping me tight, still swollen from the orgasm, still pulsing. My other hand came down on her ass. A slap. The crack of it filling the room.
"Harder," she gasped.
I hit her again. The other cheek. It left a handprint I could see darkening her skin. She moaned and pushed back into me, meeting my thrusts, taking me as deep as her body would allow.
I reached forward. Found her neck. Gripped. Pulled her head up off the bench until her back arched and her throat was exposed and I could see her face in the mirror propped against the wall. Her eyes half-closed. Her mouth open. Her expression wrecked in a way that matched mine from earlier.
"Look at yourself," I said. "Look at what you look like right now."
She opened her eyes. Found herself in the mirror. The image: her body bent over the bench, hands tied, hair pulled back, a man buried inside her from behind. She saw herself being fucked and something ignited in her expression. Her pussy clenched around me so hard I almost came.
Then her eyes found mine.
"You're beautiful," I said, eyes locked onto hers. "Powerful. On your knees, on this bench, in charge, underneath me. It doesn't matter the position. You're always the most powerful person in the room." I drove deeper. Harder. "Now come on my dick and prove it."
My hand released her neck. Found her clit from behind. Circled fast. My dick hitting deep while my fingers worked her clit and her bound hands pulled against the rope and she watched herself in the mirror and I felt her body climb, climb, climb.
She came with her eyes open. Watching herself. Her pussy strangling my dick in rhythmic pulses that pulled me over the edge with her. I buried myself and let go. Coming hard inside her. Filling her up while her body milked every drop. Both of us groaning. Both of us shattered.
I collapsed over her. My chest against her back. My mouth finding her shoulder. Her spine. The place where the rope crossed her wrists.
We stayed connected for a long time. Catching breath. Coming back.
I untied her.
Slow. Kissing her wrists. Her fingers. Rubbing the marks where the silk had pressed during those final thrusts.
She turned. Faced me. We stood there in the center of the room, both naked, both spent, both looking at each other with an expression that said: we just did that. And we can do it from either side. And that's the thing.
"Come here," she said.
I went.
She pulled me down to the mat. We sat tangled. My back against the wall. Her in my lap. Face in my neck. Arms around each other.
Quiet. The good kind.
"Jarvis."
"Yeah."
"That was..."
"Yeah."
"We're both."
"We're both." I pressed my mouth against her hair. "And that's the thing nobody talks about. It doesn't have to be one direction. It flows. Whoever needs it holds it. Whoever needs to give it gives it."
"I liked being on my knees for you," she said. Against my neck. Quiet. Almost surprised by her own admission. "Because I chose it. And choosing felt powerful."
"That's because power isn't a position. It's a decision."
She lifted her head. Looked at me. Her eyes soft and fierce at the same time.
"Goodnight, Jarvis."
"Goodnight, Nailah."