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.

Clarity in the night

Before we went to bed, my husband was irritating me. Wandering around, "trying to clean up," moving my papers and documents, eventually moving something pretty important and more or less forcing me to find a new place for it. 

My brain knew the old place for it just fine. All this moving around of objects disturbs my own order and I'm an old dog; new tricks don't come so easily to me. I was randomly irritated. Exhaustion and having my things suddenly reorganized led to a generally huffy, unhappy feeling. 

So when we did go to bed, I crawled on top of the blankets to sleep while he was under them. It wasn't really intentional, but I did it and I was too worn out to get up again to cover myself, despite the slight chill in the room.  I fell asleep almost immediately. I guess that happens when you're too worn out even to cover yourself. 

Hours later I woke up to visit the bathroom, and when I returned I climbed under the blankets next to my husband. He stirred, draped his arm over my waist, pulled my body tight into his, and whispered into my ear "You belong to me," before he drifted back off to sleep. 

Just like that, no more irritation.

If only everything was solved that easily. 

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.

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 1: Flog and spank the slave girl

"Hit me with this," I ask him, handing him a new style of flogger I've just made. I always ask him to hit me with the new types so I know what they feel like before I try to describe them to other people.

He hits me with it. It's small,  but heavy, and packs a whallop. Kind of like a fist, the heavy loops of rope pound but don't sting like some other loopy ones I've made, though there is a little tiny bit of sting to it on some strokes. He keeps hitting my back with it - it feels like a deep tissue massage and I groan repeatedly.

"Enough?" he asks, as I grunt into the pillow.

"Mmf," I answer.

He puts it away, hanging it with the others in the flogger closet, and retrieves our blue silky one from behind the bed.

This one. 

"What you doing?" I ask. I'm exhausted; I haven't moved from my position diagonally across the bed.

"While I have you here," he says, still standing up next to the bed. He shoves my nightshirt up, exposing the skin of my back and my ass. The silky blue-and-white falls land on my back, the softness of the ends trails over my skin.

"How does this one compare?" he asks.

"It's heavy too," I say, "but no sting." I am purring into the pillow as he lands stroke after stroke on my body. I jump a little now and then but mostly I'm just happy. My tensions melt away. I feel amazing and very close to sleep. He climbs atop me, facing my feet, and gives love to my feet and calves. He shoves my legs wider apart on the bed, but just to get better access to stroke me. His foot is near my head and I stroke his calf, but I'm tired and my hand just winds up resting on his leg while I purr at how he is making me feel.

He moves after some long time spend lavishing affection on my lower legs. I realize that he's still standing and I'm in his spot. "You want me to move?" I ask him drowsily.

"Hmm. Yes, I do," he answers. I pull myself into a straighter line, moving away from his side of the bed and turning my back to him. He gets into bed behind me and his hand smacks my ass loudly. I squeal because I wasn't expecting that. He spanks me repeatedly, over and over.  "You should take better care of yourself," he mutters, referencing a cold sore that's beginning to emerge on my lip.

"I only just saw it!" I murmur.

"Well then what am I supposed to spank you for?" He waits a beat, his hand rubbing the warming flesh of my ass, and then he lifts his hand and smacks me again. I purr. "Oh, that's right," he continues, "I don't have to have a reason."

"If you want one there are plenty," I say, raising my ass slightly into his hand. I am referring to my previous post and the misunderstanding there.

"That's not really your fault," he says. He keeps spanking me though, because he doesn't need a reason. His hand smacks me over and over and I am really, really loving it because it's been a while since we had such an extended session.

"There's not much fight in me," I murmur. I'm so tired and he feels so good. I feel like I might just fall asleep.

"That's okay," he whispers into my ear. His voice sends jolts through my body and I shiver. I do so love when he speaks in my ear like that...

"You feel my cock?" he asks. He is so hard, and humping slightly against my arm. I can definitely feel it. I move my hand to stroke against it, turn toward him, curl into his arms.

"Yes sir," I answer, nuzzling my face into his shoulder. His hand tightens into my hair, pulling my face into him so closely I can barely breathe. I moan happily.

He has started Step 2: Drive the slave girl into crazed arousal.

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.

Hundreds of orgasms

He pulls me in close. "You like to think about sex, don't you?" he whispers right into my ear.

"Yes sir," I answer, my voice low with my mouth buried against his neck.

"You don't just like to think about it, though, you like to hear about it. You like me to tell you, remind you what a dirty slut you are, that you are mine."

"Yes sir."

He yanks my legs apart and he hits my inner thighs, and then my pussy with a measured force that hurts, but doesn't sting so badly I try to close my legs. I whimper with each one, and eventually I am arching into them, my whimpers changing to half-moans. 

"Does this hurt, girl?" he asks, keeping his rhythm steady. My clit is hiding but the steady thump thump thump on my mound really feels good to it, despite the low-level pain on the external bits.

"Yes sir," I whimper.

"Do you like it when I hurt you, girl?"

"Yes sir," I moan. Oh, I really do.

"You like to be owned," he says, not really a question, as he moves his blows back to my thighs.

And then he stops hitting me and his fingers are sliding around, stroking my folds, dragging the wetness up to my clit, making me gasp. He holds me tightly against him, his beard is pressed into my cheek, his lips right against my ear. Later, my face will feel burned. Now, I don't notice.

"Look at you, moaning with your legs spread." The way he is holding me, his cock is pressing against the back of my hand. I turn my hand around so my fingers can encircle his erection, and he pushes it harder against me, fucking my hand.

"Feel that cock? You like the way that feels?" He waits for my head to nod against him as I release a shuddery breath, then continues. "I'm going to fuck you with it." 

I gasp, trembling. His fingers are sliding over my clit, over and over, around, over. It feels amazing but the real treat, the true centerpieces of the experience, are the words coming out of him. 

"Yeah, that's right. You're my fuck slave. My sweet little fucking slut-slave. Gonna take this cock and spread you open, invade you, fuck you. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just rub it all over your face. Or let you take just the head in your mouth. Oh, you gonna come for me, bitch? Gonna come just from thinking about sucking on the head of my cock? Yeah, do it, bitch, come on, come for me, yeah, good girl."

Without the words I wouldn't be anywhere near orgasm, but with them I can't stop. I scream and arch into his touch and he just keeps talking while his fingers do the supplemental stimulation that pushes me over the edge, over and over. "Oh yeah, come for me again, bitch. Yeah, you just can't stop can you? 'cause that's how you work, once you get going you just....can't... stop. You like thinking about my cock down your throat? About me fucking your face like it's a pussy?"

"Oh, God... I can't breathe with your cock down my throat."

"Mmmm, I know, and you're so fucking helpless. You love that, don't you?"

I can't answer him, I'm too busy coming. God, the words just keep pouring out of him.

"You couldn't stop me if you wanted to, could you?"

"No sir," I pant, trying to catch my breath.

"Go on, girl, try and stop me." He tosses his leg over mine, pinning me down and open. He wants me to fight him? What? I struggle, trying to first arch up to get his leg off me, to pull away. I'm weakened by orgasms; he's stronger, pins me down, keeps me open to him, continues forcing orgasms out of me. His strength thrills me and I come again even as I struggle.

"See, girl? You're mine. Can't stop me," he drives his point home straight into my ear as I scream my pleasure.

He positions himself over me, his mouth over my left nipple. "I'm gonna bite your nipple now," he says. 

"Oh, God, that'll hurt," I whimper.

"Yes it will," he says, and closes his mouth over me. I don't feel anything at all at first, just his fingers continuing to deliver the constant stream of pleasure between my legs, and then his teeth are biting down into the tender nub of flesh atop my breast, really, really biting it. It's sharp, it hurts, I scream. I arch up - into his bite. I scream again, and his fingers close over my right nipple, hurting it even more than his teeth are hurting the left one. I scream - loudly. A monster fucking orgasm comes barreling down onto me and I spasm into him. 

"OH THAT FUCKING HURTS," I scream/growl. "FUCK YES, HURT ME, HURT ME, FUCKING HURT ME, YES, FUCK, I LOVE IT WHEN YOU HURT ME." My hands, completely free agents at this point, grab his head and press it hard against me. I don't want to lose this incredible feeling. The more I scream about loving it, the more he hurts me and the more I come. It's a feedback loop of incredibly intense proportions and oh GOD how can I come so intensely from having my nipples tortured so? But I do. He makes self-satisfied "mmhmm" noises. How someone can manage to sound so in control with his mouth full of nipple I'll never know.

I lose all track of time as the orgasms wash over me. Eventually he stops biting/pinching my nipples, but still I am completely owned, his voice has wrapped around my brain and I will do anything he tells me - including come.

"You want to suck my cock now?" he asks, years later, as I am gasping for air, spent, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it everywhere. The guttural noise of anticipation that comes from me is partially caused by the roughness in my voice from all the screaming, but it's mostly a genuine expression of desire. His cock has been fucking into my hand for ages now, and I really, really want it inside me. Anywhere. 

"Yes sir," I gasp out, taking my face from his neck to look up at him. He's still touching me, still slowly delivering orgasms as he speaks. 

"Or I could fuck your pussy," he says, pausing, clearly waiting for my response. 

"Mmmhmm," I respond.

"Or your ass," he says, just as casually. 

"Mmmhmmm," I say. "Want your cock inside me," I beg, squeezing it with my hand, my hips still moving to his touch as another orgasm slowly builds.

"And you don't care where, huh?"

"Just want your cock inside me," I repeat. 

"Fuck-slave," he says.

"Yes sir," I agree, though his words shake me and my words come out even more tremulous than they had been.

"Suck it, then, slave," he orders.

"Yes Master," I say as I move. I lick all along his shaft first, getting it good and slippery before I slide my mouth on it in one smooth gliding stroke, making sure to compress the head the way he likes as it passes my lips. We both groan as his cock slides to the back of my throat.

He grabs onto my hair, tightening his hands into fists, and I scream around the hard flesh in my mouth. Oh, I do love it. The anticipation is driving me mad, and then his hips start moving.  "Ohh, good fuck hole," he says. "My good fuck hole. Is it hard for you to breathe when I fuck your face like this, fuck hole?"

"Mmmhmm!" I manage to respond even as he keeps driving his cock all the way into my face. I'm sure my excitement about the entire situation is blatantly obvious.

"I don't care," he says, and I squeal with a new flush of arousal. His cock in my throat cuts off my squeal. "Just take it," he growls. His hips are moving smoothly, his cock never completely leaves my mouth, and we are both really, really enjoying ourselves. My tongue rolls over his cock as it plunders my mouth and I suck until he enters my throat, which makes pretty much any active participation difficult.

He gathers up all of my hair and hauls up on my head, popping his cock out of my mouth. It strains toward me, slick with my saliva, shiny, wanting. I open my mouth to take it in and start to move back down, but he has all of my hair in his fist. I moan helplessly.

"What's the matter, girl? Wanna suck the cock?"

"Uh-huh," I squeal, my head held captive by the hair.

"Go on, then, girl, suck the cock. What's stopping you?" He keeps holding my hair as I pull against it, feeling more and more tension as I try with all my might to take his cock in my mouth. I cry out with arousal and frustration - it so turns me on when he tells me to do something he's preventing me from doing, and added to that that he is forcing me to pull my own hair - oh, he is a diabolical sexy genius. I am panting, pulling, a stream of frustrated cries coming from my mouth. I can just barely reach the head of his cock with my tongue, and so I do. It darts out to lick and I moan as my tongue strokes over the smooth surface. I want it in my mouth! Why won't he just let me?

"How badly you want that cock, girl?" he asks over my frustrated squeals.

"Oh, God, fuck my face!" I beg.

He lets go of my hair, then, and taunts me between his own pleased noises as I consume him. "Horny slut," he murmurs, "I never did see a girl want a cock in her mouth so badly she almost pulls out her own hair."

He fucks my face, holding my head. "Maybe I should fuck your pussy now," he says. "I could get on top of you, hold you down, fuck you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" 

My ability to respond is limited to "mmhmm," but I make it a good one. 

"Or I could fuck you sideways... fuck you from behind.. put you on the ramp. I could fuck your ass." He keeps talking and I keep sucking, responding to each suggestion with equal enthusiasm. I just love fucking him any way he wants.

"Oh but you really like the cock in your pretty face, don't you?" he asks. 

"Mmhmm," I agree, and I do, especially now after I had to work so hard for it. I wrap my arms around him, grip his ass, pull him into me hard, take him as deeply into my throat as I can and leave him there until I must breathe. I pull away to inhale great lungfuls of air and then repeat the entire thing, over and over. Oh, it's amazing. It's really, really amazing. He's loving it too, and eventually he's coming into my face.

"Oh, fuck, yes, take it down your throat, girl," he whispers, holding my head tightly against him as I swallow.

I keep sucking him for a long, long time, long after his cock has deflated and resumed its previous unassuming size. Eventually he pulls me up into his arms again, and we talk for a while about submission, about evolution and hard-wiring. I wind up feeling a little hurt and I go silent, but he's not having that, and we talk even more, until the entire thing is a nonissue because honestly he's incredible.

And then his fingers are exploring me again, but now I'm on my stomach and he's sliding his thumb inside me while his fingers stroke my clit, and he's saying something.

"Gonna come for me, girl?" he says. I shake my head, I'm not quite there. 

"Yes you are," he says, "don't even bother trying to fight it. You're my fuck-slave and you'll fucking come for me when I tell you to. Now come for me!"

The entire speech sends me rocketing off into orgasm-land, much-aided by his manual ministrations, of course. After I settle, I feel his cock, hard again. "Turn on your side and give me your pussy," he says.

I do, facing away from him, bent over. I might have liked him atop me better, but it's gotten very late and we're probably both too spent for that. His cock slides into me easily because I'm soaked with arousal, and we both enjoy that sensation. He drags my top leg backward over his hip so he can stimulate my clit while we move together. 

I move my hand down to feel his cock as it moves in and out of me. It's a busy area - his hand on my clit, my hand on the base of his cock, our bodies fucking. It's sex. It's the definition of sex and it is very, very, sexy. I groan. "Let me suck it again," I whisper.

He does. I suck him down my throat, a very enjoyable repeat of what we'd already done, flavored now with the countless orgasms I'd already had. When he comes again, he comes for a long time. It feels pretty intense from where I am. Some of it comes out of my nose, but not enough to burn.

His fingers are on me again, stroking my clit as he kisses me hotly. My body is his plaything; it responds to his touch quickly since I am already so very very primed.

"Gonna come for me?" he asks as my body arches up. I shake my head, not there yet, and he speaks again. "Yes Master. I'll come whenever you tell me to, Master."

Oh my God what is he doing? Oh, fuck, I have to say that. Oh, oh, oh my God. "Yes, Master," I manage, and the orgasm starts to overtake me as the words leave. "I-i-i'll come..." oh, fuck, I'm screaming, it's too much, "whenever you tell me to, Master," I finally manage to eke out the rest of the sentence between my spasms of pleasure and my screams of joy.

He gently soothes my flesh as I come down, kissing me, stroking my body. I am full of things to thank him for.

"Thank you for coming down my throat twice. Thank you for all the orgasms. Thank you for fucking me. Thank you for hurting me. Thank you for talking to me, and making me talk back to you."

He squeezes me close. "Thank you for being mine."

I purr. We are a pile of arms and legs, my head on his shoulder as we drift off to sleep.

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.

Owned

He joins me in bed, and I immediately put my Kindle away and turn toward him, into his embrace. "No one said you had to put that away," he says, sounding amused as his arms wrap around me, his fingertips tracing goosebumps along my bare skin.

"Mmm, I know what's good for me," I answer softly, kissing his chest, peppering his warm skin with my love.

"I know what's good for me, and it's here in my arms," he says. Smoothness, rolling off his tongue like honey. I purr, and before the sound even finishes coming out of my throat, he's got my nipple between his fingers, pinching it hard. Harder, harder, and I'm squealing because it's an intense pain. The nipple is still sore from what he did to it the night before. He lets it go, briefly, rubs his palm across it and then grabs it between his fingers again, pulling up on it. I scream as quietly as I can manage.

Say thank you

12:45 AM. What the hell? How? A chat with a good friend, a project to complete, lots of wonderful emails to respond to, and a bath. That's how. Time just flies away when you're mixing work and pleasure so very thoroughly.

Climbing into bed with my husband, I was a little put-out. Just a little. He'd coaxed me out of bed in the late morning with an implication we would go back to bed in the afternoon, and it hadn't happened. "In the interest of open communication," I told him as I cleaned up the bathroom vanity and then climbed in next to him, "when you coax a girl out of bed with promises of going to bed later, not going to bed later is going to lead to a discontented girl."

I wouldn't have even been put out if it was earlier, and of course the lateness of the hour was not entirely his fault, although he did nothing to stop my mad typing in the late evening. He is meant to be the one making the command decisions.

He drew me close to him, spooning me with his arm draped around me, and I started playing a game on my Kindle Fire. No tech in the bedroom has been suffering due to my cold - so I just started playing. Fruit Ninja. I assumed he would go to sleep. He didn't. His hand started to slowly, slowly squeeze a nipple until I was gasping in pain, and then he moved to the other one.

"What are you doing?" I squeaked, as he squeezed it hard and moved back to the first one.

"Playing with you," he said blithely, alternating slow painful squeezes with hard, sharp, twisting ones as he moved between my nipples. I was still trying to play. "I bet it makes it hard to slice fruit," he observed as I gasped. Eventually I let the Kindle drop to the bed and I gave myself to the sensations he was causing. God, I love when he hurts my nipples. I raised my arm over my head to provide better targets, breathing through it as he slowly, slowly, slowly squeezed. Through pleasure and into pain that was just a more intense pleasure and I was panting. I could feel myself getting wet just from this.

His hand moved and he slapped my ass, hard. Oh, that's been a while. Pain, spanking, oh, fuck, yes. Who cares how late it is? I rolled over enough to offer my ass up for more, and he gave it. He was landing hard smacks that resonated deep into my being, making me groan because they were so delicious and shook my very bones. "Good girl," he said, and tugged on my shoulder to pull me back onto my side, so he could access my nipples again. He alternated between smacking my ass and slowly pinching my nipple then, until I was groaning near-constantly, my breath coming in short sharp pants.

He pulled me onto my back and then he was smacking me right on my nipples, back and forth between them. "Oh my God," I cried out, far too loudly, arching up into his smacks. Oh, so good. So fucking good.

He yanked my legs apart and then he was smacking me on my inner thighs.

It's been weeks since I've been hit anywhere but on the nipples, and I was super-sensitive to it all, the thighs most of all. I cried out. "Oh my God, that hurts, that hurts, it's sensitive," I panted as I struggled to keep my legs open.

"Is my girl sensitive?" he asked mockingly, knowing that I was, not caring, knowing that it turned me on like a faucet. "Does it hurt when I hit you here?" he asked, slapping my right inner thigh several times.

"God, yes," I squealed.

"And here?" he switched to the other leg, slapping even harder.

"Oh, fuck, yes, hurts," I begged.

"And here?" he asked, centering the blows, right on my pussy. He wasn't slapping nearly as hard, but was doing it faster.

"No no no no no," I panted with each fast strike, and with each "no," he increased the force behind the next blow.

"No no no no no," I said, and then he hit the pain point and it did hurt. "Yes yes yes," I was squealing, squirming, as he continued his rapid-fire assault on my genitals.

When he stopped, his fingers gently explored and found me soaking wet. "Ooooooooooh, what have we here?" he asked, his finger slipping inside and making me groan. "Does the fuck toy like to be played with? Does the fuck toy like to be used?"

"Yes sir," I whispered, arching into his touch.

"Good girl," he said. "Let's see what else you might like."

He climbed up over me, pulled off his shirt in front of me, and put his cock in front of my face, just out of reach of my mouth. I was panting. I am still stuffy and can't breathe well, so most of my breathing is through my mouth, but this was beyond just mouth-breathing. He was straddling my body, so I couldn't bend at the waist to lift up and take his cock in my mouth.

He rubbed it against my cheek, over my open lips. I licked it as it passed, groaning.

"You like that cock?" he asked roughly, already knowing the answer.

I moaned in response, lifting my head as best I could to lick it. He rubbed it against my other cheek, and humped against my face as if he was fucking it, just not quite letting his cock in my mouth. I groaned, and then he was pushing into my mouth, pressing his cock in as I moaned, pushing it in as far as he dared considering my sore throat. He pulled away for me to cough and breathe, and then he pushed in again, fucking my face slowly until I had to breathe, then giving me a moment for air again.

I can't quite put into words how hot it was for me that he was fucking my access to air, and he knew it.

He pressed in so deeply he was almost in my throat, pinning my head to the pillow, and I couldn't breathe. I could feel myself becoming wetter and wetter, and then he pulled away for me to cough, to haul in lungfuls of air.

"Poor fuck toy. You like sucking cock?"

I nodded desperately, as he rubbed his saliva-slick cock against my cheek while I panted for air.

"It's one of your favorite things, isn't it?" he said, shoving his cock back into my mouth.

I sucked, nodding slightly.

"I know. One day, you'll be able to have your face fucked without needing to cough, without needing to breathe. Won't that be nice?"

"Uh-huh," I grunted, as he pulled his cock away again for me to breathe.

He slid down my body then, and unceremoniously started to sink his hardness into my soaking wet pussy. I grunted as the head penetrated me - it felt enormous and I made a lot of noise.

"Good girl, take it, take me," he said, slowly, slowly pressing more into me. Slowly. So fucking slowly. I was writhing beneath him as he made his way into my body, making a lot of noise. He felt so incredible, stretching my internal walls apart, all the way down, and then he kept driving all the way through me, as if I wasn't there, pinning me thoroughly with his cock. I moved under him, squeezing my muscles around his hardness, relishing the feeling of being full of him. It was good. He pulled away slightly only to drive just as hard back down again, and then he was fucking me in earnest, pausing periodically to pin me down with both his cock and his gaze.

"Good fuck hole." My shuddery moan must have prodded him to keep talking, because he continued in the same vein. "This is what you're for, isn't it? For me to shove my cock into over, and over, and over." He accentuated each "over" with a hard thrust into my body that I gladly met, moaning with pleasure.

"Uh-huh," I agreed, out of my mind as we moved together.

"I give it to you and you just say 'thank you,' isn't that right, fuck toy?"

"Uh-huh," I agreed again, not processing what he was doing, the pleasure nerves that kept firing interfering with my normal brain function.

He drove into me, leaned his face down. One of my ears is dead right now, his lips were near my good ear. "Say thank you," he ordered roughly, his voice rasping along my ear canal all the way into my brain.

"Thank you," I whispered, breathless, and then, as if his command and the following words had unleashed some floodgate holding back my voice, I continued as we fucked. "Thank you, thank you, oh my God, thank you," I babbled, unable to hold it back.

"Good girl," he praised me through my babbling. "Are you thankful for my cock, fuck toy?" He drove it inside me and flexed for emphasis.

"Yes sir, ohmyGod, thank you." I was overwhelmed. I kept periodically babbling "Thank you, thank you," when he felt particularly amazing, his body moving against me. His hands grabbed my legs, pulled them up higher as he fucked down into me, and my eyes were rolling, open, closed, open. They caught his gaze once.

"That's right, fuck hole, look at me," he said. I did, as long as I could.

"Oh my God," I murmured, as his eyes burned heat into my soul and I couldn't stand it anymore - the pleasure was too great and my head rolled back, tossing as he kept fucking me. My hands roamed his back, pulling his hips into me hard when he allowed it. Sometimes he pulled away, lifting himself higher to slam into me with more force, but mostly he let me pull him close, our bodies merged and moving together.

His climax approached slowly, intensely. He was groaning for long moments as he came, as the pleasure washed over him. I glanced up at his face - if there ever was an image of bliss, it was his face at that moment.

Before he slid his fingers inside me and made me scream with pleasure over and over, as we lay tangled together, he whispered, breathlessly, "You forgive me for this afternoon?"

I laughed, loudly.

"No, that's not what this was about," he assured me, as he let his fingers take over the pleasure they had initiated so long ago.

---

Said to my friend, regarding holidays on my blog:

"Sometimes I just ignore these things and pretend they don't exist.
Unless we have special Thanksgiving-themed sex or something. Which would be hilarious
and I'm about to burst into laughter thinking about it."

Turns out, it's not so funny. It's actually insanely hot.

Sick and tired

I am insatiable.

Even when I am completely exhausted, my body rebelling at the thought of moving, when he wants sex, I want it. 

I had a long, long drive Saturday. Fifteen hours. That's at least as many as it sounds like.

We finally got home safely, and my husband took the munchkin off to get ready for bed. The two of them fell asleep in the little one's room, all snuggled together.

I was dealing with a little business and some pleasure - bills and blogs, trying to wind down, let everyone who cared know we were safe, taking a brief shower to wash away the grimy feeling of traveling for too long. My eyes were streaming tears of exhaustion when I finally called it and snapped my netbook shut. I stumbled into the little one's room, wondering if we were going to sleep in there with him. That didn't sound appealing - the siren call of our own bed and our own sheets was far too strong to resist.  

I gently tapped my husband's side and he snapped awake.

"What are we doing? Are we going to bed?" I asked softly, as not to disturb the knocked-out little one.

"Yeah," he mumbled sleepily, and stumbled bedroom-ward. He was brushing his teeth when entered behind him. 

The smooth pale blue sheen of our bamboo sheets called to me, and I gladly fell into their embrace. My eyes, held open by sheer force of will for hours by this point, gratefully slammed closed.

My husband climbed between the sheets behind me and pulled my hips back into him, spooning me tightly. I purred as his hands wandered my body, stretching and rubbing against him, letting my legs intertwine with his. His cock stirred against my backside. "You'll forgive me if I wind up fucking you, won't you?" he asked softly.

I groaned. What? "Holy hell, are you kidding?" I vocalized.

"Will you?" he said, humping against me.

He wasn't kidding. His hands wandered up under my shirt, pulling me close to him. He pulled my legs open.

"You can sleep if you like, while I fuck you." He pressed his cock against me harder, grinding. "On the other hand, you probably can't. Can you sleep, fuck toy, while a man's cock is fucking you?"

"No." I whispered.

"I didn't think so." His hand was slapping my spread pussy, over and over.

"What is this for, girl?" he asked roughly.

"For you to fuck," I managed between my yelps of pleasure/pain.

"Yeah, it is, isn't it? Even when you just want to sleep, this pussy is still for me to fuck, huh? I want to fuck you and I will fuck you."

I was exhausted, yes, but his words excited me. I was extraordinarily aroused even though I didn't have the energy to do anything about it, so when he finally slid his cock inside me, it felt amazing. My eyes still stayed closed through the entire thing though - there wasn't enough arousal in the world to pry those lids open.

He was on top of me, driving his cock down into me, talking to me near-constantly. "What a good fuck toy. You know I take you when I want you, don't you? That's right, fuck toy, fuck that cock."

Where he got the energy to do missionary after the day we had I'll never know. Oh, wait, it was that nap.

We fell asleep almost immediately after, tangled all up in each other. Despite my cold, I slept very, very well that night.

Moments like these - when he takes what he wants and I just go along with it because that's what I'm for - sink me deep, deep into subspace. I love feeling owned like that, protected, needed. For me, it feels like love.

Forgive him? I think the man deserves a medal.

When I quit

I went to bed alone, fairly early, feeling sad, forlorn, and exhausted. My hands hurt; I think I have arthritis in them. There's hardly any time any more for us to just be the two of us, and I'm feeling it. Add to that the cold sore that's kept us from kissing for nearly a week, and I have not been a happy camper. So while my husband worked at the kitchen table I took my netbook to bed - against our long-standing mutual rule, no non-book tech in the bedroom.

From there, I sent him a message via Google talk: "I think you should know that I quit."

Soon thereafter, he joined me because he'd noticed I posted something on facebook. "What you doing with your computer on the bed, girl?" he asked me. He hadn't gotten the message.

"I sent you a message," I said, as I continued what I'd been doing.

He took out his phone and checked his Google messages. "Um, you quit what? Quit me?"

I shook my head, put my netbook away, and started playing a game on my Kindle Fire, sitting on the edge of the bed. We made fun of the game, laughed a bit. My husband went to brush his teeth.

When he returned, his entire demeanor had changed. "Why don't you put the game away?" he whispered in my ear.

"Whyyyy?" I groaned. So not in the mood for this. Not in the mood for him to do things he doesn't want to do to cure the mood I am in. Not in the mood to be that person who requires attention. Not in the mood to be soft, compliant, willing.

"So I can play with you," he answered simply. "You can be the game instead of the player." As much as I wanted to push him away, those words still sank into me, started eating away at my reserve. If it is a game, he plays it too well.

"No," I said firmly, turning the game off, putting the Kindle away, and settling back into his arms. No reason to push the issue. I figured if I did as he said perhaps we'd get away without the theatrics.

"'No?' There's just one problem with that, isn't there? I think you know what the problem is," he whispered in my ear, his voice sending shivers all over me despite my best intentions.

"I don't know," I whispered. My entire body was thrilling to his words, even as my head balked. Traitorous body. One day it will do what I tell it. That won't necessarily be a good day.

"You don't get to say no, my girl."

I sighed softly, resigning myself to whatever was about to happen. Perhaps if I feigned indifference long enough he'd give up and go away. (aside: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, GIRL? Do you hear this man?)

"You seem to think that I'm not interested in you. You're wrong." He had pulled me onto my back, shoved my nightie up over my breasts. He slapped my nipple, hard.

I gasped, bit my lip. "Am I?"

"You are." He slapped my nipples back and forth, alternating, causing me to twist and buck. I sighed loudly, obviously. He ignored me. He shoved my legs open and began slapping my inner thighs, hard. Okay, so there would be no feigning indifference. I was gasping. It hurt. My knees kept coming up, together, and he kept shoving them apart again with a casual flick of his arm, continuing to slap. So much ownership is expressed in that casual flick, like my legs closing was no more troublesome to him than a fly buzzing near his head.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, since I was making a lot of noise indicating such. "What are you going to do? Close your legs? Is that going to stop me? Open them. Keep them open until I say otherwise." Oh, my God. Oh, God. I do so love it when he tells me what to do. It hurt so badly, but I was so turned on by the entire situation, by his words, and my legs lay as if bound. My muscles tried to resist but I forced them to stay down, open, as he continued to rain blows on my already sore thighs.

"Good girl," he said as he finally finished, his fingers trailing lightly over my reddened skin making me squeal with the pain. "Sensitive girl," he observed, and grabbed a flogger from the small pile on the corner of the bed. He trailed the ends over my thighs, letting the knots drag harshly against my skin. I squealed again, twisting slightly but still keeping my legs open. He lightly slapped the ends against my thighs, but that didn't hurt as much as the knots dragging there.

"Huh," he said, surprised. "It almost seems like this" and he dragged the knots against my thigh again, making me squeal, "is more painful than this." He lightly slapped the soft ends against me.

"It is," I whispered, my throat already dry from crying out and open-mouthed panting.

"That's interesting," he said, trailing the flogger ends up my body, letting the knots drag the soft ends behind them, creating shivers of anticipation the whole way. He brushed the ends across my face, and then he tapped them lightly against my face, but it was clearly not just a brushing, not just an application of the sensual possibilities the soft ends bring. He was slapping my face with the ends of the flogger - silky though they are, it made an impression. I felt myself get wetter as I moaned with each soft swoosh against my face.

"How does it feel to be my plaything?" he asked, dragging the flogger down again, between my still-open legs, and lightly flogging my pussy with the ends, much the same way he'd just done to my face.

"Helpless," I responded between soft moans, arching up.

"You like that, huh?" he asked. Talking about the flogging. Yes, I like the flogging. I like the helpless feeling too.

He rested the flogger handle on my shoulder, the falls draping next to my head.

His fingers found my core, my clit. I gasped and arched into his touch. "Oh, God," I whispered. The man works magic with his fingers.

He was on top of me. What? When did that happen?

He lifted the flogger from my shoulder, dragged it over a little. Oh my God, he was pressing the flogger against my throat. First the handle, then the rope, pressing against my throat, draping over it and then the pressure, his hands on either side pushing. I gasped. A little tiny scream emerged from me, all that my limited voice channel would allow.

"Mine," he whispered, looking down at me. "You want me to fuck you, don't you? You need fucking." He rocked his cock against my thigh.

"Yes, yes, yes," I panted, rising up to meet him.

He pressed his cock against me, pressing my folds open. He nudged just the head inside me and I groaned as he rocked barely into me. "But what if I don't?" He pulled away completely, leaving me empty, rubbing his cock against me again, pressing it into my thigh.

I whined.

"Ah, you'll whine. Like a puppy. Or like a bitch in heat." He continued teasing me with his body, rubbing into me. "Whine for me, bitch."

I did. I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to. I whined and I got wetter and wetter as I did what he told me.

"Good girl. You'll get the cock back, I'll fuck you," he whispered, slowly nudging his way back inside me.

I rose up, but he didn't let me engulf him. "Sweet little bitch," he murmured, sinking all the way into me at his own pace, as I kept whimpering, trying desperately to take more of him. "There you go, there's your cock. How's that cock feel?"

"Oh, God," I moaned, rolling my hips into him, squeezing tightly around him. It felt good. No, better than that. Fucking amazing. Words. What are words again? I moaned louder.

He moved inside me, his hand wandering over my body, pinching my nipple, then pressing against my face, pushing my head into the mattress by my face. A deep, guttural noise came from me, lower than a scream but just as long. "Oh God, oh my God," I chanted, my words distorted by his hand pressing the side of my mouth out of shape.

"Mine," he said, calmly, clearly, as he kept pressing into my face, his hips pressing mine down as well. Resting on his elbow, he locked his other hand behind my head, taking a fistful of my hair and pulling it hard, my head trapped between the force of his hand in my hair and his other hand on my face. I screamed as he moved, his body surging into me relentlessly, his fingers regularly tightening in my hair.

He let go, balanced on his hands, looking down at me, driving into me slowly. "My girl likes a nice slow fuck, doesn't she?"

"Fuck, yes," I whispered. I lifted my legs up, bending my knees, opening myself to him even more. I grabbed my feet and pulled up, pressing my knees into his sides. I was rewarded with a deep groan from him.

"Ohhh this is my fuck hole, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes boring down into me.

"I am yours," I answered, moaning constantly. My legs began to ache after a while and I lowered them, driving my heels into the mattress to lift my body up to his - higher, higher, and he was surging into me deliberately, emptying himself into my body and moaning loudly, his pleasure quite obvious. I squeezed him against me. He rolled off me.

"Can I close my legs now?" I asked softly, meekly.

"You may close your legs," he agreed. I did and rolled onto my side, facing away from him. He snaked his hand around my waist and pulled me tight to him, then slipped his hand between my legs from behind, sliding his thumb easily into my pussy.

"Ohhh," I groaned, surprised. His fingers began slowly stroking my clit, and I rolled more onto my stomach, letting him have his way with me as I lifted my hips in the air.

"My puppet. My sweet little fuck puppet," he whispered into my ear, driving his thumb deeper into me, making my body move to his command. I whimpered.

"Oh, you like being my fuck puppet, don't you?" He twisted his hand for emphasis.

"Yes sir," I moaned, my hips dancing with his motions.

"Mmmmm," he said, the simple vibrations in my ear making me shiver. I was quickly approaching orgasm and his words were only driving me faster.

"Come for me, girl," he whispered in my ear. I did. I screamed, kicking, pulling away from him, my leg vibrating as I came for him.

"Good girl," he said, not stopping his movements, his voice continuing to say sexy things in my ear, my body dancing on the end of his hand like the puppet he'd decided I was. "Good girl comes when she's told, and all I have to do is say, 'come for me,' isn't that right? Come for me," he whispered roughly in my ear, triggering another orgasm, more screams, more kicking.

He didn't stop. He kept going. I was a mass of nerve endings, a screaming, writhing mass of open emotions and sensitivities and he just kept touching me there, in that spot that made it all so fucking good, his thumb buried inside me giving me a sense of fullness that made it all that much better.

"Girl likes orgasms," he noted, his detachment somehow making my state of completely helpless arousal all the more arousing.

"I can't.. I can't," I begged, too sensitive, too many orgasms having taken their toll. Wait, did I say too many orgasms? No such thing.

"Yes you can. You know you can. Don't lie to me, fuckhole."

My head took over from there.

Don't lie to him, fuckhole.

Don't lie to him, fuckhole.

Don't lie to him, fuckhole.

I came, screaming, the most powerful one yet shaking my body, my legs going completely out of my control. My head was pounding with the force of the blood rushing through it. "Oh my God," I whispered shakily as I came down from it. As a credit to his empathic abilities, he did stop then, pulling me close to him and rubbing my body, kissing my neck, whispering words of love and praise. He's pretty awesome at aftercare. Hell, he's pretty awesome at most things.

"I love you," he said softly into my ear, as we were falling asleep. "Don't quit me."

For the record, I would never, ever quit him. We go together.

So I am not allowed to quit - at least not without discussion and a valid reason beyond "I think you're not into me."

And me? I am okay with that. Better than okay. Thrilled. I may have started all this, but it is not okay for me to end it.

Resistance

"Turn over so I can flog you," he says. Matter of fact, of course I will obey him, I always do. I am a good girl, a good plaything.

I snuggle closer into his side. "I'm not sure that I'm interested," I say, also matter of fact.

"Oh?" he says, gentle amusement tinging his voice. "So now I'm supposed to require an interested girl? When did that happen?"

"No, no, I mean, I'm not so sure I'm interested in any of it."

"Huh. You mean you just want to be snuggled and loved on?"

"Yeah. We're doing okay like this." Barring the ravaging of my exhausted form several days earlier, we'd been getting by on snuggles, kisses, a brief flogging. My brain was becoming used to it, and I much preferred to just happily exist there rather than to fly off into the stratosphere only to have to come crashing back down.

"You don't get to choose though, do you?" His words drive the nail of desire deep into me, and I whimper, burying my face against his chest. "Do you?" he prompts.

"No, but." I squirm as he lifts my shirt, strokes my back and ass, slaps my ass a few times, lets his hands wander over my skin.

"I can take my shirt off for you," I offer. It's a good shirt; I am afraid he will stretch it out.

"This feels more invasive," he says, clutching me close to him. He's right, it does.

"I can put on another shirt if you wish to be invasive," I say. "This one is actually a good shirt." It matters not if he stretches my night clothes that only he will see me in, my good clothes are another matter.

"I'll let you take it off," he relents.

I sit up and do so, then slide back into his arms. "Thank you," I whisper against his shoulder. He is in the drawer, and he has cuffs. He wraps my wrists in the softness of them, firmly, even as I whimper my complaints.

"You're a complicated girl, aren't you?" he asks softly.

"Am I?" I ask. I know what he means, but it doesn't seem that complicated. Needs not met go away.

His hands are everywhere, stroking, slapping. His fingers wander between my legs, and I close them. "What's this? You think you can hide parts of you from me?" he asks. He is persistent, pushing on my knee as I shake my head. He strikes my inner thigh hard then, raining blows down on my inner thighs alternately, pushing them apart when I try to close them. He rolls atop me, holding my legs open, rubbing the hardness of his cock against my thigh that he had so recently been slapping. The soft cotton of his boxers abrades my abused flesh and I whimper, struggling.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, his voice taking on the tone that tells me he knows full well what my noises are about, but wants to hear me say it.

"It hurts," I squeak out, having become unused to even such a simple phrase.

"Oh, does it hurt? Has your leg gone all sensitive?" he asks mockingly, continuing to slowly press against me there. His hands shove my knees even farther apart and his head disappears under the sheet. His mouth is pressing against my sex, opening me, and then his tongue is inside. I groan, trying to close my legs, arching up to his mouth at that same moment, simultaneously begging him to stop and begging for more. His mouth is rough with me too, his tongue taking me; this is no gentle lovers' interlude, he is proving a point. My thighs fall apart and I move with him. We both already know he has won.

He stops. "Who do you belong to?" he asks, his face coming from under the sheet, hovering over mine.

I clench my eyes shut, refuse to look at him, shake my head. "Nuh-uh," I say. Defiant, even as he kisses me, as I taste my own arousal on his lips.

"Nuh-uh?" He is surprised, astonished even. He slaps my breast once, again. "I said, who do you belong to?"  Two more slaps, harder. "Who do you belong to?"

My resistance, defense from the need, is melting beneath him. "You," I whisper, my eyes still clenched shut. As if not seeing him will make this whole situation cease. It doesn't work.

"That's right," he says, his fingers pinching my nipple, making me arch up into him and moan. "Now why did I have to ask you that three times? I thought this was already established. You are mine." He kisses me again, sliding off to my side, his fingers occupying the space where his mouth has recently been. My hips move with his touch, and he is talking to me.

"What is this?" he asks, a fingertip dragging up through the wetness he has generated, stroking my clit that has been untouched for days. I groan, a deep, guttural sound from some hidden place inside as his slippery fingertip drags across that magic button. My hips move of their own accord. "A wet, horny slut, I have here. You want me, don't you?"

I shake my head, groaning still.

"That's okay, baby, you can say no all you want. Your pussy says something else. What does it say, baby?"

I shake my head, even more vigorously than before. "Nuh-uh," I whisper.

His lips are close to my ear, his fingers sliding inside me. "It says 'fuck me,'" he whispers, his voice causing goosebumps and an uncontrollable moan to come from me, not to speak of the manipulations of my sensitive bits. "Doesn't it? It says 'fuck me, fuck me.' Let me hear you say it, baby."

I shake my head again, but he is relentless. He presses his fingers deep inside, pressing against my g-spot repeatedly, making me groan deeply and curl into his touch. My wrists twist inside the cuffs, over my head. He presses into me until I come, panting, writhing. His voice is in my ear as his finger continues stroking my clit, making my body squirm, making me moan helplessly. "I like to make you come. I like to touch you here, feel you move, under my control with just my fingertip. This must be what it means to have someone wrapped around your finger. I understand it now.."

"Oh, God, fuck me," I beg.

"I'll fuck you, baby. That's what you're for, isn't it? Good fuck toy," he says, his fingers sliding back inside me and pumping away. I groan. "Good fuck hole," he growls, enjoying my responsiveness to his touch, his words. I am melting into him, a puddle of need, the very need that I have only recently banished. I don't care anymore, I just want this. Want him. Want us, entwined, enmeshed. What does it matter at that point which person is owned and which is the owner when both are one?

I am turning over onto my side, rubbing back against his cock as he presses it against me. "I don't know if it will go in there," he says as it presses just slightly into my opening. I am tight still, even after his fingers plundered me. I groan and wriggle my hips. "Maybe I should fuck you some other time," he whispers.

I grunt and shake my head, pressing back against him harder, wanting this now.

"Does your pussy need to be fucked now?" he asks. I moan in response.

"Let me hear you say it," he orders.

It is a struggle to vocalize, but he is requiring it of me and so I manage it, desperately. "My pussy needs to be fucked now," I moan, coupling the words with a little wriggle back onto him.

His hand is on my hip as he plunges inside me; we both groan with satisfaction. "Mmm.. I bet you'd say that more often if you could," he whispers.

"Yes sir," I agree softly, as we move together. Passion flows between us, wrapped up in sex. He feels divine; he is divinity visited upon me. Who am I to complain that I only get such treatment twice a week? Who am I to resist it when it does occur? Selfish, horny slut, that's me. Complicated? Yeah, I guess I am.

"Were you made to be fucked?" he asks.

"Mmhmm," I whisper.

"Were you made to be fucked by this cock?" he asks.

"I am for you to fuck," I pant, my hips moving, hard to speak through the pleasure he is causing.

"Mmhmm, that's right," he approves. He is grabbing my hip, my hair, and slamming into me over and over. I am crying out. Oh, fuck, that feels amazing.

He comes; or I think he does. I am lost in arousal, desire, need. I am not terribly attentive. I am Greedy Submissive right now. He removes himself from me, though, and his hand replaces his cock as I roll more onto my stomach, my head resting against my bound hands. He is still talking; as his thumb presses inside me, his fingers play with my clitoris. I am nothing but sensation; a hole to fill, an ear to torment. My brain reacts, setting my mouth to constant near-scream. He is pulling my head up by the hair. Yes, yes I am a fuck toy, God, yes, a fuck hole. This is what I am for. Nothing else. I was put here for this. Everything else is distraction. This is the distillation of my being.

I am screaming louder as his fingers continue working their magic - his hand is constantly tugging hard on my hair, my head lifted into the air, his words. A scream turns into a deep, panicked groan as my leg starts thumping behind me. "Come for me, slut," he orders, his voice nearly lost in the noises I am already making. That is all - I was approaching orgasm already but at his command it overtakes me. My neck muscles relax, the result being an increased intensity in the pulling on my hair, which makes the orgasm even more intense. I cannot control anything; I am controlled, I am free, I am screaming with pleasure too intense to bear, but bear it I must.

I collapse onto my face, his hands are gentle on my back, stroking my hair. I am softer now, accepting his touch gratefully, melting into him. We are part of each other, as it should be.

Sleep claims me, and when I wake hours later, wrapped in his arms, I am still cuffed.

Talking dirty: His POV

GUEST POST by my HUSBAND!

So here’s my long awaited guest post about talking dirty. I apologize in advance for the lack of actual good examples of phrases and words and the whole thing sounds more technical than sexy, but I’m shy and Conina’s blog really has more than enough examples if that’s what you’re interested in.

As Conina has mentioned, I certainly didn’t start out being comfortable talking during sex. I won’t go into the details of my naivete when it comes to kink in our early years together, but suffice it to say I was quite the noob and Conina opened my eyes to quite the new world.

I learned early on that talking was good. It felt a bit awkward at the very beginning, but I got over that pretty quickly. What I discovered was that talking really sets the atmosphere, sets up a scenario even when there’s not much role play going on. It keeps us both in the very headspace we want to be in.

Now, when it comes to talking dirty, I guess I started slow, using the occasional word here and there that I hadn’t before. I called her names, mostly, in the beginning. I used words that I wouldn’t use before that I could tell were affecting her the way I wanted to. Thankfully Conina will often respond with a moan or a groan when I press the right buttons with my words, and I use that as a gauge to make sure I don’t overdo it.

Over our years together I have been expanding my sex talk vocabulary, and it’s only through experience (we love to “practice”) that I’ve become better at improving my timing and have learned that my words are most effective when they’re particularly aimed at making her feel owned, dominated, subservient... I suspect you get the idea.

To me it works both because I get the right kind of feedback in response, which tells me that what I’m doing is working, and because it becomes part of the action, enforcing my role and my behavior towards her. Without any immediate response to me I would certainly be more hesitant to say anything.

As usual moderation is important. After a while it becomes too easy to try the same thing over and over, and when you’re too focused on your actions your words can get a little out of hand (and vice-versa of course). So it may be best to err on the side of saying too little at first.

Timing is equally important. Follow phrases up with actions, or do them simultaneously. Words must match behavior, certainly don’t just say things for the sake of it. Let them come naturally, which isn’t actually that hard considering you’re unlikely to find a more appropriate time to be using phrases like this.

So in summary, dominants should be aware of how effective saying the right kind of things can be, and the importance of using words to further make your sub feel submissive.

Submissives should understand that response is key, without any feedback it’s hard for the dominant to tell what works for you and what doesn’t. Communication afterwards is of course important too, and I highly encourage it to further improve your experience.

If you have any questions for me, feel free to leave them in the comments. I'll answer what I can.

---

I'd like to thank my lovely, lovely husband for agreeing to write this for us. He's awesome, shy though he may be. - Conina

Control is a many-splendored thing

"Maybe you should do something violent to me," I suggested to my husband. I was tired, had been wanting to go back to bed ever since our little one woke us up far, far too early on a holiday morning. But we were in bed early and I didn't want my exhaustion to overtake me.

"Really?"

"Really." Nothing to keep a girl awake like having some consensual violence visited upon her person.

"I haven't done that in a while..."

"I know."

His hands that had previously been stroking me gently and running the silky tails of our blue flogger against my skin became weapons, targeting my breasts, my nipples. "MINE!" he barked as I whimpered, twisting beneath the blows and then arching up for more, "I will do whatever the hell I want to you!"

He rolled more toward me as I twisted away from him, my brain becoming more aroused with every crash of his hand into my sensitive breasts, my body trying to escape the onslaught of pain. His leg was on top of mine, his cock pressing into my hip. His hand wandered down, slapping into my thighs, pulling them apart forcibly when they tried to close against the pain, holding them open to hit me. I cried out especially loudly when he slapped my calf. "Oh, does that hurt, girl?"

"Yes sir," I whimpered between cries. I was crying out with every blow, and he was slowly humping my hip, making me feel his arousal.

"Good. You know what I think?" he asked, his hands never stopping their attack on my body, my calves, my thighs, my breasts, my forearms. "I think that you like attention of any kind. Pain's just another kind of attention for you, isn't it?"

"Yes sir," I panted.

"'Yes sir,'" he repeated, still slowly humping my hip. "Oooh, you feel my cock? That cock wants to fuck you. I want to fuck you. You know what that means? It means I will fuck you. I will do whatever the fuck I want." His hand came up between my spread legs and he slapped my pussy lightly, over and over until I was gasping. "You like that kind of attention too, don't you? Does this turn you on?" He stopped slapping me, his fingers gently probing the extra-sensitized flesh, sliding the tip of his finger easily into my wetness.

"Yeah, I see it does," he said, sliding his fingers against me, stroking my clit gently until I gasped with pleasure. He started slapping me again, unexpectedly. Oh, it hurt. I twisted to get away but his leg had mine trapped. Spread, helpless, owned. "Mine," he confirmed my thoughts as he continued slapping my sex. "Turn on your side so I can fuck you."

I was breathing heavily as I turned over, facing away from him. I lifted my leg over his hip, opening myself to him. He rocked his cock against my wetness, back and forth, teasing the head across my opening, bumping into my clit repeatedly. It felt lovely but I wanted him inside me. "Oh my God," I moaned.

"What is it, girl? You want something?"

"Yes sir."

"What is it you want?"

"Fuck me..." I breathed out, the words barely escaping my tightening throat.

He teased me a while longer, clearly enjoying my whimpered noises of frustration. The head of his cock lodged inside my opening, and I groaned, rotating my hips, pressing back onto him. He wasn't moving at all; I wasn't sure if he meant to tease me or meant for me to do something, so I did something. I wriggled, I squirmed, I backed onto his cock that felt fucking enormous, and groaned and sighed and whispered "oh, fuck," as I did it.

"Good girl, go on, take that cock," he said as I backed onto him, finally, finally managing to squeeze all of him into me.

"Can I help you?" he asked as I squeezed around him, relishing the fullness. He just stayed there, buried fully in me, letting me squeeze around him over and over. My answers were my continual moans of enjoyment.

"I see, you didn't want to be fucked, you just wanted a hard cock shoved up your pussy. There is a difference, you know," he murmured, his hand grabbing a handful of my hair and tugging, shoving himself extra hard into me.

I squirmed, but without his equal and opposite motions from the other side, the position we were in was no good for me to fuck him, just to wriggle insanely on his cock, like a specimen pinned for examination, legs spread, breasts exposed. His fingers stroked my clit. I was getting more and more aroused by my own inability to do anything.

"Are you trying to fuck me?" I just squirmed, my arousal growing more with his words, hearing the slight condescending tone he delicately applied to them. Oh, God, he's good at this. "Let me see if I can help you," he said, and moved his hips back, withdrawing slightly and then thrusting fully into me. I screamed with pleasure, with the release of the built-up tension. Oh, that was one fine-feeling thrust. He rocked his hips slowly, drawing the pleasure out for both of us. His hand gripped my throat, and then it was pressing on my face. I screamed. I love having my face covered, especially if it's by his hand. My breathing was slightly restricted, my pants becoming gasps, and I loved it, loved feeling his hand smashing out the very thing that people identify as "me," so that I was nothing but his. Oh, fuck, yes.

"Good fuck hole," he whispered, at the perfect moment to make me scream again, around the side of his hand. My racing thoughts of self-eradication collided with his words and a glorious brain-explosion occurred inside my head.

"You are my good fuck hole," he confirmed as my scream faded. His fingers slid inside me alongside his cock, stretching me.

"Oh, God, full," I whispered, as he thrust his cock into me, holding his fingers still, for an eternity of pleasure, riding the edge of pain.

"I like to fill up my slut," he agreed, moving faster. I could feel his fingers and his cock stretching me, rubbing ever so delicately against my anus the way my legs were spread for him. Oh, I needed to be fucked there.

"I want you in my ass," I ventured, softly.

"You want to feel this hard cock fucking your ass?" he asked, driving the point home as he thrust into my soaking pussy.

"Yessss," I hissed, pressing against him, taking him as deeply as I could.

"What a fucking slut," he spat out.

"Oh, oh, oh," I panted. "I'm your slut."

"You are my good slut," he said as he pulled his hand away, reaching behind us for the lube. He kept thrusting into me while he retrieved it, and when he pulled away I whimpered with the emptiness.

"It's okay, slut, I'm going to fuck you more." His words were interrupted by the squeeze of a nearly-empty tube of lube, a singularly unsexy sound. I forgot about it as he applied the lube to me, and then pressed the slippery, rounded head of his cock to my hole. He pressed; bounced off. I groaned, reaching back to hold his cock, to angle my hips and press against him just so.

"Take it, that's it, good girl," he whispered. I groaned loudly, rocking my hips against him in an echo of our earlier penetration. Oh it was even more intense, though. I rocked my hips, and slowly, slowly, my ass opened to him, taking him inside. I relaxed briefly once he was all the way in, and he started moving, gently at first. His hand moved to my open pussy. "So fucking wet," he said, sinking fingers into my pussy, his thumb working at my clit as he thrust into me.

I was stretched between his cock and his fingers, my legs wide open, my body at his mercy.

"So full of you," I whispered between groans and sighs of pleasure.

"You are my collection of fuck holes, aren't you?" he asked sharply, his fingers twisting.

I screamed.

His hand started slapping my pussy while he moved in my ass. I'm sure it made it a more exciting fuck, as I squirmed, wriggled, and screamed. Already so sensitive, so full of blood, and he was slapping me there. "Oh oh, I'm a good slut," I begged softly as he continued hitting me.

His fingers were back inside me when he came, pressing his cock deeply into me and spilling his seed into my bowels, moaning deeply with satisfaction. I do so love hearing him sound so pleased, but I didn't have very long to relish it.

He kept working on my clit, kept thrusting into my ass, his other hand grabbing a handful of my hair. I began to convulse upward, my head raising up, my knees lifting. He tightened his grip on my hair, forcing my head to stay down, forcing the intensity to stay in my body rather than to release through the convulsion. "You're not going anywhere, slut. You'll stay right here and take it."

I did. Every time my head tried to rise, he yanked it back down by my hair. I trembled with unreleased tension. I screamed. I came, a great, shuddery wave of orgasm crashing over me, brought on almost exclusively by the violent control he was exerting. Well, and the fingers. Of course the magic fingers.

My breast hurt all day today. Somehow, I'm okay with that.

---

I know there's a challenge on, and that I'm somewhat of a CWS slacker... and a blog slacker! I had to get this post written, which means very few other things got to happen online. I SIMPLY HAD TO WRITE THIS. Sorry, y'all.

---

And further. My husband says he is in the process of writing out a post about the filthy sex talking. Just for you guys.

His

We were snuggled into bed, my head happily resting on his shoulder, when he moved, sitting up a little, taking his arm from behind my head and using it to rest on as he gazed down at me.

"Don't look at me and stuff!" I begged, moving my hand to cover my face as he moved over me.

"Don't look at you and stuff?" he asked, incredulously. "Whose are you?"

"Yours," I said through my fingers.

"And can't I do whatever I want with you?"

"Yes," I whispered reluctantly.

"Then move your hand. I want to 'look at you and stuff.'"

My hand remained on my face until he slapped my inner thigh a few times. "Be a good girl," he admonished.

I moved my hand, but my face was scrunched up in resistance, and I couldn't stop. I tried to relax the muscles of my face, but knowing he was now looking at me even more than he would have been made it impossible. Why, oh why did I draw attention to myself?

"Look at me, fuck toy," he demanded, after what felt like an hour but was probably merely seconds. I trembled, moaning. "Maybe you didn't hear me," he said softly. "Look at me."


I opened my eyes and he was there, looking at me.

I giggled. Yep. I giggled.

I closed my eyes again, trying to stifle the laughter.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked, amused.

"No," I said, opening my eyes again. I giggled again, turning away and covering my face with both my hands this time.

"What's funny?" he insisted. "Is your own shyness funny?"

"Yes," I agreed. As good an answer as any.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked. "My girl is supposed to do what she's told, isn't she? And when she doesn't, I have to punish her?" he whispered the words in my ear.

I shivered. "I did what you asked."

"And who told you you could stop?"

I sighed, opening my eyes. My giggles evaporated as I turned back toward him again.

"Good girl." He kissed me, climbing on top of me and pressing his cock against my upper thigh, letting me feel how hard he already was. We kissed for a while, my eyes closing as his lips and mine danced, opening again because he wanted them that way after each kiss.

"Is it getting easier for you?" he asked, gazing at me lovingly.

"No," I said, meeting his eyes.

"Well, you're doing better," he praised me as he kissed me again. "Tell you what," he said, rising up higher, "instead of looking into my eyes, you can look at my cock." I scooted down between his knees as he raised up over me.

He rubbed his cock all over my face, moving up and brushing his balls against my lips until I sucked gently on them. I looked up and saw him looking at me as I did so, making me moan as my gaze crossed his.

He moved again, rubbing his cock all over my face again, teasing me, letting me lick it as he moved. "Take it," he finally urged as he pressed it between my lips.

"Mmm, you like this, don't you?" he asked as I moaned around the hardness filling my mouth. His hands pressed down on the sides of my head, pinning it to the bed as he fucked into me. My hands clutched at his thighs, over and over as his cock filled what it could of my throat and then withdrew. "I should write it on your forehead," he said, looking down at me as I sucked, "'This is my face to fuck. You can't have her.'" I trembled and moaned quietly as his words knocked the wind out of me, still sucking as that image branded itself into my mind, the words appearing on my own internalized image of my face as he spoke them. Objectifying. Humiliating. And, for me, white hot as all fuck.

"Your face isn't the only part of you that likes to be fucked, though, is it?" He was moving down, his eyes once again meeting mine straight on, his cock prodding against my pussy until he found what he was seeking: the source of the arousal seeping from me. I threw my head back as he slowly pushed into me, his eyes looking into mine as my mouth opened and I moaned. He felt incredible, huge, and hard, and I am sure my amazement was reflected in my eyes.

"My fuck slave," he said as he ground against me, making me feel his full length buried in my body. "So wet, my beautiful girl. What a slut you are. You like having your face fucked, don't you?"

"Yes sir," I whispered.

His hands fondled my breasts. "You like having my cock rubbed all over your face, the face people look at when they look at you. If only they could see what you liked to do with your face, slut." I moaned beneath him, tossing my head and arching into him as his words buried themselves in me like steamy bullets. "You like taking my come and rubbing it all over your breasts, don't you? And then going out with my come all over your tits." I shuddered, nodding as he kissed me again. "Such a slut. MY slut, aren't you?" he asked as he pulled his mouth away.

"Yes sir," I whispered, my body undulating with him. His hands pinned my wrists for a time, his fingers encircling them and squeezing as he moved. "You're so nice to fuck me so often," I said, feeling genuinely grateful as his cock filled me over and over.

"It's what you're for, bitch," he said, kissing me hard. I could only moan in agreement with him as his lips claimed my mouth and tongue, his cock moving slowly inside me now, making me crazy with the slow strokes against my sensitive membranes. I could feel every tiny movement and it felt incredible.

"So good," I whispered hoarsely when he let me speak again.

"So fucking good," he agreed.

"I suppose I could fuck you from behind," he murmured, ages later, heat that had built between us wiping my ability to recall those long, steamy minutes. My legs ached from holding them up and wide for so long.  "But first, I think I'll let you taste how wet you make me," he said, sliding his cock out of me, and moving up to sit astride my chest again. His cock, slick with my juices, slid between my lips and I groaned as I sucked the taste of me off him.

"Such a nice set of fuck holes I have here for myself," he rasped as I sucked him. I pulled my mouth away to moan deeply at that, and he responded quickly. "Keep sucking," he whispered.

My pussy clenched. It wanted his cock back, badly. I felt myself lubricate even more, uselessly, as I sucked, rolling my tongue over his hard, velvety shaft, clutching his hips and lifting my head to take more of his cock, cutting off my air and willingly gagging myself.

"Okay," he said at length pulling his cock away from me, cupping my breasts around his length and fucking them. I arched my back and groaned loudly, over and over, feeling his hardness press into my breasts. Generally breast fucking is mostly for him, but this felt really amazing to me. I stayed in that position, moaning as he stroked himself with my flesh. "Turn over now, fuck slave, so I can fuck you from behind." He moved off me and I turned over. "Yeah, give me that pussy," he said, his fingers plunging into my wetness with a speed that was a little painful. His fingers were soon replaced by his cock and I sighed with the fullness.

"Too bad I can't look into your eyes like this," he said. I was sightlessly staring straight ahead of me, my mouth open in an eternal moan as we rocked. His hand locked in my hair, his other hand on my hip, and he moved me on his cock like the toy he's named me to be. "I suppose I could always fuck you sideways later," he finished his thought.

The words glanced off my consciousness. Could I even look at him now if I had to? Just the thought was too much for me. "Oh, God," I transmuted my constant moan into words to suit my emotions.

He picked up my leg and I draped it backwards over his hip, letting his hand wander freely between my legs. When his hand left, I put mine there, feeling him as his cock thrust slowly into my body. "You like feeling me fuck you, toy?" he asked.

"Yes sir," I whispered.

"You like having your fuck hole stuffed full, don't you? I bet you'd like it if I let you sleep like this, with my cock shoved inside you."

"Mmhmm," I moaned, words lost to me.

"But I'd have to stop fucking you for that, and I don't think you'd like that, would you?"

His hand moved and he pinched my nipple, slow but hard. The pain built inside me until I complained. "It hurts," I begged. "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts."

"What hurts? This?" he asked, twisting my nipple a little. I squealed in response. "That's okay," he said, soothingly, "I can fuck you while you hurt."

Oh, God. He really just said that. I just moaned. Over and over, as he fucked me. I couldn't even respond to him with words anymore. When I felt his orgasm start to overtake him, I pulled him into me, hard, with my hand on his hip and my foot on his ass. I love feeling him shudder to completion in my body; love knowing that we did that together, that he feels incredible and it's partially because of me. I love knowing that he can do that just because he wants to.

His hand wandered between my legs as he recovered, fingers pressing into my g-spot and making me groan. "You like being fucked everywhere, don't you, fuck toy?" he asked softly as his thumb stroked my clit. "You're for me to fuck, aren't you? I can fuck your face. I can fuck your pussy. I can fuck your tits. And I can fuck your ass," he said, his fingertip playing across the hole he referred to. I jumped, making a noise of agreement. "Would your ass like to be more full?" he asked, pressing his finger against me there.

"Yes sir," I whispered.

He started to pull his hand away from between my legs and I whimpered, clutching at his shoulder. "It's okay, greedy slutty thing," he assured me, "I'm not going anywhere."

He got the lube from the drawer and came back. "What's the point of having a fuck slave if you don't use all her fuck holes?" he whispered as his finger slid, aided by lots of lubrication, into my ass. I can't exactly describe what was going on there - but there was lots of penetration, and his thumb on my clit, and I was out of my mind. "Ohh, that's where that finger goes," he said, and I was suddenly fuller. He fucked me with his whole hand, and "out of my mind" doesn't quite begin to describe it.

"My sweet, sweet collection of fuck holes," he murmured as his hand plundered my nether regions. "Come for me, fuck toy," he said as I began to tremble. "Yeah, that's a good toy, come for me, girl," he urged as I screamed, kicking. He didn't stop. "Come for me, come for me," he urged, and my body responded, shaking, screaming, kicking, my hand slapping his back a little. "Oh my God," I squealed as he let me float down, wrapped in a blanket of indescribably delicious pleasure.

He gathered me into his arms and we chatted, after he turned off the light. He feels like heaven. There's no place I'd rather be than snuggled against my love's chest. We talked about how amazing sex is, how lucky we are. "I'm so yours," I told him as we kissed.

"I like it when I tell you to come and you do," he said. "I like to feel like I'm in control."

"You are in control, my love," I whispered to him.

"Oh, yeah."

Eventually my shoulder started to hurt and I had to turn over, to face away from him. My leg was backward over his, knee bent, which meant my legs were open to him. His hand briefly brushed my pussy, and then his fingers were gently toying with my nipples. "Aren't we meant to be sleeping, my love?" I moaned. The gentle strokes of his fingers on my soft nipples were sending electric jolts through my body.

His cock was hard again. I felt it throbbing against my back. His fingers were in my pussy then. "Are we? Give me this pussy," he rasped, and I hurried to obey. His cock pushed inside me and it felt bigger than ever - my tissues having swollen after the previous use. I groaned as he fucked me, hard, fast, reveling in his use of my body. This was about him and I loved that it was. He does so much for me and this is one thing that it absolutely thrills me to do for him. It hurt a little, but mostly it felt incredible.

Afterward, as we were drifting off, I asked him what caused that. He didn't know. "Sometimes, you know, I might start to take it for granted, that I can fuck you any time I want."

I shivered hard at that, and stifled a moan. A moment of silence passed while he processed my reaction.

"Did that excite you, to hear me say... that?"

"Yes," I nodded, even though it was terribly unlikely he could see me in the dark.

"I see," he said, squeezing me to him. "Mine."

That I am.