Just because you are a princess does not mean you are a good girl and it is only good girls who get rewards.
The hotel room door clicks shut softly, but its implication echoes through the room like a drum roll as you turn to face me. My heartbeat is the only thing louder filling the small, tidy space between us.
Alone.
We’re finally alone.
Travelling is never my favourite thing, but the journey here was something of an oddity.
Anticipation was thick between us as we held hands through the train station. It turned to a hungrier kind of excitement on the train ride as I discreetly stroked your thigh and teased your cock through your jeans. No one saw, and I felt smug at my tease of what I hoped was to come. The anticipation of those moments only built on the subsequent meander through the city streets before we’d arrived at the posh hotel.
Bags slung over our shoulders, we took the elevator up .. and up, up to the 43rd floor of this hotel overlooking the city like a couple of gods. We managed the journey with poise and a smile for every person that crossed our paths.
The polite couple. Sharply dressed, well-groomed. We looked the picture of presentable.
But now we are alone, and you’re already undressing me with your eyes. It’s my favourite thing to watch as the warmth in your gaze sparks and the embers catch fire until your entire expression is blazing heat. The warmth of your desire seems to move through your whole body as your strides go longer, muscles moving fluidly toward me.
You clear the space in no time, just long enough for me to languish in your hot gaze and catch fire in my own right. The heat of your need burns in my chest, flushing across my pale skin and dropping through my core. My thighs tense as your dark eyes catch mine.
A finger beneath my chin lifts my face until I have no choice but to hold your gaze (as if I’d look away right now).
The space between the chase and the capture has always been my favourite- even though I want nothing more than to be caught. I sit still, held captive by the power pouring off you and the memory of the list of items I’d been tasked with putting into the bag that now lay at my feet.
My thoughts, and my gaze, turn toward the contents of that bag, but you correct the latter in an instant.
“Princess.”
The word is praise, but the tone is a warning. I tilt my chin higher and return my gaze to yours. Your eyes stay trained on mine; the wicked knowing in them promises pleasure and pain and utter decadence. My pulse rises higher as you lower your body, crouching until your hands leave my field of vision as you reach for something.
I may as well be blindfolded for all the awareness I have beyond your face.
Dark eyes swimming with need and power, thick lashes that create a delicate frame. There’s rustling somewhere near the floor. The soft curve of your cheek above the clean cut line of your beard. A whispered zipper slides. Plush lips that I love to kiss. There’s a soft clink.
You are a picture of duality in every way. Strength and softness. Pleasure and pain. Compliment and..
“Stand up, princess.”
… Command.
I do as you say, without hesitation.
“Undress.”
My eyes remain locked on yours as I do so, my clothes coming off in methodical order. This routine is meditation now, even in this space where we could be anyone.
I can’t be anything but yours when you look at me like this and I’m captive in your power as I strip for you until I’m naked of everything except my mounting need. Still I hold your gaze.
That same soft clink sounds again, closer now, and my breath catches in my throat at the familiar note of it. Your hands bracket my hips, shifting me just a little bit toward you.
My body heats up and my will softens beneath the power in your touch. When you come to me like this, it always does. Exactly as we planned it, but always so much more.
You lean down, tenderly touching the tip of your nose to mine as your lips brush my jaw. Your touch and words are both whisper-soft, “Are you ready now Princess?”
I do not miss a beat with my breathless “yes.”
My heart swells and bursts, melting the last of my control as I tumble headfirst into your touch like Alice into Wonderland. You sense the submission as I fall and your fingertips tighten on my hips.
You lean into me, your teeth connecting with the soft skin of my shoulder as I feel your hips rock into mine and press into me.
My softness yields to your hardness in both places.
“Turn around princess.”
The command is just a formality- more notice than an instruction as you use your grip on me to turn my body until I’m facing the bed and my back is to your chest.
Your touch falls away, leaving me bereft as my pussy pulses and my skin screams for your attention. I feel unmoored and desperate without your touch and your eyes on me. Craving the next instruction, the next touch, the next unknown.
And it comes with little waiting as you bring your hands up and then down my arms, catching both my wrists in one of your hands as you grasp them together and turn them, palms up.
The clink sounds, and then the familiar supple binds of my favourite cuffs caress my wrists as a blissful smile graces my lips.
You bind my wrists as you tighten the cuffs, locking them together with the chain that hangs between the soft leather shackles.
From the cuffs, your hand travels up my spine until it catches in the hair at the nape of my neck.
I don’t remember packing my collar, yet I still wonder if you might be preparing to put it on as you collect my hair in your hand, slowly gathering most tenderly. It’s such a delicate act, and it precedes a show of ownership I cannot resist as you use the gathered hair to pull me back against you, my back to your chest, and my bound wrists pressing my fingertips into the hard bulge of your cock in your jeans.
I gasp, and you chuckle as I try to grasp you despite my confines.
“Such an eager princess,” you murmur as your head dips forward, kissing the neck you’ve bared.
You’re not wrong and you know it. I am so eager. Desperate. I feel so exposed like this.
Nude and bound while you remain dressed and utterly in control.
I’m helpless with desire and the decadence of knowing that only makes me more desperate. The coil of want builds and tightens and I writhe against you, wanting more.
So much more.
“On the bed.”
I do so without hesitation, kneeling on the bed and crawling toward the centre of the unfamiliar sheets. The image of what we’re about to do on the crisp linens makes me glad for their coolness against my overheated skin.
I turn toward you, sitting back on my heels with my hands clasped behind my back. My breasts are exposed, flushed chest and peaked nipples catching the chill of the room and tightening further.
Another time, I’d be conscious of the flare of my hips and the dimples on my thighs.
But now I’m only aware of you.
Truth be told, I like it better this way. I like it better when my legs spread as you approach, prowling along the bed with so much certainty that I can’t help myself. I sit facing you, hands bound, thighs spreading mindlessly to invite you in. I wonder briefly if you can smell the desperation of my dripping arousal in the confines of this unfamiliar space.
We could be anybody here, but I’m never anything but yours when you loom over me like this.
“You’re going to watch me princess,” you say with a cocky grin as you unzip the fly of your jeans.
Your pressed shirt is swiftly untucked as my eyes fly between your face and your waist just in time to see you pull your cock out.
You’re kneeling on the bed in front of me, powerful thighs spread for balance and flexing through your jeans as you slowly slide your fist along your cock.
I am kneeling too, watching helplessly as you give yourself the pleasure I so desperately want to be allowed to provide you.
But I am bound and naked, captive in front of you and awaiting the permission to – well, I don’t know. And that’s half the thrill.
And so I watch. And I wait.
My thighs tense and my pussy clenches. My back arches, and my eyes widen with the need to take you inside.
Just my hands are bound. I wonder if I might just reach forward, take you between my lips and-
You groan, and the sound steals all coherent thought as your grip around your cock tightens and my tongue darts out to wet parched lips.
My pussy throbs in time with my hammering heart and the world begins and ends with the slide of your hand along your shaft.
Fuck.
“Would you like to help me feel good, princess?” You ask on a breathless groan as you pause your stroke and take a slow perusal of my body on display for you.
I nod frantically, unconcerned with moderating my need for you.
But you just laugh as your pace picks up again. Your cock leaks the evidence of your enjoyment, and saliva pools in my mouth with the desire to lick it off.
Your hips buck and my back arches in immediate response. Pleasure calls to pleasure. Need calls to reward. You look unbelievable when you’re like this and the only thing better is when I watch this look of pleasure overtake your face as you fuck me.
But you’re not fucking me now and my entire body is rebelling at the though as my pussy aches and my damp thighs tense.
I watch you, helplessly enraptured as the pleasure in every line of your body builds.
Your strokes quicken. They’re shorter now and your breaths are too. You gasp, short harsh sounds of need that fill the small room and pull the oxygen straight from my lungs. That’s okay, I need your pleasure more than air right now.
I’m mindless for it, we both are, except no one’s touching me.
I pull helplessly at the cuffs as you pull expertly at your cock and my sound of frustration is drowned out by your cry of bliss as you erupt.
The first shot of thick, hot cum hits my chest, followed closely by the second before the third falls to my thighs and the fourth somewhere along the unfamiliar sheets.
I am naked, helpless, confined in the restraints of desperation and leather as you spill power and pleasure across my awareness in thick jets. I watch in awe as you drown me in your decadence and my own deprivation. Princess indeed.
Your ragged breaths as your shudders stop and your body relaxes are echoed by my own, still bound by my desperate need. When your eyes open, there’s a lazy smugness to the light that’s now softened in them and I know I must look feral with the desire still shining in my own gaze.
“Now, my princess,” he says softly, voice lulled by the softness of his waning orgasm as he reaches around my waist to unclasp the cuffs. You lean forward and kiss me gently, pushing back a piece of hair that escaped the neat twist you’d left along my back, “it’s time to get dressed.”
“Dressed?” I echo, puzzled and too desperately under your spell to make sense of this senseless order.
“Yes, Princess. Dressed. Only good girls get rewarded.”
“But!” I begin to protest as your brow arches and silences me. My protest falls to the wayside as I wade in the shallows of submission and sensibility.
But I am a good girl, I want to say. You are grinning wickedly before I find my way to words.
“So the next time I tell you no teasing on the train, do you think you might listen?”
My eyes go wide and you chuckle, your game well played and fully aware you’ve beat me at mine as your head dips forward to kiss me again.
I kiss you back, my pout pressed against your lips as my unsated need screams in the heat of my blood and the pulse of my cunt.
We can be anyone here.
Maybe a good girl isn’t who I want to be.
Chloe Meyer is a purveyor of pleasure and curiosity. Her brand, Citrus and Sex is operated with her partner and serves to make space for vulnerability and education on all things sex. You’ll find toy reviews, blogs (from Chloe and Dangerfyeld) as well as erotic writing, musings and the community endeavor called Lemon Grove.
