A Weekend Named Desire

I didn’t expect to remember his smell. His skin. It smells familiar. Maybe because it is—or rather, it was. Back when we were both just teenagers, fumbling our way through college and twisted twin sheets. I barely knew my own body then. He barely grew stubble then. But while so much has changed in ten years, the smell of his skin remains the same.

His hands are on my hips now, cupping them firmly yet purposely. He’s not aggressive but he is in control. Just the way I like it.

I can’t think straight anymore with him this close to me. So close, we have nowhere to look but each other’s eyes. All I can see is the reflection of my own in his pupils, watching them swell as I feel him swell against me. I want his lips on mine but I wait. I wait and I beg him without words. My breath is already short. My heart pounds with anticipation and suddenly my hands are tingling—I can’t resist touching his bare chest. Doing so sends an electric shock through my body, pulsing from my fingertips, catching in my throat. I shudder but he doesn’t flinch. His grip gets stronger. And I tilt my chin up, ever so slightly.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. This isn’t where our story starts.

~~~

We met as college freshmen. Baby adults, both not yet twenty. Neither of us can remember now how it began exactly; just that we were always friends. It felt expected, natural, being connected in some way, if not just because we lived in the same dormitory. 

Living in a dormitory together is a bonding experience you never quite let go of. The people you share life within that capacity are a bit special—not all of them, but some stand out. He stands out. He played football then, and I remember he seemed confident, but not in an arrogant sort of way. He was reflective. And he was kind, and handsome, and quirky, and smart. He was all the good things you think of when you think of a good one.

It happened after winter break. We came back from a long stretch apart and decided to be friends with benefits. Lovers. I liked the sound of it—it felt grown-up, nonchalant, and mature. The details are fuzzy now, but we agreed on some boundaries without really knowing what we were doing, yet certain it had to be respectful. Consensual. Mutual.

On random nights, one of us would text the other, and inevitably, we’d end up in one of our beds; usually mine. We promised not to tell anyone. Maybe we thought we didn’t have feelings for each other—but we did. We were crushing. Hard.

We stuck to teasing, mostly. Heavy on the making out, our hands all over each other. Half naked. We devoured as much of each other as we could. Just enough to satisfy our urges, to keep us coming back. Our chemistry was undeniable, both in and out of bed. We knew what the other wanted without vocalizing it; our pace never rushed. We savored it—all of it. Our mouths conveyed more than we cared to admit.

Things were easy with him. There was no drama, no awkward moments. Our bodies and our minds meshed. We could have existed like this for a long time, but suddenly, it ended. We don’t remember how, or why. It was mutual, just like it began. No hard feelings, no ruined friendship. Just as fluidly as we had moved into this iteration of our connection, we moved into the next.

And then college ended. We were in and out of touch; mostly out. A decade passed. Until he found me online.

“I love this,” he messaged out of the blue about something personal I shared. “You always were the coolest.”

My heart flip-flopped.

Over the months of flirty, feverish texting that ensued, I discovered we were both single, overworked, city professionals who had somehow found jobs in the same industry. We had a lot to talk about.

Neither of us were looking for more than a fling, but it certainly felt good to find someone, it turned out, with the same sexual deviances. Between a love for bondage and a predilection for age play, we had more in common now than we’d known. And so, between dozens of kinky text exchanges, we began planning a reunion rendezvous. 

I can’t sleep, he texted me one night, just as I’d crawled into bed. Thinking about all the dirty things I want to do to you.

Like what? I texted back, prying for more. He always gave me more. 

Like….I want to take you like this. But your arms are tied. He texted me a gif of a woman bent over a couch, her cheek pressed into the back cushion, a man’s hard cock thrusting in and out of her pussy, at just the angle I like. I yanked my panties down under the covers. I was already tingling. 

Will you pull my hair please too? And tell me I’m a good little girl? I texted back immediately. 

You know it, baby, he wrote. 

So let’s make it happen, I texted impulsively. 

How? When? He was hooked. 

A kinky sex trip? I typed out. Like, we meet up somewhere cool and spend the weekend bringing to life all the fantasies we text about.

I’m in. He typed back. No hesitation. Let’s do it.

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“Hey you,” he breathes now as he gets out of the car. Smiles. Runs a hand through his hair. 

It’s not awkward. Not that I thought it would be—it never was.

“Hi,” I breathe back, ducking my head a little, suddenly shy.

I’m shivering, though it’s May. A year has passed since we reconnected. Now here we are, finally meeting up in the middle of the Poconos; halfway between our respective cities. A sex weekend. A whole two days and two nights dedicated solely to as much sex as we could possibly desire.

He slings his duffle bag over his shoulder and walks toward me where I’m standing in the frame of the open front door. I watch his thighs in his tight jeans, notice the shape of his hands. I forgot how deep his eyes are, his jawline strong and long. Every feature on him is perfectly proportional. I can’t stop staring. Did I appreciate how hot he was in college?

“Wow, I’ve missed you,” he whisper-growls in my ear as he sweeps me up in a big hug. I laugh and squeeze his back affectionately. Or try to. I can feel his muscles through his shirt.

“It’s been ages,” I gush, distracted.

We linger here a second too long for just friends, even friends with benefits, my head pressed into his broad chest, his hand resting gently on my hair, the other at my tailbone. I resist the urge to lift up on my tiptoes, nudge my head into his neck.

“How’s the place?” he asks, breaking the spell between us.

We pull away and step inside together. I’m surprised when he grabs for my hand. I lead him around—the only time I’ll lead all weekend, I know—showing off the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the lake, the long wooden dining table, the marble kitchen counters. Every part of the house suddenly seems like an invitation to get naked.

“Impressive,” he remarks, slowly trailing a hand over the cool marble, and glances my way. Is he thinking the same thing?

“Functional,” I tease. He laughs and winks at me.

We end in the bedroom, complete with a four-poster bed and vaulted ceilings, where he drops his duffle and turns to face me. I’m already blushing as his eyes meet mine, but I hold his gaze. There is electricity between us. I know he can feel it, too.

“Hungry?” I ask tentatively, hoping he says no. Please no. 

“For you,” he says.

I sense a part of me tingling that I haven’t felt for a while.

“Dinner later?”

He steps forward, just inches away, breaks into my space. I feel his body radiating heat and energy, though we’re not even touching. Yet.

“I’ll take care of that when we’re finished,” he says, voice soft yet stern. He hooks a finger under my chin, commanding me to look at him. “You’re my priority this weekend. Remember?”

I nod. He runs his index finger over my lips. Just for a second. It takes everything in me not to wrap my lips around it tightly and suck.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

I notice my panties are suddenly wet. My legs feel weak. He points in the direction of the en suite in our bedroom.

“Go unwind and relax, freshen up. I’ll be in soon.”

The water is so scalding hot it almost burns me, but I can’t think clearly enough to adjust it. I hear him over the shower stream on the other side of the wall, as he unzips his jeans and they drop to the floor. I wonder what he looks like, standing there like that in his briefs.

But I don’t have to wonder—as I turn back around, he’s leaning in the doorway, hands slung over the top frame, and I nearly gasp. The muscles in his thighs, his chest, his arms, are curved and defined, his cock already bulging in his briefs.

“Let me look at you,” he orders.

I make sure the water is running over my breasts, nipples wet and suddenly firm, despite the foggy heat in the glass-walled shower. I smooth my wet hair off my shoulders.

“God you’re delicious,” he muses, eyes gliding up and down my body, lingering on every inch of me. Memorizing me.

It’s the first time he’s seen me fully naked, I realize. No hiding in dark dorm rooms or under sheets, half undressed as we struggle to withstand our deepest desires. Here, we are finally, fully exposed to each other, to have and to take entirely. Over and over.

“Join me?” I beg. My voice sounds foreign to my ears, shaky with desire.

He continues studying me, and I worry I’ve interrupted him. He works his way back up my body, eyes trailing slowly over my hips, my stomach, my breasts, before he meets my eye.

“Patience, baby,” he coddles. “You’ll have me when I let you.”

I love his strictness, his particularness. His intentionality and mild paternalism. Although it pains me, I close my eyes and rinse my hair once more before I leave the steamy shower. When I open them, he is inches from me again, watching my hands as they brush droplets of water from my face. He catches my wrist in motion and I feel myself throbbing. He cups my cheek in his hand, rubbing a thumb against it softly.

“Beautiful.”

Whispered like a prayer. And I want so badly to be worshipped.

He nudges me out of the shower, and I sense his eyes making contact with my ass as I move for my towel. 

“Dry off, then stand at the edge of the bed and wait for me.”

“Yes daddy,” I answer.

It slips out of my lips before I can stop it. But he doesn’t seem phased. In fact, as I glance back, he seems quite pleased, his own lips turned upward, eyes full of mischievous lust.

His skin. Perhaps it’s the same soap he used all those years ago--more likely, it’s just his natural aroma--but whatever it is, it’s inebriating. His hair is still dripping wet as he meets me at the foot of the bed, eyelashes glistening. Naked now, too.

“Listen carefully, little one,” he warns me. His breath smells faintly of spearmint. “I want you to know exactly what I’m going to do to you first.”

I nod my head, not breaking eye contact.

“I’m going to start by running my hands all over you. Work my way up and down your body, before my lips begin to do the same,” he says and moves even closer. My nipples just barely brush against his exposed chest. “I’m going to do this until you’re dripping for me.” He pauses to make sure he has my full attention. I can’t breathe; I’m hanging onto his every word.

“Then I’m going to tie your wrists together, and your ankles to the bedposts. My mouth is going to make its way to your pussy. You’re going to let me run my tongue all over you and inside you, and I’m going to get you so close you can’t bear it, and then stop. I’m going to keep doing this, even if you ask me to let you climax. Do you understand?”

“Yes daddy,” I muster. “I understand.”

“You remember our safeword?” he checks in and I nod.

“And after?” I ask, like a greedy child. I’m salivating heavily and I force myself to swallow.

“The rest is a surprise.”

He places one palm along my jaw, the other on my neck, and goosebumps instantly appear along my arms. My lip is quivering.

“Are you ready?”

“Take me,” I whimper, my eyes begging. “I’m yours.”

He does exactly as he promises. His touch is delicate but purposeful, fingertips trailing tenderly over sensitive areas I wouldn’t have expected to feel so sensual--the backs of my ears, my collarbone, the insides of my wrists and forearms. And when his hands grasp my hips, I can’t help but touch him back. He allows this, and I feel him get harder, pressed up against me. He tugs my hips forward.

“Fu--fuck,” I stutter. I can’t take it anymore. I need his mouth on mine.

It’s as if he’s read my mind. He kisses me, full and firm, desire pressing with impatience against the back of his lips, and I feel my wetness sliding down the inside of my upper thigh. His tongue is in my mouth, pulsing in and out, as if he is fucking me with it. I can’t get enough.

Suddenly, he lifts me up, hands squeezing the underside of my ass with sureness. He places me back on the bed and is already on top of me, his chest rippling with a mix of heat and muscle. He holds me there, suspended above me just slightly, pinning me down with one arm while the other reaches under the mattress. He pulls out a bundle of rope. He must have hid it there earlier.

I watch as he nimbly ties my wrists together, so slick and quick and gentle that I barely blink and I’m constrained. I tug my wrists apart to test, and without missing a beat, he pushes my arms back above my head.

“You can’t break free,” he growls. “Trust me.”

And I do. I do as he ties my ankles next, spreading my legs wide open across the expanse of the bed. I feel them trembling, and I know I’m already a puddle for him. His fingers, lips, and tongue, all begin to sweep the length of my legs, softly brushing against my inner thighs. He finds my wetness there and devours it without hesitation. One of his hands glides along my thigh, pushing it back as far as possible so it strains the ropes on my ankles; and the other hand comes up to tease my breasts.

When his tongue collides with my clit, a storm erupts inside of me. He works his way around every inch of me, before he takes each of my lips in his mouth and sucks, just gently. I am so wet, he is sliding all over me, barely able to lap it all up in time.

Just when I think I can’t handle another second, I feel his fingers enter me firmly. A moan escapes my lips and I start breathing in time to his fingers pulsing inside of me, pressing with expert precision right on the spot that makes me squirm with yearning.

“Please daddy,” I can’t resist, even though I know it won’t matter. I feel him stop and I look down--his mouth hasn’t broken contact with my cunt but his eyes bore into me, testing me.

“Please what?” 

“Please don’t stop.”

I know as soon as the words are out of my mouth, it’s over. Before I can even blink again, he is swiftly on top of me, legs straddling my head, his hard cock just inches from my lips.

“Open your mouth for daddy,” he commands.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I lick my lips and feel him slide into my warm, wet little mouth. He instantly fills it, the tip of his smooth cock nudging against the back of my throat. I run my tongue all over him, saliva already dripping all over both of us. As he inches himself further into my mouth, I squeeze my lips softly near the base of him, flicking my tongue over and over against his hard shaft. I hear him moan, feel him get even harder, and I lose control.

“Yes baby,” he moans, thrusting in and out of my mouth faster.

He grabs my hair and tilts my head back, squeezes his thighs tightly around my face to hold me steady. The pressure of his legs wrapped around my head like that intoxicates me. I give over to him and let him use me exactly as he pleases.

Just as I think he’s going to come, I feel him pull out and watch as he wets his fingers in his mouth and quickly slides them back inside of me as he continues stroking himself. The surprise of it makes my body ache for him, hips leaving the bed as I beg for more. I’m whimpering now, can feel the mix of his saliva and my own wetness trickling down my asshole and onto the sheets beneath me.

He grips my ass as his mouth meets my pussy again, tongue swirling circles around my clit.

“You taste so fucking amazing,” he whispers, making me throb even more. I groan as he shoves his tongue deep inside of me.

“Mmmm, you like when daddy fucks you with his mouth, don’t you?” he asks teasingly. 

I nod my head, longing in my eyes, and he looks up at me and pauses.

“Say it.” It’s an order.

“Yes daddy,” I squeak out.

“Good girl.”

He edges me, over and over, until I’m nearly hyperventilating. The room is spinning and all I can feel is pure pleasure overwhelming my entire body each time he brings me closer and closer. Eventually, I know I am in his complete control, my body his for now to provoke and tease and use. I am so frustrated, my body writhing with every possible sensation from his touch, his words, his entire being. I can’t take another second of it when he breaks into my sub space with a command.

“You’re going to cum now,” he tells me finally. “You’re going to cum for me.” 

“Yes sir,” I cry out. I am nearly in tears.

His fingers coax me to climax, his tongue moving rhythmically against my clit, and I let myself go, giving over to it all entirely. He builds me up and up and up, not breaking for a second, as my back arches and my legs tense and I can’t help but shout his name as I begin to feel it, that heady wave rolling out from my pussy and across every inch of my body. He urges me on, not slowing down, his mouth firmly following as my body nearly convulses under his touch. My fingernails are digging into my palms, wrists still pressed together with rope, my legs are shaking, and the full pulse of my orgasm takes over. I moan so loudly and so desperately it’s almost a howl. I feel my muscles involuntarily squeeze against his fingers still inside me, as each wave washes over me, head to toe. It is so strong, so intense, I feel like I might pass out.

I am left gasping. Hands tingling. Body shivering. 

“Fuck yes,” he gasps back.

He slowly releases my pussy, places his warm palm over my throbbing wet cunt with a tenderness I’ve never experienced, and comes up to kiss me passionately on the mouth, his own still glistening with my cum. I lick it off my lips and he smiles at me with almost disbelief in his eyes and licks his own. The muscles in his arms are strained, and I can faintly hear the blood rushing through his veins. Or perhaps that’s my own blood. My heart won’t slow down.

“Thank you daddy,” I whisper. He chuckles, runs a hand through his hair, as he kneels over me and traces a finger from my breasts to my belly button. I shudder under his touch. I feel feverish with lust.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet, little one,” he smirks. “We’re not done here.”

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Photo by Khoa Võ