Forced helplessness

There's a certain aspect of D/s sexual interaction that really gets me going: Being punished, chastised, or otherwise taken to task for something the bottom has no control over, or something the top has actively caused.

Usually the only place I get to see these scenarios is in bad snuff fiction with psychopathic kidnapping murderers, but something over on aisha's the other day triggered my "yummy!" sensor. I thought my husband was aware of this kink of mine, but turns out it must have been buried under all the other kinks of mine littering his poor brain. So when I started talking about it, he got pretty excited. Apparently he likes to learn things about me he either doesn't know or has forgotten.

What followed that conversation was experimental on his part, and very, very intense for me.

---

"Why did you like that spoon on your face so much?" he asked, stroking my cheek, covering my face with his hand and pressing hard.

"I dunno," I moaned against his palm, then, giving it a little more thought, "I like it when you do things to my face." I'm pretty sure that was already obvious since I was sort of melting into him, moving my face into his hand as it roamed.

"Hmm," he pondered, kissing me, stroking my face all over, "I think there's a part of you... that wants me to slap it."

I moaned.

"But I said I wouldn't do that, didn't I? That I wouldn't slap the pretty girl's face.." he lifted his hand from my cheek, pausing as if to slap me, but he didn't. I felt my whole body flush, and suddenly I was hot.

He moved his hand, slapped my breasts one at a time, kept talking about slapping my face. His exact words are lost in the roar of blood in my ears, in the sounds of his hand smacking into my breasts over and over. His lips claimed mine eventually, kissing me senseless while his hand gripped my hair, tugging my face into him, pulling my hair, making me cry out.

"I'm surprised you don't fight back more," he said as he slapped my breasts.

"You don't like that," I answered softly.

"I suppose a submissive girl might just like to submit," he continued.

"I like to fight," I whispered, even lower.

"That's right, you do," he murmured. "I suppose I might like to feel wanted... like you're just saying 'Here I am. I'm yours, do as you wish with me.'" I was on my back next to him, he was on his side facing me. My right leg was trapped between both of his, his leg tossed over my hip and bent so it crossed my leg a second time. His hand was in my hair, his other hand gripping my throat as he kissed me, as he spoke those words. His fingers moved from my throat down my front, toying with my nipples, slipping lower, lower, until he parted my sex.

I nearly screamed when he drew my wetness over my clit. I spasmed, my trapped leg trying to pull away.

"Where is that leg trying to go?"

"Nowhere," I hurried to answer. I wasn't quite sure what he had planned, wasn't sure of anything except how very turned on I was. So I answered honestly.

"You like having your legs forced apart," he noted as I moaned when his leg tightened on mine, dragged it further away from my other one.

"Uh-huh," I answered, his fingers on my sex pretty much robbing me of intelligent language.

"Are you my slut?"

"Uh-huh." I would have agreed to almost anything at that point, but then I started thinking.

"Are you a cock slut?" His fingers, God, his fingers, making me crazy, how can I think, how can I have this conversation?

"Nooo," I protested.

"No? What kind of slut are you, then?"

"Nooo," I argued, brilliantly.

"You don't get to say no now, girl, it's too late. Cock slut. You want this cock to fuck you, don't you?" he asked, his fingers sliding inside me, making me buck up into his hand.

"Uh-huh," I said, twisting.

"So why don't you turn on your side and let me fuck you from behind then?" he said, a little edge to his voice that should have warned me something was up.

I tried. I really, really tried. But the way he was holding me, I couldn't turn. Each time I tried to turn, I felt the muscles of his legs tense around me, holding me in place, holding me open. "Come on, cock slut, just turn over. I guess you don't want it bad enough. I guess you don't want to be fucked from behind at all." His finger moved, faster and faster, lighter and lighter, on my clit, and my body arched up off the bed, still trying to turn, but unable. That is when the orgasm hit me, as his words crashed into me without letup, as his finger worked its magic, as he held me in place even as I tried to do what he told me.

Fuck, yes, I came. How could I not?

"Silly slut can't even do what she's told," he murmured into my ear as I panted. "I guess you don't really want it - but guess what? I want it. I guess I'll just have to show you how it's done." With that, he took his leg off me and roughly - roughly - shoved me over onto my side. I can't even tell you what that I want it did to me. Just whoa.

"Give me that pussy," he growled as he prodded the head of his cock into me. But his hand was on my ass, pressing me forward. Oh, fuck. I tried to back onto him, to feel him filling me, but he pushed on me just enough so I could get about half his cock inside. "Come on, girl, give it to me," he growled again, as I tried to find some leverage on our featureless bed to press against. My hands slid helplessly over the smooth sheets, we don't have a headboard, pressing into the wall would be the wrong direction. I moaned deeply, frustrated, even as I felt myself grow impossibly wetter.

"I guess you really don't want it that badly," he whispered, grabbing ahold of me and yanking me all the way onto him, filling me up by ramming us into each other. I squealed as he hit bottom, stretching me out suddenly and quickly. Fuck.

---

"You're my property, aren't you?" he murmured, long minutes later, my legs splayed open, one wrapped behind his back, his fingers stroking my clit while he fucked me.

"Yes, yes, yes," I panted.

"Putty in my fingers, aren't you?" he asked. "Do whatever I tell you?"

"Uh-huh," I groaned, as those very fingers drove me insane with pleasure.

"Turn over and suck my cock, then," he said.

He let me, though I moved slowly, like one in a dream. I love the taste of me on him, of us together like that. I licked slowly up his length, tasting, before I let myself suck him in.

"Oh, that's a good girl, good girl likes to suck the cock, doesn't she?"

He was fucking into my throat, pulling my hair, telling me what a good fuckhole I am when our poor sick munchkin came zombying into the room. At least the kid has good timing and it was a good moment for interruption.

It was more a laugh and a "Poor baby" than a scream of frustration, at least for me.

And we finished, later, after settling the poor kid down. That story is less defined in my memory, though.

But holy hell, what a first outing for the bits of 'new' knowledge.

---

Somewhere up there, in our conversation, we were talking about him beating me, and he said "But it's so much fun!"

I don't know where it fits in the greater narrative, but it definitely struck a happy chord inside this girl and I wanted to make sure I mentioned it.

Upping the ante, part 1

"Why are we going to bed so early?" I asked my husband, realizing it was only 9 PM, and secretly thrilling a little inside.

"Seemed like a good time to go to bed," he replied as he slid into bed next to me, pulling me close to him. "Is this new, what you're wearing?" He ran his hand down my body to indicate the nightie I'd put on.

"No," I was turned away from him so he couldn't see my smile. It's rare he seems to pay attention to what I'm wearing.

"Just don't wear it often?"

"I brought it from home when we came back," I answered. "I left a lot of stuff like this back there."

"Why is that?"

"I thought maybe we wouldn't be having sex so much after." I laughed at my own thought processes from the time. "And... maybe that you didn't care so much anyway."

He laughed too. "No sex for a year? What do you think now?" His voice was right in my ear, his lips grazing my neck after he spoke, sending shivers down my spine.

"Mmmm, which do you mean?"

"Do you still think I'm not going to have sex with you?"

I laughed pretty loudly then, the very concept foreign enough that it was ridiculous. "No," I said quickly amidst my laughter.

"Good," he said, his hands pulling me closer. "And I do care."

Huh. That's news to me. Never noticed him caring. Score one for communication.

He lit a candle, turned off the lamp, and turned back to me. I was purring as he stroked me, stretching into him. "What's on the menu tonight then?"

"Mmm... love. Maybe some pain." His hands kept stroking me and I made soft noises of appreciation with each item as he listed them. "Some claiming of you... some entering of you."

I had turned toward him as he spoke, and let my hands dance over his skin for a bit, being sure he was finished talking.  "Sounds like a nice menu," I said appreciatively.

"I'd like it if you'd kiss me," he whispered.

I like to give him what he likes. So I tilted my face up to his and kissed him, softly at first and with more hunger as his responses fueled mine. My breast rested on his chest, he shoved my nightie out of the way and his fingers stroked my nipple there as we kissed, making me purr. "Love," he breathed out, his fingers gently rolling my nipple.

"Love you," I responded, sucking on his full lower lip.

He slapped my nipple then, pretty sharply. I yelped, jumping a little with the pain.

"Pain," he whispered.

Oh, I get it. It's the menu. He's delivering the menu. My thoughts didn't have much time to settle there because he was slapping my nipple over and over and I was groaning.

He pushed me onto my back so he could slap my breast full on, and I arched into each blow. Oh wow. How long must it have been since he'd done this? Days, at least. I moaned with every thud into my chest.

And then he stopped. What? I was unfocused, breathing hard, bereft of attention but not sure how to process. He'd turned away and was looking for something in his nightstand. "Ahh," he finally said, and turned back to me, rubbing the back of the wooden spoon against my nipple. I shivered and whimpered, a little fearful, but also excited.

He started tapping that spoon into my nipples, lightly at first, and harder as I rose up into the taps, groaning with deep satisfaction. "Oh wow, look at you," he said as he continued, on and on until I lost all thoughts except rising up into the strokes of the spoon, feeling the impacts into my nipples. I was so, so aroused. I could feel myself growing wetter with each blow.

I shivered as he leaned over to kiss me, the spoon resting against the inside of my forearm where it lay on the bed. He took advantage of that position to hit me there, all up and down my inner forearm while he kissed me. I cried out into his mouth as the wood left its mark on my sensitive skin. It felt incredible, and I was overwhelmed. As he hit me on the inner arm, as he kissed me and did whatever else he was doing, I felt myself begin to shake. I arched up as he kept slapping my sensitive skin with the spoon, and I felt an orgasm washing over me. I screamed, shaking as it went through me. "Oh my," he whispered as I vibrated beneath him.

 It hurt more when he finally stopped; my flesh throbbed and complained.

"Open your legs for me," he said. He would normally knock them apart but he was propped on one elbow and his other hand was holding the spoon. I whimpered, a little fearful, but I obeyed. He ran the spoon over my inner thighs, over my pussy that was still covered by panties. He slipped them off, then ran the spoon over me again. I whimpered.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"A little," I answered.

He started slapping the spoon against my inner thighs, just enough to leave a sting behind but not enough to make me feel like I was dying. I was happy with that, lifting my hips and squirming, and then he brushed it over my pussy again, slowly, deliberately.

He is very, very good with the spoon. As he told me later - spoons don't hit people, people hit people. So my initial hate for the thing was on the way he was using it, of course. Residual traces of that fear still linger. I tensed up.

He bent over so that his upper body was across my midsection, facing my spread thighs, pinning me there. I cried out - this was unexpected. He slapped my pussy and my thighs with the spoon, making me writhe beneath him, making me moan and cry out unintelligible sounds.

He resumed his previous position beside me when he was finished, kissing me as he ran the spoon up my body. "Mine," he said against my lips, his free hand gripping my throat and keeping me there while he plundered my mouth. "So mine." His hand ran over my face, and I pressed my face into his hand as it passed, covering my eyes, my nose, my mouth. He pressed. I love it when he presses my face like that. I moaned into his hand.

The spoon rubbed against my cheek, and my mouth opened. He was looking at me, his gaze trapped mine as he slowly, deliberately, slapped my cheek with the spoon. I trembled, a cry spilling from my mouth as he did it again. "Mine," he said firmly, slapping my face with the spoon while I moaned helplessly.

Oh my God he's slapping my face with a wooden spoon. Oh my God. I writhed. Shivers overtook me and I couldn't stop shaking. He finally stopped, put the spoon down, and kissed me while his fingers found their way between my legs. I knew what he would find there.

"Oh my, what have we here?" he asked as his fingers delved into my wetness, as he made little noises come out of me with the slightest touch. "I think we have a nice wet pussy. I think it likes what I do to you."

He played with me a bit, his fingers sliding inside me, his thumb stroking my clit, making me twist and groan. He kissed me the whole time.

"I want you..." he said softly against my lips.

"I want you." I answered, kissing him more fervently.

"... to suck my cock," he finished.

Continued here...