Aggression

There's nothing quite like a good, aggressive fuck session when it's been days. Nothing like the feeling of anticipation when it's not yet private time, when you still have dinner and family time to get through before the fucking can occur.

Nothing like: 

Having three layers of clothing stripped from your lower half in one fell swoop so that the impact of a hand slamming into your ass will be better felt.
That first impact, the sting after months of no slapping at all.
The sudden warmth that makes those three layers hardly missed at all.
The awareness of the incredible amounts of wetness when his fingers slide through your labia, seeking exactly what they've found.
So much arousal from so much time spend waiting for this moment.
The feeling of that cock sliding home from behind in spoons position, sliding all the way in until it's actually a bit too much and then just a tiny bit further than that.
Absolute fullness and then the motion. Holy fuck the motion. Just a gentle shoving in, in, in.
Pulling away, on your hands and knees, begging to be fucked doggy style and then the even bigger cock now it's got some gravity behind it. Holy fuck there's no way that's ever going to work - but it does.

And then his hands in your hair, pushing your face into the bed while you scream. His hands, somehow multiplied, everywhere at once, pulling you into him by the hips and pushing your head, your shoulder, your lower back holy fuck that's delicious, everywhere all the while his cock is shoving in, in, in, in and it's so unutterably big and all you can do is scream into the bed for the amazing eternity of this fuck.


Nothing like it.

Dichotomy

How is it that one person can contain both the cruel sadist who pinches my nipples and pulls them until I scream helplessly with the pain of it, and the darling sweetheart who hugs me to him the next morning and tells me how much I enrich his life?

Both are him, both are real. The wonderful joy of such a thing doesn't translate clearly to people without kinky - perhaps even only masochistic - tendencies. The thrill of knowing that the man who hugs me randomly in the kitchen and who clearly adores me can also torment my flesh and tell me that his cock owns me later that same day is surely as good as the high from any drug.

When the morning after a particularly intense fuck I whisper that my insides hurt because he kept shoving his cock into me whether there was room for it or not and the only sound from him is a little pleased "mmm," and he pulls me closer? I know that whatever I have awakened in him, in what I thought was a sweet vanilla man all those years ago, is definitely there to stay. The intrinsic goodness of him doesn't go away because he's sexually aroused by hurting me. So long, that is, as I am also a willing participant in the activities. Which of course I am.

Sex is so interesting. How we relate to it, how in so many polite company conversations we're not supposed to mention it, how what turns us on can so often be used by others who find these things out to indicate some kind of bizarre character flaw.

The nicest, best, most kind-hearted person I know is a sexual sadist. Our sexual desires don't say anything about us as people except what our sexual desires happen to be.

If only teenage me had gotten that memo. How many people are living in some private hell because they think the perfectly normal ways that their sexuality functions is somehow abnormal and wrongheaded and is going to send them to hell? Like life isn't hard enough. Like fitting in all the things we must do and all the things we'd like to do and all the people who give our lives joy and fulfillment and contentment doesn't eat up enough of our brain cycles, we focus on something that's meant to bring us pleasure and instead wring anguish from it. How good are we humans at screwing ourselves up?

Embrace the dichotomy. Life is there to be lived, and sex is there to be enjoyed. Consensually. Of course.

Happy holidays, blogland.

Spin the slave girl: a fantasy

I have a very very good imagination.

Once in a while my husband will use that to his extreme advantage by crafting a fantasy directly into my ear while he manipulates my body. Bondage, discipline, even fucking, can come from his lips into my ear without him actually putting forth more effort than coming up with the idea.

He spoons me, and his lips are right against my ear, his arms around me as he begins to speak.

"You'd like a cage, wouldn't you. And I could just hang you from it. Tie your wrists to your ankles, spread your legs wide, and hang you up, just to beat you, or to fuck you wherever I want. Just to keep you right here and fuck you. I could spin you around to decide where to fuck, oooh I should fuck your pretty face right now," he whispers, his hands roaming my body as they like. In point of fact I have a cold sore right now, but my imagination doesn't worry about that as he describes his cock filling my face, my throat. I moan deeply and his fingers find my clit as he keeps talking about using my face to fuck. He strokes it lightly, expertly, driving my desire for him to a fever pitch as he keeps talking, his sexy fucking voice playing right inside my brain, turning me into a puddle of need.

"I could get your ass all nice and slippery, slide my fingers in there, then shove a huge plug into you. Then when I fuck your pussy, there won't be much room. But I'd make room. You're mine and I'd shove my cock into you because it feels so fucking good inside you. 'Too big,' you'll say, 'oh, master, it's too big for me,' but I won't fucking care and I will make you take it all and there is nothing you can do about it."

I just keep moaning. My brain has completely accepted that my face is currently full of cock, despite the fact that it is not.

"Mmm. It's so good inside your throat," he murmurs, "and I know that once your face realizes what it's really for, it hates to stop. All your holes are like that, aren't they? Once they realize they're fuck holes again they hate to give it up. Your sweet mouth doesn't want me to stop fucking it, does it? But I should just spin you again and see what else to fuck. Face hole, pussy hole, ass hole. . . face hole, pussy hole, ass hole." And inside my head, it's exactly as if he has done just that. I am a collection of holes, spinning slowly, suspended from a cage while he decides where he wants to put his cock next. I barely stifle my screams of gratification at being so objectified.

"Mmm, I guess I'll fuck your pussy," he murmurs, sliding his actual cock into me from behind as I make loud grunting noises, his words causing minor spasms over my entire body. I am a slippery wet mess by this point, his words and his fingers have made me come several times already. I am floating, every nerve tingling, hanging on his every word, suspended by his voice as surely as the imaginary restraints into which he has bound me.

"Take it, girl. Take it all. Too big, is it? That's your favorite thing to complain about, isn't it? I should spin you around again and shove it down your throat. You won't complain about that, will you? Of course you won't, your throat will be full of cock. Don't worry, girl, soon your lip will heal and then, ohh, and then. . . "

"Then you'll fuck my throat again?" I gasp, each syllable interrupted by my gasps as his cock moves inside me.

"Oh yes, what a clever fuck toy you are. That's right, then I'll fuck your throat again," he croons, the low rasp of his voice sending tingles down my spine. "You love being full of my cock, having all your holes filled and stretched open around me, for me. That's what you're fucking for. For me to fuck all your holes. Your ass loves my cock too. It loves me to shove inside it, to force you open, to make you mine. You're afraid too, afraid of how big it is. But you love to be afraid of my big cock fucking your ass. You're a collection of fuck holes, what's that like, to be a walking collection of fuck holes?"

I can only respond in grunts and barely-restrained screams. His words and his actions have driven any rational part of my brain away and I can only feel things, react to things, arch, scream, pant, gasp.

"And I can just keep you here, hanging here, for me to fuck those holes whenever I want, however I want. Ohh yes I like that. My own hanging fuck toy." He pulls me closer into him as he speaks, his cock pushing more into me than there is me, stretching my insides further, making me cry out as he finally comes. His orgasm is long, his moans of pleasure intense.

But then he is on top of me, his fingers sliding into me, stroking my clit, pressing hard into my g-spot, and I am screaming again. I thought I was spent, done, no more gasps of pleasure left but he is wringing every bit out of me that he can.

And I adore him. I adore what he does to me and I just keep thinking, when I am allowed to think as his fingers draw more orgasms from my exhausted body, how very lucky I am to be this man's sex slave.


Thank you, husband.

What he's thinking

I always tease my husband that he never thinks about sex unless we're having it, that he's a very much in-the-moment kind of person. Whatever he's doing at that moment is the thing he wants to do.

But in his arms, with his lips against my ear and his fingers stroking my clit in that way I like, he began to reveal something.

"You know, I didn't tell you this, but I think I should now. Earlier, when you'd just gotten home and were finishing your lunch and you were telling me about your day, I was looking at you and thinking: 'I own this woman. I could take her right now and make her do anything I wanted.'

Shocked at this revelation, and more than a little aroused by it, I moaned. I know the things we get up to but the idea that they should cross his mind in the middle of the day while I'm just talking to him was just mind-blowing.

He  continued: "'I could take her in the other room at this moment and have her suck my cock, or I could fuck her. I could fuck her anywhere I wanted.' But I didn't think we should be doing that in the middle of the day with the boy right in the other room, so I didn't say anything. I just contented myself with looking into your eyes and thinking that you're mine, that I could take you anytime, anywhere."

Concluding his little speech into my ear, he slid his fingers into me and pressed my clit just so. It didn't take long before I was helplessly rocked by spasms.

I always ask what he's thinking, but this is the first time hearing it actually made me orgasm. Maybe I should ask less and just let him tell me more.

A moment

I'd just come back from the bathroom and crawled into my husband's arms. He turned slightly toward me and his cock, hard and demanding, pressed against my wrist.

"Oh, husband, were you flopping your penis about again?" I asked as my hand rubbed his erection through the fabric of his boxers.

"No, it was like that before you left," he replied.

"Ooh, I didn't realize," I murmured, dropping little kisses on his chest.

"Maybe it would feel better if you sucked on it," he said.

"Hmm? Is something wrong with it?" I asked, slipping down his body already.

"Wrong with it? It's not in your mouth."

"Ooooooooh," I said, purring a little as I slipped his boxers down his legs. I planted a wet sucking kiss on his cock. "That's a good answer." I sucked him in, and then, for emphasis, lifted my head off once more. "I like that answer," I finished as I lowered my head all the way down and started pleasuring him in earnest.

I still do.

Noise

He's on top of me and my legs are in the air. He made me beg for his cock in me, words I could hardly get out for the blood pounding in my head, but now it feels enormous, so big that I cry out with every thrust.

"So nice of you to make yourself into a hole for me to fuck," he growls as I barely keep from screaming. I remember we forgot to close the window. I had no idea this was going to happen.

"I think I'll fuck your face next," he whispers, pressing his cock fully into me and leaning all the way down to send his words straight into my ear canal. I cry out again, the pulses of blood through his cock making it swell and stretching me almost beyond endurance. "I'll stick my cock into the hole all that noise is coming out of, and I'll fuck it."

My entire body breaks into a sweat. His whispered promise sends heat through me like I'd never imagined.

---

He's not a man to mince words. Soon, he's straddling my face, and his cock blocks all the screams that I would be making. It presses into my throat, unavoidable, undeniable, tasting of sex.

The noise is stopped. The window needn't be thought about.

Internal experiences, external actions

His hand pushes on the back of my head, forcing it forward and away from him, exposing the back of my neck to him. He rubs the soft bristles of his beard against me there, a thousand tiny points of sensation, and I gasp loudly.

"You like that, girl?" he asks, pushing harder on my head, rubbing his beard against me while I feel myself melting. He moves his chin over to the tender curve between my neck and shoulder, and I inhale sharply as sensation overtakes me. I can't say which thing I love more - the hand pressing possessively yet almost dismissively against my head, or the sensations his beard is awakening across my body. Goosebumps rise up all over me and I moan.

Fucking with a vengeance

My life is brilliant. Every night I fall asleep in the arms of my delicious, fantastic, sexy husband who, even half asleep, keeps mumbling about how happy he is with me and how much he loves me.

Every night.

My life is a fairy tale dream from which I have no desire to be awakened.

It must be real, though, because the pain of his fingers clamping down on my nipple still makes me scream. My screams still seem to cause him to erupt. Those pinches do not change my reality except to sharpen it.

He revels in the power I have gifted him over my entire being.

"Your body is mine," he murmurs against my temple.

"Yes sir," I whisper in response.

"Your soul is mine," he says roughly, directly into my ear, and I shudder. His hand is causing pain somewhere. Slapping my breasts, making me arch into him, or perhaps smacking into my spread open vulva.

Right in the what?

He holds me close to him, his fingers working, his magic voice telling me that I am his, that he can do what he likes with me, that I will come for him before I will be allowed to suck his cock.

I am begging him, pleading to be allowed to pleasure him as his fingers gently stroke me closer and closer to the edge of bliss. "Please, please let me suck your cock," is the last thing I can say before my words are stolen by the things he is saying, by the way his fingers are making me feel.

"You saying you want to pleasure me BEFORE you come? That doesn't seem fair, fuck toy," he growls in my ear, his breath raising tingles all down the side of my face, my neck, my side... all the way to my toes. "You're gonna come for me, all right. Who owns you, girl?" he demands as I am right at the edge.

The effort of answering him makes me fly off. "YOU own me," I squeal, the last syllable trailing into a long scream of pure sexual release.

"Good girl," he whispers, and he keeps going and going and going, making my body dance on the tips of his fingers.

Finally, finally, his touch slows, he lets me breathe. "Suck cock now?" I manage.

"Yes, girl, you can suck my cock now." But his mouth is on mine, he is kissing me long and hard, a kiss that embodies passion itself. My hand moves to stroke the cock he's promised me and I find it big and hard, poking out of the top of the waistband of his boxers.

"There's a monster in your pants," I whisper into his mouth.

"It's got your name ALL over it, girl," he growls, moving more onto his back.

I gasp as his words reach their target, and I slide my body down his. I take him in my mouth with no preliminary teasing - my desire to have him invade me is too strong for that. His groans of pleasure reach my ears and I am emboldened. His boxers are a nuisance, we make them go away together as I settle between his legs, sliding my arms under his ass as his legs go over my shoulders and his feet rest on my back.

"Yeah, that's where you go, girl, with your face impaled on my cock," he growls as I take him as far down my throat as I can. My moan cannot leave my body because its exit route is full of hard male flesh, but I tremble with arousal anyway. He must feel my shaking in his cock, under his feet, because he makes a pleased noise too. I pull my face away to breathe, gasping in great lungfuls of air while rubbing my face against his cock, letting my tongue lick before I dive down onto him again.

His cock in my throat, I grab the outside of his thighs and press his legs together around my head, trapping myself. I would scream from the intensity of it but I can't. He makes a half-strangled noise that I don't hear from him often,  and after I have run out of air, I pull off him to breathe again. I breathe heavily as I rub my face along his cock, and I am so absorbed in the intensity of what I am feeling that I realize he's coming only as it goes up my nose.

It stings.

It's hot. It's sexy-hot and I can't believe this just happened, but I slurp his cock back into my mouth to consume the rest of what he gives.

For the first time, he's come up my nose.

I'll take it.

Fucking after a 5K

"You love being my fuck hole, don't you?" he growls into my ear. I'm half on my side, half on my back and he's behind me, my leg wrapped around his waist, my foot pushing against his ass, his huge cock plundering my insides to the point of pain. I am incredibly wet due to the face-fucking I just received and the amazing things he has been saying.

I whimper my response. "Mmhmm, mmhmm." I do, I do, I do.

"Say it," his voice rumbles as his fingers tighten around my wrist.

Oh God, if he makes me say it. Oh, God, I can't hold it together. The words stumble out of me, falling over themselves and making me repeat some sounds. "I luh-love b-being your f-fuck hole," I stammer. Too many sensations pouring through me from the center, the effort to make words is too much and I can feel the distraction of being forced to speak such words driving me closer to orgasm.

He hears my voice catching. "Say it again," he orders.

Holy shit, my head is going to explode. I do what he's asked, repeating the words, and then I do it again, and again as he keeps fucking me, and I'm exploding, tightening, arching, pressing, screaming. He feels too good and I can't contain the sensations.

The hand that's not holding my wrist tight is stroking my spread sex, rubbing lightly across my clit, making me gasp and jerk and squirm around his cock, the post-orgasm sensitivity just driving me close to another and another.

"I love to make my fuck slave squirm," he says, though whether that's because it feels better to his cock or just because he enjoys making me squirm isn't altogether clear.

My hand is trying to get lose from his grip. I want, badly, to reach behind me, wrap my arm around his neck, stroke his hair with my hand. He won't let me go though.

"Please, please, please, please," I beg, tugging on my wrist.

"Hm? What's my fuck slave want?" he asks, keeping his grip on me.

"Oh please, please, I want to touch you," I manage to gasp out between the cries of pleasure he's coaxing from me.

"Oh, that's okay, go ahead and touch me," he says, but doesn't let go of me. I fight to free myself from his grip, to get my hand to his skin, but he won't let go. "Go on, girl, I said you could touch me," he says.

I whimper with frustration and arousal as I tug futilely at my wrist. He keeps pounding inside me, his other hand keeps tormenting my sensitive parts, and I have very little strength for the physical struggle to get my hand to his head.

"Ohh," he says after a few moments of useless struggle on my part. "I guess my girl didn't really want to touch me at all. How disappointing."

I groan, a deep, tormented groan, and I am also on the verge of another orgasm as I pull against his grip. He releases my wrist as I shudder around him. "Good girl," he whispers in my ear as my arm snakes its way around his neck, as I pull him as close to me as I can.

It's the middle of the afternoon and he woke me from a much-needed nap to fuck me. I couldn't be happier. He drives into me, grinding, his fingers stroking my clit, his breath and his voice in my ear, and I am exactly where I want to be, exactly where I am meant to be. I am fulfilling my own very specific purpose.

I don't know how many times I come on his cock before he finally can't stand it. I do know my screams seem to spur his orgasm out of him, and that feels somehow powerful to me even though he is the one causing my screams.

After his cock softens, his hand replaces it. He fills me, presses against my g-spot until I scream in disbelief at the sensations inside me. "Oh my God, what are you doing to me?" I squeal, the sensations so unbelievable that I have difficulty processing them.

"Oooh," he says at my reaction, prodding the same spot again and again and watching me react the same way. "Fucking you," he answers as I scream, a different sort of orgasm taking me over and washing all my strength away.

---

This man, this man, this unbelievable man.
My life, my heart, my body, my love are his.

No description can do justice to the joy that swells inside me when he touches me. I told him once that it feels like a holy moment and that's why I close my eyes, to savor it.

I could type for years and never properly indicate the exact level of wonder with which he fills my life.

This will have to do for now.

The shockingly simple motivations of sexuality

A blogger I much admire once distilled all of sexual experience down to a fine point that shocked me in its utter simplicity. She is gone, but her idea has burned itself into my memory and I feel the need to share it further in a place where it can be read.

Ultimately, every sexual interaction, every stressful moment, every tearful or joyful minute I have spent in relation to my sexuality, boils down to this one fine point. 

Example: I want to fight and kick and be overpowered. It sounds insanely hot and I want it with a passion. My husband, though, wants no part of it. 

Or from the other side: My husband wants his wife to give herself up to his every whim, but she wants to fight and kick and be overpowered. Crazy woman.

It could go on  - the male sub wants to be used, the female dom wants to be catered to, the couples in egalitarian relationships continually wish their partners would just initiate.

I'm sure there are situations in which it does not apply, because there are as many different kinky inclinations as there are kinky people. But this one point does apply in many, many situations.

Here it is:

Everyone wants to be desired.

I want my husband to want me so much that he will physically overpower me.

He wants me to want him so much that I let him do what he wants regardless of what it is or I initiate sex because I can't keep my hands off him.

Those people in egalitarian relationships? They all want to feel wanted. 

It's not just a case of "Why don't you initiate?"

It's a case of "Don't you want me enough to ever initiate?"

It's self-worth wrapped in the easily-crumpled, easily torn, fragile wrapper of sexuality. Because if our lovers don't want us, who the hell will?

It's an eye-opening thought, for sure.

I hope you can take it to heart and maybe apply it to some of your own situations. 

Orgasm trigger

He's fucking me. It's hot and he's been talking since he started - he's pulling out all the stops. He's on top and we rock, a perfect rhythm. His hand goes to cover my face; I whimper with all the lust that action causes, and as I do he says it.

"Fuck object doesn't get to talk. Fuck object doesn't get to make a sound. Fuck object just gets to be fucked."

Beyond my heavy breathing I am silent as he instructed, and I bite into the side of his hand where it presses slightly into my mouth. But as he keeps moving and as the orgasm gains strength, as his words bounce around inside my skull, a half-choked scream emerges from me, and the orgasm itself completely saps my energy.

Ohhhh he's soo good.

Step 3: Fuck the slave girl's brains out

Step 2 is here.

He climbs atop me and he slips his cock against my entrance. He's slow, easing it into me even though I would surge up into him and devour him into me. When he is completely buried inside me and I am pulsing around him, he grinds. He rocks into my clit just so and he's saying something about me, about owning me and me existing for his pleasure and being there for his cock. My body arches into him and I tremble, a series of short sharp pants emerging from my mouth.

"Did I say you could come again?" he asks sharply.

"Oh, God, no," I whimper, shaking. He wants this, wants me to come on command, and I'm not so good at it. But I can stop, though I tremble with the effort.

He puts his head down so that his lips are near my ear as he growls. "Then don't. I'll tell you when you can come."

My head swims. It swims and pounds and I'm not sure exactly what he's doing but it's making me crazy. I groan, shuddering, at the edge of orgasm - right where he put me.

"Now," he finally says, driving his cock down into me, his lips still at my ear. "Come for me now!"

I do. I let go of the tenuous thread holding me to sanity and I fly, screaming, into the blissful abyss where he has sent me.

Time stretches, suspends, as he continues fucking me. He is brilliant, a sex god, a lover of epic proportions and all I want is to please him and feel the pleasure he gains from me in all the ways he does.

"I'm going to fuck your ass next," he growls down at me. I whimper.

"You like the sound of that?" he asks.

It occurs to me now, that a lot of what he says during sex is making sure I'm happy. At the time it sounds like growling, sounds like orders and like him requiring me to vocalize. But he wants to be wanted too - of course he does. I wonder how much of his pleasure comes from knowing how much he pleases me. I think it might be a lot. I know he likes this blog, likes having the window into my experience of him.

I do like the sound of it - anal sex - his cock invading my ass, pushing me open, claiming me. I like the sound of it very very much. He circles his hips against me and I arch up into him. "Yes, Master, I like your cock invading me," I gasp.

He pulls away from me. Oh, no. Now I'm empty. I groan with disappointment as he rolls to my side.

"Is the poor girl empty?" he asks gently, not too mockingly.

I dive after his wet cock with my mouth, making sure to cover my lip with my hand again. I lick my arousal off of him, suck him as best I can, while he gets the lube from the nightstand drawer.

"Turn over, girl," he finally says once he has retrieved the tube of slippery substance.

I do. I turn my back to him, bend myself nearly in half to provide him access to the part he wants. I'm shaking. I'm excited and a little afraid. We have anal sex rarely enough that each time is a little scary. Will he push too hard? Will he make it hurt? Will he go slowly enough so it's not overwhelming pain?

And this time, after the lube is applied and my tiny opening prepared for him, he is perfect. I reach behind me and hold his cock steady, and he pushes just a tiny bit, then retreats and repeats. Over and over, each time entering me just a little more, making me open for him, penetrating my resistance as I moan deeply. It's overwhelming but not with pain, just sensation and awe at how absolutely perfect the entire experience is.

"Going to fuck your ass," he growls as he is finally all the way inside me. He grabs my hip and thrusts. I cry out - it's amazing, he feels amazing. My muscles squeeze around his foreskin and his cock slides within it as it's meant to.

His hand cups my breast, lifts the warm weight of it. His fingers press gently around my nipple. "Going to pinch your nipple," he says roughly, right in my ear.

Shivers run down my spine. "Okay," I whimper.

"Going to pinch it hard," he continues.

Oh, God. "Okay," I whimper again.

"Going to pinch your nipple hard while I fuck you in the ass," he clarifies.

"Oh my God," I moan, and then he is doing what he said, slowly compressing my nipple between his thumb and forefinger until I squeal with the pain of it. It's intense, and sharp, and he never stops moving his cock.

"Does it hurt, slave?" he asks. When I merely continue squealing he says "Good. Good girl."

He stops pinching, and he slaps. He slaps my nipple and I groan. It burns, it stings, then it tingles. My nipple turns into a little pebble and he slaps it again. He's talking now too, something about ownership and pain and love.

I am out of my mind with pleasure, but he is pulling my leg backward over his waist. It's slightly different than vaginal sex in this position, but he still has free access to my pussy - now pulled open for his enjoyment. He's talking, still, as his fingers find my wetness and play there. Fingers enter my body, my flesh separating his fingers from his cock, and I moan. "Is my girl full?" he asks.

I am beyond words. I respond but it's a mumbled grunt. God, I love being his, I love him filling me up, love having him occupy my body and my space. I think about sex with him so often that when it does happen - every time it happens, even if it's every day - it's like a long-desired dream coming true.

I cannot say all that, but the feeling of it rushes through me and I scream as his fingers work their magic, as his cock fucks me in a place no one else has ever even touched me.

He comes - he must have come - but I can't process it. I'm too far gone. His fingers gently stroke me as I come down from the mountain. We're still in the same position, my leg backward around his waist, his softening cock in my ass. My hand closest to him fumbles around, trying to find a place to touch him - his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, his head, and back again. My arm can't find a place where I can rest it on him without it sliding off. It's a weak sort of floppy arm movement and he laughs at me.

"What are you doing with that arm, girl?" he laughs.

"Want to love you," I mutter. He moves his arm, crooks it so that his forearm is holding mine in place so I can rest my hand on him comfortably.

I am spent.

---

But much later, when I am almost asleep and I am wrapped around him from behind, squeezing him and kissing his neck softly as I drowse, he suddenly says "Turn over so I can fuck you some more."

Oh my God. My stomach does flip-flips. Just to hear those words come out of his mouth sends me all aflutter. I do as he's asked, and he has his way with me from behind. It's like a birthday and a road trip and an excellent homecooked meal all rolled into one. This happens even more rarely than anal, that he interrupts my sleep to take me.

"Where did that come from?" I ask him.

"Mmm, I was thinking about how sexy you are and I got turned on and I thought I should take it since it's mine."

Holy hell. Hotter words were never spoken.

Step 2: Drive the slave girl into crazed arousal

Step 1 is here

I moan when he squeezes my head close, pressing my face tightly against his shoulder. He responds by pulling me even closer, holding me even tighter. I moan louder.

"You like being close to your master, girl?" he asks softly. He doesn't have to speak loudly because my head is right there at his lips.

"Yes sir," I purr as he presses my face even closer to him.

"You like having your master inside you, girl?" he asks, and I groan. His fingertip plays around my mouth; his hand covers my face and presses down, mashing my nose slightly in the way I adore.

"Oh, God, yes, I like that," I answer. My voice is masked because I'm speaking against his palm. Oh, yes, I like it when the boundaries of our bodies blur and his becomes part of mine, whether that's his finger in my mouth, his cock in my ass, or any of the range of possibilities between. I love when he penetrates me and we are no longer two people. I long for that, crave it, especially if it's unexpected and on his whim. His hand re-positioning the parts of my face is part of that.

"Flogging, spanking, and fucking. These are a few of your favorite things, aren't they, my girl?"

"Oh yes sir, they are my favorite things," I murmur. My hand strokes his cock, which I haven't forgotten even though I am sinking into a happy, happy place in my head.

"You like that cock?" he asks, and he moans softly as I press my palm against it and rub up and down through his boxer briefs.

"Yes, Master," I whisper, as I hook my fingers in his waistband and tug the garment away from him. He moans a little louder when my palm meets his bare flesh again, and he pulls my head close into his shoulder. I nuzzle him there, moving my face slightly, enjoying the pressure as I rub my palm up and down the underside of his shaft.

I lick my lips. I want to pleasure him with my mouth. I duck my head down, covering my top lip with a finger so if there is a cold sore it won't touch him, and I lick along his length. He rewards me with a loud groan. He wasn't expecting that. He lets me play there for a while, shoving my head down a little. "Ohhh, you want to suck me, don't you, slave?" he asks. "Trying so hard to be careful, but you just want your face fucked. You want to be my fuck hole, don't you? Such a good fuck hole you are, too." I just moan around his cock as he talks, eventually pulling my mouth away for sanity's sake.

He pushes me over, shoves my legs open, and lets his fingers gently, delicately explore between the folds of my pussy. "Ooooh," he says as he discovers the wetness pooling there, "is that a good place to be touched?"

I moan, taking in a deep, shuddering breath as he drags the wetness up to my clit. I squeal as his fingertip touches me there, my hips bucking up into him. "Is that your favorite place to be touched, slave?" he asks as he gently moves his slippery fingertip across the little nub, back and forth.

I gasp. "Yes sir, I like when you touch me there," I manage to say, though the words tremble as I moan through them.

His finger moves, and I tremble. My body arches up, my head lifting off the bed. "Oh, you're going to come for me, aren't you?" he says, perhaps a little surprised at how quickly this first orgasm reached me. "Go on, then," he says, "come for me, slave."

It's only a little orgasm, but it is there. My head pounds, my heart races. He keeps touching me, talking to me, telling me what a good sex slave I am, what a good, wet, soft pussy I have, and how much he'd like to fuck it. "I'm going to fuck you, girl," he says. "I'm going to get on top of you and shove my cock inside you. You like that, don't you, having your master on top of you, fucking you."

His finger keeps moving and his words are making me crazy. I am almost coming again.

He spoils it.

"You're going to come again, aren't you?" he says. He can tell I am close.

"uhhh, no," I groan. He directed my attention away from his control and to the impending orgasm and it began to recede.

"'No??' You don't get to say 'no,' slave." He's surprised - shocked, even, that I would dare. "You get to come when your master fucking tells you to. Now come for me."

It works. The feeling of being controlled surrounds me again and I feel my clit pulse under his finger, my breath catches, and I cry out, my limbs shaking.

"Good girl," he purrs.

"uhhh," I groan, spent but insanely aroused. "You fuck me now?"

"Hmmm," he says, pondering, "Well, I suppose you did something for me, now I can do something for you."

And so starts step 3: Fuck the slave girl's brains out.

Sex with an alien

The nonstop screaming orgasms that leave me a sweaty, panting mess, unable to speak or move, will come soon. He will shove a huge plug in my ass and then his fingers will make me lose my mind as well as my breath.

But now, he is holding me. I am on my back, his arm is around my neck, and his other hand strokes my breasts. He raises his hand and slaps my breast pretty hard, then returns to gentle stroking while I inhale sharply from the unexpected pain.

"It's okay," he croons, his voice soft in my ear, sending shudders over my body. "It's all right." His fingers stroke, then he slaps my breast again. I squeal. "It's just a beating," he continues, "I'm perfectly entitled to it."

I melt. I melt right there, even as he keeps delivering firm blows to my breast, as the pleasure/pain of the blows waves through my body, and his voice continues: "And you're perfectly deserving of it."

Ohhh he is really good at this. He claimed to be human but I'm still on the fence. Otherwordly man with godlike powers of orgasm - can he be human? I say he's a sex god but he denies that outright.

Maybe all the humans from Europe are like this. . . but I have my doubts.

Damn.

High-minded pursuits in the bedroom

It is a long conversation. At the end, I merely say "It's like you're all pure and high-minded and I'm running around pursuing earthly pleasures."

He gets his kicks from math and programming. I can do too but I also want to go out, go hiking, see a show, be with friends - and I've always preferred sex to math.

He scoffs. "There's nothing high-minded about it. My earthly pleasures are just different from yours," he says.

I am quiet. Well, he said it at least, and that's all right. The world didn't explode. I feel ridiculous, dressed in a flimsy bit of lace lying in bed with him. I want to go put on something more substantial but my ruined foot would make that far more of a production than I would intend it to be.

I suppose I am quiet for too long. "What are you thinking, my girl?" he asks softly.

No reason not to be honest. "That I want to put on more clothes, but I can't walk."

"I like you naked," he says, and he too is honest. The words coil around my heart, around my stomach, and squeeze warmly. I feel my pulse speed up. "I think you should have on less clothes," he continues, his hand running under the bit of lace I'm wearing, across my skin. He makes my breath catch, my skin raise into goosebumps. I moan softly. I don't move, though.

His hand presses against my face and I moan again. He covers my whole face with his hand and presses, his lips settling against my ear. "You're mine, and you like to do what I tell you," he says. "I'm telling you to take off your clothes."

Sleepless morning

5:30 AM: I need the bathroom. Needed it two hours ago but managed to go back to sleep. Sprained ankle means lots of maneuvering, me with my hurt leg supported in an office chair scooting down the obstacle-ridden dressing area to relieve myself, then scooting back down the path, now slightly cleared due to my initial pass through.

I crawl over my sleeping man, lay staring up at the ceiling. My perfect vision lies off to the side, so what I can see of the ceiling is blurry, but the morning light is just starting to peek around the dual layer of curtains covering our window. I’ve just exhausted myself with the effort I’ve expended, but I can’t get back to sleep.

My husband’s body is warm as he tosses his arm over me, pulls me into him. I enjoy his physical presence at the same time as I am frustrated by the infirmity of my own body. I reach over, grab my Kindle Fire, and read some of Shelby’s book.

So hot. Anal sex and spanking and figging, which I cannot stand but have experienced and - oh - it’s so hot, and my husband is right next to me, sexy and warm and - but no. He has to work and he needs his rest.

I’m hungry. I’m aroused, and I’m hungry. Most definitely not a winning combination. The light is definitely coming into the room now, and light has always made it harder for me to sleep. I sit up, pull on my nightshirt, and scoot to the edge of the bed. 

“Where you going now, girl?” he asks sleepily.

“Living room,” I murmur as I pull myself back onto the chair and scoot to the door where I can grab my crutches.

“What time is it?” he asks, confused, his brain clouded with sleep. I never do this.

“I don’t know,” I respond as I reach the door.

I hear him behind me, reaching for his phone to check the time. “It’s 6:30,” he whispers, “only 6:30,” wonder and confusion and sleepiness coloring his voice as he settles back down.

I crutch myself into the kitchen, where we have leftover vegan pizza. I sit alone at the table and munch a slice.

Oh, that feels better. That particular hunger sated, I make my way back to the bedroom as sleepiness overwhelms me.

He moves his feet so I can crawl over him yet again, snaking his arm under my shirt and around me. I purr.

“Missed you, girl,” he says, half asleep.

I purr again as he draws me into him and I pick up the Kindle Fire again, read some more. I must be squirming a little bit against him because I feel his cock growing hard against my backside. I put the book down, stretch and rub my body against his. His hand wanders over my bare skin, his fingers finding my nipples, making me release a little “Oh” of longing. He pulls my shirt off so his hand can wander more freely, and I turn over into his embrace.

“Love my girl,” he whispers, kissing my lips gently. I’m concerned about the garlic on my breath from the pizza, but he doesn’t react to it. My hand wanders over his chest, his back, as he releases my lips and pulls my head against his chest. Oh, I do so love that feeling of protection. I feel his cock against my arm, and I move my hand to press against it. Hot. The man is a furnace and even through his boxer briefs he is hot. 

He moans his pleasure at my touch and I am encouraged to go further - to his skin. I pull the boxer briefs up over his cock and down, and then my mouth is on him, kissing, licking. Oh wow. It’s been too long, and he feels amazing, sounds amazing as his noises of delight fill my ears. His hips start to move smoothly, a gentle rocking motion into my mouth and I moan deeply. My mouth is a hole for his cock and that is how I like it. The thought fills my head as I suck, swirling my tongue over him. It is an intense feeling, and he intensifies it further by grabbing my hair, tugging on it slightly, and saying “Good girl.”

Good girl. I don’t remember the last time he said that. A few days, a week. Oh, but it feels good to hear it, feels good to have my mouth full of his erection, to have my moans of pleasure cut off by his cock entering my throat, to hear him enjoying himself so thoroughly so early in the morning. His leg goes over my neck and I am pinned, helpless as I pleasure his cock. If I were to show signs of genuine distress he’d be off me in a second, but for now the weight of his slim thigh presses against my neck and gives me pleasure in helplessness.

His moans grow more intense and I swirl my tongue, taking a few deep breaths through my nose when his thrusts pull back, ready to hold it for a while. I pull on his ass, drawing his cock into the entrance of my throat, where I suck it so that it pulls in and out of my throat just slightly as he thrusts, over and over, rubbing, rubbing as I hold my breath.

“Oh fuck, oh FUCK,” he moans, his orgasm overtaking me, his ejaculate shooting down my throat as I swallow again and again and again, keeping up the suction because his pleasure continues the whole time. I keep sucking even after he has finished, but carefully while his sensitivity is high. His cock stays big for quite some time and I enjoy having my mouth full of it even when he’s not actively using me.

Eventually he pulls me up into his arms, tossing his leg across my waist. His thigh fits perfectly between the bottom of my ribs and my hip. He tells me he loves me, murmurs words of appreciation for the pleasure I have given him, and I am grateful for it too. His alarm goes off - 7:30 - but he taps his phone’s face to keep holding me. His fingers draw tingles across my breasts, his hand cups my face and makes me feel owned. He slips his fingers between my legs, first circling around my slick opening and making me gasp, and then working his way slowly, teasingly, to my clit. Up a little, back down, up a little until I gasp, back down - until finally he is circling my clit and I am softly moaning my pleasure. I am thoroughly aroused already so his touch is amazing.

He draws my pleasure out for a long time, keeping me close to him, close to orgasm. I am trembling with what could pass for an orgasm but isn’t quite, and his finger moves a little faster.

“You want to come for your master?” he asks softly. I whimper in response.

“I know you do. Go on,” he says softly, “I’ll allow it.” His finger moves across my sensitive bundle of nerve endings and I arch up.

“Come for me,” he says outright, and I am there. White-hot burning explodes through my entire body, a nearly electric shock spreading through my limbs, and I cry out. It is too too much, I cannot bear it but I must because he isn’t stopping, his finger keeps going and my limbs are stretched to the max except for my sprained ankle which must not push, must not push, oh my God it feels amazing and I arch up using my one good foot, into his touch which just keeps on and on like a neverending onslaught of delight. I don’t know if I’m still on the first orgasm or if I've moved on to three or four, but I really cannot bear it anymore and I twist slightly, panting, begging. He relents, his touch gentling, soothing my overexcited nerves, and he wraps me in his arms, his leg over my body again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into my hair, and oh, does he ever have me.

Helpless

Right now, I'm barely managing to get around my apartment.

We went hiking, and I sprained the hell out of my ankle after nearly 4.5 miles on the trail. Thankfully it was a loop, and we were almost finished, so the ranger station was close. My love fetched a ranger to help us.

But now I am injured, and one of my deepest, darkest, most frightening and, yes, most exciting fantasies is to be used while being genuinely injured. The fear of possibly being hurt more, the true helplessness, it all blends together beautifully in my brain. I have a swollen, aching foot and the opposite knee is a mass of bruised tissue that hurts really badly as well.

It's been exhausting, relying on my arms, my good knee, and my good foot to get around. My brilliant, loving, sexy husband has been amazing - helpful and solicitous. He's let me give him blow jobs, and he's touched me, brought me to orgasm with his fingers, but he's been terrified of hurting me further - overwhelming me with gentleness. Which feels lovely and like love and I adore him for it, but I was ready for something a little rougher after a few days.

In the mean time, I had been sinking into the feeling of uselessness that comes with not being able to do much. I began to feel more and more like a useless lump of humanity.

I told him. I steeled myself for his shock or disgust, but I should know by now it's hard to faze this man. Even so, revealing these little hidden bits of myself feels terrifying. I told him that my injuries turned me on, made me feel actually, truly helpless. Not like I could get up and run away or anything.

And my man. My wonderful, open-minded, beautiful man who apparently would in actual fact do anything to make me happy, he responded by turning into an evil sadist bastard and beating me, just like I'd asked. He started once we were in bed and he was holding me, long enough after the conversation that I was a little surprised when he went for my ass.

My ass already hurt from sitting on it way too much with my foot up to keep the swelling down, but he didn't care as his hand smacked into my backside. I squealed, I stretched, I squirmed, but I couldn't even kick my injured foot out, couldn't stretch and push away from him with it. Couldn't bash my bruised knee into his leg. I couldn't do much of anything except accept it, cry out, process the pain.

Oh, how I processed the pain. It was brutal but it was teetering on the edge of orgasmic. My brain really, really processed it. It took that pain and wrung every morsel of feeling out of it, through the entire gamut from true discomfort to bliss. He wasn't holding back either, or if he was I couldn't tell. It hurt, and it felt incredible, all at once.

I carefully turned onto my other side, my back toward him, and he had an even better swing now, even more force into my backside. He brought a flogger into play then, smacking the heavy rope strands into my back, my ass, the backs of my legs. It felt incredibly heavy, nearly unbearable, and my body writhed. My foot wanted to push against the mattress, to stretch and to fight, but I had to keep it still or suffer even more.

"You can't get away from me," he growled into my ear, his free hand tangling into and tugging on my hair, "and I think I will fuck you tonight."

I whimpered in response, feeling my body respond, swell, lubricate for the fucking he was promising. But not yet.

My arms were over my head to protect my face and neck from any stray strands of the flogger, and he was taking a break, dragging the soft trailing nylon ends against my skin, making me purr. And then he targeted my breasts - a heavy smack of the heavy rope into my nipple. A knot caught me right on center and the breath whooshed out of me.

"Oh fuck," I breathed out, stretching as much as I could, thrusting my chest forward for more. Holy shit, that was incredible. I can't remember the last time he'd flogged my breasts and my breast was singing a hallelujah chorus of delight while my nipple simultaneously screamed in pain.

"Oh, I think you like that," he growled as he did it again, and again, and again. I screamed for the joy of it, for the pain of it when a knot would catch my nipple again, about every third strike.

"Don't even think of trying to get away," he said, trading the flogger for a braided version that terrifies me when he uses it on my ass. The nylon braids stroked my screaming nipple, made me gasp and whimper. "Writhe for me, girl, writhe. Good fuck toy," he whispered into my ear, swinging the braids down hard against my breast. "If you try to get away, I'll just have to drag you back and beat you more. Can you imagine how much that would hurt?"

I nodded, whimpering with a kind of aroused fear that is completely unique. The thought of him dragging me back to him and beating me after I'd tried to run away on my damaged foot made me even wetter as I writhed under the heavy blows from the braided flogger.

"Oh you are turning me on, girl," he said, moving the bedclothes from between us and letting me feel his erection against my sore ass. "I do think I will have to fuck you," he continued when I moaned my pleasure at feeling him. I moaned and wriggled, leaning forward to provide him easier access to do just that.

"Good hole," he murmured, pressing his hard cock against my slippery opening and resting with just the head inside, until I wriggled.

His fingers stroked my aching nipple and I begged. "Nipple hurts," I whimpered.

"Yeah? That's interesting," he said, squeezing it tighter, making me scream. I wriggled back against him again, wanting more cock, so turned on by his control.

"You want more cock?" he asked. "You want this cock to fuck you?"

"Yes, oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I begged.

And he did. He slid inside, pulling me to him by squeezing my breasts. My ass burned where he'd beaten it, a pleasantly aching reminder when his skin brushed mine. My breasts were still singing joyfully at having been flogged, my nipple screaming in burning agony while he held it tightly, and I loved all of it.

I was so wet. Surely I was wet enough he could fuck my ass. I wanted him to fuck my ass. I wanted to feel completely invaded by him, and I shifted a little to try it.

It wouldn't even go in a little bit. Not even the tiniest, little bit. I groaned my frustration as he resumed fucking my more willing opening.

But later, he went for it himself. He pushed me forward as he fucked me. "You want me to fuck your ass, slave?" he asked. "You want your master to invade you? Would that make you feel more used?"

"Oh my God, yes," I responded, panting, insane with the want of that.

He lubed my ass while he fucked my pussy, making me groan and whimper at the fullness of his finger in my backside.

And then his cock was aimed at the opening that had already rejected him once, but this was his decision and it was going in. As the head made it through I screamed, groaned, and bucked. So intense. Too intense. Couldn't handle it. My body tried to get away even as my brain relished the overload.

"Not going anywhere, fuck hole," he informed me, gripping my hair in one hand, my hip in the other, and pushing steadily onward - but slowly enough I felt properly invaded, not ripped open. It was delicious. "Going to fuck your ass now," he said, and he did.

His hand went back to my nipple, tortured me there a bit while he moved, and then moved between my legs. "Give me that pussy," he growled into my ear, and I opened my legs for him to touch me there, whimpering as his fingers contacted my sensitive clitoris. His cock never stopped moving in my ass, never stopped feeling amazing, as his fingers began to work their magic on my other bits. His thumb was on my clit and he sank some unknown (to me) number of fingers inside my pussy.

"Oh my God, too much, I can't," I groaned as he overloaded my brain with sensation and my body with fullness.

"Too much?" he asked. "No such thing. This is what you're for. You're for your master to fuck and to fill as much as he wants. Isn't that right?"

Oh God, I thought, you're right, I'm for you to fuck. 

All that could make it out through my groans was "Yes sir,"

"Your ass makes such a good fuck hole," he growled as his fingers moved in my pussy. My ass clenched on him.

Oh. And I wanted to say You like fucking my good fuck hole? but the thought of saying it was too much and I started to tremble there, impaled on his various parts.

"Oooh," he said, knowing an impending orgasm when he feels one. "My girl is going to come for me while I fuck her ass, isn't she?"

"uhhhh-huh," I groaned, tremors racing over my body.

"Go on then, fuck hole, come while I fuck your ass," he growled, and the thought of it was too much, with his fingers moving inside me, against my clit, his cock in my ass. I came screaming and wishing I could say the things in my head that were contributing to making me come.

The orgasm lasted a long time - he drew it out on purpose with his fingers, his cock, and his voice. When my body was finally limp and relaxed, he pushed against me again. "Not done with you, fuck slave," he said. "You're going to come with my cock fucking your ass again."

It's not hard for him, once he's gotten me there once, to drive me there over and over to the point of exhaustion. So that's what he did this time, finally culminating with his own orgasm.

"You want me to come in your ass, slave? You want your master to fill you up? You want to feel well-used?"

"Oh, fuck, yes," I whispered, hoarse from screaming my own pleasure, still seriously enjoying the sensations of his cock and his hand moving on my sensitive parts.

He groaned his own release into my ear, pulling me tightly to him.

As I stretched in his embrace, practically purring as my faculties of speech came back to me, I said "It's strange that you have to treat me like an object to make me feel like a person again."

He stroked my hair. "Maybe I treat you how you want to be treated, and that acknowledges your wants and desires and makes you feel like a person."

He's a smart man.

And hella sexy.

Masochist, part 2

First part is here.

"Poor, complex girl," he said, pulling me into his arms and kissing my cheek. "Good thing for you I know how to be gentle," he murmured as his hand wandered between my legs.

He does know how. His touch was soft and so so light. I purred softly as he stroked my clit with the slightest of pressure from his fingertip. . . but then his finger stopped moving, just resting against my clitoris.

He was asleep.

I groaned, moving my hips slightly against his fingertip, but it wasn't the same. I sighed loudly and turned onto my side, feeling the frustration that had already been inside me start to bubble over dangerously.

My movement woke him. "I wish I could be as good to you as you are to me," he said softly, his hand on my hip.

"You could be," I answered, a bit snappishly. "I'm not difficult. I just require you to be present." By "present," of course, I mean there with me and not drifting off elsewhere to sleep or think about Doctor Who, rather than just his physical presence. I'm right there stumped by many of Doctor Who's mysteries along with him, but I'm not thinking about it during sex.

He pulled me back toward him, his fingers finding my clit again.

"No," I whispered. "You're bored. That's not sexy. Boredom is not sexy. I'd rather not."

"That's not boredom, silly girl. That's orgasm putting me to sleep. Brain chemicals. Not boredom." And he rose to the challenge, his fingertip gliding delicately across my clit as he held me down, his leg keeping my legs open.

He was persistent, but I was having a really hard time breaking the orgasm barrier. Until he started talking. He talked about the sex we'd just had, about his cock hurting me, and then he was telling me to come for him.

"I can't," I whispered. I wasn't there.

He didn't care though, he just kept talking, and what seemed like an eternity later, I was vibrating, screaming with my arm clutching his head. But he didn't stop.

"Oooh, girl's gonna come again. Gooood fuck hole," he whispered, my world hinging on the motions of his fingertip. I flew away. The second orgasm overshadowed the first by miles.

"Oh my GOD," I screamed as I came, my body arching up and vibrating helplessly.

Still, he didn't stop. The third orgasm was heaven itself unleashed upon my brain. Screams poured from me and my fingers clutched at him, at nothing, at the bed, at whatever they could grab. I broke out into a fine sweat and I was so, so sensitive that every few seconds another orgasm was crashing over me, each one just as good as the third.

"Look at you, fuck toy," he whispered.

"I can't, I can't, I can't come anymore," I panted, just getting over another one.

"Don't give me that!" he growled. "Come for me!" he said, and I did, because his finger just kept touching me in that magic, delicate way that makes me crazy.

"Oh God, Oh, fuck, oh my GOD oh fuck," I kept panting, helpless, tossing my head, trying everything just for another breath of air.

I could feel his cock, hard against me again.

"I have this hard cock here," he said, his finger still creating waves of sensation and setting fire to my brain. "I could stick it in you, but it might hurt you. You want that? You want me to hurt you with my cock again?"

Oh my God. He really just asked me that, while my insides still burned and ached. And I did. I wanted him to fuck me again.

"Fuck, yes," I panted. "Hurt me with your cock, hurt me with your cock. Hurt me with your cock."

He managed to push me over onto my side and slide his cock inside me without taking his finger off my clit - or if he did, I didn't notice it. The burning pain I felt as he entered me was dampened by the intense joy I felt of having him inside me again so soon - and then the pain was GONE. My top leg was over his hip, and his finger just kept delivering the goodness, and he was huge and hard inside me and I screamed with the joy of it - and then he made me come again, pressing his cock as deeply as possible into me. I felt him hot and hard inside me as I spasmed, and I screamed even louder.

"So fucking good," I gasped, disbelief warring with the extreme pleasure I was feeling.

The floodgates on my own verbosity had lifted and I screamed and talked just as dirty as I could have ever asked him to. "So so good to come all over your fucking cock," I gasped out after he held me down through another orgasm.

My brain exploded somewhere around here - I'm not entirely sure what happened. But it was amazing and splendorous and the entire night made me remember why I adore this man so very much.

I do remember, after he had pulled me into his arms, that I whispered in a joking rebuke: "You didn't hurt me with your cock at all."

"I noticed," he responded, somewhat smugly.

He has a right to be smug.

Masochist, part 1

Oh, I wanted him. He'd made me want him and I was already in deficit mode so it really wouldn't have taken as much effort as he'd given it to make me beg. Then he was on top of me and his cock entered me - just a little at first, as I shrieked. Not even halfway in and it was already too big.

It was hurting. His cock was too big - either it had grown during our days without vaginal sex or my vagina had shrunk. At first it was a pleasant, stretchy sort of pain, but as he continued fucking me for what seemed like forever, it became the dull throbbing pain of being punched internally over and over. My insides felt swollen and he kept fucking.

"It's too big," I kept saying as I cried out. "It hurts," I would beg.

"Is my cock too big for you? Does it hurt you when I fuck you? Like this?" he would ask, driving his hips down, his cock forcing all of itself inside of me, making me scream.

There's a little problem with being a masochist.

If my husband is hurting me to gain his own pleasure, I like it.

Even when I don't like it. Even when it's actual pain, I like it. I like it because it's for him, because he's enjoying himself, because I "don't have a choice." I revel in the pain while he is causing it. Afterward, though, I feel broken, achy, unhappy.

I was begging, close to sobbing, before he stopped. "Too big, too big, too big," I groaned, wriggling my hips, trying to roll to my side. He finally relented, rolled off me, stroked my body while I panted for air. My pussy throbbed and felt bruised.

"Had enough of a break yet?" he asked while I gasped for air. "Ready for me to fuck you again?"

I was speechless. I was not ready for such a thing. Under normal circumstances I would have begged to suck his cock, but with the incredible mass of blisters on my lip we couldn't even kiss, much less put his cock near those horrible things. Not that I could open my mouth that far anyway.

He interrupted my train of thought: "Of course you are! Turn over." His hand pushed me over onto my side, and his cock nudged at my opening. He penetrated me and I squealed and pulled away.

"Oh, does that hurt? Do you think I care? Give it here, I want to fuck it," he growled.

I obeyed, and the entire exchange burned itself into my memory. My favorite part. The part I would replay over and over in my head, as I held still while he invaded my bruised insides, as I squealed while he delivered pain with his enormous cock.

I couldn't handle it docilely for long. I was trying to pull away, but his hands kept our midsections locked together, even as I tried to escape. "Where do you think you're going, girl? I'm fucking you here."

I have a safeword.

I didn't want it. The pain was consuming me, but his dominance was like a drug. I would endure anything for him. Give it here, I want to fuck it, he growled in my memory.

"Good fuck hole," he growled in my ear, and I shuddered. "I'm gonna come inside you. You want that?"

"I... I don't know," I answered honestly. Sometimes it burns terribly, and I was afraid this would be one of those times since I was already suffering quite a lot down there.

"I guess you'll let your master decide then, huh?" he asked, and I heard the soft groans of his orgasm. "There you go," he said, slowly pumping his spent cock inside me.

I buried my face in the bed, and there were tears. I was still terribly turned on but didn't see how anything could come of the mass of pain between my legs. The tears were more in frustration than anything. He was dismayed by the tears. "Why didn't you safeword?" he asked.

"That's the problem. I didn't want to."

"Poor, complex girl," he said, pulling me into his arms and kissing my cheek. "Good thing for you I know how to be gentle," he murmured as his hand wandered between my legs.

To be continued. . .