deal with at all.
I don’t even care if he hears me.
I let out a guttural groan of absolute bliss – one that gets louder when I realise exactly why he rubs me between my legs like that. He can deny it all he wants, but I know it. I feel it deep in my bones, along with the almost constant roll of intense arousal. He wants to look, I think. He wants to see for sure just how wet I am. And when he finally speaks, I find I am right.
Because he asks me for more.
‘If you stand with your legs a little further apart it will be easier to take,’ he says, so crafty I feel like giving him a round of applause. I probably would, if I were not so desperate. I almost get tangled in my own tights in my eagerness, rubbing them down with my shins until I can do exactly what he wants. I don’t even think about what he will see once it’s done.
And when it is, another glut of pleasure pushes through me. My clit seems to swell and jump, and my already flushed cheeks flush harder. I bet I’m glistening, I think. I bet my pussy looks like that description in the book. Like a ripe, wet peach, freshly split. All my folds so pink and plump, and coated in slickness from my greedy little cunt all the way to the tightly closed hole between my spread arse cheeks.
He could probably push in there with no difficulty, I think.
But I don’t expect him to do it. It seems far too sexual for someone like him. He is still intent on pretending this is an ordinary punishment. If he did something like that he couldn’t go on claiming he has no interest in sex, because penetrating me is about the sexiest sex thing someone can do. There’s no room for misinterpreting it, no matter how hard I try. I do my best to think, Oh he must have slipped , as that strip of slender wood ever so slightly eases in.
And then I let myself see it for what it is, and lose any restraint I had left. The words ‘He’s fucking my arse with the thing he just spanked me with’ flash up behind my eyes. They practically have a parade, or at least that’s how it feels to my body. Everything seems to burst, and when it does I do not hold back. I think I put a hole in his couch. I say things I never want to say to someone like him: ‘ohhhhh yeah oh my God I’m coming you’re making me come oh fuck fuck fuck.’
But best of all, I don’t regret it. If anything, the sound of me blurting out such filthy things – so full of abandonment and burning lust – makes me go harder. I imagine his startled face, as all sense of propriety flies out of the fucking window. Or maybe his disapproval, oh, yes, God, yes, his disapproval makes me come so good. I all but feel it in my teeth. My cunt clenches hard around nothing, as if jealous of the thing that’s fucking my arse.
And my clit, oh, the shivering, stuffed-full sensation that blooms from my clit. It seems to strain against my skin. I feel as though I can’t quite contain it, and although I do, everything is over-taxed. My heartbeat is a raging, brain-squeezing thunder. For a second I can’t breathe, and when I finally do I have to gasp it all in. I have to pant and shake and sag against the couch, face suddenly wet with tears I don’t remember shedding. I don’t mind, though. Even if he sneers at me for doing it and says something cutting, I can take it. It would be a small price to pay for whatever that just was. My primary feeling is relief, rather than any silly shame. Relief that I finally got some respite from the arousal that’s been torturing me for days, weeks – months, if I’m being honest.
I’ve wanted him to take me apart from day one, I know.
He was made for this thing. He could have done it in his sleep, if he was not so unsure of his feelings about sex. If he had given in sooner and just gone for it, forgot all his reservations and left his hang-ups behind. All he had to do was give me one look and we could have been doing this all along. But I don’t regret the wasted time. It was all foreplay
I don’t even care if he hears me.
I let out a guttural groan of absolute bliss – one that gets louder when I realise exactly why he rubs me between my legs like that. He can deny it all he wants, but I know it. I feel it deep in my bones, along with the almost constant roll of intense arousal. He wants to look, I think. He wants to see for sure just how wet I am. And when he finally speaks, I find I am right.
Because he asks me for more.
‘If you stand with your legs a little further apart it will be easier to take,’ he says, so crafty I feel like giving him a round of applause. I probably would, if I were not so desperate. I almost get tangled in my own tights in my eagerness, rubbing them down with my shins until I can do exactly what he wants. I don’t even think about what he will see once it’s done.
And when it is, another glut of pleasure pushes through me. My clit seems to swell and jump, and my already flushed cheeks flush harder. I bet I’m glistening, I think. I bet my pussy looks like that description in the book. Like a ripe, wet peach, freshly split. All my folds so pink and plump, and coated in slickness from my greedy little cunt all the way to the tightly closed hole between my spread arse cheeks.
He could probably push in there with no difficulty, I think.
But I don’t expect him to do it. It seems far too sexual for someone like him. He is still intent on pretending this is an ordinary punishment. If he did something like that he couldn’t go on claiming he has no interest in sex, because penetrating me is about the sexiest sex thing someone can do. There’s no room for misinterpreting it, no matter how hard I try. I do my best to think, Oh he must have slipped , as that strip of slender wood ever so slightly eases in.
And then I let myself see it for what it is, and lose any restraint I had left. The words ‘He’s fucking my arse with the thing he just spanked me with’ flash up behind my eyes. They practically have a parade, or at least that’s how it feels to my body. Everything seems to burst, and when it does I do not hold back. I think I put a hole in his couch. I say things I never want to say to someone like him: ‘ohhhhh yeah oh my God I’m coming you’re making me come oh fuck fuck fuck.’
But best of all, I don’t regret it. If anything, the sound of me blurting out such filthy things – so full of abandonment and burning lust – makes me go harder. I imagine his startled face, as all sense of propriety flies out of the fucking window. Or maybe his disapproval, oh, yes, God, yes, his disapproval makes me come so good. I all but feel it in my teeth. My cunt clenches hard around nothing, as if jealous of the thing that’s fucking my arse.
And my clit, oh, the shivering, stuffed-full sensation that blooms from my clit. It seems to strain against my skin. I feel as though I can’t quite contain it, and although I do, everything is over-taxed. My heartbeat is a raging, brain-squeezing thunder. For a second I can’t breathe, and when I finally do I have to gasp it all in. I have to pant and shake and sag against the couch, face suddenly wet with tears I don’t remember shedding. I don’t mind, though. Even if he sneers at me for doing it and says something cutting, I can take it. It would be a small price to pay for whatever that just was. My primary feeling is relief, rather than any silly shame. Relief that I finally got some respite from the arousal that’s been torturing me for days, weeks – months, if I’m being honest.
I’ve wanted him to take me apart from day one, I know.
He was made for this thing. He could have done it in his sleep, if he was not so unsure of his feelings about sex. If he had given in sooner and just gone for it, forgot all his reservations and left his hang-ups behind. All he had to do was give me one look and we could have been doing this all along. But I don’t regret the wasted time. It was all foreplay
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