You Are Mine

You Are Mine

Things would have been easier for you had you stayed. I loved you. I took you out to dinner, bought you expensive clothes and jewelry. I took you to Cancun and to St. Barts. You were just a working class girl who had never been outside the state when I met you. I polished you, buffed you to perfection. I broadened your horizons and made it possible for you to go back to school and finish your degree in art history. With me, you no longer had to work at that crummy customer service job you always complained about. You no longer had to worry that you couldn’t pay your bills. I paid all your bills. I made love to you every night. I wanted to marry you. I bought you a huge diamond. I loved you.

You told me no one else had ever been able to bring you to orgasm. I believed you. I believe in being gentle, milking your orgasm out of you slowly. Most times I was able to milk more than one, and each of your orgasms would be stronger than the last. I loved watching your face when you came. I loved the way your long brown hair would get damp and paste itself on your smooth pale brow, the way your green eyes would roll and your long lashes would flutter. I loved the pink flush that crept across your breasts and upper chest. The sheen of sweat on your flawless skin. Your ecstasy enhanced and amplified your beauty. Watching you like this always made me come. Only then would I slam myself inside you completely, giving into tidal waves of pleasure washing over both of us.

You kept telling me how much you loved me. You cried when I was late picking you up. Sometimes I thought you loved me too much. Sometimes I felt stifled and wanted to get away, but never for long. I would think of your smile, your soft voice, your incredible body. I would think of how passionately you made love to me and realize how much I needed you and wanted you. I would have traded all the freedom in the world for your love. I would have been your prisoner.

Instead, now you are mine.

When you told me you were leaving me for Jacob I thought you were joking, testing my feelings for you. Not once did you even hint that there was someone else. I didn’t see it coming at all. But I know you don’t really love him. Jacob can charm the skirt off any woman, but he is shallow and flashy. He has a lot of money, but so do I. He doesn’t love you; he can’t love you. He only loves himself. I know you realize this now. Jacob will never see you again. You are mine. You will always be mine.

I am patient. I know it’s only a matter of time before you tell me you love me again. I know your tears are as much due to guilt over having hurt me as they are over not being able to get away from me.

I know I scare you sometimes, but I do not want to scare you. I want to love you, I need to show you how much I love you.

I keep you in a sumptuous apartment attached to my house where you have everything you need. You have a kitchen stocked with every kind of food, both foreign and domestic. A maid comes in to clean every day, so you don’t ever need to. You have a luxurious Italian-tiled bathroom with floor to ceiling mirrors, a sunken tub, a Jacuzzi, and a dressing room with more clothes than you can wear in a year. The collection of shoes I bought you would put Imelda Marcos to shame. In the bedroom you sleep in a king-size mahogany bed with a canopy, silk sheets and feather filled pillows and comforters. In your living room are your computer where you can write and shelves and shelves of the finest literature. I know you want the Internet and phone, but I can’t let you have access to those things. I am sorry. But there is so much for you to do; I have provided for your every need. And when I am not working in my office on the other side of the house, I am with you, loving you, worshiping you. I know you feel like you’re my slave, but really, I am yours. There are so few things I wouldn’t give you.

Except, of course, your freedom. But you don’t really need that.

Tonight is our anniversary. We met exactly two years ago. Don’t you remember? Tonight is a special night for you, for us. I have a little surprise for you. Tonight when I finish my financial report, I come to worship you. You are in your tub, soaking in mountains of bubbles. One of the negligees I have given you is draped over a mahogany stool near the tub. I take the washcloth from your hands and you look at me with eyes as innocent as a deer’s. Your lip trembles a little, and I know you are afraid. There is no need to be. I dip the washcloth in the suds and wash your back. You lean forward. I am moved by the way your spine curves inward, so gracefully. Your skin is flushed by the warmth of the fragrant water. I wring out the washcloth and move it toward your pink breasts. You sigh softly and lean back in the water, allowing me the honor of washing you. I know you want me. I know you don’t want to want me. But your legs begin to move rhythmically in the water, and I hear your soft breathing become heavier and faster. Your hand involuntarily caresses mine on your breast, and I see your nipples harden at my touch.

I reach down into the water and pull the plug out of the drain. I help you out of the tub and wrap a fluffy pink towel over your body and pat you dry. Then I unwrap you like a gift and wind the towel around your wet hair, into a sort of oversized turban. I unzip my trousers, which have become uncomfortably tight due to my hard-on, and step toward you, wrapping you in my strong arms. My cock strains against your smooth lower abdomen, the thin material of my boxers the only thing separating us. I slide my left hand between your closed thighs, and feel the wetness and heat of your sex. Your breathing is steady and deep. I long to enter you right now, but I won’t. That will come later, much later. I want to build up your desire to such a level that you know you will never be able to live without me. You’ve been a bad girl. I’m going to punish you with my love. You will never run away from me again. I’m no fool. Threats and violence may keep you with me physically, but your heart will never be mine. So I intend to capture your heart as well as your body. You will not want to run.

I open my mouth and cover your lips with mine. Your lips are heartbreakingly soft and sweet, and look vulnerable with no lipstick. I like you better without makeup. You look softer, younger, more approachable. Slowly I insert my tongue into your slightly open mouth. I see your lashes flutter closed and I close my own eyes and get lost in your kiss. My hands caress your back and buttocks. Your skin is nearly dry, and I feel its cool smoothness, like fine silk threading through my fingers. I reach up and remove the towel from your head, and your hair, still slightly damp, tumbles over your shoulders. A lock falls over your breast, partly hiding your swollen nipple. I brush the hair aside and take your nipple into my mouth, suckling it like a newborn. Your chest rises and falls and I feel your hot breath in my hair. My hands find yours and I thread my fingers between yours. Your fingers feel so delicate and small, and I fear I could break them too easily. I let go of your hands and cup your perfect white buttocks in my palms. I pull away from your breast, leaving it quivering, and move my lips to your navel, enjoying the clean buttery scent of your skin, which is now covered with a slight sheen of sweat. Once again I slide my hand between your soft thighs, and feel the wetness there, which has begun to trickle out of your beautiful pussy. Your bush looks so lush but can’t hide the red and swollen lips peeking out at its base. The light from the setting sun catches them, and I can see the moisture glistening there like confectionary glaze on rich pastry. You are squeezing your thighs together, trying to find some relief from your desire. But I still won’t give it to you. I can wait.

I look up at your face and I see the want in your eyes. You tell me to please fuck you and I tell you not yet. You are not ready. I remove my boxers, damp now with precum, and pick you up, your legs wrapped tightly around my waist. Your toes are digging into my buttocks. You are so light, so small. I take you to your luxurious bed and gently place you down on the cool sheets. Your hand reaches for me, but I push it away and drown your protests with my kisses. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and I kiss those away too. I press my body against yours, catching your shapely thighs between my much stronger ones so you can no longer move your legs. My cock is throbbing against your stomach. I thread my fingers through yours and draw both our arms up over our heads. I want to enter you so badly, but I won’t. Not yet.

I turn you over on your stomach and marvel at the perfection of your back, the smoothness of your buttocks, the lush tumble of your golden brown hair. I love you so much. I sit up slightly and take a deep breath to keep from coming prematurely as I trace the crack of your ass with the swollen head of my cock. With my thighs I still hold your legs together. You try to move but you can’t. You are at my mercy. I hear your soft moans and sighs, and the beginning of sobs. I bury my face in your hair and breathe in your fragrance deeply.

Without warning you, I move my legs and use my hands to push yours apart. You are so wet, almost to your knees. The juice flows steadily from your sex, like a river from its source. I bury my face between your thighs and insert my tongue inside you, allowing the nectar to flow into my mouth. It is so abundant I almost feel that I may choke. You begin to buck and roll, and I can hear your moans become louder.

I stop and catch your legs between the muscular vise of my thighs again. When you promise me you’ll stop begging me to fuck you, I loosen my hold and turn you over on your back.

I enter you now. My throbbing cock finds your sopping opening and slides in without any help. Nothing ever felt this natural. I am almost weeping with relief; you already are.

The muscles of your sex clench themselves around me and mold to my shape; we are one entity. The fit is so perfect my breath catches in my throat. I break down and sob in your arms. I know without a doubt we were made to be together. I don’t thrust; I want to savor the miracle of this completed jigsaw puzzle. I marvel how you hold me deep inside you. I can feel the os of your cervix pressing against the sensitive head of my cock; I feel the way your muscles squeeze rhythmically, involuntarily; you can’t help wanting me as much as I want you. At the last moment I pull out, gritting my teeth; the effort of not coming almost makes me pass out. But I don’t. You thrust your pelvis up, your thighs wide open, a milky river pouring over swollen banks. I watch your nectar spill down the crack of your beautiful ass onto the bedsheets. You are whimpering, begging me to make love to you.

Supporting my body with my arms, I hover over you, then plunge inside you again and thrust deeply and strongly several times. I can no longer hold back, and without realizing it I am coming, pumping my seed inside you, tears running down my face and sweat raining onto your breasts and stomach. As the orgasm goes on and on, I plunge inside you one last time, and hold myself still. You are clutching at my hair and thrusting toward me. I know this is your moment; I share it with you. I imagine my sperm making their way into the hole that punctuates the center of your cervix, as I collapse into your arms. It feels so good to be nestled there, so safe. This is where I belong. I am home.

I wait until you fall asleep, still hard and tucked deep inside you, as I fend off sleep myself. Before you drift off, I think I hear you murmur, “I love you, Stephen.” I smile and watch your exquisite face in the candlelight as it relaxes into the heavenly abyss of your dreams.

You will not leave me again. I reach under the bed for the pistol I have surreptitiously placed there. Soon, we will be in a place where lovers never leave, where there are no broken hearts.

Weeping now, I pull the trigger.

You are mine.

Please email me with your comments: [email protected]

BACK