On top.

He is laying on his back as I straddle his waist. My thighs are tight against his sides, my hands planted on his chest. The skin is beautiful and lush but not delicate. Just firm, flushed, and alive. I can feel the strength of his heartbeat underneath my fingers.

I run my fingers on the underside of his arms, coaxing them up, wrapping my hands around his hands, wrapping his hands above a bar which is directly above his head, leaving him exposed.

"I know you're stronger than me." Which is probably true. He's larger than I am, and if he really wanted to hurt me, he could. "I want you to hold onto this because I know you're stronger than me." My fingers, nails rich red slicking over his fair skin, trail his fingers. "I'm not putting on cuffs or ropes because I want to test that you are as strong as me."

I lean down, teeth finding the lobe of his ear and biting, pulling slightly. "I believe you are. But we'll find out." When we first began, I would be tied up and bound in order not to move. My hands would be secured, and I could move and wiggle and strain and struggle as much as I want, but I could not move. But as I became a better and better girl, they became irrelevant. A good girl needs to bounds. And now I simply wiggle and strain, but never, ever move.

I sit up and press the pads of two fingers into my lips, and then into his lips. I shift back a little and feel his cock stir against my ass. I stroke his bottom lip with the pad of my thumb, softly, the tips of my nails running over his jaw line, which I always ache to kiss. His skin is soft and the tiniest pull of his stubble, the interruptions in the smoothness of his skin, make me want to taste him.

Instead, I pull back and slap him across the face, hard. I watch his eyes close and squeeze and open along with his mouth. His jaw tenses and I see his arms and hands do the same. The girl who has knelt at his feet, the dedicated babydoll, has just hit him. I watch as his muscles struggle against the idea. I watch him hold onto the bar and it makes me smile. I slap him again, harder, watching anger rise in him.

I stroke his cheek so softly. The back of my fingers move over the reddened apple of his cheek. His hands relax again as I shift a little further down, grinding down into his cock just slightly. I roll my hips and feel him respond.

I pull my arm back and punch him in the chest one, twice, three times in a row, watching him strain and buckle a little as my fist pound just over his heart. My hand finally comes down in one single slap. He finally yells, and I giggle, looking down and seeing my red hand print, looking like a bird with spread wings. He struggles to regain his breath and I lean down and kiss his chest.

I pause before I continue to punch, striking him over and over in the chest before finishing with a slap across the face. I have given him too long between slaps to calm down. I want to see him strain against himself, to struggle not to reach up and slap me back. I grab his face and squeeze, his mouth opening, and I spit directly inside.

"Swallow."

He does, his eyes tight on mine.

I spit again. "Swallow."

He does.

I spit again. "Hold it in your mouth."

He does. I smile and let go, his jaw staying lowered. His strength intimidates me, but this is just as much of a challenge as one of his beatings. But no matter how little I understand it, I am getting soaked. I love, I live to serve and be used. Serving him, being his perfect toy is tantamount to ecstasy and bliss for me. That being said, I catch myself off guard at how soaked, how drenched and dripping wet I get when I feel in control. I grind down, and even though he is still wearing boxers, my cunt in soaking through that fabric as well. He feel him push up against me, trying to distract me.

I slap my hand down on the other side of his chest, giving him a mirrored bird on the other side. As he writhes I lean down and take a nipple between my lips, letting my tongue lick teasingly before I bite. I am already imagining the marks I will leave. I bite down hard on his nipple, pulling until it wiggle from my teeth. As soon as it is gone I am down again, my teeth finding skin on his pale chest and clamping down, squeezing as he cries out, his arms still rigid and tight on the bar above his head. I bite down again and again, leaving beautiful red ovals cascading down his side and to his stomach, each time sliding down his legs further and further and further.

His boxers are soaked from my cunt. I pull them down and wrap my lips around his cock, tasting his cock and myself at the same time. Teeth scrape over the shaft as I run down and I feel him tense. He is curious. He is afraid. He is trusting, but there is a moment of question about how far I will go. I pull my teeth back slowly, pulling off of his cock, watching him sweat, below rolling my tongue around the tip, squeezing it slowly with my hand.

I sit up, stroking his cock slowly, softly. I shift my hips and slide up, moving up to straddle just over his cock. My hands moves between my legs, teasing my clit just enough to begin to drip over his cock, drizzling my cum over his head and down the shaft.

I shift off of him, turning to straddle his face, just above him, knees on either side of his face. I begin to stroke my cunt again, dripping down over his lips, into his mouth. He leans up slightly and I tighten my thighs, holding his head in place. I can feel him smile, and it makes me giggle.

After another long moment, when he relaxes his neck, I release his head and lower my cunt over his mouth. My hands sit on his chest, placing my palms back on the red spots I have already left. I tense as I finally lower and feel his tongue meet my clit. My hips slowly rock against his mouth. His lips suck on my clit, teasing my swollen pussy with his tongue. I fight to not moan, but my hips are not under my control. I grind down on his mouth.

His arms tense and tighten around my thighs as my hips start to move faster against his mouth. I press harder on his chest, letting my nails dig into his skin. My desire to cum is clouding my mind and I struggle to maintain control. I take his hands and pull them from the bar he held and place them on my thighs. He takes my cue and eagerly lifts his head, devouring my cunt as he squeezes my thighs. My hips begin to pump against his roughly, fucking his tongue over and over.

"Make me cum." I hear the grumble in his throat as much as I feel it. His fingers grip. "Make me fucking cum." I tense against him, fighting to grind harder into his mouth as my fist comes down on his chest again.

He tenses but it only makes him lick me harder. I punch him again, feeling electricity running through me every time I feel his tongue tense and then work to please me. He is rough with my cunt and I am demanding more.

I push him down before climbing off of his face. He sits up and I push him back down. I am not relinquishing this moment. I slap him across the face and put a hand to his throat, squeezing as I lower myself on his cock and begin to ride him. I tighten my fingers and my cunt until I feel him strain. His hands move to my hips and he starts to buck hard, his cock rocking inside of me.

I squeeze again. "Make me cum and you cant breathe." He nods, his eyes tight and vicious. His hips move hard and slow, forcefully pumping into my cunt over and over and over. I ache against him, my cunt pulsing as my fingers squeeze tighter. I can feel the muscles in his throat tighten, and I see his mouth and open ache for air in a tell-tale sign that I have felt but not seen.

"Fuck me." His cock fills me and I fight not to cum so easily. He does not get this easily. I rock against him, swollen and wanting to explode. I roll my hips, tensing my pussy, feeling it begin to tremble. I want to cum.

He fights hard to keep pumping in such a controlled thrust. He has proven himself as far as I am concerned, but I will not release until I cum. His hands squeeze on my hips, and I love how they struggle. He is fighting to make me cum, holding his own breath whether I squeeze his throat or not.

When I cum I release and he gasps hard. I scream, exploding over his cock. My other hand grips into his side and will leave red half circles from my nails. My cunt tightens hard on his cock, pulsing and trembling. I pump hard, once, twice. My bottom lip trembles as I lower myself down on his chest, pulling my arms in under my body. My lips find his skin.

"I pass?"

I nod, eyes sliding shut.

"You scared for next time?"

I nod, smiling and again kissing his chest.

"You should be."

Public/Private New York

He pushes my face into the glass of the window. The warmth of the sun roses my cheek until the pressure of his hand turns it white again. There is a small footstool, and he is so tall, that I must balance on top of it, still stretched on my toes.

I wobble a little as he pulls up my skirt and takes off my top, nipples crushed against the glass now. He is being more rash than usual. I would smile at his rush if my face wasn't crushed into the window. He wants to be inside me and this makes me happy. But in his rush, his brutality is laid bare.

I whimper a little as his arm flexes and pushes me harder into the glass. My fingers try and grip onto the metal at the base of the window, but all I succeed in doing it flaking the red which coats my nails. My toes dig into the footstool as I arch my feet painfully high, and in my precarious placement, I continue to dig my fingers into the metal to try and find some kind of hold. He pushes me harder into the window, which I imagine is what is really keeping my upright.

Finally I feel him release and I shakily plop down onto the foot stool, bracing myself against the window. His arms move around me as they slide the glass up, and there is nothing between me and the cold air of the encroaching winter. I am caught off guard, my nipples hardening to painful points, my chest losing air frighteningly fast, tipping forward and almost falling out onto the fire escape.

But with the window open I brace myself against the frame. I arch out, my ass sticking back into his hardening cock as I feel him unzip his pants behind me. I want him inside me, swollen and thick. I spread my legs, waiting. My breath is ragged from the cold, and I realize after a long moment that I am holding it in until he fucks me.

The pause is monumental. I am soaked. He is hard.

"Do you see him, baby?"

I look up. Outside I see my fire escape. I see the building that is across the small, kissing back yards of my building and the building on the street below. I try and make a quick scan but my mind is on the empty, dripping crevice between my legs.

"Look, baby." His voice is quiet and calm in a way which only frustrates me more.

I finally see it. I am bent slightly at the waist, tits pale and exposed to the cold, tipped out my own kitchen window, hovering above the fire escape, trying to keep quiet. And not 30 feet away, close enough to speak. Close enough to see. Is a man smoking a cigarette. He is calm, but watching intently. His cigarette has paused and I can imagine how it is slowly burning, unnoticed, towards his thick fingers.

"Do you see what I see?"

I nod. I try not to make eye contact while still staring at him and vice versa. I can't stop looking, waiting for him to respond. He simply continues to watch. After a long stand off between the two of us, he finally sucks on his cigarette, still moving in practically slow motion.

"I see him."

"Good girl." His hands grip around my waist and I feel his cock ram into me, the head of his cock claiming every inch of my pussy in a single swoop.

My face contorts and the man with the cigarette knows. I cry out, dropping my head and letting my hair fall into my face. I moan as my pussy tightens around him, begging him to stay inside me as long as he can. As my breath slows and becomes fuller, he pulls out and fucks me again, hard enough to slam my hips into the wall of the kitchen. I moan again, louder, whimpering as the moan decrescendos.

I grip the frame of the window as I try and hold back. He always tells me I'm too loud, covering my mouth or filling it with panties or his cock. This is the moment where he needs to do nothing and I will struggle to be silent. I bite my bottom lip, I press my lips together, I cover my own my with my hand, trying to react less, trying to make less of a spectacle for the man who is now lighting another cigarette. I wonder if he was a chain smoker before this incident.

He continues to fuck me, taking no notice of the man. His fingers slide over my hip to find and rub my clit in small circles, teasing me, making me pulse around his cock as I am filled over and over and over.

I finally gain the courage to look up, pushing the hair out of my face. I lurch forward with each thrust, hitting the kitchen wall over and over and over, tits bouncing. I look him in the face, in the eyes, and stare at him as I am fucked harder and harder.

My bottom lip begins to tremble but I hold my gaze. I am being destroyed, my cunt is owned and aching from his cock. I moan, letting them escape from the back of my throat.

I am taking it like a good girl should. I am being fucked like the best little cunt the world could imagine. I am being fucked by a man who owns me. And I am proud.

And as I feel that swell inside of me rise higher and higher, I stare at the man with the cigarette and let a snarl bloom on my face and a curl form in my lips. I am being fucked. I am being used and claimed and dirtied. And as I stare at him, his arm freezes and the cigarette fails to reach his lips. My hips push back for more of his cock, begging him silently to give me more. I want this man with the cigarette to dream of this moment, of seeing a wanton, willing, aching slut be taken, consumed, overwhelmed, controlled. I stare at the man with the cigarette and though I say nothing, he knows.

He holds my hair and pulls my head back, arching my body in a single, severe curve from my ass to the top of my head. "Do you see what I see now, baby?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

It's November 6!

This is going to be a boring one, but as many of you know - I'm a political little librarian, and so you can't imagine that I wouldn't say something. I know I'm not supposed to put stuff like this up here, but it's important to me, and I'm hoping that elections are important to you, too. I'm heading off to vote after I finish this tasty omelet of mine.There are a million reasons to stay home an abstain and complain about everyone, which is fine, but whether you feel it's your civic duty, or you see real change, or the sticker is going to get you laid and cheap beer tonight - vote.

People throw around all these ideas about the founders and God, and their intention for large or small government, and a lot of it is absolutely convenient speculation based on the outcome you would like (sorry Scalia, I know your game). But one thing the Founders actually did was make sure that the people (well, at that time people = land-owning white men, but just go with me) could have a bloodless revolution every four years. It was their gift to every generation to come. Today is the day that we acknowledge and honor that gift.

So if that's not enough for you (and you were curious about my political beliefs), here's why I'm voting today:

1. The Economy: Romney's loves his tagline "the government doesn't create jobs." That is a dandy platform if you're running for CEO, but it's a cop out when you're running for President. I believe in a mix of capital injections, public works projects, and quantitative easing. I believe that an increase in social services to low-income folks which allows them access to job training and education is necessary to make sure that inequity begins to close, not expand. I believe trickle-down is pure fiction, and I believe if you look at the growing inequality and the implementation of trickle-down theory, there is a very clear correlation. I don't believe that we should raise the ceiling on profit potential with more opportunities for businesses, I believe we need to raise the floor with opportunities for people, including the un and underemployed, low-skilled jobs which have sunset clauses built in, and middle and low income communities. Which brings me to...

2. Education: I have always believed (much like Aaron Sorkin and Sam Seaborn) that education is the silver bullet. Investment in education at all levels of income is the only way to make sure we remain a strong economy. The shift to public education financing coming primarily for property taxes had dire structural impacts. Charter schools which use money from public funds, reduction in PELL grants, and additional pushes towards privatization mean increasing inequality, and a divestment from future competitiveness internationally. Education - genuine educational opportunities - means not only a practical guarantee that we will remain on par with education levels in other countries (we spend way less per child than most places), but it also means reductions in crime, structural inequality, and science and technology advancements (including medical care, which should really resonate with an aging Baby Boomer population who will face increasing risks for cancer). Among other things.

3. I don't have health insurance.

4. Reproductive Rights: This one should be pretty obvious. And this one should be enough to get you all to vote. Reproductive rights are not a women's issue. The right of every couple/family/individual to have access to basic family planning and medical care is not just a women's issue. The inability to access safe care, correct medical information, and to do it all without shame or stigma is just a serious issue.

5. The Supreme Court: Two nominations are likely coming in the next four years. And Scalia's relatively young and no one should ever hire Clearance Thomas, so they're both staying put. Which means that the next two put on the bench could mean a turning point. The next twenty years are going to be about privacy- the delineation between the corporate and the citizen, the line between the personal and the public. If you're reading this blog, that should resonate with you. They're not deciding on guns or voting rights anymore, they're deciding on limitations on search and seizure, on private domain. If you're reading this blog, I'm guessing you're going to err on the side of privacy as well.

6. Rape: Why the hell is this an issue? I rub my eyes and make a Scooby Doo "huh?" noise every time this comes up. And it may sound insane every time it gets discussed, as the concepts of "forced rape" or "legitimate rape" will never appear in federal legislation (except in the places they already do...) - but it will get tossed around a lot, and it will promote the idea that there are women who are just asking for it. And this stabs me through the heart. Look, I talk a lot about force, and how hot it can be. But I absolutely, 100%, cross my heart know that rape is not a subject to be glib about, and that rape, not consensual play rape (maybe that's the illegitimate form? I don't know), is a serious fucking thing which can cause serious physical and emotional trauma to you, your family, your friends, your partners, your future partners, your children, and your life. I refuse to have politicians (I'm looking at you Paul Ryan) who fundamentally misunderstand what violence looks like, and who are willing to delineate victimization between the deserving and the undeserving.

So that's the short list. There's also diplomacy with Iran, getting out of Afghanistan, an incredible love of Hillary Clinton, the fact that Obama was a community organizer (go team!), the eye-rolling at Romney's "tough on China" crap, the bill on credit card clarity, the first education bill, the push to integrate NGO work with law enforcement, Medicare, and how much more I like the Obamas than the Romneys. But whatever your reason, just go vote. I know you probably skip out on jury duty, so after paying taxes this is really all you're asked to do.

For everyone in the New York area! At my last check, 60 polling places had either closed or combined with other locations, so double check where you're going. Find out where to vote here.

Debussy's Arabesque No. 1. Andantino Con Moto.

The sound of a metronome is deafening. Every tick makes my heart race. It feels not like a beat but a cage. I often wish my heart would simply go in time, making it easier to find that rhythm with my fingers, but it never does. It simply speeds up, making every joint and muscle tense for the moment where I will make a mistake.
Because I will make a mistake.
My fingers tremble and trill over the keys, trying to keep my mind one step ahead of the melody and two ahead of my fingers. This is always my downfall. And always in my ear is the persistent, unending click of the metronome, waiting to prove me wrong.
I am quickly moving through the piece, fingers aching, ready to be at the end, ready to be released. As the notes trail on and one movement slides into the next, as majors descend into minors and my brow furrows trying to keep everything in pace, I realize I have been holding my breath through each section.
And then I hear it. It deafens me, and despite the seven notes that come after it, I hear only the whining misstep of a finger on a sharp that should have been flat.
I can almost feel his jaw tighten as I make this mistake, so close to the end. I can feel my own tighten. My forearms, hands, and fingers already show the red stripes and bloodied wear of my fuck ups that day.
"You were so close."
I nod.
"I thought you were going to do it this time."
My mouth opens and trembles. "I did, too, Sir."
He places a strong hand on my shoulder and squeezes softly. "Do you think I'm mean?"
I shake my head as more tears begin to well up. My cheeks are already streamed with the lines of halting crying.
"How many measures from the end were you?"
"I raise up an unsteady finger to count." Every measure not there is another reminder that I was almost done. I had almost completed my task. I was so close to standing and smiling and being told I was good and deserved my reward.
"Fourteen, Sir." This is far better than the last run through. But that was only marginally better than the run through before that. And it was the run through before that where the skin on the backs of my hands began to crack.
His hand runs down my cheek, the back of his soft knuckles grazing my jawline. I lean into it, eyelids drifting down. When I feel his hand leave my cheek, I let my eyes remain shut. I sit up straight and rigid, taking a deep breath and finding solace in stoicism. The pain is never as hard as the failure of a task before him. The white heat of his cane I can take. The loss of affection from his failure I cannot.
His cane makes a gentle sweep and comes down on the backs of my fingers as the metronome clicks away. My knuckles already crack with dried blood and shake with focus. The next swat comes down just slightly higher up and my muscles tense. there is nothing but skin and nerves here, and it will only feel like a gift when he finally moves up beyond my wrists. I focus on that. I hear only the tick tick tick, broken by the sweep of the cane through the air.
I focus on the numbers I must announce, eyes remaining closed. Even sitting I feel a loss of balance, my body beginning to dwindle in front of him, and I sway slightly.
Another swat comes down and then another until fourteen have been counted out and announced. My fingers shake, and the more they bleed, the more they will slick on the keys.
"Again."
I place my fingers on the keys before coming down, beginning again. I am shaking this time, my mind slipping off into the pain of welts forming and blood pooling in the lines of my knuckles. My mind is drifting off and away from the tick tick tick of the metronome.
When you topple off of the rhythm of the metronome, it is immediately apparent and today is no different. My fingers, shaking, begin to move faster than they should and I am almost immediately a full beat ahead of where I should be.
He places a hand on the back of my neck. "Stop. You know it's wrong."
I look up at him, eyes glassy with distance and tears. He looks down at me and then stops the metronome. The constant tick which has held me so steady since the beginning is now gone and I am startled by its absence. My eyes jolt to stare at his hand holding it in place. I breathe one ragged breath before I can feel my shoulders relax. I look up at him again, my mouth opening slightly but I have no words. Simply the wish to speak.
"Stand." I do staring at him. I am afraid. I know I was supposed to do it perfectly and I have tried so hard. I wish my face was still blank. I wish I was still in that submissive space where everything is a task to be done and discipline is simply to be endured.
But now that has cracked open and the ache of displeasure is written plain.
He strokes my hair, winding his fingers through the curls that escape from being pulled back. "You are trying so hard."
I nod, the corners of my mouth tightening and pulling back. He steps behind me and I turn back to stare at the music in front of me. He unzips my dress, slowly. He has been specific about clothing, from the dress he likes to the bra, garters and stockings underneath. He pulls the dress from over my head, and I rolls my body and lift my arms without a word. He places the dress over the back of the hair and I, without thinking, step my feet a little more apart. My cunt, which is perpetually wet and ready and exposed for him, touches the air ever so slightly and the slightest chill wakes my limbs and digits.
"Bend over."
I nod, resting my hands on the top of the piano.
"Fingers on the keys."
My fingers perch on the keys without pushing down, tightening my stomach to hold my place. I begin to breathe slower, but more forcefully.
"You are a good girl." I smile, dropping my head slightly.
I hear it before I feel it. The cane comes down on my ass in a searing tick tick tick of the rhythm. I feel it vibrate into my bones, creating a beat with my entire body. I fight every muscle to squirm as his strokes become harder and harder. He wants me to ingrain this beat into my muscles. Into my cells.
Without saying a word I begin to play, moving steadily and slowly, but never languishing. His cane continues, coming down smoothly, guiding my fingers in measure after measure.
He conducts, I follow.