Feb 272017
 

Half laying on my side and stomach, I woke up when fingers roughly pushed their way into my body, pounded in and out to where the hand and remaining fingers felt like a fist against my lips.

I was already wet, as it seems I always am. I clenched around the fingers and dream and reality splintered with the rough and quick orgasm.

I was pushed fully on my stomach, my legs spread by Mr. Texas’ knees as he popped the head of his cock between my lips and past the initial resistance of my entrance. My wet body allowed the rest of him to slide effortlessly to my wall, which he hit surprisingly fast and painfully. A few more thrusts that hit and hurt, and my body stretched more fully to accommodate him, adjusting to where it was less pain and more pleasure.

Even in the pain, I tightened in the pleasure and raised my hips to welcome him hitting the depths that caused the discomfort. I love the uncaring taking, the forcing in. It turns me on far more than words can express. Even now, as I type this, I grow wet with the memory.

I groaned a bit too loudly. He yanked back my head with a fist in my hair; I moaned even more, arched back and took him deeper, and he pushed my face into the bed.

Perhaps he did so because of the sleeping kids in the house, he is after all quite considerate.

I struggled to breathe for a minute, my nose squished uncomfortably. I came; I screamed. The uncaring nature of such an act, the pounding of him inside of me, the slight objectification of being used in such a manner, all of it so unbelievably hot to me that orgasms simply didn’t cease, pleasure after pleasure crashed and didn’t ebb. It allowed me to not think, to go from dream to orgasm after orgasm, to not even have to be conscious of my own noises or own reactions, just to be repeatedly rammed by his cock. I felt every ridge, every throb, especially the tip of his head and the curve underneath – felt like a hook scratching an incessant itch against my walls.

The fist demanded my head up so quickly I had to use elbows to brace myself, a hand went around my throat and his fingers felt and dug where I showed him I liked on either side. Normally, he allows my own weight to dig into his fingers, this time they squeezed as he lowered my head upon the fingertips, my elbows no longer needed to brace myself up. His cock continued it’s relentless pleasure thrumming in my body. His fingers around my throat competed with attention. Dizzying, I felt my legs lower and my body become heavy. My eyes were already shut or otherwise I would have noticed the world go dark; I only noticed the gasping of breath as he rolled me over, the heaviness of my body, the haziness of my brain.

“I think you passed out for a moment, your whole body went limp,” he thrusted himself between my thighs as he stated that, and though it didn’t sound like it – I still sensed the concern even as he fucked me senseless.

I knew amid foggy brain and orgasms he still needed reassurance. I also knew that if I passed out, it was done correctly, safely, and was far shorter than my ex husband and I would do.

“Probably, and that’s hot. I’m fine,” I managed to breathe out in between cries of pleasure. I bit down on his shoulder as my arms wrapped around him, my heels digging in to his hips to pull him in even deeper.

He leaned back, grabbed my wrists, forced them over my head, pressed upon them with his body weight as just that action alone caused another orgasm. I was so tense under him and in that tension tightened even more as his own grunts and groans signaled his release.

I fucking love rough sex, feeling forced, being taken, pinned.

And I fucking love the softness of being held, of reassuring that what occurred was amazing, of praising each other and communicating how deeply we care for each other.

Wicked Wednesday*Wicked Wednesday is about one man, and in these moments no one and nothing exists except this one man.

**February Photo Fest photo continues the story of David, unrelated to the above story but this picture is so beautiful at visually being taken. Febraury Photofest
Masturbation Monday badge - small

Oct 062015
 

*Wicked Wednesday’s prompt matched the Sinful Sunday’s picture so perfectly, I almost used it twice! But I know I’ve written a lot about waking up early – I always get an early start on my day and try to push my limit with my husband’s kindness with early morning sex. I use this topic so much that I have a category “waking”. Luckily, even though my husband and I are currently separated again, in drafts I have this small moment I wrote awhile ago on how amazing he is to an early riser/insomniac like me.  

I haven’t slept for hours, it is from nothing specific. I get up and when I come back to bed to try again, I hear his sleepy murmurings.

“You okay?” Gruff and drowsy, syllables stumbling and sliding into each other.

“I can’t sleep. I need sex,” I whine softly, crawling against his warm form under the covers.

“Okay, give me a moment. My arm is asleep,” he rolls over onto his back and I reach down and stroke his hardness, marveling at his already aroused state. “I need a moment,” he repeats, as if unsure he even said it the first time.

“I know, and thank you. You’re so my dream man,” I place soft kisses on his chest and continue stroking him.

“I try.” I place my head on his chest. “What’re we doing?” he is obviously confused, still so sleepy.

“I’m snuggling, hold me,” I direct him and shift to lay my cheek even more firmly on his chest. He is so unbelievably hard.

“Okay, I can do that.” His arm comes around and holds me close. We whisper of vague, everyday things as he slowly sheds sleep, my hand continues stimulating him, as if I am afraid that if I stop, so will his erection. Perhaps it will, we’ve been here far more than people would give him credit for – and many would not welcome sex so early (not that he always does, nor is he actually welcoming – more accommodating). “I have to wake up in an hour,” he stated once he opened his eyes, turning to the side to begin fingering me, his mouth gently at my nipple.

“Plenty of time for you to go back to sleep,” I reassure him, kiss him as he enters me. We both know he won’t find his own pleasure, and how tired he is depends on how many orgasms he’ll grant me before separating and drifting back to sleep. I’ve always been envious of his ability to fall asleep so magnificently.

How lucky I am to have him!

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 6:25 am
Oct 032015
 

Having the most amount of energy in the morning, I had every intention of cleaning the house before beginning my day. I rolled out of bed, threw on a bra and shirt, and heard his voice telling me to turn around before I could scrounge around for pajama pants. He clicked a picture, told me how sexy I was in this state, and told me to get my butt back in bed to use some of that energy towards more pleasurable pursuits.Hidden 001

Sinful SundayIt’s funny, this post has been in the drafts for awhile with this name. Perfectly suited the prompt for Sinful Sunday!
Sep 232015
 

“Remember, I was the vanilla one. I look at it like I’m along for the ride on this Sim’s (game) roller coaster. Hanging on for the twists and turns, the ups and downs, with you right beside me, but you’re also the one in the control panel.” – My husband

We had a talk last night, after he read “Hurtful Scene“. He feels as though he is portrayed negatively, though acknowledging that of course people only see my view because I can only write from my view. Fortunately, there’s been some distance since that posted conversation – it was written awhile ago and waited to be posted until after the conflict was (somewhat) resolved.

We snuggled as we talked in the middle of the night, me still sleepy from being woken but knowing he needed to sort through and discuss his feelings on the matter.

“I hope you can fall back asleep,” he said by way of apology for waking me, us both knowing that I probably wouldn’t, that I would drag through a long day at work as a consequence. “How about I give you sex?”

He doesn’t initiate all that often, I am the partner pushing for sex. Of course I said yes.

He chuckled, “how often do people have a serious conversation, hurt feelings, and still come together for sex?” He fingers softly caressed me. “We aren’t perfect-”

“I don’t want to be. I want us to be us, to explore, and be crazy, and make mistakes and learn, and love each other. That’s pretty close to perfect to me,” I interrupted, stroking him.

We came together in the quiet hours before the new day.

 Posted by at 5:51 am
Sep 072015
 

A light sleeper, I woke up looking for him and discovered he wasn’t there. I looked at the time, realized how late it was, and rolled out of bed, looking for him. He wasn’t far – on the other side of the bedroom wall playing video games in our living room.  He saw me, said, “coming,” before I could utter a sound, so I spun around and retreated back between the warmth of the covers.

A few minutes later, my eyes shut and body cozy, I heard him moving around the room quietly. The bed dipped and his cold body was beside me.

Normally I shy away from cold bodies – I take forever to warm up myself and am a bit overly protective when I am not feeling cold. But I was grateful he was beside me, so with us both laying on our backs I positioned myself slanted, with my ass up on the edge on one hip of his, one leg going between his legs, only reaching halfway down due to our height difference, and the other leg hooking around his opposite hip. One of my hands settled on my hip. I still wasn’t willing to commit my torso to his chilly self, but I was willing to warm up the lower half of him.

He has this uncanny ability to fall asleep instantly, the minute his head hits the pillow, so when he didn’t respond to me sharing warmth, I was a bit envious of this ability, assuming he was asleep.

My fingertips touched my wiry pubic hair and I toyed with the edges, pretty soon seeing if I could run my fingers through it, discovering it wasn’t quite long enough for that but it was getting there.

“I need to trim,” I stated softly, and heard an answering grunt. So he wasn’t quite asleep yet, but not far off. I pulled at the tips of some of the hair to see how long it was, then stroked through it again. I felt the heat difference of my warm fingertips as they curved to between my thighs, the difference also of his warm sleepy member slumbering between my legs. I hadn’t realized I positioned us quite like this. My clit seemed to tingle a bit in anticipation, or maybe just responding to the heat, but I wanted to sleep, so I just stroked softly the tips of the wiry hair protecting my sensitive skin from myself.  My palm curved down, and that was quite a heat difference. I felt my nipples harden and an ache begin between my legs.

I would just check my body’s reaction, I thought to myself, and softly slid a fingertip at my entrance. I was damp. I traced a bit of moisture to my clit, unhurriedly, and found my nub hard. I circled it slowly, traced it down the middle with a bit more pressure, and found myself wanting to arch into the motion.

My other hand went to my breasts, and stroked and gently pinched the hardened tips. My other hand dipped a finger in a bit more, hearing a slight sound as I penetrated my wet entrance, and smeared the fluid around, fingernail lightly circled my labia and teased at my own entrance. I slowly dipped in my finger again, heard the quiet noise of welcome, my body rejoicing in the exquisite invasion, and nerve endings spreading pleasure from my entrance back, deeper inside of me. I crooked my finger and rubbed at a delicious spot, felt my hips rotate for a better position, and became aware of the man slightly under me.

I lifted myself off him. If he wasn’t going to please me then I would please myself, but I really wanted him buried deep inside of me. “Have sex with me,” I spoke into the silent room.

“Touching yourself?” I heard his sleepy murmur.

I was surprised he knew, surprised he wasn’t asleep yet, though it had just been a brief amount of time. “Yes.”

“Roll over,” and I lay to my side, his now warm arms coming around me, spooning me against his body as he positioned himself at my ready entrance. His thick member parted me, stretched slowly into me, and my nerve endings burst at pleasure at the journey, my body clenching around him. I moaned as he withdrew, the underside of his head brushing past such delicately sensitive zones. He moved unhurriedly, sleepily, a few times in that manner, and then his hand was in the center of my shoulder blades and he pushed me to bent sideways position. He pistoned faster in and out of me, a hand going in my hair and making my back arch. He rubbed against the glorious of spots and I found myself tensing and then my body flooding with an orgasm.

He rotated us around, still inside of me, where I was on my stomach and he was on top of me. His arms took the weight off me as he angled himself up and thrusted in and out with the same force, at one point an arm dipped down and went around my throat, making me arch my back again, making me focus on only him, his harsh breathing and hard cock simultaneously spurring another orgasm. My body gripped him at the crest of my pleasure and I heard his groan. He tightened around my neck, his hips moved a bit slower but held himself deeper, and I dug my nails into his arm.

“I’m cumming.” His voice was that harsh tone, husky timber, a bit breathless, and slightly more coherent than a groan. His words kept me at the peak of my own orgasm, my body quickening with pleasure over his own enjoyment, and we both cried out together.

His arm moved from around my neck, and he rotated us to spooning again, his strong arms holding me tenderly. His breathing wasn’t calm yet and I wondered if he could feel my heart beat against an arm holding me.  I felt him softening inside of me, and the wetness between us and on my thighs.

“Thank you.” I felt so relaxed and cherished.

“Thank you too,” his voice already sounded sleepy again. “Least I can do if I come to bed late.”

Hmm, my mind already started pondering that possibility. If that was the case, then I was due a lot more sex, and would be making sure I collected more often.

When I pulled away from his arms to dry and clean myself, he was already asleep.

 

 Posted by at 7:25 am
Aug 172015
 

Masturbation Monday Week 50We cuddled, lazy on a morning that the bustle of life can wait for. His fingers wandered around the curves of my body. As they skimmed my thighs and nipples, I caught my breath, moaned a little. He smiled, a smile I recognize when he realizes that I am sensitive and he is going to continue to get more of my reactions. He kissed me, gently nudged me onto my side, pressed his warm body against my back, and his finger slipped so easily into my body. I moaned and raised a leg, draped it over his thighs to give him more access. His finger slid out and up to my clit, circled a few times. His finger teased in and out, spread my juices around, rubbed my gspot, almost got me there, and then withdrew completely.

I whined. “Oh is there something I can do for you?” he whispered, his voice still husky from not using it during the night, his words tickling my neck. I reached back and gripped his upper thigh, pulled him closer into my body, felt his erection. He softly fingered me, a pace that was maddeningly only because it was unhurried and my body tensed for so long in anticipation. As I clenched around his fingers, as I felt my juices coat and the waves of pleasure come, he bit down where neck and shoulder meet. I came as his teeth applied delightful pressure to muscle, as he marked me for a later reminder of this intimate moment. He let go of my skin as my body released from the climax and rested his face on the back of my head, in contrast my own panting – his breath still was slowly coming in and out and brushing against the wet bite marks.

He continued to finger me, now in an insistent and harsh way that makes me squirt, and I knew he wouldn’t give up until I did. My thighs were coated in this orgasm, his fingers creating a noisy concert as they directed just one more orgasm after squirting, again slowly guiding me there, allow my body a more relaxed state, the scent of my pleasure drifting delightfully about the room.

We continued spooning after his fingers withdrew, and despite how hard he still was pressed against my body, he seemed content to drift back towards slumber again.

 Posted by at 8:08 am
Jul 302015
 

We argued, and I couldn’t sleep. Finally around midnight, I pulled him into bed. “Make it right,” I demanded.

He laughed and kissed me softly, no tongue. I rolled my eyes, not quite what I had in mind and he knew it, so I pushed the covers off of him and kissed the head of his penis, just as softly. Then I looked up – not quite what he had in mind when I went down, I could tell. I winked and then moved my mouth as low as I could on the shaft, felt the thick head hit the back of my throat, increased the suction, and pulled up. One hand steadied his thickly engorged member at the base, the other hand cupped and gently played with his balls as I kept move my mouth up and down. He whispered encouragements, or quiet sighs, his hand swept my hair away and held it up so that he could watch.

After a few minutes I moved up, kissed a trail up his body until I got to his neck, and then gently nipped it and applied more pressure on his more sensitive areas, felt his pulse throb under my probing tongue. His hand moved between my legs and stroked up and down my lips. I wasn’t quite wet enough for him to dip in yet. The hand moved up to nipples, pinched each other briefly between his fingers, and then to my shoulder. He gently pushed me to my back, off of his neck, and then rolled me to my side, positioned his mouth between my legs. One hand held my top leg up and his tongue swept up and down my lips, before his hand separated my lips for his tongue to settle into my sex more fully. He sucked while moving his tongue around and in and out of my entrance, and soon I panted and begged for more. One hand moved to my clit, an awkward angle considering I was still lying on my side, and teased the bud while his mouth still fucked me. I tried to push myself more fully onto his mouth, unable to stop myself from moving into him.

Taking his mouth away, he rotated me so I lay on my stomach, inserted a finger in my own very slick sex, his tongue almost doing a questioning lick at my anus. He normally doesn’t go back there, but I was too gone in my own pleasurable sensations to do anything more than moan my appreciation, and hinged my hips against his tongue and fingers. Two fingers, and rimming in earnest began, and I moaned and climaxed, not in my usual hard way, but slowly and softly.

“Hold on,” he said quietly, and stretched to over the side of the bed. By this point I was chest down, ass up on the bed, and swiftly I had a buzzing and vibrating toy thrusted down into me, rubbed my g-spot easily from this angle, his mouth back between my cheeks, and I orgasmed so quickly and hard, screamed. Before one orgasm had even ebbed another one began and then another and I was lost completely to the world, swept up in pleasure.

After three incredible orgasms, he positioned himself up between my legs, entered me violently, reached over for some lube and made me slick before slipping his thumb in my ass, pushed down slightly, giving me a full feeling. His other hand smacked my ass hard. His cock pumped in and out at a downward angle, continued to slide against my g-spot as his head slammed against my wall, and I screamed with an immediate orgasm, my body so tense, so full. Again, his other hand came on to spank my already red cheek. Again, before one orgasm could completely allow me down another built and crest, and I clenched around his shaft, his thumb, held my breath, felt my already sensitive heated cheek being smacked, became dizzy, moaned, screamed, and cursed as yet another orgasm came. I felt him push himself more fully, shudder with the force of his own orgasm.

When he pulled out, I already came again, moaned softly at the feeling of the ridges of his head moving along my walls before he was gone. His thumb slowly moved out, and I couldn’t believe how sensitive I was even there. I let my shaking legs straighten and sunk into the soft mattress, utterly spent. My head was foggy, my thoughts incoherent, but I turned my head and smiled, unable to see his hand descend upon that same fiery cheek. I yelped at the sting, instinctively moved up towards the source of pain; found that a strange reaction instead of moving away, a moan followed a yelp.

“God that feels good,” the words dripped out of my mouth, unbidden, like my wetness flowed down my thighs from the sudden tightening the spank gave me. His hand came down again, and again I moaned into it. Suddenly his fingertips ran softly over my oh-so-sensitive skin, and I tightened and tensed, raised my hips, thighs pressed together as my body clenched itself into another orgasm. I was just surprised as he was, and he spanked my ass a few more times, the pain intense, the pleasure overrode the pain. His mouth followed his hand, licked up and down the hand imprints, and I begged for something incoherently, his mouth now alternated between soft licks, hard suction. He smacked a few more times, following with his mouth a few more times, and I came in the tension my body created.

His fingers sunk between my legs and he grazed my g-spot, brought me to another orgasm and I was again mindless.

Breathless by the time he moved away from me, I rolled over my back, the one side of my ass so aware of all the fibers of the sheet. I panted, by this time hours of pleasure not allowing me any sense of realism, and unable to help himself from toying with my quivering self, his fingers grazed my clit. I sucked in my breath, already felt dizzy from the slight contact, my legs parted without thought. Suddenly two of his fingers danced upon my pearl, and I was so taken with pleasure I had no idea how I ended up laying with my back on his chest, one solid arm across my shoulder and neck so finger could tugged at a nipple, the other hand quickly alternated between slipping into my sex and rubbing up into my clit.

I screamed, arched against him, arched into his tormenting and pleasure inducing fingers, both on my breast and between my legs. I felt his breath against my ear, harsh and ragged as if he matched my own breathing; his body seemed to be an unforgiving hard mass against my back and my throbbing swollen ass. It seemed as if my scream last for days, and I don’t remember quite coming back to the present, just his sexy voice quietly promised to leave me alone now. I think I drifted; I think I got up shortly afterwards to clean myself up, my legs a wobbly mess and he playfully slapped my ass lightly, but it was still so sensitive, and it felt so good that my legs almost collapsed underneath me. I think he said something to the effect that I came every way imaginable tonight, and I mumbled what other ways he could surprise me about myself.

I don’t remember if I ever really opened my eyes, it seemed as if the world shut itself out and the after moments were but a dream. I slept soundly.

*Held in drafts since May 2013.

 Posted by at 8:07 am
Apr 152015
 

M: A post by M on Masturbation, for the A-Z Challenge

I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts went to last night when, after I playfully slapped him on the cheek for a cheeky statement, he threatened to tie me up and slap me between my legs (something he did quite hard already this week), my breasts, and my face. Even in my aroused state, those words both shocked me and turned me on; shocked because he hasn’t really slapped my breasts and only my face a couple of times, and even then tentatively though it’s been discussed and consented; and turned on because to be tied I would be at his mercy and if his words followed his actions then I would be in a long session, as he always gives me the contrast of pain and pleasure in a dance that keeps my body and mind fully occupied.

My nipples were hard. And sensitive, for just the night before his own fingers tugged on them and demanded I grind myself against him to my own orgasm.

I rolled over on my back, away from his warm body, and my arms bent to have fingertips caress the taut hard buds. I felt a shiver of pleasure. Softly, delicately, I traced the tips, the puckered skin around, cupped the full weight as much as I could with my small hands. They are more than a handful in my own hands and I noticed the difference that I rarely experience.

But even with myself, I wasn’t in the mood for soft.  I tugged and pinched my nipples, felt the ripple of pleasure go through my core and connect with my cunt. I released one nipple and stretched down to between my legs, spread my lips and dipped a finger inside. I wasn’t very wet. My finger reached further inside and circled unhurriedly, feeling my walls wrap around my finger, nerve sensations awakening at every minuscule movement. My other fingers pinched and pulled my nipple in earnest as the harder I pinched, the more I tensed and felt pleasure around my own finger inside of me.

With a bit of moisture, I withdrew my finger and spread it up between my legs, circled my clit with it, dipped back in and drew some more moisture.

I envisioned being tied with my back to a cross – ankles and wrists spread and of little protection, blindfolded so I would be unaware of his next move. He would circle me a few times, talk, and make me wonder what he was planning.

I was dripping, my finger making a small bit of noise as it pushed in and out.

He would softly caress me when I would expect a impact, and I would jump as much as I could tied, and he would laugh and state how much he appreciated my reaction. And then he would slap me between my spread legs – hard and stingy with no warning because he loved to do that, but then warming me up with pats, almost caresses between my aching lips, until he gradually got to the full painful impact of the first one he delivered. I would yelp by that point, and his fingers would effortlessly slide inside my wet body, his words taunt me that I obviously was complaining for no reason as my body betrayed my love for it, and he would finger me fast and vigorously to an orgasm that would seemingly tear out of me violent.

My own fingers danced along with the fantasy, having no resistance and quite slippery as they traveled between and inside my own lips.

Next, he would make me anticipate what he would next again. I loved not knowing, not being able to anticipate, to focus only on his sounds, the movement of the air; I hated the anticipation as well. Suddenly our paddle would smack the slide of my breast and I would cry out in surprise more than pain. He would do that a few more times until the breast felt heavy and hot, more of an ache than a sting where the paddle made contact. He would put one hand around my throat and kiss me while his other hand would roughly cup the abused breasts and then the fingers would pinch the nipple as he pulled back the kiss and gritted out for me to cum, all the while twisting so terribly and yet somehow my nipple would generate so much pleasure that my cunt would clench until I did orgasm.

I would ask for him to stop, but he hated to leave one side unattended, and the other breast and nipple would receive the same abuse of paddle and fingers. Somehow it was just as bad to anticipate exactly what he would do to this breast as it was to be surprised by other one.

My hand pulling at my own nipple switched to the other side, leaving the one sore and hot and oh so deliciously sensitive. The sheets shifted as my arm did and my nipple felt roughness of the fabric though the sheets were so soft.

The hand around my throat would stay there even after I orgasmed on the cross at his command, and he would lean down and kiss me again. Suddenly his warm lips and demanding tongue wouldn’t be there and I would feel the sting across my cheek, too shocked to offer protest, all the sudden feeling like I am no longer human but an object to him on the cross. After a long moment, I would feel his hand on my cheek again, and with one hand still around my throat, the offending hand would be between my thighs, drenched with my own juices, the skin so swollen and sensitive from the stinging slaps there, and fingers would thrust and wrench another orgasm from me, my thighs dripping from the force, muscles shaking and quivering, knees threatening to buckle as I stood there gushing.

I climaxed to the fantasy of being his orgasming object, his toy that he could bring such depths of pleasure and pain, and tried not to cry out into the silent room with his sleeping form.

 Posted by at 8:54 am
Mar 042015
 

It was in the middle of the night that he woke me up. He had just returned from an educational on biting, and a play party afterwards.

“Want me to show you what I learned?” he started into waking me, already rolling my body onto my back and nestled himself between my legs. I felt his breath on my neck.

“No,” I sleepily mumbled, “your lover doesn’t like biting.”

“You might,” I could hear the smile in his voice, and smiled in response, despite it being so dark in the room he couldn’t see. His lips gently pressed down on my skin, and I felt the hard enamel before the scrape of teeth on the side of my neck.

“No,” I pushed gently on his chest. Undaunted, he leaned up and kissed me, his fingers roamed and he inserted first one, and then two fingers inside of me. It wasn’t long before I was moaning, and thrusted my hips up to encourage an orgasm. I felt the tension build, started to gasp for breath, and…and he withdrew his fingers right when I clenched on them. “No!” I wailed, knowing full well he intentionally edged me, the timing was too perfect. I gripped his shoulders, kissed him, wrapped my legs around him and arched up, felt his hardness. “I’m trying not to hurt you,” I whispered, as normally I kick out when he denies me an orgasm, but I was trying to temper that urge. “Please let me cum,” I asked.

And his fingers dived back inside, only to tempt me to the peak and …and deny me again. “I want to see your face as I do this to you,” he said, turning on the bedside light to a low glow. The third time, he used his mouth and teeth roughly on my nipples as he fingered me, teased me verbally how he could feel my tension, how he wasn’t done toying with me and had no intention of giving me an orgasm. When he stopped before I could get pleased, I did kick out. He was already out of harm’s way. The fourth time, my foot connected to his thigh, but his large hands clamped down on my ankles and held me fast to the bed until I could reign in my frustration better.

Five seemed a ludricous number to me to deny me, to take me to the edge of pleasure and pull back. I thought he agreed with me, as he entered me, slowly eased his throbbing member in until fully embedded.

Apparently, he didn’t agree with me, as when he withdrew completely, he was already standing on the side of the bed before I had to chance to process my denial. He grabbed my ankles again, they were already sore from the first time he clamped down on them, and spread them out, again entering my body fully, and thrusted in a rhythm and angle that was one of my favorites.

“Don’t cum,” he warned me and I looked up into his mischievous expression and tried so hard to not cum. He rubbed in such delicious ways, and the warm glow of tension thickened and spread, but still I tried to relax and not orgasm. “Cum,” he ordered, thrusted once, and then withdrew.

HOW                  COULD                HE?!

I had clenched down on him, my brain accepted the pleasure, but my body was left barren!

“I can’t believe you just did that,” I cried. He seemed to fight the urge to laugh. It was so cruel, to tell me to deny myself by that point, and then allow me to orgasm, only to be a mind game and not physically be able to climax.

He entered me, and I must’ve looked disgruntled (really, how could I not?), because he stated softly: “Don’t cum until I tell you to, but I won’t leave you until you do.” It was slightly comforting, slightly terrifying because I don’t think my body could’ve taken denying something I so desperately needed by that point. He didn’t make me wait long, that man knows my limits far better than I do  at times.

When I finally, FINALLY got the order to cum, my body released so much tension at the crest that I had no idea I was that tense for so long, and yet I still didn’t fully relax until he took me to another peak.

By that point, he rolled me onto my side and pounded into me roughly, keeping me on a long, extended orgasm that left me breathless, refused to let me down until he also joined me in pleasure and release.

 Kink of the Week is on begging, and that is a topic I seem to do an awful lot of.

 Posted by at 8:07 am
Aug 272014
 

He looked in the mirror, astounded.

“Do you not remember?” A female’s voice inquired, somewhere behind him.

He remembered blood soaking the previously dried and cracked ground, seeing his own hands shaking and covered in red.

He turned around and looked at her. She was beautiful, topless. Loose pant fabric covered her lower body.  She proceeded cautiously towards him and the gigantic bed he had woken in, in the middle of the room. Why did she proceed cautiously?

“He doesn’t seem to,” another voice said, an almost identical version of the other woman. She too walked slowly, not removing her eyes off of him.

“Remember what?” he asked.

He remembered cold water washing away the blood, the cracks in the dirt suddenly swollen with the clear liquid to the point of a stream running suddenly. The water felt freezing against his sore knees and sweaty skin.

“Come,” a voice had commanded, and a warm hand gripped his still bloody one. The voice sounded similiar to the females now.

“Becoming king,” the answer brought him out of his reverie.

“Wh-how?” He turned back towards the mirror. His body felt like it had been shredded but he didn’t even any marks on him at all. He was naked and not even a scratch marred his skin.

“The lion.”

He flashed to a roar like the sound of thunder, felt his shoulder tear and rip. He stumbled, a branch in his hand, and spun around. The lion leapt at him, impaling itself on the ragged branch, hurt and swiping at him. He scrambled away, stood and gripped the branch, clubbed the beast on the head, desperately tried to stay out of the path of the claws and felt them rake his leg anyhow. His leg almost gave out and he swung again, and again, the pain ripped through his shoulder, screamed of what he was sure was his death song, his agony and rage.

And when the blood spilled on the parched earth, when the beast went still, he collapsed.

One of the women left his sight from the mirror and he spun around. She was stirring the fire in the large fireplace, knelt on the pelt of a lion…the lion? She saw his look, smiled, and patted the fur. “You saved us, our land is alive again,” she said simply. “Come,” she crooked a finger and beckoned him to come to her, loosened the belt of her pants.

“Come,” she had said then, and the water continued to rise. He gripped her hand, stunned, shocked, unaware that he moved to stand. She led him to the grass that grew right in front of him, that thickened and became soft under his feet. She forced him to lay down on his back beside a trunk of a tree, the leaves sprouted slowly and before his very eyes unfurled and reached out. The hot and burning sun didn’t seem as fierce suddenly. She left him and returned with a pail of the water. She poured small amounts of the water on his shoulder – it cooled and healed. Suddenly there was the second woman who kneeled behind his head, rubbed his muscles, her hands brushed off the dirt and blood, the gore and death. She leaned over and gave him an odd kiss on the lips, then moved alongside him and stroked his skin.

Her breath was hot on his skin beneath his ear before she began sucking and licking. He clung to her, held onto her heat and invitation of body, the other woman still softly poured water, cooling him, made his pain subside. Or was it the excitement, desire, suddenly taking his mind off of his torment?

His body had other pressing needs; he felt himself grow and stiffen, and hands stroked and encouraged until he was hard with need. He felt a tongue swirl along the top, explore the underside of the head, stroke up and down the shaft, before the mouth popped the head inside and wet warmth slid up and down the length of him.

The other mouth moved from his neck and trailed down to his chest, her soft hair floated across his shoulder – no longer burning in anguish, brushed across his chest, feathery lightness following her kisses. Hands caressed his thighs.

Hands caressed his thighs and he looked down, so lost in the memory that he was oblivious he had walked to the pelt and the woman who summoned.

“Didn’t we…?” he trailed off. How to question such a delicate subject? Who knew if he dreamed, was still dreaming?

She smiled up at him, placed a chaste kiss above his knee, not taking her dark seductive eyes from his gaze. “Yes,” she placed another kiss, reached up for his hand and pulled him down. She cupped his cheeks and pulled him towards her for a kiss. Hands roamed his back – the other woman? “Yesterday the earth needed a sacrifice of blood and pleasure to thrive.”

“Today it is about our pleasure, and celebration of our new King,” the other voice spoke quietly behind him before kissing the back of his neck.

He felt himself stirring and hardening. He reached for soft breasts, squeezed their weight in his hands. Later, he would try to remember, to figure out how he ended up here in his traveling.

Right now, it was good to be the King.

 Posted by at 12:43 pm