Vignette: In a Small, Dark Room


I was having some writer’s block with the story I’ve been sort of working on for over a month, so I thought I’d try something else just for fun. Of course this came out in one day, written largely on my commute—is it weird to write this kind of thing on the train? Please don’t tell on me. It’s a little different, but I hope it’s still enjoyable.


I think about what would happen if I found myself in a small, dark, silent room with you. I think about slivers of light through a black window showing only glimpses and my eyes adjusting to the dimness and the more-solid blackness of your form shaping itself out of the darkness, and how close you’ll be to me, how still.

Sometimes I spin out a reason, a barely-there concrete logic to where this secret, empty space is, how I am there and you are there. Other times it’s like a dream that I deeply believe I could manifest if I just tried hard enough, and there it would be. A mirror-blank slate.

I see flashes of the moments that could happen in such a room, a bespoke fantasy montage. In one, I stay quiet and soft and exquisitely balanced on fingertips, tip toes, on the pure high of all the whispers I would pour into your ears with your back up against the wall, my lips not-quite-grazing the side of your chin, the curve of your ear. I’m telling you the story of what I would do to you if I had you in a room just like this one, reciting a calm list of the other words I’d say, the places I’d tell you to put your hands, the sounds you’d hear, if we were in such a place. I want you to listen very carefully. I want you to see it in the dark, to feel it in the air. Hear but don’t sex izle touch.

In this room, I am in charge. You will do whatever I tell you, whenever I tell you to do it, won’t you? You’re mine. When you say yes, Miss, the pure need in your voice drives me wild. As I tell you what’s going to happen next in excruciating detail, the only other sounds are the uneven rhythm of your breath and the rustle of fabric as the hem of my dress brushes against your side when I move from one ear to the other, the soft pass of silk and heat. Now get on your knees, I say.

Another scene I can’t shake begins the same way, the hot tease of a whispered possible story, but in this iteration the spell of only suggestion can’t hold at such close proximity. As I describe the way you’d hold my arms and pin me against the hard push of the wall, the length of you covering me, you softly say, like this? and slowly, deliberately draw my wrists up above my head. You inch in until there’s no space between us and with a small sigh I feel your warmth along every part of my stretching, aching body.

I think you must feel my nod rather than see it, or maybe you can read my mind now, maybe the waves of lust coming from my fevered imagination are as legible as skywriting even though it’s the middle of the night. Then what, you ask, out loud or maybe not, and I raise my head, baring my neck as I tell you what to do, where to put your mouth, keeping the flow of my words steady as your lips and teeth follow my quiet commands. Almost steady. We are all hard and soft and hot and I feel like I’m melting into the wall or condensing to a single, throbbing center low alt yazılı porno in my belly, lower, where a dark, velvet feeling is collecting between my legs. I tell you all this, creating and living the story all at once. I have you rapt on my every word, wrapped up in me, my legs hitched up to pin you closer as I perch on the edge of the nightlit windowsill and you lean closer, closer, until there’s nowhere to go.

The scene flashes again and I walk into the dim and simmering room to find you already there, waiting. You speak first this time, firmly and warmly. You say you’ve been waiting for this ever since you saw me. You kiss me, with a groan that holds the notes of every second between then and now. The power of this contact is nearly overwhelming, but you cut it short—you grab my hair, tender but clear in your guidance. You bend me at the waist over a table in the center of the room and tug my ponytail again. My breath constricts and I feel my heart pound against the cool surface of the desk. You run your hands along the length of my back, along the curve of my ass and down my legs, then back up my inner thighs, parting them ever so slightly as you raise my skirt to my waist. You push aside my panties to run a single finger along the slick flesh underneath, then remove your touch entirely as I whimper quietly, left bare and cold.

I can hear you breathing heavily, making small movements and adjustments behind me in the dark, but I don’t turn my head. I’m startled when you hand is suddenly there again, brushing gently over me, and then, like a shock: a sharp, small slap, your aim true and fierce. altyazılı sex izle The startled cry I make is all surprise, not pain, but you pause, and your voice betrays worry when you ask if I’m okay. When I find my breath, I tell you that I’m okay. I’m okay, I say, but I need more. My words come out in a kind of sigh. I need you to spank me again. I can feel you, still and waiting in the dark of the room, can feel your desire and your hesitation. I say it again. Spank me. Please. Please. Please please please please I’m still saying when you finally do, and I whisper it over and over with each sweet blow. When you stop, every part of me is tingling and bright. When you grab my hips and pull me up to meet your mouth I feel that you’re trembling, too.

In another vivid moment, there’s no time for such restrained choreography, and we tumble to the floor as soon as we touch, heavy and dense, all hot breath and hands everywhere at once. There’s not a single reason to pause, not a word that needs to be spoken that isn’t yes or now or a plea or that particular sound you make when my fingernails sink into your shoulders, your face pressed into my breasts like you want to live there. We mark the deep places where delay finally falls over the cliff into overwhelming gratification and what the scene lacks in poetic elegance, it more than makes up in pure, perfect sweat.

When I see you outside of this dream room, I see all these possibilities and more hovering around you, watch the echoes of so many imagined scenarios pass over the reality of your face as we talk about something innocuous and friendly. In well-lit halls and open sidewalk spaces, I feel the borders of those close, dark spaces like an invisible bubble, holding in impossibility and innuendo and wild heat. When you ask what I was thinking about and our eyes meet, I almost think that you know, that you sense it, too. There—can you feel it?

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