bendingsubmission:On the drive she told him she wished they didn’t have to eat. That she was
bendingsubmission: On the drive she told him she wished they didn’t have to eat. That she was wound tight and wished they could just fuck. He told her people were waiting. She said she didn’t care. Now she was in a parking garage. Empty, but not empty enough to keep the butterflies away. It took her three minutes to face the wall and spread her legs when he told her. The burn on her cheeks was still there. A fire on top of the burn began when he told her to lift the dress. Now her breath was shallow. Lips parted. Heart fast. Exposed. In public. The air on her skin felt like fingers. She fought the urge to pull the dress simultaneously higher and lower. Trapped somewhere in the middle. Her head bounding between arousal and fear and shame and lust. She heard his footsteps as he paced. Each one sending little shockwaves along the edges of her skin. Each step closer drew her skin more taut, until her nipples ached and her breathing stopped. When he spoke it shook her. He told her they were expected elsewhere and already late. She flinched and a small moan hit concrete when she felt the nail of his middle finger along the back of her leg. He said she didn’t know what wound tight was. But he would teach her, in the seven minutes they had left. -- source link