It's almost nine, but Eric's not home yet. And it's fine, because the food can wait, it's actually better if you let it sit for awhile. But he hasn't called at all, hasn't even sent anyone to go shopping with me like he said he might, so maybe I'm wrong about the whole thing. Maybe I don't mean anything to him.

Those kinds of thoughts have been playing in my mind on a loop for hours, so a huge weight actually lifts off my shoulders when the lock finally rattles, and Eric walks in.

He looks tired, but not as frazzled as last night.

"I made dinner," I say, peeling myself off the sofa, and shutting off the TV. I had in on mute anyway, since I couldn't follow along to what was going on because of my racing thoughts.

"Smells delicious," he says and walks over to me, tossing his briefcase onto one of the armchairs. "But I already ate."

My heart sinks way more than it should, and I can't stop my mouth from forming a disappointed, "O". He chuckles in an amused sort of way, his eyes glued to my lips so hard I actually feel his gaze like a caress.

"Are you sure?" I mumble. "I made chili…it's really good."

I tasted it, but I didn't actually eat any because I was waiting for him.

"Is it now?" he asks.

"Yes, it is." I'm not really sure what is happening right now, but the air between us is so thick, so charged, so poignant. "Everyone always says—"

But the rest of my sentence is cut off as he pulls me into an embrace and kisses me. The intensity of the kiss makes the ground wobble beneath my feet, and I'd fall if his arms weren't wrapped tightly around me, taking my weight. He deepens the kiss, his tongue playing with mine in my mouth, and I melt into him, surrender, let him take the lead.

But he breaks the kiss abruptly, the bubble of pleasure building inside me bursting with a pop. He takes a step back, holds me at arms length. I'm wearing the only dress I brought with me, and it hugs my curves nicely, but I wish I was wearing something sexier, something he'd like more.

He doesn't say anything, just stands there gazing at me, his eyes glazed yet sharp, and completely unreadable. My lips are pulsing from the kiss, the taste of him in my mouth strong, making me yearn for more.

"I…I thought we could have dinner together," I mumble once the intensity of the moment grows unbearable. "Maybe talk…"

He shakes his head, the edge of his lips curving up into a half smile. "Talking's not what I want from you."

The words feel like a cold stab right through my chest, yet my pussy reacts to the manly steel in his voice, pleasant warmth erupting from my clit.

He pulls me closer, and I tilt my head back in anticipation of another kiss, but he just unzips my dress and slides it off my shoulders. It falls in a heap by my feet, and I'm frozen, because I wish I was wearing nicer underwear, some of the fifty dollar kind. But it hardly matters, because my bra comes off just as quickly as my dress, my nipples standing at attention in the cool, air-conditioned room.

He leans down and kisses my neck, sending waves of pleasure through my entire body. But they're cut short as his fingers find my nipple and twist it, the pain sharp and sweet at the same time, making me choke out a sound somewhere between a yelp and a moan.

He keeps teasing my nipples, rubbing them softly, pinching them, his lips not leaving my neck. The mixture of pain and pleasure is fogging up my brain until it's all I know.

"I want to tie you up," he whispers into my ear, dispelling the fog in an instant.

I'm not sure. I don't know. I might not like it. I don't want to be tied up.

Those thoughts whizz through my brain in a split second, but I utter none of them. Because I trust him. And I want to please him.

He's studying my face very closely, must be waiting for an answer, so I just nod. And the smile spreading across his lips now is only partly happy. The rest of it is pure predatory hunger and it causes my heart to skip several beats.

"I'll start slow," he says, sounding like he's speaking to himself as much as to me, so the words are reassuring and not at the same time.

He unties his smoky silk tie and pulls it off, the hiss it makes barely audible, yet loud enough to cause an avalanche in the mountains.

He slides it through his hands, pulling it taut, and I swallow hard. All my objections are still valid, but I'm willing to surrender to his will.

"Turn around," he says, and I practically jump to obey.

"Hands behind your back." I do that too.

The silk is cool against my skin, as he loops it around my wrists. I shudder once he pulls the ends tight, binding my wrists together tightly.

He pushes me down by my shoulders, gently yet persistently, until I'm kneeling on the hardwood floor. I'm still wearing my panties, but even as I realize that he yanks them down, until they’re stretched taut around my thighs, just above my knees.

He yanks on the tie, pulling my upper body up and holds me there. I've never felt this powerless, this out of control of my body. And if it were anyone else causing this to me, I'd scream in fear. But with Eric, I know I'm safe.

I yelp as the first stinging slap lands against my bare butt, but it doesn't stop him from landing a few more. My legs are constrained by my panties, his tight grip on the tie preventing any movement, any escape. The slaps keep coming, each stoking the fiery pain higher and higher, until I'm afraid I'll lose my mind. Both my butt cheeks are burning when the slaps finally cease. I hear his zipper open, my pussy clenching involuntarily in anticipation of the pleasure I'm about to receive, and in fear of more pain.

He's still holding onto the tie binding my wrists, but his other hand is caressing my hair gently.

"Tell me what you want," he says in a cracked sort of voice, which is no less commanding for that.

"I want you inside me," I answer automatically, truthfully.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asks sharply.

I just nod.

"Say it!"

"I want you to fuck me." The words roll off my tongue easily enough. Yet that's not all I want. I want him to make love to me. I want to look at his face as he does it. I want us to have dinner together, get to know each other better. But I also want him to fuck me.

"Good slave," he groans.

He makes a fist in my hair and yanks my head back as he pushes his cock into me, driving it in past all resistance, my wetness making it easier, but not easy. I scream out, in pain or pleasure, I'm not even sure.

I can feel every inch of his cock as it slides in and out, gaining momentum, all nerve endings in my body awake and crackling. He's slamming into me with such force I'd topple forward if he weren't holding me upright by my hair. That sharp pain as he pulls on my hair is mixing with the ecstatic warmth building in my pussy, spreading into my belly, into my chest, flowing everywhere. I feel my body open more to receive him, my pussy molding to his cock, wrapping so tightly around him I'm not sure where he ends, and I begin. The pleasure is all there is now, coming in ever higher waves, each threatening to consume me, drown me, yet none of them do.

I'm screaming out in short, high yelps, which are the only outlet for this intense pleasure his cock is giving me, until even that no longer helps. A shattering orgasm washes over me, blinds me, takes my hearing and my awareness. And it keeps coming, keeps building, like a storm on the high sees, raging and fierce, never ending and deadly.