“AGAIN!” I growled at Leigh, the bend of her knees locked tightly in the crook of my elbows. I spread her legs to the point of no give, opening them wide as fuck below my primal thrusts into the liquid silk that is her pussy. Her face, flushed with blood, wretched again. Her mouth, that sexy fucking mouth, was agape with effort to breathe. Her widened eyes, a thunderstorm of emotion, screamed at me. Yes, eyes can scream. Especially when that sexy little mouth has been told to shut the fuck up or I’d stop right…before…she…
I live for this fucking moment.
She can’t stop having orgasms. Can not. Well, that’s not really accurate. Not allowed to stop coming is far more in line with what I do to Leigh when I have her like this. And it started all so innocently, so tenderly.
It was really all her fault.
I mean, what red blooded man could resist the sight of a curvaceous, alabaster skin vision wearing nothing except a dark T-shirt that was one size too small? Her 44DD breasts (thank you, thank you, you’re too kind) made mockery of the print on the shirt, their firm shadows from the candles at the head of our bed a hint of the treasures hidden underneath. Her blue eyes whispered in the warm light “C’mer…” as she lay on her side, a leg bent to feign modesty as well as celebrate those luscious hips.
And those curled auburn locks, just for me? Well, my clothes just flew right off at the sight of all of this.
The next 10 to 15 minutes were spent with my mouth in some way, shape or form on those curves. Dry kissing the crest of her hips. Butterfly kissing that sweet, sweet valley where thigh adjoins torso. Dry teeth scraping across taut skin. An occasional introduction of my hot, wet tongue to the softened cheeks of her ass. My hands and fingers roamed where I could reach. Fingernails softly raking her leg from ass to ankle. The calf is a very under rated erogenous zone, by the way. My other hand applying the same kind of ministrations to her arm as it lay resting on her side, the goosebumps as good an indicator of arousal as any vaginal fluids or scent.
I played her frame like a blind man would a piano. I wasn’t looking at her. I was experiencing her.
But the tune crescendoed quickly from See Minor to D Major. As in Dominate. When He comes out to play. When He smells wet cunt. When its time to feed His voracious appetite for submission.
It started with that last drag of fingernails down her arm. As they danced in little circles on her wrist bones like children at recess I opened my hand and slowly, but firmly, grasped her wrist. She instinctively tried to pull away. She just knew…
Aside – I’ll take this moment to remind you, the reader, that we use safe words. I insist on them. The standard “traffic light” ones of “Yellow” (slow down, be more careful) and “Red” (play is over NOW). So as you read on, please remember that Leigh, in reality, has all the fucking power. One word stops everything immediately. Thats power.
I love when she tries to fight back, to try to save her dignity, her pride, her womanhood. Its so…..cute in a frantically pathetic way. Plus it arouses the fuck out of me. She pulls, pushes, writhes on the black comforter, squealing softly.
That usually signifies the beginning of her end. The noises. You’d think by now she’d know that when she whimpers and squeals it drives me wild? She’d be so much better off being silent. She’s only making this worse….
… or better. Oh, so much fucking better.
She makes this one protesting sound that I adore. Its a two tone whimper that starts low and gains an octave as she tries to convince herself that what is happening is not arousing the fuck out of her but that she is a good girl who is not turned on by becoming my personal cock slut.
I had her on her back now, a wrist gripped tightly in each hand as it was pinned onto the down comforter. Her legs kicked frantically but all to avail as I positioned myself between her thighs, my painfully engorged erection inches from her glistening cunt. She knows exactly what is going to happen next….
…and she loves it.
Pulling myself up into a missionary stance, I brought her arms down to her hips. Releasing her wrist, I slid my right arm under her left leg and reestablish my death grip on her arm. Then the same motion with my left arm. Her legs were now tucked nicely in the bend of my muscular arms, her arms actually providing a counter to pull against. Its delicious how vulnerable and helpless she is at this very moment. The very moment right before I ease the head of my swollen cock up to the water works her pussy has become and slowly slide it in, balls deep, in one stroke.
Her moan, so primal in its lust, betrays what she just won’t admit to herself. That, deep down inside, below the prim and proper facade of daily life, she is a fucking cock slut. And I love to bring her out to play.
The position she is in gives my erection full and almost painfully deep access to her cunt, especially her cervix and G spot. The top of my shaft massages both of these insanely sensitive tissue masses with each stroke. It won’t take long now until I start to feel her build towards that first orgasm. Thats all we need is that first one. After that its Wet Spot City, population 2.
I know her well enough to feel her vaginal walls start to engorge with arousal. Now is when I focus visually on her face and vocally on her spirit. Its when I start to talk dirty to her. Nasty. Filthy. Street trash. The words rain on her pride like a July cloud break, all hot, wet and steamy. I call her names, tease her, prompt her, urge her on, ask her to come for me, to come like a fucking animal, a cheap whore…
… a cock slut. No, MY cock slut.
Her face is a masterpiece of erotic stimulation. Every thrust, each curse brings her closer and closer. I know she is so close. So. Fucking. Close.
Thats when I drop the hammer and growl at her along the lines of “DAMN IT, COME NOW YOU FUCKING COCK SLUT!”…
… and she does. Like a freight train hitting a lake. Its beautiful.
At this point my hips are usually drenched in her juices. Yes, she is a squirter. I taught her how. This drives her crazy. She fucking hates when this happens. She can’t control it. She is no longer in control of her body, of her sexuality, of her soul.
I am. And its the most precious gift she shares with me – the total surrender of her ability to control her body’s own reactions to stimuli of all kinds. Be it physical, audible, intangible, optical, she is under sexual duress from all of them. And she can’t stop squirting.
Again. And again. And again.
I can make her come within seconds of when I choose for her to come. There is rest involved as we stop fucking to allow breath to slow and heart rates to drop, but it all begins anew, and the dance continues. After a few of these come on command interludes she will start to shake her head wildly side to side, sobbing and pleading for no more orgasms.
After a few more for her and then my selfish climax all over her, we collapse in a heap of spent lust.
If you ever come over to our house a word of advice – don’t use the hand towels in the bottom left cabinet drawer. Just trust me on this.
Staggered (literally) trips to the bathroom, a single focused exhale on the candles, and we lie there in the dark content as fuck. Small talk, some laughs, many sighs and deep exhales. A gentle kiss to remind her she’s My lady and that I never take her for granted, even when I take her against her will.