Improper Usage of a Desk

It is my desk you feel against your back.

I push you into it, hands on hips to lift your over the edge and set you on top. With one hand, I press you down, pinning you firmly onto your back. Rope is wound tight around your wrists, my fingers follow the length of nylon upwards, loose ends captured in my grip.

I tug firmly, pulling your arms over your head, and then tie off the ends under the edge of the desk.

You are now bound.

I stand between your parted thighs, staring down upon you. You raise your head to watch me push your skirt up over your waist, your eyes riveted on the motion of my fingers as they hook on the last piece of clothing between you and the desk. Slowly, letting the fabric draw along your naked skin, revealing your secrets one inch at a time, I slip it off.

And now you are bared.

The smooth cool surface of the desk against your skin is a reminder of place, a distinguished contrast to the warmth of my palms as they press along the inside of your thighs. You know I relish this position over you, this place that allows me to do what I want to you. Where the gentle touch of my fingers and lips, the cruel bite of my nails and teeth, the quiet guidance of my words, can pull you close enough to the edge that you tremble and cry out.

I write my words on your naked skin, whisper my name against stomach. Your skin is soft to my touch, and smells of jasmine.

I want you.

I make you a willing participant to my desires. I place you atop a chasm and hold you there, knowing full well how far you have to fall. When my fingers draw along the slick heat between your thighs, you feel yourself slip, fighting to hold still. And this struggle, this desperate attempt to keep yourself from going over, only makes the pressure worse. It is a victory you don't want me to have, but each touch is agonizing, each word a taunt that threatens to make you lose control.

You are filled with fire, your nerves burning and your skin hot, yet you keep from falling. And for a moment, you think you have won.

But all it takes is a kiss.

Left along the side of your neck, an intimacy almost unconnected with the fingers buried inside of you. A single kiss, warm and light, and the words, "Give me what is mine."

And you are lost.