I cried and then I was spanked.

I stood in the shower and cried.  I was exhausted after yet another 12 hour plus day and my heart hurt.  He was still at the game I’d had to miss and taking his sweet ass time to come home.  He didn’t care about me.  It was all so obvious.

The water poured down over my face, dripped off my nipples, slipped down my swells.  My heels rooted into the tub floor.  I felt lost and as if my line had snapped.

I heard the door slam and Faisal jumped from his perch on the bathtub ledge.  I closed my eyes and pretended I was unaware.

He came into the bathroom with a questioning look on his face.  “Are you upset with me?” he asked.  “I saw your text.”  My angry text telling him how stupid I felt for leaving my meeting early to meet him for our plans when he obviously — obviously — didn’t care.

He seemed nervous, like he was on a floor of eggshells.

I burst into both tears and laughter as I pulled the clear shower curtain back and he approached me cautiously.  “Yes!  And no!” I blubbler-giggled.  And then it all came out in a rush.

“You knew I was exhausted already and you knew I was going to have a 14 hour day today!  It seems as though you don’t even care about me!  I put myself out there and was vulnerable when I told you I wanted you to fuck the shit out of me tonight and then you stayed at the field instead of rushing home to me, but I can’t even be mad because we never communicated what time we’d meet up or when I’d be done and you can’t read my mind like I wish you could and I feel crazy and sad and mad and know I don’t have a real leg to stand on!”

He reached out and held my arms as my words tumbled out and looked at me with a kind face.  “Are you done?” he asked.

“Yes,” I nodded.  “I think so.  I’m so sorry…” I ducked my head in shame.  So tired, so overwhelmed, so embarrassed.

“It’s ok,” he assured me, “but I want you to know that I was the second person to leave and came home earlier than I would have to be with you.  I do care, Hy.”

“Really?” I squeaked.  And then I pulled him closer to my wet, naked body and he kissed me roughly, dirt and sweat filling my nostrils.

I wrapped my warm, wet arms around him and pulled him into the shower fully clothed.  He stopped to take off his socks and peel off his shorts and shirt and then he drew me back into his arms and kissed me,  hot water ran off my back and buttocks.

I washed him them with my coconut-hibiscus bodywash, careful to clean between his round cheeks and behind his soft sac.  I scrubbed his neck and pressed my body against his hard length; our skin slipped and slid against each other.

“I still need to be fucked,” I said quietly. “Hard.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied holding my gaze.  “I’m going to abuse you.”

I nearly folded in half at the words, the promise.  I wanted nothing more than to be pushed, hit, bitten, and pummeled.  My complete failure to reach perfection in life in general demanded that I be reminded what a worthless piece of shit I was; nothing more than a wet hole founded in pleasure would suffice at that very moment to carry me through to reach equilibrium.

We toweled off and stood in front of my bed.  I was nervous.  He was huge.  Everywhere, every way.

He grabbed me and kissed me, his scruffy face abrading my face.  He shoved me down onto the mattress, my feet planted on the ground and he told me get ready.  I braced myself on my elbows and waited for the sting.

He gave me 3 little warmup swats.  “You ready?” His voice was low, heated.

“Mmmhmm,” I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut.

And then pain exploded throughout my flank.  I lunged forward, buried my face into my bedding and screamed.  The white-hot sting greater than anything he’d ever done before; it was so fast, so complete.  He told me he was going to do it again.  He moved to the other side, but I told him to stay there.  I wanted to be marked.

He struck again and this time tears filled my eyes.  Legitimate tears.  The flame down my backside wasn’t subsiding.  So fast, so perfect.

A third time, on the other cheek, brought me down through the rafters.  I began to sob and he was there with me, cooing in my ear, pressing against my hot skin with his big, lead hand.  He made apologetic sounds, but never said the words.  I didn’t want him to.  He was there with me in my sadness, my bareness.

“C’mere,” he said and pulled me up to the pillows and put me in his nook as I shook with sobs.  He stroked me gently for a moment then said, “Ok, we’re not done.”  I lay limply, yet complcit beside him, and helped him to roll me over to my belly.  He wedged my knees apart roughly and sunk deep inside of me.

“Is this what you want, you little slut?” he growled into my ear.  His hips jack-hammered into me, his hands pinned my wrists to the mattress, my wet hair matted to my face.  He bit my shoulder, scratched his clawed hand down my back.

I felt the tip of his cock in my throat shove organs aside.  Orgasm bloomed through me and I held my breath as I heard him grunt and pound above me.  He wrapped my hair around his fist and he lifted my face off the sheet.  “Say you love it,” he said between gritted teeth.

I ignored him.

“Say. you. love. it.” he ground out again each word punctuated with an unforgiving thrust and a tug.

“I love it,” I breathed out.  “I love it, I love it, I love it.”  Each “it” truly a “you.”

My pussy squelched and cried her juices, my bottom was slick with sweat from where we joined.  I was determined to be his rag fuck doll until he was either exhausted or came, whichever came first.

I felt him tense, heard his breath catch, and his tempo increased to a frightening whir.  He cried out and filled me with his magical cum, a smile on my face smashed into the mattress by his angry hand.

He collapsed on top of me then rolled off.  We lay there panting like two tired dogs in the desert sun.  I slowly rolled over and easily fit back into my nook.  My long, horrible day forgotten.  My silly little meltdown washed away in a burst of semen and one red bottom.

We admired the marks on me, kissed and cuddled.  I was myself again.  All bruised up.

He loves strawberries, sex, and submission.

My eyes were heavy and my head stung; that irritating need to sleep pulled at me from a distance. The house was cleaned, the floors bare for him to do his chore, my room glowed with candles and I curled under my down comforter with a leg bent on top. He’d said 10 o’clock.

At 10 after 10, I sneaked under the blankets effectively hiding the curve of my thigh and my soft thigh-high socks. In addition to the sting of exhaustion, irritation joined the fray.

My eyes closed and I relaxed into the feathers. One spank for each minute, I thought. This is unacceptable. I contemplated calling off the night all together, but felt that would be more of a punishment for me than him. Spanks would have to suffice. And then a little torture.

At 10:13 he texted, “ETA 2 minutes.” I grinned at the thought of a nice round 15 lashes on his white bottom. I dared him to make it 20 and closed my eyes again willing my anger away.

When I opened my eyes 2 minutes later he was in my room, naked. I looked at him quietly and rolled over to face him. His expression was clear and open, curious as I observed him. “You said 10 o’clock,” I told him flatly.

He leaned over me, a hand on either side of me, “I went and worked out and –” I cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“There’s only one thing I want to hear from you. I don’t care about any of that other stuff.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

“Yes.”

“I’m very, very sorry, Ma’am.”

“I was on top of the covers waiting for you, but it got too cold.”

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am.”

In the short time we’ve been exploring D/s I can’t quite figure him out. He is supple in my hands inside defined parameters, but occasionally he steps out and I am forced to step up. I assume this is the nature of D/s: he wants and needs to be corrected. And the more he steps out, I’m discovering, the easier it becomes to deal with the slight to my ego, my heart, my whatever because I have a fall-back system with which to deal with it: punishment, and an old standby: communication.

I am continually amazed by this dynamic, how safe it feels, how normal and natural. I routinely catch myself so languidly happy with “us” that I jerk awake and remind myself this isn’t entirely real, due to the nature of our relationship. It’s going to end in a non-traditional way and, most likely, come from left-fucking-field.

He pulled my shirt down to expose a breast and went for it with his mouth. “No, no, no,” I said stopping him with my hand on his face. “You haven’t earned the right to suck, yet.” His face fell.

Just then I stretched beneath him and noticed my sore legs from my earlier run. “Massage my leg,” I suggested. He jumped at the chance yo make amends.

He sat back and gripped my thigh with his hands and kneaded the skin. I moaned and closed my eyes. “Good, boy.”

For the next 10 minutes I writhed and moaned, and told him “harder,” “more,” and “do my knee again.” My bad mood sifted away like sands at high tide.

“I have a second part to your punishment,” I said, “but I can’t decide to do it before or after you vacuum.” He sighed audibly. “Do you want to go for 3 parts??” I asked incredulous.

His answer solved all the riddles. With my foot cradled in his hands and his face bathed in candlelight he said, “Maybe.”

That one word took me to a different sphere. He wanted me to discipline, to not back down, to demand he fall in line; he wanted to know where the invisible fence lay and feel the sting of the zap when he went beyond it. I was more than happy to fulfill his desire.

I pulled my pj shorts aside, licked my fingers, and flatly began to rub my flesh; my clit icy hot bulged like a little balloon. The Neighbor lay between my splayed legs and could only watch. I continued to stroke, letting him lick my fingers when necessary, my hand a little blur.

He kneeled between my legs, a question on his face. I looked down and his erection bobbed fiercely between us.

‘Ok, but just the tip,” I panted.

He eased himself in, even the tip big and filling. My fingers whizzed over my skin and I felt the orgasm gathering like a distant storm. With a devilish grin, his eyes locked on mine, he pushed in past the tip.

“You’re being very naughty,” I glared at him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied and pulled back further.

It was torture — pure motherfucking torture – to follow through on my directive, be consistent.

His little thrusts were more tantalizing, more sensual, more deliberate. He seemed utterly in control; I ached for him to plunge into me. “Ok,” I breathed finally, “You can go all the way in.”

He fell forward over me encasing me in his strawberry scent and kissed me as he squeezed fully into me… and held.

That hold, that pause, it’s the most magnificent part of sex. Better than cumming, better than sub-space/topping/swallowing/anything. It’s the moment my senses are alight and I am a nerve, a woman, human and pulsing. That thrust is everything.

He pulled back slowly and re-entered me, his lips soft and pliant on mine. He kissed my neck then and nibbled my shoulder as he thrust again, slowly. I grabbed his flanks and held him close again and with every ounce of self-control I could muster — I regained my position on top and pushed him away. “Assume the position, please,” I gently ordered.

My red leather belt made matching red marks on his lily white ass proffered to me like a virgin on the slab. He apologized for being late and for letting me get cold. Each loud smack was met with a grunt and an, “I’m sorry, Ma’am!” All my checked anger pooled in my cunt as I concentrated on hitting the same tender skin repeatedly; my arm felt like a sniper; my senses danced on pinpoints.

At 15 I kissed his red bottom and said, “Aren’t you glad you weren’t 16 minutes late?” and gave him the gift that he’d been begging to wear for 24 hours: The Oatmeal’s Hot Cock underpants.

He slipped them on, twirled about like a little boy with his new cowboy gear and went about cleaning my floors. I waited in my room, naked beneath the sheets.

When he was finished he peeled off the bright red shorts and climbed under the covers with me and I threaded my legs with his and nestled in his strawberry-patch chest. “I don’t know how you make strawberry so fucking sexy, but you do,” I murmured into his skin; his fingers traced lines on my arm.

I sat up then and threw the pillows off revealing black velcro wrist restraints that I’d gotten ready for him. He exclaimed happily and held still while I wrapped his wrists high where he couldn’t touch me. This was Part 3 of his punishment: a little torture.

I sat between his legs and kissed him and dragged my tender nipples along his thighs as I licked his shaft from balls to stern. He moaned and stretched beneath me and mumbled something ridiculous.

I crawled up his body and pushed the weight of my breasts into his face, not allowing my nipple to enter his mouth. He whimpered and rooted for one. He continued to babble despite my earlier warning to be quiet.

I pulled away abruptly and dug in my box of ties. “I warned you if you weren’t quiet I’d gag you. You’re much more appealing when you’re silent,” I said again. I tied a strip of green silk behind his head and, like a dutiful horse with a bit in his mouth, he was presented to me. He was magnificent.

Subdued, gloriously masculine for giving up his power and strength over me, muscled and broad, yet under my care and creativity. I was in total control by the look in his eyes. My heart raced and burst at the seams with love for him.

With the room nicely void of his musings I fell lustily on his cock, rabidly hard and impatient. I told him I was going to play with his beautiful little anus and that there was nothing he could do to stop me. He nodded.

I sucked and stroked with my mouth and hand and pushed tenderly at the pucker with my index finger. It flexed and withdrew from my touch like an anemone in the tide pools. I pushed gently in time with the motion of my head, never breaking the ring to his body.

I felt him begin to open beneath me, his passion taking him past embarrassment. I pulled away, stopped, dragged my breasts up to his face and pressed them into his eyes and against his closely shaven face.

He moaned and strained against the ties and I maneuvered a breast into a hand for a quick grab before I swung my left leg over him like I was mounting a saddle. I leaned forward to maneuver his cock inside of me, letting him see a wink of my own asshole. I sat back down, deeply, giving him a full view of my ample ass engulfing him.

He exclaimed around the gag as I moved slowly, exploring the sensation of his cock backwards inside of me. I moved faster and moaned uncontrollably. My chest and arms felt warm and heavy and I began to whimper when I heard a muffled, “Vibrator…” from behind me. I stopped and turned around. “Vibrator…” he said again.

I clicked it on and placed it on my tender skin. He twitched inside of me and I bucked against it as if scalded. I made noises I didn’t know I could make as the orgasm tore threw me and left me a quaking, shaking mess around his mischievous, twitching penis.

I pulled off of him, turned around and impaled my face on his erection and went back to his little ass-star. Happily, eagerly, and within seconds I felt him bear down on my finger. I slipped it just inside and pushed at the rim as I sucked.

As I felt him reopen to me I brought my breasts back to him, pausing my attention to his cock, and – finally – untied the gag. He suckled on my teats, greedy and ravenous.

I pulled away from his sweet mouth and returned to his delicious cock. He gasped and bucked as my finger went back to his hole and mouth continued to draw on him.

I heard velcro pop a little then, his sharp intake of breath, and held on as he arched into me spewing his seed into my hot little mouth. I tasted his tart, hot jizz and smiled around him. He shook and rattled to a stop and giggled and breathed jagged gulps of air.

I flopped down next to him and gently untied his hands. “Now your punishment is over.” We laughed and hugged each other.

He thanked me and kissed my temple. I lay in his arms for minutes more and we chatted about our night. “I love the three S’s”, he said, “Strawberries, sex, and submission.” I giggled and kissed his warm skin laced with sex and fruit. Then, it was time for him to go.

He tucked me in, thanked me for everything, and apologized again for being late.

“Thank you for saying that, but quite honestly, I’m glad you were late.”

“Me, too,” he said and left.

I bruised my hand from spanking.

Wine glass in hand I lay on Tina’s bed.  She was touching up the paint on her toes and we were talking life, love, and threesomes.  My phone chimed.

“It’s The Neighbor, isn’t it?”

I picked it up.  “Yep,” I said smiling.  It was his cock.

He knew I was over there.  I’d asked him to send me a cock pic earlier and he’d asked for a minute or two to clean up from the gym.  I’d told him, “Good boy,” and sent him a picture of my cleavage with Tina’s cool hand in the cleft.

“Jesus Christ,” he’d texted.  “I appreciate you so much.  I’ll be home in a few minutes, unless I crash while looking at that picture in which case I will die smiling.”

TN has been body-snatched, y’all.

“I’ll be home soon,” I’d replied.  “Leave your door unlocked.  What a sweet boy.”

Fifteen minutes later he sent the perfect Bat Signal: the image of him buck-ass naked holding his giant erection.

My response was immediate to him.  “Wow. Got the pic.  Leaving this second.”  I turned to Tina.  “I gotta go,” I told her laughing.

“Yeah, you do. Damn, that guy has it bad for you.  What the hell did he say to you just now?”

Nothing,” I smirked.

He answered the door glowing white and naked and let me in.  I walked back to his bed and sat down, but he begged me to get up.  He still hasn’t been able to stabilize it since we broke it last week.  “Just go next door.  I’ll be right there.  I promise.”

I complied and no sooner had I hung up my purse and things than he walked through the door, sadly clothed.  We sat on the couch and found each other with our mouths.  My hands ran up his shorts and found his arousal.  I peeled off my sweater and glowed under his appraising eyes.  I have never felt more beautiful with this man than I have in the past 48 hours.

I sucked and kneaded and kissed and nibbled.  He sucked and kneaded and kissed and nibbled.  “Lets go in your room,” he said.

He unzipped my boots with his teeth and tossed them on the floor with a laugh.  I was in black lace panties and knee-high socks with white stripes at the top.  “Jesus Christ, you’re hot,” he moaned and fell on top of me, crushed me with his mouth and muscles and warm, creamy skin.

“I want to turn your lily-white ass red,” I moaned back.

He stopped short then kept kissing me, dipping into my mouth and looking into my eyes.  I stared back at him, bold and unafraid of my own passion.  “Yes.  Get on your belly.”

He rolled off of me and lay quietly below me.  I spread his knees and positioned myself between them and struck his right buttock.  Hard. “What do you want to tell me if you’ve had enough?” I asked him, too shy to say “safeword.”

“You mean a safeword??”

“Yes.  I’m going to hurt you, but I’m no sadist.  You have all the control here.  What’s your word?”

“Kiwi.”

“Good.  Thank you,” I said and cracked my hand down on his right flank.  I struck and wailed and rained my hand down upon him.  He writhed and tried to crawl away from me.  I wrapped my arm beneath his hips and pulled him back to me.  Asked him if I ever tried to get away from him?

I pressed my thighs into his and kissed his inflamed skin, crooned to him, told him he was a good boy.  I told him how hot he was.

He whimpered and tried to curl up with each blow, but it took no effort for me to pull him closer back to me, to my warmth and love.

I concentrated on one space of his canvas only occasionally breaking to the left.  My hand stung and my pussy dripped.  I felt time freeze and my heart swell outside of my body.  I could see every hair on his body and smell his pleasure and his fear and his contentment like fresh-baked cookies.

I paused as he laughed and cried into the mattress.  I felt a strange kind of remorse for what I’d done, but also a sick sense of pride.  I needed to care of him.  “I’ll be right back,” I told him.  “Don’t move, honey.”

I ran and grabbed an ice-cube and returned to the glowing ember of his ass.  He started when I put the cool rock on his skin, but relaxed as it slid beneath my palm.   As the water ran down his hips and between his buttocks I caressed the heat and pressed my lips to him.

“Is that better?” I whispered against his bottom and kissed it tenderly.

“Yes,” he answered and then my hand cracked down on the wet spot.

I fondled his soft cock and gently tugged on his balls as I brought the heat back to his backside, then slid my hand to his crack and pressed at the little starfish in the center.  He tried to retreat.  “I won’t hurt you.  It’s ok.”

“But what if I’m dirty?”  he worried.

“You’re not dirty.  Your ass is beautiful and I want it.  Come here,” and I pulled him back to me and spread his knees further.  “Arch your back,” I said softly.  He arched and I pressed just one slender finger inside of him.  He was so tight I felt my own center quicken.  Oh, how I wished I had a cock to slip deep inside of him, all the way to my hips, to feel him tight around me and writhing.   Men are so lucky.

I felt for the invisible scar on his lower back with my free hand and kissed its raised skin, wishing all the reasons it was there never existed.  My poor friend.  He never deserved any of that.  My breasts pressed into his soft ass.

I barely wiggled around inside of him, only one knuckle, and continued to spank him.  I was afraid of going too far with my fragile new toy; my finger one little thread holding the beautiful puppet before me.

“I want to leave a mark on you, like you do me.” I told him.

“Do it,” he agreed.  “Let’s see how you’re doing so far.”  I let him get up and he swung his bottom into the light of the bathroom.  There were broken capillaries, but no deep, blooming welts like he leaves on me.  With a quick hand I struck him again.  He winced, but remained still.

My hand stung and throbbed and I suddenly knew we were done.  I couldn’t think straight, my memory of minutes before was blurry.  I’m not even sure I have the lead up to this right.  I could be writing complete fiction.

I next remember laying with him and him asking me, “When did this happen, Hy?  I didn’t know you had this in you.”

I thought for a second.  “It’s always been there, but this trust you give me, it sets it free.  It’s so hot, so beautiful.  It turns me on so much. You have no idea.  Do you like it??”  Suddenly I was unsure, worried I’d hurt him, terrified him.

“Yes,” he answered.  Maybe he said he loved it or thought it was fucking hot.  Again, I can’t remember, my brain was scrambled and I still can’t sort it all out.

He stroked me, kissed me, touched me, dipped his fingers inside and exclaimed at my wetness.  He started to slam his hand inside of me and a climax came up and washed over me and right out my pulsing hole, a river of emotion and arousal bounding down a mountainside of flesh.

Then he pulled me into his arms and held me and kissed me tenderly.  “Do you ever have to think about it when you spank me?” I asked him.  “Does it come naturally to you?  You’re not just doing that for my sake, are you?”

“No, not at all.  I love it.  It just happens to me, too.”

He rolled into me and spooned me warmly, wrapped his arm around me and squeezed and kissed my neck.  I began to talk gibberish and found myself awakening in mid-sentence as I struggled to maintain consciousness.  He giggled at me and I flushed at my own vulnerability — the only thing worse would be to be caught drooling in my sleep.

He rose then and tucked me in.  I muttered something — incoherent, perhaps — and I’d like to think he kissed me somewhere before leaving saying he’d lock the door behind him, but I don’t remember.  I was already fast asleep, my hand scalded and bruised from abuse.

photo(4)
I will never shake hands cavalierly again.

 

 

I give my first spanking.

Yesterday was a long day of missed opportunities and the usual guilt that comes with an overly flexible schedule and not enough to do.  Coffee-pumped and butt-sore from writing all day I left the coffee shop to shop for dinner for Peyton and my ex.

The day was bright and beautiful, the weather strangely warm with a cool undertone, like one of those filtered Instagram pics everyone is so fond of using.  I bought some sole, celery root, and squash, a nice Spanish red and two bricks of butter.  My navy blue glasses perched on my head like the unused torture-devices they were; I squinted the entire time in the store and hoped no one I knew thought I was ignoring them if they saw me.

Earlier in the day, I’d texted The Neighbor about something and he’d said, “We’ll talk later [about me pulling away].”  I sent him a picture of my pussy from beneath my skirt with a winky face in return (I’m nothing if not subtle) and went about my strange, lazy, mostly unproductive day.

I considered warning him that my ex and Peyton were over in case he popped by, but decided against it; I’d rather see what happened in real-time rather than trying to strong-arm the situation into something “easy.”  I shouldn’t have worried; he didn’t show his face.

I accidentally insulted my ex, loved on my baby, made a fabulous celery root puree with papillon sole wrapped around thyme and nestled on a bed of matchstick squash and herbs, and almost had too much wine.  It was 7:30 when they left.

I stood in my apartment and felt lucky.  Lucky to be alive, to feel strong, to feel safe and stable.  I’ve made terrific new friends over the last year and I feel like my cup runneth over with love, attention, things to do and places to be.  Not having any plans made me feel free and open and not at all lonely like I might have felt in the past.

TN’s silence all day since our morning texts occurred to me occasionally, but didn’t linger.  I would let him come to me on his own time.  I would worry only about me and set the tone as I vowed to do a couple of days ago.

My back ached and the tub called out to me.  Himalayan bath salts spiked the warm air as I drew my bath, poured myself a third glass of wine and got my book.  TN flashed in my mind again.  Would he knock while I was in the bath?  Should I keep my phone close in case he did?  I deliberately left it out of reach.  I could be unreachable for an hour.  We’d both survive.

I lay in that water until it was lukewarm and my neck ached for straining to read.  Then, “brrrrrrring!”  The chime on my phone went off.  I stood up and wrapped myself in a towel.  I knew it was him.

“You awake?” my phone glowed.  It was 10 pm.

“Yeah.  What’s up?”

“I want to cum on your face.”

“Haha.  Give me 10 and I’ll text you when I’m out.”

“K.”

“Save that cum, Neighbor.”

I turned on the shower and shaved and lathered with sweet-smelling things never actually found in the wild – berries and vanilla and honey and love.  As I stepped out, steaming and slick, an idea hit me.  I picked up my phone again.

“Come in and lay on my couch.  No pants.  I’ll be out in a minute.”

Instinctively I knew he would comply.  I took my time finding sheer black panties and see-through white t-shirt and began to blow-dry my hair.  I knew he could hear it from the other room.  When my hair was dry enough to not be cold on his warm skin while I impaled my face on him, I quietly turned out the lights, grabbed my glass of wine and walked out into the living room.

He was there, under a blanket, stroking himself.  The Christmas tree lights glowed a soft pink on him.  I sauntered closer and said, “Well, isn’t this a wonderful sight to see.”  I bent over his face to place my glass on the table beside him.  I stood and peeled back the blanket.  His pants were gone.

“Mmm.  I like this,” and without another word I fell on his cock, warm and delicious and clean.  He swelled in my hand and mouth and he sucked in his breath.

“Oh my God, I’m so sensitive… softer, softer,” he begged.

I lightened my touch and he moaned and exclaimed again, this time for perfection.

I swung my bottom around so he could get a good view of it and he snaked his hands between my legs and began to pet my pulsing vulva.  I whimpered and gagged on his cock.  He lightly swatted my rear end.

I sat up and stretched long and lean in the light and pulled my shirt over my head and returned my breasts to his mouth.  He clutched at them both and sucked on both nipples at once.  He stared up at me from those white mounds and I remembered him saying, “You must have been so beautiful pregnant.  I would never have stopped sucking on your tits.”  I groaned and closed my eyes and clutched his head to me and began to slide my crotch along his erection, the skin caught on the lace of my panties.

“Help me take these off,” I breathed into his ear.

“No.  Keep them on,” he retorted.  My eyebrow lifted in interest as I pulled the fabric aside and leaned over, my  head resting on his shoulder.  My free hand found his cock and guided it in.  I was wet and ready.  I slowly bore down and sat up and a squeal escaped my lips.

I rocked hard on him and felt blossom after blossom bloom in my chest, but I stopped before I released on him and got off and turned around, my knees on the edge of the couch, my back arched, my ass silhouetted against the lights and returned my mouth to his tasty pole.

I could taste myself, slightly metallic from some very light spotting, clean and womanly all the same.  His hand stroked my flank gently, no spanking.  I pivoted around so I was between his knees with one shapely leg to the floor and began to work him.  It was swift and compulsive.  His semen shot down my throat, his hands forced my head down lower than I could take and I felt spurts at the back of my throat.

He tasted of ambrosia and his laughter filled the air like so many butterflies.

I quickly climbed back on him and put him inside of me.  I rocked a little, but not much.  He continued to laugh and convulse.  He’d lost it a little; a fine reminder that he likes to be subdued by me.

We talked like that for a while, him going soft inside of me.  I offered him a sip of my wine but he refused.  “I’m at exactly 1600 calories today and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You know,” I began, looking down at him with his cock peacefully hugged inside my body, “I’m really proud of you for doing this.  I hope you enjoy it.”

“You know, I kinda do.  And just wait, you’re gonna be so happy when you get to be with this hot, buff dude one day.”

I smiled.  “I already think you’re hot, but ok!  And just wait, you must be so happy to be with me!  Big boobs, big ass –” He cut me off.

“Hy, no, I get to be with this voluptuous, gorgeous, sexy woman!”  I melted under the praise so rarely meted out, each word emphasized with a stroke of his hands on my curves.  “I want to see you cum.  Let’s go in your room.”

We walked naked back to the darkness of my room, the candle I’d lit during my bath sputtering like dappled light through trees.  He spanked me then, hard.  I leaned my bottom back into the cradle of his pelvis.  “Get on the bed, Hy.”

“No.  Hit me again.”  I bent over the bed and arched a little.  His hand rained down on me as I writhed then climbed up and lay down.  He hooked his fingers inside of me and began to stroke.  “No, please, be gentle,” I begged.  His stroking softened and he handed me my vibe.

“I came 4 times yesterday before you made me cum,” I said.  “I tried again this morning, but I was too sensitive.  I hope this works now.”  He chuckled and dipped his head to my breast as answer.

I turned on the vibrator and timidly placed it on my clit.  I jumped at the sensation and began the almost nauseating climb up.  He teased and coaxed me with his hand and fingers and the vibrator played dastardly collaborator to his stroking.  I twisted, panted, and moaned.

His free hand latched onto my throat and gently squeezed.  My arousal leapt to a new plateau; exquisite, painful, beautiful, blinding.  My cunt throbbed and I searched for release, but the tension was so intense I was lost.  I flipped the vibrator off and managed to whisper, “Edging… I’m edging.. too much… might die.”

His warm, deep chuckle filled my ears and I flicked the toy back on.  This time, I leapt to a level above the previous.  I quivered and shook, nearly felt sick.  His hand flew to my neck and he growled, “Fucking cum for me now, you fucking slut.  NOW.”

I yearned for it, sought and fought for it, but this new place had me spinning out of control.  I began to cry and I could only feel his breath on my face for my eyes were sealed shut. I broke it off for a handful of seconds, begging to rest, but he said, “No.  I’m taking this.  Now.”  And his hand slammed into me and my pussy cried its pleasure into his cupped palm and my body incinerated into flames of desire.

I went back to it with my toy, motioned for his hand to return to my neck, and swiftly and powerfully climaxed out of the planes of my body into somewhere out there.

A puddle of a woman I cried as he climbed back over me and tucked me into his arms.  He crooned and hushed me sweetly.  I barely knew how to talk.  He was happy with me.  I was happy with me.  This is how we communicate, the two of us.  These two idiots who can’t stay away, but can’t be together.

I told him I’d been obsessing about playing with his ass.  For weeks now, ever since I’d learned he had a butt plug collection from his Domme days I have tried — and failed — to bring it into our bedrooms.  “I want to play with your pretty ass, TN.  I really do.  I’m obsessed with it.”

He paused for a second and finally said.  “Ok.  Just give me a heads up of an hour.  When do you want to do it?”

Immediately I said, “Friday.  And Saturday.  And Sunday, too.”  We laughed and settled on Friday.

When I had cooled down more and felt righted he stood up and walked around to my side of the bed.  I sucked his chubby cock gently and answered more of his questions.  “What’s it like to suck cock?”  “What’s it like to swallow cum?”  “Is it fun?”  “Does it taste good?”

“It’s wonderful.  It’s a little scary sometimes because I have no control.  Its the best thing ever. You taste amazing.”

He pulled out and turned to the side.  “Spank me,” he said.

Surprised, I complied.  I missed and tried again.  Good, hard, stinging contact.  “Ow,” he cried.

“C’mere,” I purred and pulled his wrist down towards the bed and laid him prostrate across my lap.  I struck his round, white bottom with alacrity, a steady hand and thoughtful heart.  He jolted with each smack and I caressed his angry skin.  “Stand up,” I commanded.

I positioned him just like he’d had me minutes before.  His lily whiteness outlined by my dark aubergine sheets.  I could see a curve in his waist and it brought me up short.  I didn’t know men could look so soft from behind.

With some force I brought my hand down on his right flank.  I felt it in my own cheek.  Again and again and with each crack he arched his back and howled and twisted, and I would hold his hips tenderly and press my thighs into the backs of his, press my hand warmly on the sting, kiss it sweetly to make it better.

My excitement grew; the trust he handed me intoxicating like a fine whiskey.

“You’re a good boy,” I said.

He answered with an “Mmmm.”

I returned to my ministrations and could see it was hurting more with each blow.  I began to lighten my touch, but continued to focus on the same, hot, weeping spot.  Finally, I stopped and kissed his red skin one last time.  “Stand up.  Let’s see it in the light.”

He flipped on the light and we looked at his buns.  A nice, round cherry-red mark glowed before us.

“I want it darker,” he said and walked back to the edge of the bed and bent over.

I worried about hurting him, but thrilled at the idea of creating something with my hand on the canvas of his body.  I struck him several more times until I knew I couldn’t bear it anymore.  We checked the red in the light again and it was brighter still, like the shameful blush of a masturbating teenaged boy who’d been interrupted by his mother.

“That’s better,” he approved.  I took a picture and sent it to him.  His bubbly butt marred by my first spanking ever.

We returned to the couch to gather his things.  “I’m not going to cum again until Jack and Emma on Sunday,” he mentioned casually.

“No,” I countered, “You can cum, but only with me.” He looked pensive for a split second then agreed.  “Besides, your ass is mine Friday, remember??”

“Oh, right,” he smiled as he pulled his clothes back on.  Dressed and ready to leave now we unhesitatingly went to each other for a goodnight kiss.  It was deep, passionate and hard, sweetness proven with our roaming hands and our bodies pressed against each other from hip to shoulder.

It felt real to me, authentic.  We love each other.  He is my best friend.  I fuck him.  Finally, finally, I have figured out where to put this in my heart: I am fucking my best friend.