I was sore. An entire day of sex will do that to you. And that's exactly what we'd done the day before - from the time he'd arrived in the morning until he went home that evening, he had fucked me in every conceivable way, only stopping long enough for me to catch my breath before he started on me again. We never left the room. I had been useless at dinner with friends later on, preoccupied with reliving the day and so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. I was asleep that night before my head hit the pillow.
Now here we were again the very next day with me on my back and him on top of me, holding me down by the wrists, the flimsy lace thong I'd put on that morning pushed to the side to accommodate his cock slamming into my raw, aching pussy as if he were trying to split me in half. "It hurts..." I moaned.
His face darkened. "Oh it hurts, does it?" he asked me sarcastically. He pulled back from me, releasing my wrists and grabbing at my thong. I could hear the lace tearing as he pulled until he ripped them from my body and stuffed them hard into my open mouth to silence my complaints. His hands found my wrists again and he held me down and fucked me even harder than before while he looked me in the eye and reminded me that I was his slut, here for his pleasure, and he didn't care if I was sore, in fact I didn't even know what sore was.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on tight while he showed me.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
Dinner Party Distraction
"I am at a dinner party tonight," read his email. "Polite middle class chat and all I can think of is fucking you with your hands tied behind your back and your knickers stuffed in your mouth." This followed on a conversation we'd had earlier in the day on the subject of ways to stop me complaining when tied up and at his mercy.
At home, alone, I finished my own dinner before heading into my bedroom and pulling out my camera, some rope and a lacy pair of panties.
A short time later I emailed him the results: me lying face down on the bed, nude but for a pair of black heels, hands behind my back and bound at the wrists, my head and shoulders twisted to look back at the camera, mouth stuffed with pink mesh and lace. "Sort of like this?" I wrote.
"OH FUCK" was the reply I woke up to the following morning.
At home, alone, I finished my own dinner before heading into my bedroom and pulling out my camera, some rope and a lacy pair of panties.
A short time later I emailed him the results: me lying face down on the bed, nude but for a pair of black heels, hands behind my back and bound at the wrists, my head and shoulders twisted to look back at the camera, mouth stuffed with pink mesh and lace. "Sort of like this?" I wrote.
"OH FUCK" was the reply I woke up to the following morning.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Maybe
There are an extraordinary number of pillows in this room. Enough to build a mound of them to lean back on and still have enough left over to provide strategic cover. Enough to make me start wondering what we might be able to get away with.
Maybe, if we are very stealthy about it, we might be able to pull your trousers down just enough for me to take you in my mouth without be noticed by anyone at the party going on just outside the door. If we adjust the pillows just so, no one should be able to see the way you entwine your fingers in my hair when I suck my cheeks in and slowly descend on your cock. Maybe we could we could arrange ourselves in such a way that your other hand fondling my ass isn't visible to anyone walking by the window. With enough cover, I can take my time sucking you in long, deep strokes that go all the way to the back of my throat until, if you're very quiet about it, you flood my mouth your cum without attracting the attention of the people just a few short feet down the hall. Maybe when someone finally comes looking for us I can lay back on this pillow here and we can pretend we've only been sitting and talking like this all night long.
Maybe.
Maybe, if we are very stealthy about it, we might be able to pull your trousers down just enough for me to take you in my mouth without be noticed by anyone at the party going on just outside the door. If we adjust the pillows just so, no one should be able to see the way you entwine your fingers in my hair when I suck my cheeks in and slowly descend on your cock. Maybe we could we could arrange ourselves in such a way that your other hand fondling my ass isn't visible to anyone walking by the window. With enough cover, I can take my time sucking you in long, deep strokes that go all the way to the back of my throat until, if you're very quiet about it, you flood my mouth your cum without attracting the attention of the people just a few short feet down the hall. Maybe when someone finally comes looking for us I can lay back on this pillow here and we can pretend we've only been sitting and talking like this all night long.
Maybe.
Trouble
I noticed him immediately, of course. He is the kind of man who spells trouble for a girl like me. Charming and sexy, easy to talk to and an eye for mischief make him all but irresistible. And being surrounded by people all the time made him all but untouchable.
He's the kind of man that, if you do get him alone, you really should make the most of it. Undo all the buttons on that shirt and trousers he'd rather not have been wearing anyway and unwrap him like a present. Take him by the hand and lead him to the bed so he can lay there and watch while you strip for him. Stretch yourself out on the bed next to him and pull his body tight against yours. Look in his eyes and tell him he can have you any way he wants and seal it with a kiss. When he realizes the lateness of the hour and tries to leave, wrap your legs around his waist and beg him to please fuck you just one last time.
None of those things actually happened. Instead we sat on the sofa talking and listening to music until the small hours of the morning and then I walked him to the door and he was gone except for the vague scent of him still on my shirt. I ended up falling asleep wearing it, but not before wearing out the batteries in the pocket vibrator I carry around with me everywhere for just this sort of emergency.
He's the kind of man that, if you do get him alone, you really should make the most of it. Undo all the buttons on that shirt and trousers he'd rather not have been wearing anyway and unwrap him like a present. Take him by the hand and lead him to the bed so he can lay there and watch while you strip for him. Stretch yourself out on the bed next to him and pull his body tight against yours. Look in his eyes and tell him he can have you any way he wants and seal it with a kiss. When he realizes the lateness of the hour and tries to leave, wrap your legs around his waist and beg him to please fuck you just one last time.
None of those things actually happened. Instead we sat on the sofa talking and listening to music until the small hours of the morning and then I walked him to the door and he was gone except for the vague scent of him still on my shirt. I ended up falling asleep wearing it, but not before wearing out the batteries in the pocket vibrator I carry around with me everywhere for just this sort of emergency.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Warm
Sitting across the table from my former lover, I self consciously tugged at the ends of my sleeves trying to hide the rope marks that had been left on my wrists by a current one. "You seem like you don't want to be here," observed the muse irritatedly.
The truth is I wasn't. In my head, I was still back in my hotel room, where 30 minutes earlier I had been bound with my hands behind my back while a new friend brutalized my ass, first with his hand, then his belt, a steel butt plug, and finally his cock. I could still feel his hands on my hips pulling me back to him each time I seemed in danger of wriggling away. The intensity was too much for me to be able to hold still. Or, apparently, for me to be able to focus later on while having dinner with someone else.
I didn't answer. My fingers traced the indentations on my wrists even as I tried to hide them. The restaurant, and the company, were cold. The warmth of my ass cheeks, still tingling from the spanking and the belt, kept taking me back to my warm bed and the soft rope my friend had left behind for me. Next time I won't be so easily persuaded to leave it behind.
The truth is I wasn't. In my head, I was still back in my hotel room, where 30 minutes earlier I had been bound with my hands behind my back while a new friend brutalized my ass, first with his hand, then his belt, a steel butt plug, and finally his cock. I could still feel his hands on my hips pulling me back to him each time I seemed in danger of wriggling away. The intensity was too much for me to be able to hold still. Or, apparently, for me to be able to focus later on while having dinner with someone else.
I didn't answer. My fingers traced the indentations on my wrists even as I tried to hide them. The restaurant, and the company, were cold. The warmth of my ass cheeks, still tingling from the spanking and the belt, kept taking me back to my warm bed and the soft rope my friend had left behind for me. Next time I won't be so easily persuaded to leave it behind.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Vinyl Pants
It was your e-mail that reminded me. The one about the scary pants.
Skin tight black vinyl, with a zipper that goes all the way around front to back. I scared you the first time I wore them - the conservative Catholic boy from the suburbs had no idea what to make of a woman in pants like that. In the end you just went home.
I sit at my desk in my office reading your e-mail and smile, remembering.
It was the second time I wore them that I got the reaction I was looking for. After the music, after the drinks, after the bar closed and our friends had all gone home, you walked me to my door and said goodbye - kissed me goodbye actually, with your hands on my waist and your index finger tracing up and down the zipper along the back of my pants. Kissed me goodbye, but you didn't leave.
I hit reply, but I don't type anything. The memory is interfering with my ability to write coherent sentences.
I'd never gotten up three flights of stairs wearing 5 inch heels so fast in all my life. We'd barely shut the door before you had me pinned against it. Both our shirts came off immediately, but your hands were still below my waist, pressing into my thighs as you gripped at the vinyl and kissed me urgently.
I'll never be able to concentrate like this. I get up and quietly shut the door to my office. I sit back down and reach for the drawer with my purse inside.
I pushed you backward into my bedroom working on the fly of your jeans on the way. At the foot of my bed, you ran your hand along my zippered crotch. "You are so fucking sexy in these pants," you said as you started slowly pulling down the zipper.
There is a tiny, pink bullet vibrator in my purse. It is also very quiet. I reach for it, twist it on, sink down in my chair. My hand and the bullet slide up under my skirt.
Halfway around, you couldn't reach the zipper pull from the front anymore, and you turned me around and bent me over with my hands braced on the edge of the bed while you finished undoing the zipper all the way. Behind me I heard your pants drop to the floor and a wave of heat washed over me. I needed you inside me right that very second. I whispered your name. "Please..."
I am already soaking wet. The bullet slides in tiny circles around my clit. I slide two fingers easily inside my dripping cunt, remembering that moment of anticipation, the incredibly sexy sound of your pants sliding down your legs right before you rammed your cock into me.
I felt your hands on my ass, pulling the two sides of the pants far enough apart to keep from getting chaffed on the zipper. Your cock slid easily into my soaking wet pussy and you fucked me in a steady rhythm while I rocked back against you. The cinnamon skin of your hands was beautiful against the pale white of my tits and I jumped a bit when you pinched my nipples unexpectedly.
I press the bullet harder against my clit, fuck myself faster with my fingers. My breath comes in ragged little gasps. I am sitting behind my desk, but anyone walking by the window into the hall could see my face and know exactly what I was up to.
You fucked me harder then, your hands now gripping my hips tightly and pulling me back onto you hard enough for me to struggle to keep my footing. You reached one hand forward to rub my clit but you barely touched it before I was gone, my pussy pulsing around your cock and soaking us both with my come.
I'm going to come. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out, but I'm still not able to suppress the whimper that escapes my lips as my pussy clenches rhythmically around my fingers. I open my eyes and look toward the window. No one there. I twist the vibrator off and put it away. I lick the come off my fingers while I pause to catch my breath.
That was it. You shoved me forward hard so that I fell face down on the bed and then you fell on top of me, pushing your cock back inside me and fucking me hard while gripping at anything you could reach -my tits, my shoulders, my face. You came hard, holding me still by the shoulders and moaning against my ear, until we both lay still, spent and panting while you ran your fingers up and down one shiny leg of my pants.
I look at my screen, the cursor blinking at me still waiting for my reply. "Drinks Friday, right?" your e-mail read. "Are you going to wear the scary pants?" Definitely.
Skin tight black vinyl, with a zipper that goes all the way around front to back. I scared you the first time I wore them - the conservative Catholic boy from the suburbs had no idea what to make of a woman in pants like that. In the end you just went home.
I sit at my desk in my office reading your e-mail and smile, remembering.
It was the second time I wore them that I got the reaction I was looking for. After the music, after the drinks, after the bar closed and our friends had all gone home, you walked me to my door and said goodbye - kissed me goodbye actually, with your hands on my waist and your index finger tracing up and down the zipper along the back of my pants. Kissed me goodbye, but you didn't leave.
I hit reply, but I don't type anything. The memory is interfering with my ability to write coherent sentences.
I'd never gotten up three flights of stairs wearing 5 inch heels so fast in all my life. We'd barely shut the door before you had me pinned against it. Both our shirts came off immediately, but your hands were still below my waist, pressing into my thighs as you gripped at the vinyl and kissed me urgently.
I'll never be able to concentrate like this. I get up and quietly shut the door to my office. I sit back down and reach for the drawer with my purse inside.
I pushed you backward into my bedroom working on the fly of your jeans on the way. At the foot of my bed, you ran your hand along my zippered crotch. "You are so fucking sexy in these pants," you said as you started slowly pulling down the zipper.
There is a tiny, pink bullet vibrator in my purse. It is also very quiet. I reach for it, twist it on, sink down in my chair. My hand and the bullet slide up under my skirt.
Halfway around, you couldn't reach the zipper pull from the front anymore, and you turned me around and bent me over with my hands braced on the edge of the bed while you finished undoing the zipper all the way. Behind me I heard your pants drop to the floor and a wave of heat washed over me. I needed you inside me right that very second. I whispered your name. "Please..."
I am already soaking wet. The bullet slides in tiny circles around my clit. I slide two fingers easily inside my dripping cunt, remembering that moment of anticipation, the incredibly sexy sound of your pants sliding down your legs right before you rammed your cock into me.
I felt your hands on my ass, pulling the two sides of the pants far enough apart to keep from getting chaffed on the zipper. Your cock slid easily into my soaking wet pussy and you fucked me in a steady rhythm while I rocked back against you. The cinnamon skin of your hands was beautiful against the pale white of my tits and I jumped a bit when you pinched my nipples unexpectedly.
I press the bullet harder against my clit, fuck myself faster with my fingers. My breath comes in ragged little gasps. I am sitting behind my desk, but anyone walking by the window into the hall could see my face and know exactly what I was up to.
You fucked me harder then, your hands now gripping my hips tightly and pulling me back onto you hard enough for me to struggle to keep my footing. You reached one hand forward to rub my clit but you barely touched it before I was gone, my pussy pulsing around your cock and soaking us both with my come.
I'm going to come. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out, but I'm still not able to suppress the whimper that escapes my lips as my pussy clenches rhythmically around my fingers. I open my eyes and look toward the window. No one there. I twist the vibrator off and put it away. I lick the come off my fingers while I pause to catch my breath.
That was it. You shoved me forward hard so that I fell face down on the bed and then you fell on top of me, pushing your cock back inside me and fucking me hard while gripping at anything you could reach -my tits, my shoulders, my face. You came hard, holding me still by the shoulders and moaning against my ear, until we both lay still, spent and panting while you ran your fingers up and down one shiny leg of my pants.
I look at my screen, the cursor blinking at me still waiting for my reply. "Drinks Friday, right?" your e-mail read. "Are you going to wear the scary pants?" Definitely.
Friday, March 11, 2011
His
The box came in the mail to my office where it sat all afternoon in discreet brown packaging. Now, finally home and sat on my bed, the wrappings discarded, I run my fingers over my new wrist and ankle cuffs feeling the supple leather, the softness of the lining against my skin. A thousand scenes race through my mind at once. In all of them he's standing over me and I am powerless.
I know that I won't see the muse for another three months. Should I try them on now? Should I wait? Can I wait? Of course I can't, who do I think I'm fooling? Besides, he'll want photos.
The photos need to be just so. Five inch heels. My hair pulled back like it will be in May to improve the view of his cock sliding between my lips. The long black corset I bought last year to surprise him at Christmas.
I lay out the rest of the things I'll need - my camera and tripod, a dildo, the glass butt plug - get dressed, fasten all the buckles on my new restraints. I gaze down at myself. I look...well, how do I look? I turn to the mirror seeking an answer. Owned, replies my reflection. You looked owned.
I know that I won't see the muse for another three months. Should I try them on now? Should I wait? Can I wait? Of course I can't, who do I think I'm fooling? Besides, he'll want photos.
The photos need to be just so. Five inch heels. My hair pulled back like it will be in May to improve the view of his cock sliding between my lips. The long black corset I bought last year to surprise him at Christmas.
I lay out the rest of the things I'll need - my camera and tripod, a dildo, the glass butt plug - get dressed, fasten all the buckles on my new restraints. I gaze down at myself. I look...well, how do I look? I turn to the mirror seeking an answer. Owned, replies my reflection. You looked owned.
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