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Cover Up

♦ He said he was too ill for sex. He’d hurt his foot in the rain and his stomach in a Mexican restaurant (I blame the greedily-gulped wine rather than the food). I told him I was tired anyway. My sister had just been shipped back to the Old Country and I’d spent too long browsing pens and paper and pins.

It was hot. I was hot. Summer seems replaced by stickiness and no sun.

I stripped off my clothes down to my underwear and lay back on his bed, cuddling my new owl cushion and flicking interestedly through The Encyclopaedia of Unusual Sex Practices. Absorbed in coprophagy, child marriage and corporal punishment, my flushed skin cooled and my body relaxed.

He came to give me some affection and noted my all-but-bared body with interest.

“I’d fuck you right now if I were feeling better.” He said, with a mixture of lust and disappointment.

We moved into my room to play a boardgame, but it didn’t quite turn out that way. I decided that the short journey required more clothes, especially if we wanted to be sociable and leave the door open. So I donned the khaki jumpsuit from our little military coup the other day. It’s light and not fussy and seemed perfect.

I’d have thought I’d be less alluring to Crush with more clothes on, but no. Covering up just made him all the hornier, it turned out. He crawled over me as I lay on the bed, breasts trapped by poppers that were so easily undone, skin tightly dressed in smooth fabric. He ran his hands over the khaki and ripped the poppers apart.

He pushed me down and swiftly pulled the top of the jumpsuit from my body. I removed the bra straps from my shoulders and he flipped down the cups, exposing my breasts to him. He smothered them in kisses before leaping up and tugging at the bottom half of the jumpsuit.

I toyed with him, struggling here and there, obstructing his efforts, playfully trying to resist him. But I wanted it too badly to really protest.

He whipped off his trousers and rubbed the fat head of his cock against my pussy. I was already slightly slick, but he still had to take things slowly, pushing his cock in and out, adding a centimetre of length at a time until suddenly my cunt resisted no longer, he was inside me and could fuck me with abandon.

And so he did.

He moved like an animal as I writhed underneath him. I bucked my hips and watched his feral movements in amazement. His haunches rocked back and forth, driving his shaft deep into me, his hands gripping me possessively. I moaned and wriggled and soon he was coming loudly within me, spilling himself into me, spending all his little energy.

He collapsed, head on my breasts and I stroked his hair. We’d already reclaimed the room, indeed bed, my sister had borrowed for the week: a week of late nights and camaraderie but not one single bit of sex to speak of.

Well, ill or not, tired or not, it was all better now. ♦

Family Planning

♦ My sister will be visiting me tomorrow and staying for about a week or so. I’m telling you this for two reasons: A) to let you know that the blog may well be on hiatus for the next week or so as I’ll be too busy having fun and B) I fancy having a bit of a ramble about it.

I’ve been tidying my room ready for her to stay in it (since I sleep with Crush in his room) and that got me thinking about my attitude to my family regarding this blog and sex in general.

Now, my family (by which I mean my dad and my sister) don’t know about my blog (heck, neither do my friends). They don’t know I review sex toys (one friend, my housemate Alt, knows that) and they don’t even know I use them (some of my friends tell legendary tales of parties involving items from The Drawer, even if it is actually now two drawers plus lingerie). They don’t know I’m kinky and they don’t know I’m bi. Or rather, I haven’t told them.

They basically know nothing about my sex life except who I’m dating, who I have dated and that we sleep in the same bed. Except my sister, who knows about the whole Fractal break-up thing and therefore knows I was in an open relationship then.  She knows it’s how Crush and I started, she had to, to help me through the whole messy business. She was shocked, a bit, but took it in her stride, bless her.

And that’s all.

I moved house just recently and my dad came to help with his car because he is an angel. But I made very sure to pack all of my sex toys and my few kinky porn mags into a massive hold-all (man, that thing really can hold all!) and put my sex books in a separate box and let him touch neither of those containers in any way. Just like the last time I moved, in fact.

He’s a bit of a fuddy-duddy, my dad, and we don’t talk about that kind of thing. I’m not an idiot, I’m aware my parents must’ve had sex, maybe even – gasp – for pleasure, but there’s no hint of that at all in his personality. You know how people tend to give off cues that they’re OK talking or even thinking about sex, that they’re open about that sort of thing? Nothing. So, I hide it all because I really can’t imagine him reacting in a “cool dad” way about it. I’d expect bemusement at best.

So, what am I going to do about my sister living in my room for a week or so? My sex books (visual and not) are happily in my bookshelf, my sex toys (whilst supposedly living in The Drawers) are strewn about my desk, my lubes are lined up on the chest of drawers, my handcuffs are fixed to the radiator (classic), my hitty things are stood in the corner and my blog is the very first link on my Opera speed dial if she uses my computer. It’s all right there.

I’m sure that last time she stayed with me, which was ages ago now, I hid it all very carefully, but this time, things have changed. She’s really matured over the years, she accepts my casual hints towards liking women without comment and she’s a strong advocate in her own right of equality in sex and gender. I think she might have even known what “cissexual” meant before I did. She’s an awesome girl and I’m actually certain, despite worrying when I was younger, that she’ll accept me no matter my sexuality or kinks or what have you. I’m not scared of exposing an “innocent young thing” like her any more because I’m proud of who I am and, frankly, treating her like a child would be insulting.

So I’ll tidy my room to make it nicer for her, I’ll put those stray dildos back in their drawers, but the books will stay where they are, the lubes will be lined up neatly because that’s where they live, the toys will be there if she looks for them and the blog will be on that speed dial if she’s curious enough to click it.

And I’m OK with that.

And if she does click the blog and does read this, I’m OK with that too. If you’re reading this, sister, hi! I hope you don’t mind. If you want to pretend you didn’t find this, that’s totally fine, it’s your choice and I understand. And if you want to talk about it, hell, I’d love that. It’d be awesome and I’m happy to explain whatever you’d like. Don’t be afraid to ask me anything. Always.

So, that’s my family planning, really. My sister’s earned a peek into the ‘adult’ side of me if she cares to look for it. I’m proud of her. My dad, weirdly enough, is now the one I care about corrupting or confusing. I doubt that’ll change, but that’s OK.

Anyway, I thought it was interesting to look at how I change aspects of my personality and sexuality to suit two different members of my family, to talk about how much of myself I’ll hide or show and why. And I hope you thought so too! What about you? What do you hide or show to your loved ones?

See you next week! ♦

Ten Hut! – 100 Orgasms

♦ “Close your eyes,” I said and he did. He lay back on the bed and shut them firmly, anticipating, always eager to obey when he knew I had something planned. I did have something planned, even if that plan had come together in the space of five minutes in the next room, rooting through The Drawers for kink and kit.

We’re having our housewarming this weekend and it’s fancy dress, because fancy dress is fucking fantastic. I’ve been making a military beret for mine and something clicked in my head when I saw it lying there, discarded. I’d been thinking lacy and stockings, but now…

I shut the door behind me and straddled him at the hips.  When I allowed him to open his eyes he saw me dressed in the green beret and a very military-like khaki jumpsuit buttoned to the collarbone. I carried a crop under my arm, swagger stick style. I swear his eyes almost bulged from his head.

He was dressed only in his trousers and he looked beautiful. I’d already been impressed earlier that day by how gorgeous his arms looked: swimmer’s muscles, lean and lithe but strong.

You’ll have to forgive me. I may say it myself, but what he said to me and what I said to him and the roleplaying was so fucking hot. But I forget. My waves of orgasms are too good at wiping out the coastal villages of my memory. The details merge, the lines become brush strokes of eroticism on an Impressionist painting.

So, yeah, I forget stuff.

But the night was swimming with “Yes, Ma’am”s and permission asked and occasional cheek given. I enjoyed ordering him around and domming shit up and punishing insubordination where I found it, rewarding good behaviour too.

I unbuttoned the top of the khaki jumpsuit to show my breasts, naked but for a fishnet bodystocking and, supporting them, an almost Steampunk “bra belt”. My nipples poked through the black fishnet and I leant in towards his face. He sucked on my left nipple with ardour and I gasped and ground into his body beneath me.

Before I knew it, I was surprising myself with an orgasm. My grinding into him wasn’t even involved! This was all from his attention on one of my nipples and I inwardly praised my body as I shuddered on top of him.

Military-style banter that I so wish I could remember followed. Trust me: fucking hot. Crush respectfully suggested we try the experiment again to see if we could reproduce those results and I agreed, but this time I demanded to lie on my back.

He took my nipple in his mouth again and he began to suck, but my nipple wouldn’t be so easily swayed this time. No matter. As he sucked hard I began to rub my crotch over my jumpsuit and, not that he knew that, my black PVC thong underneath. I rubbed furiously, so turned on by his desire and the sheer fucking hotness of it all. Soon I was shuddering, a second orgasm rippling through me.

Now Crush was bold with lust and, as we switched places again, asked me if he could spank me.

Well, I was in charge as his Commanding Officer, so what to do? But a filthy thought occurred. I quite like the idea of hurting a man, something he might not necessarily like, as a form of payment by him to get something he really wants. I’m not sure what it is about it. Perhaps the idea that his lusts have overtaken him so?

In any case, I offered the price of five pinches of his nipple for an undefined period of spanking me. He accepted nervously and I began, gently, to pinch him. I brusquely told him to count and he did. But he tried to be cheeky, tried to count three when it was two. So I started again. He counted the fourth pinch before I’d actually done it, so guess what? I started again.

This time there were no mistakes and I dismounted him, leaning forward on hands and knees as he spanked me with the red paddle. Sometimes I hate that paddle. Sometimes, as you’ll see, I love it. But right now it was a hard one to take.

Take it I did, though.

Now naked, he sat on the edge of the bed and I produced my black metal handcuffs from the little pile of toys I’d brought in. I set them down and, hot from our exertions, stripped the khaki jumpsuit from my body. Now he saw the thong and the full glory of my bodystocking as its netting covered my sticky-hot curves.

The hat, I noticed, fell some time during the spanking. Now it was pure kinkwear, but we kept up our roles nonetheless. My geek society would be proud. :P

I opened the cuffs, managing to hook them into my fishnet on the way. Sigh. Unhooking them, I instead attached them to my intended target. I grabbed them by the chain and hoicked his arms above his head, scratching at his chest and back and eyeing him fiercely.

Letting go, I made him scoot up the bed and knelt between his legs, bringing my beloved Tango vibe with me. I placed it between my labia, cushioned by them and kept in place by my thong and thighs. I turned it on and felt it throb. I kissed my way up Crush’s body, crawling seductively, reaching his cock and…

…running my tongue playfully a centimetre above his shaft as if licking, but not. A tease. A torture.

The kisses marched up his chest and neck before I turned and swooped back down on his cock, licking for real this time, making love to him with tongue and lips. I was feral, enthusiastic, I moaned when he leaked pre-come and writhed back and forth, managing to rock against the vibrator nestled in my folds. I came once, twice as I licked fervently and then collapsed on his cock.

I offered to let him fuck me, right then and there. But Crush was on task. He knew I had a goal to reach and figured one more towards it before moving on couldn’t hurt. He asked me to carry on licking and sucking and coming on my bullet vibe, but this time he wanted some dirty talk. And, narcissist that he is, heh, dirty talk about him.

So I told him as I licked him about how hot he makes me, how sexy he looks, his gorgeous body, his thick cock and I licked and sucked. I wriggled and turned up the rumble on my vibrator until I came again, moaning on his cock, gagging myself with his erection.

The finest part of the evening was still to come though. And I’m not even talking about the penetration. No, while that was fantastic, I think I liked the next part better. Remember I said sometimes I love the red paddle?

He wanted to use it on me again, this time while I continued to use the vibrator on myself. I was only too quick to oblige.

It was interesting how through the whole thing, I was still in charge. Even when I asked him what he wanted, even when I shuddered under his hand as he spanked me. It was strange, although it shouldn’t be, and wonderful. I was his superior officer, he a lowly subordinate and I was using him for my kicks. Simple as. Whether he spanked me or not, it was my will and I could easily have him court marshalled in a snap, naturally.

I discarded the ridiculously-named “bra belt” and the thong and leant forward on the bed. He spanked me as I toyed with my clit using the vibrator and for a while it was much the same as the first spanking. Then the rumbling on my clit began to kick in and, as I worked myself towards another orgasm, I found myself wanting more and more and MORE.

“Harder,” I begged and Crush obliged. “Harder,” I cried and he hit harder still. With each gain in arousal I wanted more force, more pain. Soon I was coming hard and Crush was pounding on me as hard as he could. I had never taken this much force for this long before and I kept it up as I rolled into another fantastic climax. I was out of breath, sweating, shaking, I was full of the most wonderful feelings and sensations. I collapsed forward and turned onto my back, gazing at my beautiful lad with wide eyes.

“I love you,” I said, breaking character momentarily.

“I love you too,” he replied.

The sex that followed was frantic and amazing. Once I’d warmed to the large cock inside me, I told him he could go as hard or soft as he liked. I think he tried to teach me a lesson and soon I was bouncing, shrieking, revelling in the wonderful pleasure/pain of his rough thrusts. He came inside me after a time and we flopped next to each other, spent… ♦

Bruising

10/100

Progress

♦ The both of us naked, I found my face pressed into his stomach and my arse being caressed by his rough palms. I had already slowly stripped him of his clothes and stroked his soft thighs. He had already grinned and laid back as I ran my fingers over his oh-so-silky cock. Now I planted kisses on his belly and flank as he turned caressing and light strokes into firm pats that threatened solid swats.

The spanking began in earnest, though our positions stopped too much force, and he made sure to stroke my behind lovingly between each blow. I liked that. It ramped up the anticipation and kept it intimate and somehow more filthy. More calculated, perhaps.

He snuck his free hand around to my clitoris and teased at me lightly, again hampered by the angle. Seeing a better strategy, he told me I should rub myself instead and keep rubbing until he said otherwise. I love to be made to touch myself beyond what I’d normally inflict on myself. I love the threat of punishment if I let up even for one moment, no matter my wishes.

So I started to rub. I plucked my clitoris into pleasure as he started to put his usual force into his spanks, hitting me hard but still giving me a comforting stroke in between each. My masturbating became more frantic with my rising excitement and so did his stroking of my bare behind; he now squeezed and grabbed a little as he stroked, almost possessive in his actions.

I was close to coming and begged out loud for release.

“May I come please, sir?” I said, adding the “sir” out of my own desire to be subordinate.

He leant into my ear and whispered a hasty “yes” to me, allowing me to relax into my climax, making me shudder with pleasure and release of not only tension, but built-up emotion too.

Of course, when I was done, it’s not like I could just stop touching myself. I had orders, a fact he seemed to enjoy reminding me of.

“That’s right, keep touching yourself,” he hissed as the spanking continued. I allowed the tender, heightened feeling of my sex to carry me along and soon I hit another orgasm, making me gasp and moan. The shock dying down, I asked if I could stop and he relented at last.

My recovery didn’t and couldn’t last long: he pulled at my legs, flipping me over onto my back. I was balanced awkwardly on a lump of duvet, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him inside me.

He pushed his cockhead against me, but my wet cunt offered little resistance and he soon sank in deep. I had wanted this this evening, but thought my earlier outburst of emotions had ruined my chances, so I was so, so glad to be getting what I wanted anyway.

He was, as usual, a little too big for comfort, which I absolutely love. I asked him for it slow but hard and deep, so that I could feel every delicious flash of feeling, every gorgeous millimetre of his cock opening me up, driving to my depths.

He thrust slowly into me, but getting that little bit faster with each stroke. I writhed and wriggled on his cock, feeling his chest with my hands whenever I wasn’t steadying myself. I came again, pushed into climax by the pounding of his cock just as he came inside me. I love doing that.

I pulled him close to me, buoyed up by my orgasm and our physicality but also by the emotions of this intimate act with him. So easy to forget that not long ago he was new to sex entirely, new to kink entirely, new to me entirely. When I see how far he’s come for me, I can forgive that we have a way to go and I see how much he loves me. If there was no other reason to love him, that’d be a pretty good start.

Luckily for me, I have plenty already. ♦

The First Time Again

♦ Our ‘new’ mattress is a little harder and the room a little lighter. There are long-forgotten trinkets still strewn on the floor and half-filled drawers waiting for clothes and clutter. An unfamiliar ceiling. A single floorboard that creaks.

But he, at least, is familiar.

Days of drudgery and Domestos have sunk tiredness deep into our bones and our brains are fuzzy from weariness and fumes. We have relied on each other to put in the elbow grease and take care of tasks, but we haven’t yet sunk into each others bare arms in this house other than to flop into fitful sleep.

His hair is tousled and his body, as always, is full of soft curves and hard edges: a smooth belly, jutting hips, long limbs and the barest hint of plush, dark hair. He crawls into bed from the edge and peppers my naked breast with kisses. I ache for affection not snuck between hefting boxes or scrubbing surfaces. I long for the feel of him, the leisure of his body and the pleasure of his cock.

I press into his kisses and plant my own on his shoulder and neck, undulating under his mouth. I slip my hands from his torso as he starts to nibble at my nipple and I move one to his cock and one to my clit.

He lies down next to me, still with good access to my body and lets me stroke us both. His foot is planted steadily against the wall and I hook my leg over his lightly, giving myself better access to the sensations knotting around my clitoris.

I struggle to keep us both at our preferred rhythms – him slower and me faster – as he takes a nipple in each hand and presses and rolls them between his fingertips.

Our little moans and sighs of content mingle in the high-ceilinged room and I edge towards orgasm. After a little rearrangement of my pillows, I am there, gasping and groaning as I shatter the tension built up in my body and shudder into my climax.

I am still masturbating him slowly but now I turn to him and tell him I want him to fuck me. I want him inside me. I want to melt back into desire with him. I want to make it clear that the worst of the life-fuss is over and I can start to relax, that we can reclaim our lust together from the clutches of responsibility.

He pulls himself around so he kneels between my legs and pushes his cockhead against my wettened slit. I so want this. I gasp as he enters me, my cunt still tender and tuned-up from my orgasm. I ask him to keep his angle low so I can really enjoy the full size of him as he strokes the top of my pussy and thrusts me into happiness.

I love the feel of cock on cunt. I writhe in pleasure as I stroke myself leisurely, watching his gorgeous face change with his efforts. Soon he is coming inside me, groaning in the release of too much built-up tension. It has been far too long for both of us.

I pull him down on top of me and feel the last twitches of his cock inside me. The house is ours now and he is mine, but, perhaps more importantly, I belong to myself again, not to life’s little irks. There’s nothing like having a first time all over again.

Roped Up

♦ I have two coils of rope, which I don’t use enough. This one is white and the other black. This one, I think, may not actually be sold as bondage rope, but it works perfectly well. It’s still strong and thick and soft. It still feels good wrapped around skin.

This picture is from a little while ago now where I decided it was about time we did some shibari on both me and Crush. I really want to get to grips with rope bondage and I still have fancies in my head of having one of those emergency rope bracelets so that I’m ready for emergency bondage at any time. ;)

So, without further ado, here’s me lying back and enjoying the caress of the karada Crush tied me into. It’s not expertly done or anything, but it’s a good start and I loved being in it nonetheless.  ♦

See who else is playing Sinful Sunday this week…

 

Senses and Scents

♦ Crush’s arse needed a good seeing-to, that’s for sure. But I’m being a tease. Sadly no pegging or even spanking, no, I needed to slather it in emollient. The new summer weather is not so kind to him.

Whilst I could have just pulled down his trousers, slapped it on and sent him off to play, I had other plans too. We had a new pair of toys to try out and I felt like fucking.

It was when his trousers reached his knees and kept going that he knew something was up. Playful, he started a fake struggle, but I easily pulled the trousers from his legs. He’d been topless before, so now he was naked. And so was I. I squirted the cooling emollient onto his bare bottom and began to slowly, sensually rub it in. I massaged his arse and he practically purred his content.

When he was suitably moisturised, I got out the new black satin blindfold and the little black feather brush I’d been sent. I fixed the ribbon blindfold around Crush’s head as snugly as I could, well aware that it was more of a ‘sensual’ blindfold than a functional one and that he could see out by his nose bridge. When he was as sightless as I could make him, I took the feather stick and started to dance it over his skin.

After his back and bum, I rolled him over, paying careful attention to brushing the feathers over his chest, thighs and semi-erect cock. Of course, he liked the cock the best, but soon wanted even stronger sensations. Taking a gorgeous purple bottle of ylang ylang and patchouli massage oil from my drawer, I poured a thin line of the liquid on him from chest to cock.

I straddled his legs and leant forward, pushing my breasts and belly against his skin, smearing the massage oil across us both. Slowly I rubbed my body against his, writhing on top of him and covering us in scented slickness. He loves it when I straddle him and rub my body on his and this was even better. I’m certain the blindfold allowed him a sneak peek of my glistening breasts and my wriggling, but no matter.

I could feel his smooth, hard body and particularly his now-rigid cock as I glided over him, both of us getting tense and frenzied. His hands were on my arse, gripping and scratching as my pussy slid over him. God, I wanted to fuck him right there and then.

But I had to be good. After all, I knew I’d like the feather experience more than he would and I had a job to do.

He made it hard, of course, whispering dirty things at me, but he relented. He sat me up and tied the blindfold around my head. As expected, I had a gap I could peek through. He ran the feathers lightly over my back, being particularly teasing with the base of my spine and the nape of my neck.

It felt surprisingly sexy. I shivered and it felt supremely sensual, making my pussy tingle with the sensation. His sudden hand on my chest pushed me gently but firmly backwards and I lay back into the pillows. Taking my arms one by one, he fixed them to the headboard with our softer cuffs. I was firmly held in place and all-but-blind to him.

He played the feather stick around my breasts and stomach and then over my thighs and pussy. It felt soft, like the light brush of skin on skin. It was fantastic to be held by the cuffs and his body, my sight limited and my sensations focused. I could feel every stroke of the feather and the scent of patchouli caught me.

Crush knelt between my legs and dropped the feather, now using his hands to stroke my body. I felt at the peak of arousal, my nerves singing and finely tuned. He began to rub his erection over the folds of my pussy, massaging the damp flesh and teasing me with hints of entry.

I lifted my legs to allow him better access and he slowly pushed his way inside me. He felt glorious. He moved agonisingly, slow stroke upon slow stroke. I was stupidly aroused and he felt indescribable, the slow movements a change from our usual rough fucking.

Within moments I felt on the edge of orgasm, but the feeling was unusual. He kept his movements slow and changed the angle often, so that I wasn’t pushed over the edge but stayed balanced, feeling the rapture of the start of an orgasm but never quite peaking. if it sounds torturous, it wasn’t. This wasn’t like the frustrating of being close to coming but not quite able to get there, this was being there but being there indefinitely, the quick explosion of orgasm drawn out over the longest time.

I could have done it all night.

But I didn’t. Sooner or later, I suppose Crush would have to have his fun, after all. As I rolled and writhed, drowning in senses and scents, secure in my cuffs, I felt the tell-tale signs of his orgasm. He told me later it was “kind of suppressed”, but still felt great. He continued to move inside me afterwards until my heightened sensation faded and then pulled out.

I was keen for more, though, and he was keen to give it to me. He wanted to hear more moans from me and so I suggested he take the Salsa bullet from the desk and use it on me. He did so, starting on the cha-cha-cha mode which recently helped inspire an erotic story submission and then switching to a steady buzz.

He swirled the tip of the vibrator around my clitoris in circles, taking direction now and again for slower or more pressure or faster. The build was slow, but steady and I relished the fact that my hands were tied for once. I get picky about my clitoris and I like to take over, but now I couldn’t, I was forced to relax and wait for my orgasm to be given to me. With one hand, Crush pinned my legs.

The build began to reach its peak and I pulled hard at my restraints, needing to spread out the tension in my body. I came and howled loudly, not caring for our open windows, thrashing on my cuffs and my held-down legs like a martyr on the rack.

When we were done with play time, Crush lay next to me, holding me as I lay still cuffed and blindfolded. Slowly the cuffs were removed, then my full sight was returned to me and finally I took Crush in my arms with a kiss.

Today I go about my work and my banal day, but the breeze plays on me like a feather and I still catch the scent of ylang ylang and patchouli on my skin and drift into memories of the sensory overload that was my evening. ♦

Mischief Managed

♦ I have a habit of falling over. Not real falling over, in this case. I’m not a graceful girl, but I can keep my footing.

No, this is something else. I get in a playful mood, especially on weekends when the day is lazy and young. A playful mood that likes hugs and kisses and all sorts more. That’s when Crush will hear the playfully plaintive cry of “Oh, no, I’ve fallen over! Help!” and come in to find me strewn across the bed.

This weekend I was even more trouble than usual and in want of a good spanking. Our daily efforts fell apart a little while back and it had been too long. So I called for him, my body bent forward over our bunched up duvet and my bum wiggling in the air.

I kept my head facing down and away, another quirk I love for some unknown reason. I heard Crush enter, but he wasn’t going for me. Not yet. I heard him rattling at the kinkier of our two drawers, which put my mind on instant alert. I felt a thrill run through me at him taking this so seriously. But I’d accidentally blocked the drawer up so he couldn’t get in. I was almost as angry with myself as he pretended to be. I wanted to be hit with things.

I reminded him that our flogger still hung on the door handle, but he dismissed it straight away. Too soft, he said. He wanted something hard to use on me. I needed to be punished.

He climbed behind me and pulled down the tiny shorts I was wearing. It was the first warm afternoon since I’d bought my roller derby shorts and I’d been determined to flaunt them. My arse was now bared, no knickers to be seen, my shorts around my thighs. He began to spank me hard and harsh, putting his arm into each blow.

I snuggled my face into the pillows and luxuriated in the roughness. It really had been too long. I was still feeling too antsy just to lie there and take it, though. I wiggled and wriggled and occasionally tried to throw him off or escape altogether. Of course, he was as determined as I was cheeky, so all it did was make him pile his weight firmly on top of me and fix me still. And hit me harder. It was occasionally too rough, but only too rough just enough. Soon I was moaning my satisfaction into the bed and thrusting myself back and forth into his strikes.

I wanted more, I wanted as hard as he could give, but it was over too quickly. When it was, though, he pulled me over and leaned menacingly into my face.

“Tell me you’re my dirty little slut,” he hissed.

My cunt pulsed and my eyes widened. I fucking loved it. I smiled happily back at him as I replied. “I’m your dirty little slut.”

We kissed and stroked each other before he pulled me on top of him and lay back,  running his hands over my still-bare bum. I peppered his mouth with kisses. Even so, he hadn’t quite dominated the mischief out of me. I snuck in a little nip at his lip and he turned stern.

“Don’t think you’re in charge just because I let you be on top.” He warned and I smiled as innocently as I could manage.

It was all a lie, though. I wanted trouble. More than that, I wanted retribution. I wanted him to destroy the impudent little slut I was making of myself. I wanted a reaction. When I went to bite his lip a second time, I got one.

Quicker than I could process, his hand had clutched at my throat and he’d started to propel me backwards at speed. He was strong, oh, I’d forgotten how strong when he wants to be, and I was on my back at his mercy. I wasn’t sure there was any mercy. The whole thing was forceful and fantastic. A hand on my throat was already a weakness of mine, but being pushed about like a ragdoll was more than I could dream of.

Still with my neck in his grasp, his free hand pulled off my short shorts entirely. When they were discarded, he whipped up my tshirt to expose my breasts and then pulled it over my face, letting go so that it covered my head. I’d seen football players do similar to celebrate a goal, but this had none of the roaring stupidity and was all shame and sex and submission. I could still see slightly through the thin fabric, but my head was tilted upwards and away from Crush and any movement would dislodge the tshirt, making me effectively bound like this. I liked not being able to see what he was doing. I wanted to be his thing.

He pulled my legs up and pushed himself inside me roughly, making me gasp in pleasure. He took my hands and placed them atop my breasts, using them to lean on, pushing his weight down on me and making me squeeze and massage myself as he pounded me. I was his toy, his slut and he was showing me what he could do, showing me punishment, using me for his pleasure. He was in control and I was his to fuck and abuse, his to thrust his cock into, to spill his seed into, to force to come.

I felt filled with a strange sort of energy and my body tingled with feeling as my mind reeled in submission. When we came together, it was only the icing on the cake. ♦