DOMINATE

(to rule or control)

§

 

It’s quite possible that this girl is the most boring human being on the planet.  You aren’t sure that you’ve ever met anyone that is so inept at carrying a conversation.  Sure, she’s gorgeous.  But nice tits and a see-through dress can only get a person so far.  Sometimes you really hate your road crew for thinking that these are the only kind of women you ever want to meet. 

 

You’re doing your best to appear interested but you forgot what she was talking about at least twenty minutes ago.  Searching for a way out, you look up and seeing Rikki staring at you from across the room.  You smile.  He winks.  And then he’s walking your way.  You’ve never been so grateful for anything in your entire life.  The girl in front of you perks up when Rikki puts his arm around your shoulder.  But not nearly as much as you do.

 

“Hi, sweetheart.”  You have to bite your tongue and remind yourself that he isn’t talking to you.  The girl responds with something equally mushy and you check your urge to vomit.  “Do you mind if I borrow your friend here for a minute?  It’s important.”  A shiver runs down your spine as you feel Rikki’s fingers press into your upper arm.  And you no longer care who’s standing in front of you. She could be a Playmate with the IQ of a Rocket Scientist and the heart of Mother Theresa and you would still leave her for Rikki.  Because no one could ever be like Rikki.  No one could even come close.  Not hearing what the fan’s reply is, he leans over and says so only you can hear, “Your bus, five minutes, don’t be late.”  And then he walks away.  You endure the torture of a picture and an autograph before following him.

 

The bus is dark, quiet.  You think to yourself that CC must be off getting high again.  This tour has been one long cocaine induced frenzy for the guitar player.  You wonder how much longer he will be able to keep it up.  His habit nearly ruined the band once.  And you can see it happening again.  Easily.  It would only take one knock down, drag out fight for Bret to…  Your thoughts stop suddenly when everything goes black.  Out of habit your hands fly up to grab at whatever is being wrapped around your eyes.  But then you hear him.  Rikki. 

 

“Don’t.”  One word.  That’s all you get.  But it’s enough to set your mind at ease.  Well, not at ease, really.  The tension and fear of being unable to see is actually a little worse knowing that he is in the room.  Knowing that you have no idea what’s coming.  But you trust him.  You probably shouldn’t.  But you do.

 

You feel the soft cloth being tied tightly around your head and you breathe deeply.  Your mouth is dry.  His hands come up to your shoulders and he pushes you forward.  You stumble but he doesn’t let you fall.  He pushes again and you take a few more steps, your hands out in front of you, groping at the nothingness to try and make yourself feel more secure.  It doesn’t work.  With one final push you find yourself falling.  You land face first on…something.  It takes a second but you eventually realize that it’s the leather couch in the back lounge of your bus.  At least you know where you are now.  And you can’t help but smile when you hear him close the door, the lock clicking softly.

 

For a long time you hear nothing and you begin to wonder if he’s left you in the room alone.  You’d like to ask but are also afraid of what he will do if he is still in the room.  You know his game.  You aren’t supposed to speak unless you’re spoken to.  So you remain silent.  Even your breathing is soft.  You’re waiting.  Waiting for something.  Anything.  Some indication that he’s still here and he still wants you.  The leather of the couch is sticky against your face but you don’t dare move.  Not without his permission.  And then, finally, you feel his weight on the seat next to you.  Your breath catches in your throat.  But still, you wait.

 

The first time his fingertips brush against your cheek you jump.  The touch is so light, so miniscule, yet completely unnerving.  It leaves you wanting more.  You swallow hard.  “Turn over and lay down,” he tells you.  And you do so without hesitation.  Your head rests against the arm of the couch and your legs stretch out across the seats.  Which means he’s no longer sitting there.  You wonder where he is now.  More time goes by and all you hear are the shallow breaths coming from your own lips.  All you feel is the rapid beating of your heart.  All you smell is your own cologne that you put on after showering before going out to meet fans.  You feel isolated.  Alone.  And yes, a little scared.

 

Without warning, his tongue traces a gentle line down the side of your neck.  You gasp.  But not nearly as loud as when he repeats the action with something much colder.  An ice cube.  An ice cube that he is holding in his mouth.  The ice melts as it comes in contact with the heat of your skin, cold liquid slipping down your neck and into the collar of your t-shirt.  Goosebumps cover your body and you shiver.  You hear him spit what little is left of the cube out of his mouth and onto the floor.  And then his mouth is on you again.  Warming the places that have been impossibly frozen.  No other part of him touches you.  And you know you can’t touch him, either.  Your hands ball into fists at your sides.  You arch your neck to give him more access.  He stops.

 

A hand rests gently on your stomach now.  He twists your shirt around his fingers and pulls.  You sit up because you have to; he’s left no other choice.  Your shirt is on the ground in a matter of seconds and then you are once again pushed onto your back.  You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from shaking as his hands set their sights on their next target.  Your jeans.  With a skill that you’ve never thought to inquire about, he unbuttons your pants.  And then, with his mouth, he undoes the zipper.  You choke back a groan as you feel his warm breath flickering across you.  He hooks his fingers in the belt loops and you raise your hips in an attempt to aid him in riding you of this last barrier.  The jeans soon join your shirt on the floor of the bus.

 

You’re naked now and feeling all the more vulnerable.  Especially since he hasn’t even spoken to you yet.  And he’s once again not touching you.  You strain your other senses trying to decipher which part of the room he has retreated to.  He’s good at this.  The back lounge isn’t that large but still you have no idea where he is.  Just when you’re beginning to relax again, you hear something.  It sounds like a match being lit.  You wait, but the smell of cigarette smoke doesn’t come to you.  Instead you detect the light scent of vanilla.  Candles?  What kind of mood is Rikki in tonight?  He’s never taken the time to actually light candles.  And frankly, you never thought he would.

 

You hear him now, walking towards you.  Your heartbeat quickens.  You feel yourself grow hard.  And then you scream.  Not whimper, not groan, but fucking scream.  You’ve never felt anything so painful and all at once you realize why he lit a candle.  The hot wax burns your abdomen and you’re terrified because it’s frighteningly close to your cock and you can’t even imagine what that would feel like it.  You pray that you never have to find out.  The excruciating pain is soon mixed with pleasure as another ice cube hits your flesh and you can’t help but lace your fingers through his hair when he’s only inches away from your cock and it’s all so good that you can’t even fucking stand it anymore.  “Rikki,” you moan.  Your cock twitches when he pulls away and your hands fall back to your sides.

 

He still isn’t talking but his hand is gripping your cock now and he’s stroking you.  Stroking you hard and fast and expertly and you can’t believe that he’s actually giving you this kind of pleasure.  You thank whatever far off rock god that has put the two of you together in this situation tonight.  He’s still stroking you, even faster now.  So fast that you can hear it as he spreads your juices over your cock.  Faster.  Harder.  Breathing is difficult.  You can’t swallow.  Your toes curl.  Your back arches.  You gasp for air.  You cry out.  And then he lets go.  For several seconds your body stays rigid, locked in that position, trying to inhale and exhale in some sort of normal fashion.  You were so close to an orgasm that you could taste it.  And now, nothing.  Nothing but his laughter.  You slowly sink back into the couch and try not to let your disappointment show.  It’s not an easy thing to do.

 

“So close,” you hear him chuckle.  “But so far away.”  You can only sigh.  “You really wanted that, didn’t you?”  He doesn’t leave you time to answer.  “Soon, amoureux, soon.”  You shiver at his use of French.  How does he do this to you?  Every.  Single.  Time.  “But first…” He stands in front of you and pushes himself against your lips.  For the first time you realize that he’s naked.  You open your mouth without thinking about it.  Your head is at a strange angle but you take him in anyway.  As much as you can.  He’s big.

 

You can’t see him so Rikki takes it upon himself to guide your mouth.  His hands are in your hair as he pushes your head up and down the length of him.  All you can really do is relax your throat muscles and try not to gag.  This is for him.  Your pleasure isn’t a concern.  It isn’t even necessary.  But that doesn’t stop your cock from twitching against your stomach when he whimpers your name softly.  He doesn’t say that you’re good.  Doesn’t tell you he wants more.  Certainly doesn’t confess that he loves you.  But your name is enough.  It’s all you need to hear to let you know that his thoughts are on you.

 

“Bobby,” he says again, and you groan around his cock.  “Fuck.  I’m gonna…” And then he’s spilling into your mouth and you’re swallowing every bit that you can.  Savoring the saltiness.  Savoring the manliness.  Savoring the essence of Rikki.   As soon as he’s finished he pulls away and then he’s kissing you.  Hard.  You’re not even sure that you’ve swallowed everything and you’re scared that there will be hell to pay but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

 

He stretches his body out on top of yours.  Skin against skin.  Limb against limb.  Cock against cock.  And how he’s still hard you don’t know.  His nails scratch across your chest and you start to feel a bit lightheaded with the lack of oxygen this kiss is allowing your brain to receive.  He grinds against you.  His lips finally pull away from your own only to move to your ear.  “Amoureux,” he says again, “vous etes les miens.”  Lover, you’re mine.  And you are.  Completely.  There has never really been any doubt.  Not since the very first time you were together.  You belong to him.  And you wouldn’t change it even if you could.  “You’re so hard,” he continues, tongue kissing your ear as he speaks.  You manage a strangled whimper.  Forming words isn’t possible right now.  “Can I fuck you now?”  Is he actually asking?  Yes!  Of course he can!  “Do you want me to fuck you now?”  He rewords the question but it’s all the same to you.

 

“Yes, Rikki.  Please.”  You push yourself against him, your juices making both of you stickier than you already were.

 

“Please, what?” he teases, reaching between your bodies and rubbing both of you together.  You bite your lip and arch your neck.  He nips at where your jugular is resting below your skin.

 

“Take me,” you reply.  “Fuck me.  I’m yours.”

 

“I know you are,” he tells you, taking your hands and placing both of them over your head.  “Mine and no one else’s.  For always.” 

 

You’re about to reply when he enters you.  And for once it’s slow, long, drawn out.  You sigh audibly and try to catch his lips in a kiss but he moves away from you.  “No,” he tells you.  “Just feel this.  Feel all of this.  Feel how good I am.”  His voice drops a few notches.  “Feel how much you don’t deserve this.”

 

And damn if you don’t agree with him.  You don’t deserve this.  Nothing this good should ever be yours.  But it is.  At least for the moment.  You will be his always.  But you know he won’t be yours.  Sooner or later he will tire of you and let Bret take up all of his time.  But for now you have him.  And you never want to let him go.  He rests your ankles on his shoulders and fucks you softly.  He makes you shake.  You reach your hands up to touch him again but he bats them away.  “No,” he growls.  “Don’t touch.  Just feel.” 

 

It’s so hard to do but you try to obey him.  You want to touch him, taste him, see him.  But he isn’t allowing that.  All you can feel is his cock pulling out and pushing back in.  Filling you completely.  Over and over and over.  And it amazes you that, even in his subtlety, he dominates you without question.  He is still in charge, it doesn’t matter how kind or caring he seems.

 

Your breathing accelerates as he picks up speed.  You can hear his labored breaths as well.  You know he is close.  And you want him to come.  Need him to come.  Because you’re going to come and you can’t do it alone.  He pulls the blindfold off you suddenly and you blink several times to adjust to even the dim track lighting on the bus.  And then he lays on you fully, his stomach rubbing against your cock.  And this is a new position.  A strange position.  And you wonder when you got so flexible.  You never knew it was possible for your legs to bend like that.  You want to laugh at the thought but don’t because he takes your breath away.

 

The slow, languid pace is fast now.  Hard.  Erratic.  And his hands are pulling at your hair and bringing tears to your eyes that you know won’t spill onto your cheeks because you won’t let them.  Why cry when something is this good?  Your nails claw at the leather beneath you as you clench around him, his stomach applying just the right amount of pressure.  And then you’re there.  Your come is spraying into what little space there is between you and you’re crying out his name and fuck and yes and biting back proclamations of love.  He follows you quickly, holding completely still as he finishes.  His hands pound your head into the arm of the couch.  It hurts but you don’t complain.  He can do what he wants to you after an orgasm like this one. 

 

After you both catch your breath Rikki pulls away from you and slips back into his jeans.  He doesn’t put his shirt on, just tosses it over his shoulder.  “Stand up,” he tells you.  And you do.  He narrows the space between you, draws him arm back, and punches you directly in the face before you can do anything to stop him. 

 

“Fuck,” you shout as you fall back against the couch.  You can feel the blood spurting from your noise.  You blink back tears

 

“You don’t come until I fucking tell you to.”  He slams the door as he leaves.