It started in that quiet well we all have inside. That place that most people avoid because we would prefer not to know just what lies below the obvious surface. That place from which comes those little thoughts we usually ignore if we can. Usually. However, sometimes we can't help it. This was one of those times when the thought refuses to be ignored. Or maybe just came at a time when it couldn't be ignored, where it wasn't possible. And so the dark thought took shape, rooted itself. It grew while he lay between waking and sleeping, rooting, spreading, becoming wider and slowly wrapping its tendrils around other thoughts, slowly twisting those thoughts into something it could use, something from which it could feed.
He could have her. Fantasies, desires, relatively innocent thoughts, all got tangled together, the shadows of that thought from the well tainting, spreading a stain and slowly twisting them like a scene viewed through uneven glass. All the happy, shiny thoughts of romantic evenings, moonlight, candles, and satin sheets became twisted. The dark thought brought with it desires he had never acknowledged, tying in little bits of things he had heard her say. And in his mind, all of it joined together to form an idea. The solution to the wanting that had driven him secretly for so long.
Oh, he had tried to make it real. He had cautiously suggested coffee, inquired after details of her life that showed interest beyond the coworkerly knowledge. And one afternoon he had even skirted around the issue of dinner. But none of his attempts had resulted more than the same welcoming smile she offered to one and all, and soothing promises of another time, someday.
He was never sure if she just put off everyone, or if it was just that he didn't meet her criteria. That he wasn't what she thought she wanted. But now, his own version of someday was here. And she would learn that he was more than she could have expected, would learn just where her true fantasies lay. Because he would show her. Would bring her to her knees, and back again, screaming his name as he took her into the dark places he had feared himself for far too long.
He pushed himself from the couch where he had been dozing, rubbing a hand over his face as his eyes seemed lit from within with something feverish, something that could make him burn, could freeze him to his very core. And then send him up in flames all over again. He could feel it pooling between the bones of his hips, sliding down inside him until it began to coil and pool in his balls, shooting slow tendrils up his cock, expanding as though he could feel its slow burn in every one of the veins that filled that flesh, feeling it as it heated until it burned against his abdomen, pressed there by the now rough-feeling cotton of his boxer briefs, and the suddenly too-tight feel of his jeans.
A low sound clawed its way up his throat as he reached a hand down, intending just to adjust his cock before it mashed into his jeans, but instead found his hand massaging it through the layers of fabric. He felt the ridge of his zipper digging in, the edge of pain it brought as he ground his palm against the fabric, felt the ridge that made the direction of his thoughts all too clear.
His hand lingered for a moment, another as he felt the burning build, felt the ghostly sensations of breasts against his chest, of hot slick flesh closing around his cock, of tongue and teeth replacing the confines of cotton, denim, and his own hand. The shudder that crackled down his spine nearly brought him to his knees, and the connection of his knee with the corner of the coffee table brought him back to his senses with a rough "Fuck."
Definitely. But he had a few things to do first.
His hand curled around the phone, and he lifted it, staring at it a moment as he took a deep breath, then another. He punched the memory button, then scrolled down to the entry for her number. Selected it. And so it begins.
"Julia? It's Daniel. Listen... can I come over? I really need to talk to you about something. And I'd rather not do it over the phone." His voice was still rough, some of the darkness of the thought hazing it, speaking of the silences to be found when the light is hard to find, of the depths we rarely examine. Demanding something she had never heard from him.
"Dan? Is everything ok? It's kinda late. Umm.." He could nearly see her biting her lower lip the way she did, looking up to the right, then down to the left as she thought about it. But the look of intensity on his face didn't fade, as though by sheer force of will he could convince her to accept, to agree.
"It's complicated. So can I come over?" Harsher than he'd ever spoken to her, more cursory. But he did not want to reveal everythign he was feeling, the throb that kept drawing his attention to the strain of his flesh, the weight of his balls, the rub and scrape of fabric over skin that suddenly was hyper aware.
"I... alright." She sounded puzzled, as though she didn't understand why she had conceeded. But she was like that, too kind for her own good. It was something he could use against her as truly as he would turn it to desire, twist it to dark pleasure that bordered pain, turn control to submission. "Do you have my address? Wait. You gave me that ride home that time. Can you still find it?" Her voice sliding over him, sending ripples over his skin as it crawled from his ear down his jaw, sliding over his neck with a painful sizzle before scraping down his chest, grazing past a nipple on its way over his ribs, ever faster as it streaked to his groin, eliciting a grunt from him which he tried to muffle as he clenched his jaw. Everything about her made him hot for her. And he was already aching.
He assured her gruffly that he did, and hung up before she could reconsider. He set the phone back down before striding to his bedroom, his hands fumbling with his jeans, undoing them and sliding beneath his boxer briefs to close around aching flesh, trying to soothe it even as his motions became more hurried, even as he felt his hand stroke over skin that was stretched too far, and yet slid with the movement of his hand, his hips shifting slightly as his foreskin pulled back, exposing the head of his cock to the air as a trickle of precum slid from the tip, pushing up from his balls to work its way along inside his shaft. He felt it hesitate, then drip to meet his hand even as it stroked back to the head, the foreskin pulling past, hiding the head, stroking over it with a sudden moistness that brought thoughts of sex, of the scent of her groin, of her sweat slicking her skin even as her lips closed around him, as her muscles clenched around....
He felt the sudden pressure, felt his balls squeeze even as his shaft contracted, throbbed, and then his hand felt the hot gush, felt the drops before the scalding heat of it hit his hand as he kept stroking, barely hearing the sound of flesh sliding. His eyes blind as his hand suddenly moved more slickly even as he tightened his grip, stroking it out, squeezing, pushing the pressure out the tip with each move of his hand. His knees gave slightly and suddenly he could see again, could hear his own harsh breath.
"Shit," he panted even as he looked down, saw the stains spreading on his jeans, saw the mess on his hand, the white drops on the hardwood. To hell with it. He detoured to the bathroom, turning the tap with his clean hand and quickly rinsing off his skin, grabbing the soap and lathering it, getting the residue off, the clinging feel of it as it started to dry. And then he grabbed a towel, wiping his cock, his balls, then shucking his jeans, kicking them into a pile in the corner, sending his underwear after them. He glanced down again, then made a frustrated sound and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it into the corner as well before stalking to the bedroom.
He quickly tugged out a black pair of boxer briefs, another pair of jeans, and a t-shirt. He threw them all on the bed before tugging open his sock drawer and rifling to the very back, feeling along for something. Finally, his hands closed around what he'd been looking for. He pulled it out, a set of black leather wrist cuffs, trailing black leather ties. His eyes flashed just a little, and he felt the punch of the sudden image of Julia, spreadeagled on the bed, her arms tied above her, her body bared, his mouth closing over....
He drew in a quick breath, then tossed the cuffs on the bed before working his way into his clothes. Thank god he'd cum. Otherwise he'd never get past his hand on her breast. Talk about embarassing. He let out a harsh laugh as he jumped a little while zipping up his jeans, making sure everything was properly adjusted. He tugged on the t-shirt, swiped up the cuffs, then managed to tuck them into his back pocket, wriggling them in, then stalked back out towards the door, scooping up his wallet and keys, flicking off lights as he hurried out the door, down the hall, down the stairs and out to his car. He slipped in, turning the key in the ignition, relaxing back into the seat as the cd came on, the music blaring, surrounding him, feeding the frenzy he felt within himself.
He'd cum, but it hadn't lessened how hot he was to slide into Julia any. Hadn't lessened how much he wanted to see her helpless in front of him, have her beg and plead, know she was utterly in the moment, not hiding within some distant place, or holding herself utterly under control. To feel her surrender as his tongue scraped over the hard nub of her nipple, feel it in the insistent urging of her legs wrapping around his hips, of her wet pussy lips grinding against his cock even as she moaned his name and panted against his mouth.
Just getting to her house might be more difficult than he'd thought.