Thursday Night

Thursday, 12th November 2009

We close the door behind us. My eyes are like saucers, a quiet smile on my face that belies the nervous anticipation I'm feeling. Wondering what mistreatment you have in store for me tonight.

You ask me if I have to go to the bathroom. I shake my head. No.

You have me strip naked. Ask me if I've noticed you've tidied the room. The side table that I was bent over on Tuesday night as you raped me has been cleared of all objects. You pull it out from the wall, grab me by the hair, and force me back into the familiar position. I put my head to one side, my cheek against the cool surface, and breathe out a sigh of relief, my whole body melting in submission. My Daddy, in charge. All control relinquished to him. My body and mind completely surrendering. I crave it. I never realised how much I craved it until now. I can already feel myself getting wet.

You open a drawer and pull out some cord. You kick my legs apart and lash my ankles to the table legs, then bind my body firmly to the table top, so I'm unable to move. My arms, however, are free. I wish you had tied my wrists behind my back. Gagged me. Blindfolded me. Like the dirty little slut that I am. Next time.

My ass is now at your mercy. You proceed to violate it with a variety of objects - your fingers, an Njoy plug, your cock. You grab a handful of my hair as you rape me. I let out a guttural groan and gasp, "fuck me Daddy, fuck me". You stop abruptly, I'm obviously enjoying it too much.

You leave me there for a minute or two. I can hear water running. You return and I realise it's time for my beating.

You start with your bare hand. It connects with the flesh on my backside with a loud smack. It hurts already. I don't know how I'm going to last. But I am determined to test my limits. To take whatever you want to dish out. Each smack is followed by a gentle massage over the sore area. You are strong and cruel and caring at the same time. Smack. Smack. Smack. I hear you saying something but I'm incapable of responding.

I hear you rummaging around in the drawer. A flogger. A crop. A terrible, sharp wooden implement that I later find out is a cane. It hurts terribly. I'm nearly at my limit. I lose track of time. My eyes are half slits. I'm breathing erratically, my face damp against the table top. I flinch and gasp with each whack. Somewhere in between the beatings you violate my ass again. I moan with pleasure. It's quickly replaced with pain.

Finally, my lesson taught, you release me from my bondage. You untie the cord and later tell me that at this point my cunt is literally dripping wet. You grab me by the hair again and lead me to the bed. I collapse in a heap, certain that a cuddle is coming. But instead you lie back and order me to put your cock in my ass again. I straddle you and comply. I moan as it slides in, my back arched, my eyes closed. You attach clamps to my nipples and order me to open my eyes and look at you as I fuck you, as you fuck me. I moan softly over and over again. You warn me not to cum. There's a punishment coming if I do. You lie back, hands behind your head, a smug smile on your face as you torment me.

After a few minutes, you order me to get off you. I know what I'm supposed to do next. It's your turn. Your ass. I am to worship it. Treat it gently. And to do the thing you've always dreamed about. I lean forward and kiss you, hard, passionately. My thigh is pressed up in between your legs. After the intensity of my session it feels so good just to kiss you. Taste you. Your mouth, your tongue. In that moment I am completely consumed with desire.

I lean down and start to suck your right nipple. God I love it so much. The smell of your chest. The taste of your skin. The little hairs that get in my mouth. A soft moan escapes your lips as I use my teeth ever so gently. I move to the other one and make circles around it with my tongue.

I change position. I kneel in front of you and lube up. With the fingers on my left hand, I gently stroke your ass. I look up at you. Your eyes are closed. "You're so good at this", you whisper. I grin. I know.

It's amazing the power shift. Minutes ago I was bound and at your mercy. Now you are lying here open, vulnerable, completely exposed. I lube up and slip a finger inside you. Then two. I find your prostate and massage it. Three fingers. Four. I curl my thumb into my palm and slowly ease it in. There's resistance. I stop and ask you if you're OK. You've had enough for now. We take a break and try again.

Four fingers. The thumb again. There's an immense opposing pressure. I have to support my arm with my right hand. I've fisted cunts before but this is so different. I very, very slowly rotate my hand around, trying to find the path of least resistance, until all of a sudden I feel an incredible suction and my fist slides deep into your body. We take a moment to process what has just happened. I move around inside you slowly, making gentle thrusts, but you've had enough.

I remove myself from you, show you how far I got (two inches of wrist!), wash off, and come back to bed. As is our ritual, we finish off in spoon. Your strong arms around me, holding me to you as you once again enter me. But this time it's done lovingly, with passion and caring. Deeply connecting me to you. I turn my head and watch you as you explode inside me, feeling deeply fulfilled that I have satisfied you.

It's time to go. We reluctantly untangle ourselves, wipe off, and dress. The energy in the room lingers, but it's weakening. You drive me home. In the car we chat. Digest what happened. The dynamic. The role play. Our deepest darkest fantasies played out. But we've only just scratched the surface. The possibilities from here are endless. Our journey has only just begun.

There's no aftermath from the abuse. My body is tingling. I feel calm, at peace, deeply contented. You drop me off. I kiss you, touch your chest, then disappear into the cool night.

Thank you, dear lover, for an amazing week. See you soon.

Fifteen Years...

Friday, 4th September 2009

I pick you up. It's been fifteen years since we last saw each other; but in the last few months we've swapped photos. Spoken on the phone. Spent hours emailing explicit sex fantasies to one another. You get in the car. I kiss your cheek. It's rough with a three-day growth, but not unpleasant. I study your face, your eyes, your lips, your ears. You've changed so much yet you're still that boy who fucked me so tenderly when we were kids. It's as if we never lost touch.

We go for a drink. Surprisingly nice hotel in the middle of a seedy part of town. We grin stupidly at each other over the table. Make small talk. Bait each other. Out of the corner of my eye I catch you glancing at my body: my breasts, my legs. I'm making you nervous. You tell me I haven't lost my looks. That I'm still pretty. I grin even more.

I look at my watch. We don't have a lot of time. I'm chain-smoking your cigarettes. You're onto your second bloody mary. I put the hard word on you. There's a bathroom upstairs. You readjust the erection in your jeans. You ask me to pash you right there in the bar. I say no. You say please. Please please please. I give in. Your tongue is in my mouth, your hands around my waist, squeezing my breasts, pulling me to you roughly. I nod my head in the direction of the stairs. Let's go.

We lock the door behind us. (Where do you want me? Right here.) You press me up against a wall and kiss me again, thrusting your hips against my body. Any fears, any doubts, any nerves or anxiety or guilt I may have felt has vanished. This is right. You and me, doing what we did best. What we do best. I slip my hands up inside your shirt. I feel your stomach, your chest, pinch your nipples. I unbuckle your jeans and slide them down your hips. I feel your butt, cup your balls, caress your cock. It's the first one I've had in nearly a decade. We're both breathing hard. "Are you OK?" you whisper. I nod.

I roll on the condom with shaking hands. We try in a standing position but it's too awkward. I direct you to the toilet seat and I straddle you. You're in. I grab your shoulders and gasp as you pull my body toward you, onto you. My feet don't reach the floor; it's not working. I get off, push our discarded clothes out of the way and lie down on the tiles. You're quickly inside me and you go hard, your hips slapping against mine. I claw at your body and cry out over and over again, my eyes squeezed shut. Somehow, my right foot finds the doorway; my left, the wall; and I push my butt up off the floor to meet your thrusts. My head keeps bumping into the wall behind me and I ask you to shuffle back. I look up at your face and you're watching me as you're fucking me.

You slow down and pull out. I'm bewildered. "Did you come?" You shake your head. You pull off the condom and drop it into the bin, then stand over me, rubbing your cock. I understand. I take you in my mouth. It's beautiful, smooth and warm. You entwine your hands in my hair and thrust forward. "Do you like that?" you whisper. Yes, I do. I do indeed. I grab the base of your cock in my right hand, and with my left I feel your balls, your perineum, then creep my fingers up to that special place that excites you so much. If I had more time, I'd lube up and slip a finger inside you. I know you'd like that.

You're heading for the edge. "Do you want me to come?" you ask. I shake my head and pull off.

I ask you, "Do you want to fuck me up the ass?" You nod. "Where do you want me?"

You bend me over the sink. I guide you in. "Slow, slow, slow." It hurts. I forgot to bring lube. I hover, waiting for the sensation to pass. You wait patiently, poised. A few gentle thrusts and you're in. I gasp (oh god oh god oh god) and whimper, my face pressed against the vanity. My right hand is clutching the tap, the other the wall. You go hard. It feels so good. Your hands are all over me, on my butt, my hips, my breasts, in my cunt. I wish I could see your face. You urge me to come. I have my fingers down there working at myself but it's not going to happen.

I want you to come. You can't with the condom on. You pull it off and wank yourself to orgasm in front of me. I watch as it dribbles out; next time I'll let you come in my mouth. You don't make a sound but your face is covered in sweat.

You grab some toilet paper and mop up the cum from the floor. We dress quickly, I wash my hands and face, and we slink out of the bathroom and down the stairs. I have to go. I wish I could stay longer. Share another drink, a chat, maybe another pash, but I have to get home. I feel so bad.

I drive you home. I ask you, "Was I as you remember?" You shake your head in disbelief. "Better... I can't believe you took it up the ass on your first time." I reach out my left hand and clasp my fingers around yours. I'm worried that you feel as though I used you.

I drop you off. Kiss you on the cheek. You get out of the car and walk away without looking back. I feel a twinge of something - guilt, perhaps - and wish that it didn't have to be so rushed. But I don't regret a minute of it. You have no idea the favour you have just done me. Thank you. I owe you.