Is this the last smut of 2018? Who knows! However, there is time for a little more kink dissection, this time exploring eyes and eye contact – with a twist of eyeliner, because that’s becoming a little bit of a thing for me since I imagined what a play partner of mine would look like if he was wearing it.
He wears eyeliner; I melt.
I can hardly think when I know he’s somewhere close, probably watching me out of the corner of his eye. When he’d picked me up earlier, I’d desperately tried to persuade him that we didn’t have to go out, that he should take me back to his flat now and fuck me. He’s so attractive – he’s always so fucking attractive – but even more so when he’s put on eyeliner. He looks at me and my cunt drips.
So of course he taunts me playfully and tells me I’ll just have to wait.
I can feel him watching me, daring me to look and prove that although I’ve been excited for this evening for weeks, all I want to do is get fucked. His eyes follow me around the room while I flirt and laugh and pretend I can think about anything but my aching cunt. I can’t though, and he knows that. He knows that all I want is for him to fuck me.
Sadist, I think as I avoid his eyes when a pretty girl leans in to whisper something in my ear. Her words make me blush and I grin at her, but I’m already blushing because he’s wearing eyeliner and later he’ll take me home to fuck me. This is why fucking him is so brilliant; it’s a bit like a game. A scary, exciting, arousing-as-fuck game, to which I’m still learning the rules. The way he fucks with me is playful and sadistic in a way we both get off on, but I always win because we’re actually on the same team.
He’s good at convincing me that we’re not, though, and that’s why it’s so hot. He can make me believe that he won’t fuck me or that he’s going to really hurt me – beyond the limits we’ve agreed to. Tonight, he’s going to make me admit that where I want to be, where I always want to be, is on my knees in front of him. It’s impossible to be in a room with him without getting wet. The way he talks, all clipped and precise, the very way he looks at me… it ruins me and I love it.
I dance, grinding my ass into the tall enby in a crop top who’d complimented my suit. They’re beautiful and passionate and I wish I could be solely in that moment and not hyper aware that his eyes are on me. I get their Twitter handle after we’ve danced and promise I’ll DM them, and their adorable smile makes me forget about him, just for a second.
Until I turn around and he’s right there, and I’m looking straight into his eyes. Dark eyes, intense even without the perfectly applied eyeliner. It feels like he can see right through me and his look goes right to my cunt, which twitches in anticipation. He smirks, as though he knows; I glare at him while wishing he would kiss me.
“Would you like to dance?” he asks.
“No. You win. Take me home to fuck me.”
His grin is impish and evil, all at once.
“But you were so convincing, and now I would like to dance. Let’s put it this way – up until now I’ve been watching my prey. Now I’m going to play with my food, just a little, before I eat it.” He presses his body closer. With his eyes locked to mine, I know he sees my shiver.
His eyes don’t leave me as he pulls me closer still and we start to dance. I go to hide in my face in his chest, but he uses two fingers to tilt my chin upwards so he can look into my eyes.
“I want to be able to see my prey’s eyes while I play with her. This might be my favourite bit, actually, looking into your eyes and seeing fear and arousal and excitement there. And above all, there’s the acceptance. The acceptance that even if you fight, no matter how much you fight, I will win and you will submit to me. You’ll end up on your knees, where you belong.”
My cunt twitches, and as humiliating as this somehow is – this innocent act of dancing while he mind-fucks me – I smile up at him.
“You’re a fucking sadist, sir.”
He spins me, then holds me for a moment, drawing out the silence as though he’s daring me to beg. If I was capable of coherent thought when he’s eye-fucking me, I’d be trying to put together a convincing argument for why he should fuck me in the men’s bathroom right now. As it is, I let his dark gaze devour me.
“I love seeing what you do when I turn the tables on you. You’re desperate right now, aren’t you? It’s so cute. I’m pretty sure I could call a taxi right now, order you to suck me off in the back seat and then come on your face and make you pay for it. I won’t, of course, but I bet the filthy little slut in you loves that idea, don’t you?”
I feel so vulnerable – he’s always been able to penetrate me with his eyes and his words just as much as his cock. His cock, which I really, really want inside me right now.
“You win,” I say again, and he grins. “Take me home and fuck me. I don’t care if you make me look at you the whole time you’re hurting me – I just can’t stand your eyes looking at me like I’m naked when I’m not, and all I want is your hands all over me.”
“I love it when you concede defeat, little slut,” he tells me, finally breaking eye contact and bending slightly so he can gently nibble my ear. “C’mon: you’d undress for me here if I asked but I want you all to myself.”
Later, when we’re spooning between spunk-splattered sheets, I tell him that the eyeliner was not playing fair. He laughs.
“Maybe, but I had to make sure that you couldn’t forget my eyes on you.”
Image sourced through Pixabay – it might not actually be a photo of an eyeliner pencil, because I am utterly clueless about make-up.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.