Weekend, part one: flogging

I slid my cock inside her swiftly and she took it easily. Let out a little cry, lifted her ankles around my hips. I was hungry. I could feel her opening, could feel how she could be filled.

“Get up,” I said after a while. I lifted myself off the bed and began switching to my other cock, the bigger one. “Turn over.”

She started to, up on her hands and knees, and I reached my arm around her hips and pulled her off the side of the bed, her pussy at my cock’s height perfectly. I took a palmful of lube and fucked her, hard, deep.

Moans and cries from both of us as I pounded into her. Fucks like that I swear I can feel my cock thickening, getting harder, being restricted and pulled into her cunt by her tight rings of muscles. She’s discovered that she can lift her legs off the floor and wrap them around my waist when I fuck her bent over the edge of the bed if she has the right grip on her hands (because it’s just the right height), which gets my cock ever deeper.

I moved my right hand around to her clit and she shuddered, I took a small grip on my cock to test the lube and moved back to her clit, swollen like a berry on a vine, thick, slick, sweet. I moved my other hand to her hair, pulling and holding her body so I could fuck harder. Shifting my pace, slowing excruciatingly and she was shuddering and gasping, nearly thrashing on the bed.

Faster again, slightly tilting my pelvis to aim for her gspot, fingers working her clit and lips stretched taut as she thrust back against me. I felt her thighs shudder, once, twice, as she squeezed and gasped, then came, nearly yelling into the bed.

We disentangled, breathing hard, little sighs of pleasure. She pulled herself up lengthwise on the bed and I went to her, legs scissored around hers, hand in her hair, one by her hip, head to her breast. She rested her hand on the back of my head and kept it there, weaving through the short hairs on my neck. Her fingers began to unravel me, to pull me apart, so tender, and I let go.

“You’re so sweet to me tonight,” I said, pulling myself up so our faces were next to each other on the pillow.

“You never let me be.”

[ Is that true? Maybe. Maybe I'm doing something that she interprets as keeping her at a distance, as pushing her away. I don't think that's how I intend it (is it?), and sometimes I even wish she'd touch me more. I don't wish it enough that I have asked for it (at least, not often, just once, the only time we showered together). ]

We pillow-talked for a while. “Did you like flogging me?”

“Yes. Very much.”

Let me elaborate: flogging is tangible power. Energy sparkling and crackling up and down my arms, my shoulders, all through my back. Rhythmic breathing, rhythmic swinging, and everything becomes hyper-sensual, hyper-senstive. I can detect a change in the air current, can hear a door open across the apartment building’s hallway. I feel her breathing, feel her breath, can see it visibly moving through her body. I sense the depth of the blows: that one too light, still too light, ah yes just right. Keep it there. Keep it just there. Then suddenly - too hard, and she gasps. I want to pull back but I so love the way she whimpers and squirms, just a little pain, just a little uncomfortable, then her muscles release, her voice releases when I let up, and that’s it, that’s the moment I crave, the supple giving in, the letting go, the release of what you don’t even know you’re holding on to.

Let go, let go. You don’t need it. All you need is this beautiful body, this beautiful breath.

In pillow talk, the subject shifted to dominance, to submission, to force. She knows I like it when she struggles. She’d like to play with that more, she said. I’d like her to say no, I said.

Then, I’m not sure how it started, but it did. Kissing, probably; isn’t that always how things start?

It’s a blur. Me looming over her, using the weight of my body (I must have more than 50 pounds on her) to hold her down. Force her legs apart. And she let out a string of words: “No no no no no,” whimpering, softly, turning her head side to side into the pillow as she tried to get her wrists out of my grip, “no no no no.”

“Yes,” I whispered, firmly. “Oh yes.”

She arched her back, tried to kick me and I got my calf against her knee and my hips between her thighs. Both wrists in one hand and position my cock.

“You’re going to take it. I’m going to fuck you.”

“Nooo …” Was she crying now? Gasping and her face felt wet when I took a grip on her hair and force her mouth to mine. It scared me a little, maybe I was hurting her (is she in physical pain? Are her knees okay, her shoulders?), and it scared me that I liked how much she was resisting me. How much I liked it when she won’t let me in.

I raised myself arms-length from her momentarily and paused. “You’ve got a safeword now, little girl. You remember what it is?”

She nodded a little, meeting my eyes briefly, and they were almost calm. Dancing. I felt releif.

“I’m not going to stop unless you use it. You’re gonna be mine tonight. My girl.”

And I pushed my thighs up to open hers, my knees sliding under her to force her pelvis up, her legs apart. My weight was shifted forward on my forearm, holding her arms down. She resisted my attempts to kiss her and whimpered more, moaning a little, cries inciting some sort of pulsing urge in my core, my pelvis, my hands in fists, down to my toes where I pushed against the bed firmly.

I slid inside slow and she shuddered, gasped, chest heaved and sank into the pillows and she let out a moan despite herself.

“You’re my girl tonight. Mine.” I said into her neck as I closed my teeth against her tender skin to keep her there, an animal instinct and she can’t move without ripping herself.

“You’re my girl.” I said again. “Say it.”

I felt her breath on my ear, her fingers clawing at my shoulderblades as she pulled me to her as I pumped my hips against her, thrusting, pressing, circling, and she pulsed under me.

Just a whisper: “I’m your girl.”

“That’s right. That’s right, baby. Say it again.”

“I’m yours, I’m your girl.”

I brought my mouth to hers, and we slid into the fuck, rocked together. Rocked deep.

Wear a short skirt or dress, the shortest you have. Nothing underneath. Bare legs. Bare feet.

The extent of force will be up to you. If you want me to enter unannounced, unlock the door to your apartment at 9:28. I’ll be arriving at 9:30.

If you want to let me in, keep the door locked, and I will knock. But we won’t speak. No small talk, no chit-chat. You can say things in character - however much you like. You don’t have to pretend you don’t know me, you can still ask what are you doing and you can say no. You can struggle.

But I won’t stop.

You have a safeword now. You’re going to have to use it.

Part I

Part II

Her mouth is warm, wet, tightly closed around this penis that is increasingly feeling like part of me. I know the ridges of the roof of her mouth, I know the way her inner lips and tongue are the texture of avocado, so creamy and smooth, not sweet but succulent, smelting. I know the edges of her teeth, the one on the top that is not quite perfectly aligned but makes her smile extra cute. I can almost feel these details through the cyberskin of my cock. The ridge of her mouth on the ridge of the head. Her teeth covered or barely grazing the edge. Sucking. Pulling liquid from deep inside me with the pull of her mouth. Swallowing me.She’s making little noises in her throat as though she’s famished and eating a gourmet meal bite by bite. Strawberries and champagne. Brie and havarti and muenster and gorgonzola. Olives.

I could let this go on, really. Her mouth on my cock. My cock in her mouth. Her hand still on the shaft. She’s kneeling now, feet under her, heel pressed against her own cunt and rocking back and forth as I slide insider her, in and out, in and out. This could go on, just like this, but it won’t. Not tonight.

I tear at her hair, hard, throwing her off balance. I pull her skull back with my fist and push with my hips, guiding her movement. She scrambles, hands reaching, eyes wide, not quite able to get a grip on the floor with her stockinged feet, sliding, until her back hits the wall and I press my hips to her face again. Bring one hand to the wall above her and begin thrusting. She squirms, gasps, cries out a little when my cock goes too deep, pressing her body against the wall and twisting her legs into some sort of half-sitting position after they get caught beneath her body.

Her other hand finds her slit between her legs, wet and slick, clit hard, muscles inside already pulsing. She looks to see if I notice. I do, but my only movement is coming hard from my hips and I let her continue for now. I am glad she enjoys this. She may as well be comfortable now.

And she is, almost. Not quite comfortable, because I’m still inside her mouth on top of her in this vulnerable pose that gives her no room for movement. She can only take my cock however deep I give it to her.

This is when things for me can get dangerous. I will get off from a good blowjob, and she knows it. As desire builds and my brain clears of all clutter, such power mounts in my body that my cock could be steel, the thrust of my hips could be powered by a generator. I can get scared here. I find my eyes rolling back, my body opening, my energy so pointed: I fear I will do something harmful. Want overrides thought and I could hurt her, accidentally, by giving in to this desire, by letting go.

She knows this happens for me. We’ve spoken of it. She has come to expect it at times when my passion builds strong and intense. She’s looking up at me trying to catch my eyes. Holds eye contact for a moment, urging me. Go on. Do it.

Part I

She does. Tenderly, her lips on the pink silicone. Tenderly, her mouth sucking her teeth, keeping her lips closed. Looking up at me under her eyelashes, movement restricted by my hand in her hair, breasts thrust forward, nipples peaked. Kissing the edges of it gratefully, moist cock against her mouth. Her lips brush its ridges, the head of it, the veins running down the shaft.“Please,” she says, “please.” Whispering, barely.

My hand is still in her hair. Her head is beginning to do that blow-job bob movement and my hips are responding accordingly, straining at being held back. My ass is flexing which makes my hips begin to thrust. She is parting her lips, but barely, touching only the tip of her tongue to my cock.

I try to keep my eyes open, to watch this creature before me and the way her mouth moves, the way her eyes look, remembering the way her lips pinch cylindrical with my dick deep in her throat.

“Please what?” I say. Oh I’m mean sometimes. I want to hear her say it.

“Please,” she says again, softening, hearing the growl in my voice. She swallows, placing her lips back onto just the tip, circling, touching it with the point of her tongue. “Please, may I use my hands?”

That’s not what I wanted her to say, but she’s got those big eyes staring up at me, and she asked so nicely. “Yes,” I say. Breathe out. Go ahead.

She does. Shakes her hands and shoulders free from the locked position behind her and readjusts herself on her knees. Circles the base of my cock near my pubic bone and presses into my clit the way she knows I like to feel it. She’s an expert here. She invented this game. It’s hard for me to stay ahead.

“Ohh, that’s good,” I say, involuntarily, groaning and leaning back into her fingers sliding up and down the shaft.

“Yeah?” she manages to mumble, still kissing, not opening her mouth more than a clit’s width.

“Ohh yeah.” I say.

“I want to drink you in,” she says between kisses, fingers still supple and circling me, “take you onto my tongue. Swallow you, just like this.”

Fuck. I tighten my grip on the back of her head, on her hair, and press her lips apart with my strapon. I can feel her jaw open as I press inside; she moans in surprise, and closes her eyes.

Part III

Embraced, one hand on the small of her back, fingertips gently on the skin between her shirt and skirt, one hand under her hair, at the back of her neck, touching, wispy, softly. My mouth at her neck. Her jawline. My lips to her earlobe.I whisper: “Get on your knees.”

Her body shudders. Softens, supple against me. She sinks to her knees - willingly, eagerly. Looks up at me with her wide eyes. Lips already parted.

I touch my waistband with my fingers and begin to unbutton, unzip. She moves her hands to assist. I hit them away, almost gently.

“Behind your back,” I say, tone low, consonants hard and deep.

Her chest moves as she breathes in. Moves her arms behind her. Grasps one wrist with the other hand. Keeps looking up at me, her chin level.

My belt clinks as I unbuckle it, metal against metal. I shift my hips to pull the split in my jeans apart. Push down the navy blue briefs and pull out my pink packing strapon, cyberskin, bendable. I wrap my fingers around it and flex it into its long, slightly curved shape. Squeeze gently, feeling the give of the material, the lip under the head of it, the ridges on the shaft. I let my head dip back, eyes closed, pressing the cock against my pubic bone, against my clit.

She’s watching me. Mouth parted, lips full and red. Eyes shifting from my fingers on the tip of my cock to my face.

She is three inches away from me. Two. I put my right hand out, palm up, next to her mouth. “Lube,” I say.

She looks at me like she doesn’t know what I mean, then lowers her eyes to my hand, presses her lips together, and spits saliva onto my fingers. I rub my four fingers with my thumb, spreading and evening the viscus liquid, and take my cock in my hand again, sliding smoothly up and down the shaft of it, my thumb swirling against the head.

She is amused. Watching me, smiling. As though she knows that isn’t enough. She’s gathering saliva, pooling at the bottom of her mouth, feeling it with her tongue and waiting. She knows she’ll get her chance.

I take her head in my left hand, cup the back of her skull like a grip on ball, a game piece. I take a tiny step toward her, my feet barely moving, slightly apart, hips forward. I let the pink dick rub against her cheek briefly, just a feather, and say, “Kiss it.”

Her eyes show a little fear, a little nervousness, but mostly excitement. Turned on and wanting. She makes a move to open her mouth wide and turn her head slightly, but I catch her by the hair and she can’t.

“No. Just your lips. Kiss it.”

part II

Part III

The first time, she said no one ever made her come from inside before. Over the next fourty hours, I did it somewhere between nine and thirteen more times, inside and out; we lost count, the nights melted together.Desire pooled between us and the contours of our bodies were gutters, runoffs, ditches in which it collected and flowed: the line where her thighs touch. In between her breasts. The undersides of my wrists. The place where my pink and red cocks (which are my favorites) press against my pubic bone.

I didn’t get to fuck her strapped on as much as I’d have liked to (which would have been every time). I get shy about my cock sometimes. So much wanting. It’s embarassing to want something so much. Plus, there’s that moment, if I haven’t pre-planned by packing, that I have to get up, disrobe, pull on the harness, slip on the dildo, suit her up in a condom, and then come back to the open wanting girl watching me, waiting. And when I get back to bed I feel like I have to start all over again with foreplay instead of just stickin it in, which is my impulse.

On Saturday, I did pre-plan, and packed after my morning shower. We walked the dog walked around a civil war battleground while I hid my pink packing cock. The tourists stared at me (so obvious) and I stared at her. Watched her body move. Left my hands in my pockets most of the time to conceal the bulge. Did she know I was packing all day? Did she know when we walked off the path into the woods onto the rocks that we could have fucked right there, that I was envisioning her on her knees, sucking my cock through the zipper of my jeans?

I’m not sure when she discovered I was packing. After the walk I slid my fingers into her in the kitchen up against the counter and I think she felt it with her hands. Yes, I know she did. That was the third time I made her come and I knew then what she would do, how her body would fold and buckle, how her fingers on my wrist meant stop - but don’t pull out yet.

She just kept letting me take her, whenever I wanted, where ever I wanted, so I did. I wouldn’t usually be so bold as to push her skirt up to her hips and finger her in the kitchen. I wouldn’t usually assume it was okay to fuck her in the middle of the day, twice, three times - I would think about it, I would wish I could, but she would give me a look that meant stop you’re being inappropriate and I would shirk off to my corner, obedient.

But we didn’t have much time. Barely over fourty hours together, and I wanted every minute to count.

And she didn’t do that. She didn’t turn me away. In fact, she just wanted me more every time I put my hands on her electric body. Conducted her like a gold-plated wire. Completed the circuit and she flowed into me every time I touched her.

Every time I kissed her: forget it. At first it would just be a kiss, just good morning or okay I’m going to take a shower now or thanks for making me that delicious pesto-tomato grilled cheese sandwich but then it became oh god and please do that more, again and if you don’t stop I’m going to take you right here right now. And of course she didn’t stop. So I did take her. When I wanted. Where I wanted. How I wanted.

I told her I would try to restrain myself. She said don’t.

I did fuck her with my strapon that day. I lose myself when I’m fucking that way, different than when I am using fingers or lips. I forget about her pleasure and concentrate on mine. Concentrate on the tight ring of her cunt around the ridge of my cock, how her muscles pull and press. I make noises I wouldn’t usually; instead of listening to what her body wants and the sounds her mouth makes, I’m only feeling the thrust into her. Groaning with the pressure building in my cunt. The way it feels when she squeezes.

Later, I had her from behind bent over the bed, fingers inside her - again my fingers inside, always I was slipping my fingers inside her, searching for something, for life, for that clitoral ridge, for her soft spot, pulling rubies from her cervix - left hand on the back of her head, in her hair, pushing her into the bedspread. Yeah. A little bit harder.

That may have been my favorite part of the day.

That, and later, when I went down on her for hours. That, and when I pressed her up against the door in the kitchen, kicked her legs apart, held her hands above her head. We were expecting guests but she said, memorize. Memorize this right now.

That was Saturday. I was only getting started.