* * * * * * * * * *
When I asked her to pull my hair, she’d looked momentarily confused, but then grinned—she was a switch after all—and happily, skillfully obliged. I responded like I always do, with a gasp-sigh of pleasure, melting into her grip, kissing her back forcefully.
“I can’t take you seriously as a top if I’m pulling your hair,” she told me laughingly when we came up for air.
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me, you’re switchy as shit!”
“Well, right, from scene to scene.” Here she rolled on top of me and kissed me, and I didn’t much mind the interruption. “But tonight you are definitely topping me—”
“And doing a damn fine job of it,” I teased.
“Damn fine,” she agreed. “But: if you’re supposed to be topping”—another sound kiss—“how’m I supposed to take you seriously”—she threaded her fingers through my hair—“when you ask me to do this?” She gripped and pulled, and I sighed in pleasure. “And when you react like that,” she added as an afterthought, smiling cheekily at me.
I suddenly realized how much I was going to enjoy wiping that smile off her face.
“You can’t take me seriously, huh?” I began in my coolest voice, and I saw the unmistakable flicker of “what did I get myself into” in her eyes, and then my hand was tangled up in her hair and I was gripping just hard enough to make her go suddenly still, breathing hard, eyes wide. Her body was warm against mine, crushing into me deliciously.
“Let me tell you something,” I said softly. “You pulled my hair because I asked you to. Not because you wanted to, not because you’re dominating me. You pull my hair because it brings me pleasure. And I pull your hair—” I tightened my grip and wrenched her head back and she gasped in surprise and pain and desire. “I pull your hair because it brings me pleasure. So really…” I smiled, very slowly. “It’s all about me. My desires. My pleasure. And it has been this whole time. Is that toppy enough for you?”
I was still gripping her hair tightly. She was breathing hard and her eyes were locked on mine, our faces inches apart.
“How does it feel,” I asked silkily, “to be so focused on me? So very, intently focused on me: on my words, on my body, how I feel underneath you?”
She was already blinking a little bit more, looking a little glazed, even as I held her by the hair.
“How does it feel to be so completely aware of me, so completely subsumed by me?” Eyelids fluttering in earnest now.
“There are so”—I yanked on her hair—“very”—another yank—“many”—a third—“nerve endings in your scalp. And I’ll bet if you focus you can feel that delicious pain in every... single... one. And you know that your pain brings me pleasure, so I’ll bet you can feel that pleasure in every single follicle, feeling how good it feels to make me feel so good…”
Her eyes fluttered close as she sagged against me, and she gave a soft moan that struck me right between the legs. (God, but she looked so sexy like this, face and mind slack and blank and open…)
“Wait, though,” I chided—a few snaps near her head and she reluctantly dragged her eyes back open. “You don’t get to drop yet. I want to show you something.” I guided her free hand to the back of my head and twisted it in my hair. Her eyes, still locked on mine, widened.
“Pull,” I instructed, “just a bit,” and she did, and it felt gentle and lovely and I allowed myself a small sigh of pleasure. “Good girl.” (I could see her melt just a bit at those words.)
“You remember how good it felt when I did this to you, don’t you?” She nodded, eyes already starting to go glassy again because I was talking in that voice. “And you can imagine how good it feels for me right now, can’t you?” Another nod. “And you want to make me feel good, don’t you?” Nod, vacant stare.
“Pull harder, and feel my pleasure focusing you, pulling you down.” She gripped at my hair deliciously even as she fought to keep her eyes open.
“Harder, and feel how good you’re making me feel, and feel that pleasure rolling through your body ten times as strong.” This time, when her hand tightened in my hair, we both gasped.
“Good girl,” I murmured. “The better I feel, the better you feel. So very focused on my body, feeling my pleasure ten times over. Now: touch me.”
She blinked rapidly at that as if to clear her head, but her eyes were still blank as she disentangled her hand from my hair and brushed a finger lightly across my nipple. I gave a low hum of pleasure, and she gasped and twitched a bit on top of me as that same sensation washed over her.
She started to touch me then, slowly and deliberately, in all the ways she knew I liked, and she squirmed against me even as her eyes remained glassy and unfocused. God, but she felt amazing, naked body pressed against mine, her cunt slick against my thigh as she unconsciously rocked her hips in time with her touches.
“It feels so good to bring me pleasure, doesn’t it?” I murmured against her, and she whimpered her assent. Her nails caught my side in just the right way and I gave a low moan, and her hips bucked against me in answer.
“Sweetheart...” I tangled her hand in my hair and it sat there, limply, awaiting instruction. With that hand out of commission and the other supporting her weight, she turned her mouth to me instead, kissing and sucking and licking expertly even through her trance, and moaning against my skin when I squirmed in response.
“Sweetheart, you know how good it makes me feel when you pull my hair, don’t you?” An incoherent “yes” against my neck. “Imagine how good that will feel to me, and imagine how much better it will feel to you. When you yank my head back, when you bring me so much pleasure… How good would it feel to experience that pleasure ten, twenty, fifty times as strong?”
She squirmed against me as I increased the pace of my words. “Imagine feeling that incredible pleasure, coursing through you, until your body can’t take it anymore, until you’re so full up to bursting with the pleasure that you finally come, until you come and come and come harder than you have in your life, feeling so fucking incredible because of how good you’re making me feel, because all that matters in the world to you right now is my pleasure.” I paused, drew breath. “Would you like that, sweetheart?”
She nodded, dazedly.
“Tell me,” I demanded. “Say it. Do you want to pull my hair?”
“Y-yes,” she managed, words slurring together as she fought to keep her eyes open.
“Why?”
“T’make you feel good. T’bring you pleasure. Oh...” The tension in her body was palpable as she quivered against me, one hand still tangled loosely in my hair.
“Beg,” I told her.
She whimpered. “Please,” she mumbled at me, “please let me pull your hair, let me make you feel good, I want, oh god, please, let me, I want, fffuck…”
Her words and her desperation melted me all over and I ran my hands over her, reveling in the softness of her skin and the tautness of her body, thrumming with tension and ready to burst.
“You want to pull my hair?”
“Mmhmm,” she managed, rocking against me even harder.
“You want to make me feel good?”
“Yesss. Oh, yes, oh…”
“You want to come harder than you’ve ever come in your life?”
“Yes, oh, fuck, please, yes, please, let me…”
I smiled at her slowly. “Good girl,” I told her. “Go ahead. Pull.”
She tightened her hand into a fist and twisted, and I felt the pleasant shiver of it run down my spine, and on top of me she gasped and cried out, and endlessly, breathlessly, grinding helplessly against me, she came and came and came.
* * * * * * * * * *
“And coming back up at your own pace, drifting back up to the surface, feeling awake and alert, remembering everything that just happened and ready to talk about how it all felt. Come on up, sweetie, take your time.”
Gradually she stirred, stretched, blinked her eyes open. “Hi,” she said breathlessly, and gave me a bleary smile before snuggling up next to me and laying her head on my chest. I held her tight with one arm and stroked her hair gently.
“Hi yourself,” I told her, grinning into her hair. “How was that?”
“Fucking amazing,” she murmured into my chest. “Fuck. Just… fuck.”
I smiled even more broadly at that. “Do you need anything?”
“Mmm… snuggles.” She burrowed closer to me.
“I was thinking maybe more like… water?”
She chuckled at that. “Yes, water. Water is good.”
We shifted so that her face was free, and she took a long drink from the glass of water I passed her from the bedside table. When she was finished, I drained the rest of the glass, and put my arm back around her.
“How was… I mean, were you, was that… how was that for you?” she asked, with a sudden shyness that made me burst out laughing.
“It was fuckin’ amazing for me is how it was,” I told her. “God, you’re hot.” She grinned like an idiot—I’m sure I did too—and scooted down to lay her head on my chest. “Did you need anything from me? Did that all feel okay? Oh, and you can feel those suggestions all fading away, leaving your pleasure all your own, exactly as it was before we played.”
She giggled against me. “Thanks. No, I feel great. More snuggles.”
I smiled. “Okay,” I told her amiably.
And snuggle we did.
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