He licked me as though he were a sun-blind desert nomad and I an ice sculpture of his most longed-for mirage. No tip-of-the-tongue delicacy, no butterfly-soft tease; he gave me the full weight of his tongue from the cleft of my buttocks to the nape of my neck as I moaned and my legs opened in involuntary expression of my arousal.
Inflamed by my reaction, he dipped his head again and painted swirling circles of heat in the small of my back and across my arse cheeks. I closed my eyes and lay passive, sublimating between a fierce burning crucible of need and the molten liquid fire of response within.
With each stroke, a nip of flesh between teeth to make me stiffen and gasp, the gentle brush of enamel on skin then return again to hot, wet tongue. He explored the landscape of my backside, finding and addressing each curve, each plane, first with gentle leisurely strokes then sucking wide-mouthed on my rounded softness, probing and searching, assessing with his questing tongue, his spit-slippery lips.
Moving slowly, with certainty and deliberation. hands followed mouth, kneading, stroking, filling, until at last I felt his heavy cock press against my slick and eager cunt. As his lips enclosed my earlobe, I dissolved in the hot breath-filled hollow between shoulder and neck. He made a warm sweet puddle of me and immersed himself with a sigh of delight.
His hands covering mine, our whispers of pleasure and desire met and mingled in our front-to-back entwining. Plunging deep inside me, he took and gave in equal measure; control without demand, understanding that the submission of my body to his brought mutual uplift and fulfilment.
By the time he turned me over and presented his dripping cock to my open, eager mouth, I would have given him my soul for the asking.
It’s been three days since I ordered the gadget and this morning the maildrone dropped it on my doorstep. I’m supposed to be working but I reckon I can legitimately take a quick break to have a peek at the device the Internet has gone crazy for.
“The BeTogether brings revolutionary thought-connection technology to life!” cooed the adverts “Be closer than you’ve ever dreamed!”
I’d sighed and felt the familiar wistful longing. ‘Closer’ for me and Rob would mean bridging the glacial gulf that has been forming between us lately. A crevasse that conversation can’t seem to fill, seemingly too wide to reach across with a simple loving touch. His occasional outbursts of devoted allegiance had become nothing more to me than echoes, reverberations from a time when we were inseparable – physically, emotionally, spiritually. Now we may as well be on different continents, so disjointed and halting is our communication.
On an impulse, I bought a BeTogether rig, there and then. If this damn thing can’t help us, then it’s definitely time to call an end to the relationship.
I open the discreet cardboard box, then the tastefully-designed inner box, with its sci-fi depictions of brainwaves and beautiful people swirling in dark blues and vivid purples across the planes and edges. Inside, the BeTogether units nestle on a bed of black flight-case foam, gleaming silver through the hygiene wrapper.
“The BeTogether comes fully-charged” says the instruction leaflet, to which I give a wry smile. It might be ready but we’re not. Until Rob comes home tonight, this kit is little more than a curious ornament, rather than the life-changing technology that I’m counting on to rescue our estrangement.
Oh well, I suppose it can’t hurt to just try it on.
I settle one of the headsets around the base of my skull, carefully positioning the contact points just above my ears. Comfortable enough. I reach up and power it on.
A chime sounds in my ears and something happens in my mind. Something undefinable and indescribable – I feel as though an unseen window has opened inside my head. It’s weird, but not unpleasant.
Another chime. What? I haven’t pressed any of the control buttons but before I can start to wonder about this, a powerful wave of sexual arousal sweeps over me. I haven’t been this turned on in – how long? Perhaps a year at least. I’m stunned by the suddenness and intensity of this feeling, I want to tear off my clothes and reach for the nearest human being, fill my mouth and hands with their flesh, feel them fill me in response.
I sink to my knees in the hallway surrounded by the detritus of packaging I’ve strewn about. One hand slips under the waistband of my leggings, the other creeps up to my breasts.
Oh god, I’m so desperately, longingly horny.
I close my eyes and the sensation builds. There’s something different. My fingers are rubbing my clit, dipping in and out of my wet cunt, but it doesn’t feel the same as on those many sleepless nights I’ve quietly brought myself the pleasure that my stagnant relationship denies me. Eyes closed, I frown in puzzlement.
-there’s an urgent hardness at my groin, a heat-seeking engorgement standing proudly out from my body. I’m grasping it firmly, moving my hand slowly back and forth along its sensitive solidity-
-my thumb circling my clit light and fast-
-a tighter grip at the head of this (imaginary?) dick, other hand cupping the unfamiliar crinkled skin of a pair of balls that are definitely not mine – but the sensation sends hot thrills snaking upwards through my belly-
-thrusting two fingers as deep into my cunt as I can reach, hooking the tips to probe for the sweet spot which I know will set ripples of electric fire aglow within me-
-my hand clenched at the tip of my dick, squeezing and releasing as the shaft below throbs with the urge to be tightly enclosed-
-one finger reaching back to my arse, tapping teasingly at the puckered sensitive skin-
-long hard strokes from base to tip, the friction against my frenulum wringing a grunt of pleasure in an unrecognised voice-
-bucking my hips and plunging the finger deep into my arse; double penetration with one hand, the other bracing myself against the wall as I fuck myself with abandon-
-feeling the tension gather my balls tight together as though with a drawstring, the almost-pain of orgasm building; each crick of my wrist dragging me closer to explosion-
-twitching and clenching around the fingers buried inside me-
-an involuntary cry of release as my climax powers the squirt of hot spunk from my cock and the nerves in my groin catch alight, radiating sensation to my limbs-
-louder and higher in tone as the fire spreads from my clit deep into my cunt and outwards, drenching my hand-
-lying back on the hard bed, panting and throbbing, still aswirl with sensation as my balls relax and the cum dries on my stomach-
The window snaps shut and my eyes open. I’m gasping and bemused in my own hallway, twitching with the aftershocks of my orgasm – definitely my own, there’s no longer any more to my body than my own trembling legs, throbbing cunt and pounding heart.
As I gradually subside onto the floor, I catch sight of the BeTogether instruction leaflet lying crumpled on the floor.
It says something about “broadcast mode”…..
……“any active BeTogether device within range….”
“…..setting a pairing security code is recommended….”
Carefully, I remove the headset and return it to its cocoon, close the box and scoop up the unwanted packaging. After a moment of deliberation, I hide the box at the back of my wardrobe with my seldom-used stilettos. I think I’ll leave it a while before I carry out my original plan of trying to work things out with Rob.
In the meantime….I wonder just how many other people in this tall apartment block have a BeTogether headset….
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All week, I have been out of sorts – irritable and uncharitable, my blood full of sharp burrs and my mind skittering from one grievance to the next. An evening of tequila shots with my lover in a London pub has smoothed out my most dangerous edges and mellowed my disposition considerably. Only a small smouldering coal of resentment at the world remains, tucked under my breastbone, partially smothered by the fun I’m having. It will take more than fun to extinguish this poisonous ember but I’m wary of intimacy while angry. There’s too much to fear. The risk of a short circuit between my internal rage and my masochistic, submissive need. The space between mind and body in which a gust of desire could reignite that sullen glow. I’m happier than I have been in days; why risk it? Smiles and tender kisses are my restorative tonic for now.
And yet……all the way home, amongst the chuckling and good-natured exchange of quips; something else is building between us. Something dark yet joyful, intense and intoxicating, which roughens his voice and prickles my skin. A drawstring of desire which tightens his hand on mine and pulls my gaze to his suddenly-intent eyes. He finds me irresistible; I am insatiable for his touch. There in the summer night it hums, arcing between us in sparks and pulses of want and need.
We hurry home.
In the lounge, we are playful as puppies. Still laughing, still romping. He falls at my feet, declares himself my slave, tickles my feet. I know he’s joking but I’m too much of a literal-minded pedant to allow it pass without comment. “I don’t want a slave” I remind him, grinning and jerking my foot away from his fingers. “I’m looking for a Master”
And with that, his eyes change and his posture straightens. “Put your foot out” he orders, and with a shiver of delight at his suddenly-authoritative tone, I comply.
The tickling recommences, light strokes of his fingernails against my sensitive soles, occasional scrabbling of pressure in the nerve-dense hollow of my instep. I’m battling my urge to yell and draw back; I’m very ticklish – but he has a firm grasp on my ankle and he’s testing my obedience to his will. My inner conflict between the impulse to flee this stimulus and the desire to submit to his control is showing on my face; pupils dilated and eyes wide, mouth twitching as I hold back the involuntary tickle-giggle.
He can see what this does to me; the way I’m looking at him drives hot blood into his cock, which is visibly swelling with every suppressed squirm transmitted through my muscle and sinew.
He stands. Hooks his thumbs into his shorts and pants, yanks them to his ankles. I’m halfway off the sofa already when he reaches for my tumbled curls and draws my mouth onto him. His half-moaned exhalation of pleasure triggers a hot flood of wetness from my cunt as I kneel before him and rub my tongue back and forth against his stiffening shaft.
I love to do this. His cock filling my mouth, his hands cradling my head, the rough carpet against my kneecaps; this is my favourite place to be. I look up and his eyes are closed, his mouth half-open, head tilted back as he loses himself in the sensations of my mouth around him.
I pull him slowly, deeper into my throat, working my tongue up and down, round and round. When I look again, he is watching me suck on his now stone-hard cock. As our eyes meet, he groans and I whimper; a simultaneous wave of aching lust at the other’s reaction sweeping over us both. His hands tighten around my head, it’s as though he can hear me thinking yes please, fuck my mouth, use me for your pleasure, that’s what I want, please give it to me. He does.
The harder and faster he thrusts, the more I urge him on; bobbing my head to his rhythm and bracing myself on my thighs for stability against this desperate, beautiful onslaught. I gag and he pulls away in concern, no, no, come back to me, fill me, have what you want.
I can’t go as fast as he needs now, he grabs a handful of my hair to pull my head away; taking charge of his cock with the other fist in powerful urgent strokes. I wait to be allowed to provide his pleasure again, mouth open, tongue extended, eyes locked on his. The sight of me pleading with my eyes and stance wrings another groan from him, he pulls my head close so that I can wind my tongue around and over his balls in slow figure-of-eight movements. When he pushes the head of his cock back between my lips, I thrill with adoration and submissive gratitude.
By the time we make it to the bedroom, I am all burning need and slick drenched cunt. Mental focus and submissive fulfilment have succeeded where drink and camaraderie could not – the last spike of bad mood has been crushed, ground to nothing between our close-pressed bodies. There is no irritation left, no silent rage, no phantom fire. Only us in this moment.
His dexterous fingers bring me to orgasm in minutes. I want him inside me; he wants to fill me with his come. We move together hard and fast; kneeling on the bed, leaning against the wall, face-down on the bed again, his hands pulling my buttocks apart as he fucks my arse with savage strokes, my face upturned to his as I mewl and moan the glorious pleasure-pain of my penetration. There’s a feedback loop between us, our movements, our breathing, our panted whispered encouragement is dragging us inseparably towards orgasm. We come together drowning in a wash of purest sensation that pulls a long moan of surrender from him and a shuddering, gasping collapse from me.
This is a kinky fantasy of mine – I’m not a 24/7 lifestyle sub and I’d hate to be under someone else’s control all of the time, so being a slave isn’t something I’d want to do for real. But pretend, part-time sexual slavery….oh yes….oh yes please…..
Tonight is the night. We’ve negotiated the scene carefully, establishing hard and soft limits, safewords and safecues. He’s curious and slightly nervous at the idea of power I’m putting into his hands. I’m hyper-aroused by the prospect, wondering how he will choose to exercise it.
He greets me at the front door with our usual kisses – both tender and hungry, wordlessly telling each other of our sheer joy in being reunited.
“Are you ready?” he asks softly?
I am. “Yes. Let’s do this. I love you”
That’s his cue. He draws himself up, standing straighter. Regards me with a subtly hardened gaze. When he speaks again, his tone is commanding.
“Tonight you are my property. You are my slave. You will do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you. You will not look me in the face unless I give you permission. You will not speak unless answering a direct order and must always address me as “Master”. If you disobey me, I will punish you. You are my slave. Do you understand?”
I nod my head and stare at the floor, churning with the excitement that’s starting to make my nipples visibly hard.
“You may answer”
“Yes Master” I know he can hear the delighted grin in my voice; it reassures him his power is freely given by me, and that I’m OK to continue.
“Take off your clothes. All of them.”
Naked, I stand in front of him. I can hear his breath catch, he loves my body and finds it endlessly arousing. I wait as he walks around me assessing, examining, appreciating. He has my leather collar in his pocket ready to fasten around my neck.
“Mine” he growls as he does up the buckle. The collar has a silver ring at the front, just right for him to hook a finger through. He leads me to the living room, in which a towel covers the coffee table. There are all sorts of interesting lumps under that towel but my attention is quickly redirected by the cuffs with which he secures my hands behind my back. Blood pounds in my lips and my clit. I want this so much.
I obey and still with my eyes downcast, open my mouth ready for him. He’s stone-hard and dewy with pre-come. He orders me to look up at him, keep absolutely still and silent. This is going to be difficult for me – usually, I moan and writhe with the delight of having his hard cock in my mouth. He knows this. It is my first challenge.
“Look at me while I’m fucking your mouth. Keep your eyes and mouth wide open.”
He grabs a handful of hair on either side of my head and pushes himself roughly to the back of my throat. He can see my pupils dilate, probably smell my wet cunt. It reassures him that although he is pretending to mistreat me, he’s giving me exactly what I want.
I hold back my moans of enjoyment, lock down my gag reflex and keep a steady gaze upwards as he uses my mouth briskly and forcefully. Here on my knees, unable to move my head and with my hands cuffed behind me I feel so deliciously exposed, so beautifully vulnerable. In this moment, my whole being is focused on this game; my body only a toy for him to use, my thoughts and emotions suspended somewhere in the empty air above my physical self, until-
He thrusts so hard and deep into my mouth that I can’t help choking and spluttering. I tried so hard not to, but I couldn’t help it. The side of his mouth quirks.
“Was that too hard?”
“Good.” He does it again. Once more, I react, unable to stop myself from drawing back as I fight for breath. I don’t mean to disobey him and I hope he sees the pleading in my eyes. Of course he does.
“You need to try harder, slave. This isn’t good enough. Perhaps a lesson in obedience is required.”
He goes over to the coffee table, pulls out one of the interesting shapes. It’s a spreader bar with ankle cuffs attached. I was hoping for a paddle but he knows me too well – a spanking is never a punishment from my point of view.
He positions me over the sofa seat, still kneeling, face buried in the cushion; and cuffs my ankles to the spreader bar.
“Stay there. Keep still”.
I hear him go to the kitchen and pour himself a glass of water. When he comes back, he ignores me, settling himself into the seat at right-angles to mine and reaching for the TV remote. Oh, he knows how to punish me all right. I’m smirking though, it won’t be long before my spread legs and rounded buttocks prove too much of a temptation for him.
Time passes. Five minutes? Ten? I have no way of knowing. I daren’t sneak a look at him for fear of extending this period of deprivation. I’m acutely aware of the eroticism of my pose, my cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled. Every moment that goes by brings my need closer to desperation. Please touch me. Talk to me. Fuck me. Please
I hear movement. Steel myself not to gasp as cold lube is slathered between my arse cheeks. Hold myself rigid as he circles my anus with a finger. My cunt is dripping. He slides the finger into my tight hole, with the other hand he strokes my back and legs gently. I must not move.
The finger is withdrawn and replaced with a plug. He pushes the first bead into me, twists the plug slowly. I’m sure he can hear my breath catch but I still haven’t moved. Deeper now, up to the second, larger bead. I want to push back against it. The sweet agony of keeping myself still and silent is the whole world right now. Nothing else exists but me, him, the sofa, the restraints, the plug. Last bead. With a supreme effort I do not moan or writhe.
The remote clicks and the plug comes to life, buzzing and tingling inside me. I groan and arch my back, helpless to control my responses now.
“Bad girl” he said softly. “For that, you will not be allowed to come for the rest of the day”
He taps the plug and pinches my arse, hard.
“Keep still now”
He’s standing behind me, one foot up on the cushion by my hip. I feel the tip of his cock nudge my clit
“I’m going to fuck you now. You are my property today and I will fuck you whenever and however I please. You will not orgasm. This is not about your pleasure, only mine. You will keep still and quiet as I use you.”
His groan as he pushes his cock deep inside me almost tips me over the edge. His hands spread my buttocks, stretching and exposing me. He’s moving slowly, ekeing out every thrust and withdrawal, rubbing the head of his cock against my clit as he pulls out, and leaning on the still-vibrating plug on the inward stroke.
“Ah, fuuuck” he moans and kneels behind me. Pulls the plug out of me and discards it. Shoves his cock deep into my arse in replacement. Now he’s fucking me hard, hands gripping my hips, balls slapping against my cunt. “You. Are. My. Fucking. Property” he hisses between thrusts. “I. Own. You.”
I’m so close to orgasm, but I’m fighting for control. If I come, he’ll stop and finish himself off – no, no, no. I focus on my breath and my posture, pushing down the rising effervescence that signals the gathering of my orgasm.
Suddenly, he pulls out, stands up, yanks my head up by the hair and pumps his come over my face with a long exhalation of relief. “Oh yeah. That’s it. Oh yeah”
He releases me, tells me to clean myself up.
When I return, he has a set of chained-together nipple clamps swinging from his hand. He positions one, threads the chain through the ring on my collar, then places the other, tightening the clamps until I wince. My heavy breasts are pulled upwards by the chain, increasing the tension on the clamps every time I move. He’s picked up my knickers and now he stuffs them into my mouth.
“Stand there with you back against the wall. Do not touch yourself.”
He heads for the shower, leaving me still hopelessly aroused and desperate for his touch. The wall is cold against my back. My clit is hard and swollen. My nipples are aching. Half of me is hoping he will relent and let me reach orgasm; the rest of me doesn’t want this delicious torture to come to an end.
I needn’t have worried. For the rest of the evening, he teases and takes me without allowing me release. I feed him his dinner on my knees before eating my own. I undress him for bed and wait for permission before climbing in beside him, lying flat on my back as instructed as his hands roam across my body.
At midnight, he unbuckles the collar and kisses me deeply. His hands creep down to find my aching, yearning cunt and he gives me the most intense orgasm I can ever recall having.
With our arms around each other, we sleep.
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I’m pretty sure I actually saw this on the way home today. Even if my eyes deceived me at the time, it makes for a pretty damn hot fantasy. How lucky it just happens to be #MasturbationMonday!
So picture this. You’re on the bus on the way home from the station. It’s been a long and demanding day, so all you want to do is silence the whirling work-thoughts buzzing around your brain. You’ve been idly contemplating your favourite sexual fantasies on the journey so far, picking out which to play on your mind’s projector that evening when you settle naked onto your bed. You’re gazing out of the window, not really registering what you’re seeing as you picture scenes of dominance, restraints, floggings and hard fucking.
Then it happens. The bus jolts over a speed bump and you look up momentarily, to meet her eyes.
She has long brown hair and a sweet face. As she leans out of the open window, her unbuttoned blouse reveals a slender androgynous body. Are those…..? Yes, what you initially thought were pierced nipples are clamps with a chain swinging between them. Swinging in time to the thrusting of the unseen man behind her.
Oh my god
She’s getting fucked right there in the second-floor window in broad daylight on a busy street.
Her eyes are closed and she’s grasping the window sill with clenched hands. You can see her bracing herself against the pounding she’s receiving; her mouth falls open and you imagine you can hear her breathless cries
“Oh yes, please…..fuck me….”
You want to stay here and watch, but the bus is already moving on past the window and up the road. Suddenly, you can keenly feel the juddering of the old diesel engine beneath your metal-and-plastic seat. You want to squirm, to pinch and pull at your nipples, to press your fist hard against your clit. You want what the woman in the window is getting.
The walk home from the bus stop is brisk. With each step, you can feel your clit swelling and becoming more sensitive. Your knickers are so wet.
Back in the house, you race upstairs to the bedroom and pull off your clothes, rough with the urgency of your arousal. Standing in front of the full-length mirror you compare your body to hers. Yours is all lush curves and softness. Hers was lean and slender. Your skin is the almost-tan of your mixed heritage. Hers was white as milk.
You wonder what she’d feel like, pressed against you face to face. If you’d been between her and the window, your heavy breasts would brush against the clamps she wears on hers. Maybe the chain would attach her clamped nipples and yours – pulling and pinching harder as your bodies move apart; then a cold streak against your warm selves with each forward thrust.
You close your eyes and tug gently at your nipples, imagining.
You can’t see the man’s face, only a silhouette somewhere behind her in the darkened room. He’s breathing hard, grasping her tightly by the hips so that his fingers are digging into her taut skin. You hear the slap of their bodies meeting and and the slick, wet sounds of his cock delving in and out of her.
You reach for a dildo. A large, silicone mock-cock, warm and solid to the touch.
Maybe she’s wearing a strap-on harness. Maybe with each jerk of his hips against hers, he forces the dildo she’s wearing into you. Maybe her eyes gleam as she transfers to you, the pleasure of being taken.
You’re wet enough to push the dildo inside you, hard and deep. Picturing yourself, her, him, all moving together; you fuck yourself roughly, matching the rhythm you remember seeing.
She puts her hands on your shoulders, bracing herself. You grab her hands and set them around your throat instead. He is fucking her and she is fucking you and you are fucking yourself so hard. You reach down and rub your clit in circles, in time with the motion of the dildo inside you. Imagine you can feel her hands round your neck, her breath on your cheek. Her body against yours.
She’s close to the edge, gasping and tightening her grip, bucking her hips, arching her back.
He drives himself deeper into her, one hand now clutching a handful of her long hair, the other wrapped around her waist to pull her closer to him.
Your cunt is clenching around the firm silicone pounding into you. You’re going to come, and as you do, you picture her orgasm along with yours. You’re writhing together, clutching and grabbing, filling your hands and mouths with each other; breathless and weak-kneed.
He pulls out of her spasming cunt and grabs a handful of your hair alongside hers, pulling you both down onto your knees to receive his come. It slicks across your faces, drips from your mouths.
He’s been asleep all afternoon. I can’t begrudge him his rest; he works ridiculously hard and despite being half-dead with exhaustion last night, he still found the energy to push me face-down onto the bed and fuck my arse until I screamed with delight.
But I’ve been reading smut on the internet for the past hour, and I’m so horny. I shift under the duvet, pressing my thighs together and squirming with unrelieved lust.
He snores gently and I haven’t the heart to wake him.
My cunt however, has no conscience. I know that if I start without him, he’ll be pulled from sleep as I writhe and moan by his side. So I slide my hand below the covers, part my legs and stroke my already slick lips apart.
I close my eyes and in my mind’s eye, I see myself on all fours, face pressed into the mattress and arse high. Wrists tied, ankles shackled to the spreader bar, my favourite position. He kneels behind me, his face intent as he strokes the leather paddle lightly across my back and draws small circles on each buttock before – thwack! – bringing it down sharply on my legs. The sting brings blood rising to the surface of my skin as quickly as it makes my clit swell; I love being spanked. He’s becoming an expert too, combining sensuous touch with brute power – a combination guaranteed to make me gasp and squeal.
He must be awake by now. I sneak a glance towards him, jabbing my fingers into myself and circling my hard clit with my thumb.
He opens one eye, blearily and regards me in my mid-wank poise; head back, tendons tensed, breath catching.
I feel a pang of guilt at having broken his sleep but my ever-demanding cunt is already clenching in anticipation of his hard cock. She has no conscience.
“Kneel upright” he orders. “Hands behind your head”
It’s amazing how quickly he can wake up given a suitable incentive
He sits up and draws back his hand. It meets the flesh of my buttocks, a hard, stinging blow, making me squeal
“Hush” he admonishes. “You woke me up, you greedy little slut. And you did it on purpose, didn’t you?”
Silently I nod, feigning contrition – but he’s not fooled.
“You’re not going to let me rest until you come, are you?”
His tone is half-amused, half-stern and his eyes glitter with dark mischief. I shake my head, grinning naughtily.
“Right. Here’s the deal.” He slaps me again, hard enough to jolt a gasp from me and leave a florid palmprint across my arse. “I’m going to punish you for waking me up. And you’re going to make yourself come while I’m chastising you. It’s a race. If you can come before I make you beg for mercy, you win and I’ll fuck you. If you have to ask me to stop before you’ve had your orgasm then I win.”
I have to ask.
Sounds like a win-win proposition to me. I unclasp my hands from behind my head and get to work.
As does he.
He’s not holding back, slapping and squeezing, raking his nails over me, pinching and twisting. It’s delicious, delightful and divine but so distracting. I’m barely registering my own actions, the bloom of hot hectic pain he’s raising is commanding all of my attention. I’m determined not to lose this one but then he picks up the riding crop.
“Agh! Shit! Ouch!” I shriek after only three blows
“Give in?” he enquiries, laughing
Goddammit, no. I get back to work, although by now I have cramp in my wrist and all I want is to take him deep inside me and have him pound the hell out of me.
It only takes another four lashes before I have to scream for mercy. “OK! I surrender, please, no more!” I’m on the verge of tears – of pain and frustration. He sits back grinning smugly
“You do indeed” I agree, hoping that his bounty will involve a good hard fucking for the loser. “What’s your prize?”
He lies back down and pulls the duvet back over him.
“I get to go back to sleep. And you, keep your hands off yourself until I say so.”
He laughs at my chagrined expression
“That’ll teach you to interrupt my rest. Now sit over there on your hands and don’t move until I wake up on my own”.
I’m raging inside with unfulfilled lust and burning on the outside thanks to my reddened, tender skin.