Sex, please

There's a thing that happens when we fall asleep without sexual interaction for a couple of nights. I don't care anymore. Sex seems like too much work, messy, why bother? We can just snuggle up and go to sleep.

Yes, me, I really can think like that.

So when we made our way to bed and he was being all frisky, pulling my nightshirt up and rubbing my skin underneath, asking me "What can I do with this body of mine?" I was a bit put out. I kept pulling the shirt back down each time he moved his hand. Eventually it became a silly tug-of-war and I was laughing, pulling it down multiple times only for him to flip it back up again decisively.

"It's like you have a mind of your own," he observed.

"Well yeah!" I responded. "It's cold and it's too bright in here!" Ever since I had the emergency C-section I've associated brightness with cold, so the brighter the room is the colder it feels to me.

"Well, let's see what we can do about that." He turned off our light, leaving the room lit dimly by the blue glows of our clock and fan, but still plenty of light to see. "That takes care of the bright... now, as for the cold," he flipped the blankets off of me and shoved my shirt away again, landing a harsh blow of the flogger on my ass. My breath whooshed out of me in a surprised grunt. "That should warm it up a bit, don't you think?" He flogged my ass, each blow raising the sensitivity of my skin there and forcing a small helpless noise out of me. After my bottom was all tingly and warm, he lightly stroked his hand across the sensitive skin. "Whose body is this?" he asked, hitting me again.

I didn't respond, just grunted again. "I asked, whose...body...is...this?" he punctuated each word with a hard whack of the flogger.

"Yours." I finally managed to meekly reply.

"That's right. Good girl." He hit me a few more times with the flogger and then a big hard unexpected smack with his hand that made me jump.

He rolled me over then, and fixed a clamp to my right nipple which hurt. I screamed, "Oh, GOD!"

"Hurts, huh? That's what you get for posting such mean things about me on facebook." I laughed even with the pain; I'd posted an amusing interaction between us earlier and he said I took it all wrong. He tried to make the other nipple stand up, but I believe it was terrified of similar treatment and it refused. "Let me see if I can fix that..." he whispered cruelly, and proceeded to flog my left breast. Which, yes, generally does make the nipples come out. The flogging still didn't hold a candle to the pain from the clamp. When he asked "Which nipple hurts more right now?" I didn't hesitate to tell him it was the clamped one. He responded with a scientific curiosity and clamped the left one as well, now that it was available for such abuse.

"It's quite convenient for me, you know. These things can hurt your nipples for me and I can do all sorts of other things." He was running his hands all over my body, stroking me, kissing me. My entire being was still focused pretty much on my right nipple. Not even the clamping of the left one had really taken away from the intensity of it. He pulled my chin to him numerous times and kissed me heatedly, but languidly. That sort of thing was making me crazy. My nipples throbbed.

"Are you sorry?" he queried after a long, long kiss during which he also manipulated my breast flesh, causing the clamps to pull.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry!"

"Well I can be mean to you a different way too..." he whispered against my lips, releasing the left nipple and causing a small surge of extra pain which made me yelp into his mouth. Still not the right one. Please please please just take it off the right one, I kept thinking. Then suddenly I realized that'd probably hurt even more since it'd been clamped longer.

He finally took it off. I think he made me say something else. I was so relieved just to get it free, I don't even remember the exact circumstances. I do remember another surge of pain that was only a little worse than the pain it had been, and then it was gone. I was left with two very very sensitive nipples though, that he continued to touch and tug throughout the rest of the night.

Later, after he'd had me suck his cock, he propped me up on my hands and knees on the liberator ramp and was thrusting into me from behind. His hand stroked from my lower back, up my shoulders, the back of my neck, threading into my hair. He left it resting there, holding the back of my head firmly, for an eternity of thrusting, and then he slowly, oh... so slowly, tightened his fingers to gather my hair into his fist. Once he had a good tight grip on it, he lifted my head back toward him.

I love when he does stuff like that with my hair, but this slow, controlled grip... I knew the tightening was coming but I didn't know when, and each moment of waiting for it extended into an eternity. Delicious.

Why again did I think sex was too much work? I love sex! Sex, please.