going to be necessary.’
He yanked down the pyjama shorts, raising himself up for a moment so that they could rest around my knees.
I yelped and tried to wriggle out from under him, but he clamped his legs tight around me and smacked his hand down on my bare bum.
‘You’re going to keep still, Pip,’ he said. ‘And behave yourself. Aren’t you?’
‘I’ll try.’
Another smack.
‘I need a bit more commitment than that,’ he warned.
‘I’ll be good,’ I promised. ‘But what are you going to do?’
‘Something I’ve been thinking of doing for years. But somehow never had the confidence to suggest. Until now.’
‘Why now?’
‘I’m not worried you’ll think I’m a disgusting pervert any more. You know I am.’
‘That’s for sure.’
‘Good. So you won’t be too shocked by what I’m about to do to you.’
He got off me and began rummaging in his work bag, which he’d dropped by the side of the bed. I twisted my neck to watch him. His face was redder. He was still a
little
bit nervous, for all his bravado. I wanted to hold his hand and tell him it would be OK. How absurd –
what
would be OK? I didn’t even know.
His hand emerged from the bag wrapped around a small squeezy bottle full of colourless gel. He put it down and I read the label. ‘Slide-a-ride’. It was a lubricant. We’d never used lube before because, well, I usually didn’t need any assistance in that department. Dan only had to look at me a certain way for my knickers to flood.
So …
He reached into the bag again and pulled out a rectangular cardboard and cellophane presentation package, of the kind you might get a set of bath products wrapped in at Christmas. Except there were no body lotions or bath salts in this box.
No, there were three pink, strange-shaped objects. They reminded me a bit of the ornate handles at the bottom of my grandmother’s bathroom light pull switches – flared for a more comfortable grip. But I knew that the flaring was nothing to do with ease of wrapping fingers around. And I knew what these babies were. I’d seen them in The Book. They were butt plugs.
‘Oh, my God,’ I exclaimed, unable to stop myself. ‘Are you serious?’
He sat on the side of the bed and held my face, looking at me in a manner that made it perfectly clear that he was.
It wasn’t just my heart fluttering. Everything was in turmoil and I could scarcely identify my responses. Sometimes they seemed broadly positive, and then the lurch in my stomach begged to disagree and I thought I was dead against the whole idea.
‘I want to do this,’ he said softly. ‘Not to terrorise or punish you at all, but to see if you like it. I’ve always secretly wanted to, well, I won’t pussyfoot around, take you up the arse. But I don’t want the first time to be painful or shocking for you. So I thought this …’
I exhaled. ‘Right. Oh.’ I didn’t know what to say. It seemed beyond the pale to admit that I found the idea quite exciting. Surely I should resist the idea with every fibre of my being? But then, I was happy for him to give me a sore bottom in the other way. So this seemed a natural step to take.
‘And perhaps we could make it part of the routine, you know, instead of spanking, or in addition. I think –’ his voice became almost a whisper ‘– I’d like that.’
He looked as if he might salivate. My bared pussy began to flood at the thought of what he’d been planning and fantasising. He wanted to do unspeakable things to me. I wanted to let him.
But I didn’t want him to know I wanted it.
My head might have exploded, if only my lower parts weren’t so insistent in their needs.
What should I do? If I said, ‘Yeah, OK, go for it,’ I’d lose the best part of the excitement. Pretend to protest and hope he’d do it anyway? Be so over the top that he’d realise I was play-acting? I couldn’t expect him to read my mind, but I didn’t want my mind read. I wanted to be told what to do and
He yanked down the pyjama shorts, raising himself up for a moment so that they could rest around my knees.
I yelped and tried to wriggle out from under him, but he clamped his legs tight around me and smacked his hand down on my bare bum.
‘You’re going to keep still, Pip,’ he said. ‘And behave yourself. Aren’t you?’
‘I’ll try.’
Another smack.
‘I need a bit more commitment than that,’ he warned.
‘I’ll be good,’ I promised. ‘But what are you going to do?’
‘Something I’ve been thinking of doing for years. But somehow never had the confidence to suggest. Until now.’
‘Why now?’
‘I’m not worried you’ll think I’m a disgusting pervert any more. You know I am.’
‘That’s for sure.’
‘Good. So you won’t be too shocked by what I’m about to do to you.’
He got off me and began rummaging in his work bag, which he’d dropped by the side of the bed. I twisted my neck to watch him. His face was redder. He was still a
little
bit nervous, for all his bravado. I wanted to hold his hand and tell him it would be OK. How absurd –
what
would be OK? I didn’t even know.
His hand emerged from the bag wrapped around a small squeezy bottle full of colourless gel. He put it down and I read the label. ‘Slide-a-ride’. It was a lubricant. We’d never used lube before because, well, I usually didn’t need any assistance in that department. Dan only had to look at me a certain way for my knickers to flood.
So …
He reached into the bag again and pulled out a rectangular cardboard and cellophane presentation package, of the kind you might get a set of bath products wrapped in at Christmas. Except there were no body lotions or bath salts in this box.
No, there were three pink, strange-shaped objects. They reminded me a bit of the ornate handles at the bottom of my grandmother’s bathroom light pull switches – flared for a more comfortable grip. But I knew that the flaring was nothing to do with ease of wrapping fingers around. And I knew what these babies were. I’d seen them in The Book. They were butt plugs.
‘Oh, my God,’ I exclaimed, unable to stop myself. ‘Are you serious?’
He sat on the side of the bed and held my face, looking at me in a manner that made it perfectly clear that he was.
It wasn’t just my heart fluttering. Everything was in turmoil and I could scarcely identify my responses. Sometimes they seemed broadly positive, and then the lurch in my stomach begged to disagree and I thought I was dead against the whole idea.
‘I want to do this,’ he said softly. ‘Not to terrorise or punish you at all, but to see if you like it. I’ve always secretly wanted to, well, I won’t pussyfoot around, take you up the arse. But I don’t want the first time to be painful or shocking for you. So I thought this …’
I exhaled. ‘Right. Oh.’ I didn’t know what to say. It seemed beyond the pale to admit that I found the idea quite exciting. Surely I should resist the idea with every fibre of my being? But then, I was happy for him to give me a sore bottom in the other way. So this seemed a natural step to take.
‘And perhaps we could make it part of the routine, you know, instead of spanking, or in addition. I think –’ his voice became almost a whisper ‘– I’d like that.’
He looked as if he might salivate. My bared pussy began to flood at the thought of what he’d been planning and fantasising. He wanted to do unspeakable things to me. I wanted to let him.
But I didn’t want him to know I wanted it.
My head might have exploded, if only my lower parts weren’t so insistent in their needs.
What should I do? If I said, ‘Yeah, OK, go for it,’ I’d lose the best part of the excitement. Pretend to protest and hope he’d do it anyway? Be so over the top that he’d realise I was play-acting? I couldn’t expect him to read my mind, but I didn’t want my mind read. I wanted to be told what to do and
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