Mademoiselle Irascible

I have to admit, I laughed when I read your message.

Mademoiselle Irascible.

Little me, easily angered? You have no idea just how hot tempered I can be. You’ve only had but a small taste, just a warning lick of the flame.

The girl in me stomps her foot when she doesn’t get her way, her furrowed brow pairing with a beating of fists and yells of protest.

But the woman in me? Well, that’s another beast entirely.

I think I’d let my inner Domina come out to play if I had you within reach right now. That’s what happens when you don’t lavish me with the attention I want, the attention I deserve, the attention I need from you. The ruthless streak in me starts to show.

I want you restrained in four point, face up and naked, ready to receive my wrath, my rebuke. I want you to watch me slowly peel each item of clothing from my body, beside you and just out of reach, the glint in my eye barely visible in the half light of the room. I want your senses alive, your body on heat. I want to see you flinch as you feel the warm sesame oil spill on your tanned skin, my hands spreading the liquid amber through the hair on your chest and over the broad expanse of your shoulders.

I wonder what your response will be when I run my hands over my own curves, spreading the oil over my breasts and the soft of my belly. Will your eyes be hungry, watching my every move? Will your mouth water at the sight? Are you feeling slightly tortured now?

And what about when I mount you and press my naked body to yours? Will the restraints feel a little tighter when you feel my hard nipples press into your chest? Will you gasp a little when I run the whole length of my glazed frame against yours, pushing myself into you, over you, through you? I wonder how you would respond if I turned the other way, my face looking at your robust legs, your lengthening cock, my arse in the air, my wet pussy merely inches from your face, inches from your mouth. When I cloak your body with mine, wriggling and writhing over your athletic torso, will you complain about my petulance then?

I think not.

Now it’s time to up the ante, to show you just how hot-blooded I really am, how terrible I can be. I could spend an age rubbing my wetness all over your shaft, using you for my own pleasure, my own device. You’ve told me in the past you rarely beg, but I bet at this very moment you’d plead for sweet respite, plead for me to slip down the length of you and fully embed your thick cock into the depths of my plump, wet cunt. And when I finally do, know that I’m doing it for my pleasure, and my pleasure alone. When I ride that glorious prick of yours, moans escaping my scarlet lips, know that I am teaching you a lesson. When I scratch at your chest and slap at your face, with you pulling at your restraints, know your purpose. When I bite at the line of your jaw, or whisper filth in your ear whilst I come repeatedly over your throbbing cock, understand your place. And when I am spent on pleasure, burning with lust, begging you to surrender and spill into your own climax along with me, hear what I am saying.

You are mine.

Mademoiselle Irascible?

Yes, it’s true. But I think you like it.