D sent me the link to this story a few hours before he was due to come and visit that evening. We hadn't spent the night together for a couple of weeks, but during that time had met up a couple of times during the day. The most recent lunch hour had involved delicious kisses, some quality snuggles and no small amount of horny talk whispered into my ear. I went away purring and molten, eager for the chance to take him up on both threats and promises.
After an extended two-week tease, it was delicious to have that desire re-awakened when he sent me the link that morning. Reading that story and knowing he was thinking about doing all those things to me and more, my desire to see him became even more urgent.
A miscommunication when he arrived threw things off course a bit, although we made it up relatively quickly. I wasn't initially sure whether our evening plans would recover from the stumble; once I'd calmed down I was ready and willing to pick up where we'd left off, but I wasn't sure if he would bounce back so quickly. I hoped that he would.
He was sitting on my kneeling chair, looking something up on my computer or his phone - I'm not sure. I knelt by the chair and rested my head in his lap. Deep breathing, feeling his warmth, the calm and comfort of being together in that unspoken but intimate way. He stroked my hair absently, and then he put his phone down and kissed me properly. I was kneeling still, yearning upwards towards him with my whole body; his hands lightly caressing me, running fingers down my spine, slipping around my side to ever-so-slightly graze my nipple through the fabric of my dress.
I thrilled with happiness; my whole body was singing with love and desire for him. Everything was okay. The power exchange in the energy coursing between us was definite and palpable, but I wasn't constrained by formal expectations - our flirtation involves giggling, in-jokes and usually a bad pun or two. At one point in our banter he deliberately misinterpreted what I'd just said (I can't remember the context - and amusingly, having just asked him, neither can D - he might have said "Are you saying I'm fat?") and I replied with somewhat uncharacteristic cheek: "If I say yes, will you beat me?"
He thought for a second. "Yes," he decided.
I grinned at him. "... Well, in that case, yes."
He kissed me again lustfully, and indicated with pointed tugs at my garment that he wanted it removed. I shrugged it off over my head; my knickers he had dispensed with on the balcony an hour or so previously. (A kiss, mere feet away from the customers below us; him sliding a hand over my rump and expressing startlement at discovering a panty line; him reaching under my dress and slowly pulling them down, looking into my eyes the whole time; me wondering if he was going to bend me over the railing or slip a hand between my legs right then and there - but no, just a kiss to melt me and a cheeky grin as he tweaked my dress straight and pocketed my underwear.)
Then a disarmingly gorgeous smile from him as he jerked a thumb at the bed. His wordless dominance style always makes me feel flustered and self-conscious, nervous chatter dying on my lips as I blush and follow his sardonic, gestured instructions.
On the bed, he arranged me on my knees, bent me over so my cheek was pressed against the duvet. My knees were tucked underneath me so that my rear end was bent double and hopelessly exposed. My wrists were folded behind my back and tied with soft black rope. I whimpered a little, tilting my head as I was forced to use my face for balance. He spanked me a little with the palms of his hands, each stinging slap eliciting a squeak from me, half-pleased, half-fearful. I desperately wanted to ease the angle to make the skin on my arse less stretched and vulnerable, close the exposed gap between my cheeks and legs, but I didn't dare move. He wanted me there, and I wanted to please him.
He had the belt in his hand. I remember it slapping against my arse, not too hard at first, the sting warming first to a glow, then a burn. Bent over like that my bottom felt desperately vulnerable, and I was terrified that the tip of the belt would land in my crease, but it never did. I stayed as still as I could, the duvet smothering my moans.
When I was aroused and lightheaded from sensation and obedience, he helped me to kneel up. I was unsteady, shifting my weight. My hands tucked neatly behind my back, secure in their bonds, all of me open and responsive, trusting him absolutely but heart pounding with anticipation. My ankle is pretty much healed now, but kneeling, especially on a squishy surface like my goose-feather duvet, still makes it twinge, and I whispered to him that I might have to ask to move if it got too much. He nodded. I spread my knees a little and met his eyes. And he raised the belt to whip my breasts...
I was already melting as the first stroke landed. Too light; it bounced off me. My breath caught but I maintained eye contact. His green eyes seemed omniscient as he returned my gaze, full of promise and reward. I couldn't help shutting mine as the belt snapped again, harder now, catching my nipples, making the small weight of my breasts bounce under the leather. I groaned and arced my body, obediently maintaining my vulnerability, my cunt gushing at the thought of having my breasts whipped but the rest of me flinching at every stroke.
I was rewarded, then, for my obedience: his hand trailed down my body and found the soaking wetness between my legs; his fingertips grazing my erect clit and starting to massage it gently. I strained towards him even more, closing my eyes and letting the sensations engulf me. It took a little while for me to come but when I did I came hard. I bore down on his hand and he pushed two fingers inside me, letting me rock my hips against his hand and wrist. My breasts and throat were flushed pink and my nipples were throbbing. Did his other hand wrap around my throat, then? I'm not sure; it would explain the intensity with which I ground myself against his fingers, cried out and came again.
After that I wanted nothing more than to go down on him, and he let me with pleasure. I knelt forward, off-balance, almost falling onto his cock. I felt tousled and limp, putty in his hands. He pulled the foreskin back for me; I managed to restrain myself enough to twist my tongue around the head of his cock, tease him by flicking my tongue against his frenelum. Then both our patience gave out and he sank his cock into my mouth with a grunt. I opened to him, letting him slide past the sensitive point in my throat, relaxing to take him all in. We subsided on the bed until we were spooning back to front, his hands cupping my head as he fucked my face. Then he knelt up over me, thrusting deep into my throat a couple of times before withdrawing and letting me lick his balls. I pleasured them enthusiastically, loving the rich scent and taste of him, the noises he made. I drew my tongue along the crease between his legs and tongued his hole, teasing his most sensitive place with tiny licks, slipping the tip of my tongue inside and feeling his muscles relax and welcome me.
By then we were both more than ready to fuck. He tipped me onto my back, hands pinned beneath me, and pulled my ankles onto his shoulders. I felt so hot and helpless, writhing on top of my bound wrists, body displayed and vulnerable. He positioned himself between my legs and gave me a long look of lust and love. I desperately wanted his cock inside me, and he obliged with a single, hard thrust -
- but despite my wetness, immediately the wrong sort of pain made me grimace. Recent gynae problems had left me sorer than I'd realised, and I felt the fragile skin tear slightly as he entered me. "You okay?" he asked as I winced, and I had to tell him that the angle wasn't working for me. "Shame," he whispered, "you look so pretty all bound and helpless," and I shared his regret, longing for the intensity of eye-contact as he fucked me.
But he flipped me over, and pounded me as hard as I could wish for, while I tipped face-first into the bed and gasped and screamed, coming again and again until I lost all ability to balance and the duvet was smothering me for real. "I can't breathe!" I managed to gasp - and he grabbed hold of the rope holding my wrists and hauled me backwards; seized my hair and held me up like a marionette. I bounced underneath his thrusts, utterly helpless, sobbing and overwhelmed as he rode me to his own orgasm.
Afterwards: sweat, kisses, laughter; he rested his forehead on my back and trailed loving fingers on my skin, not wanting the closeness of our contact to lessen. I made jokes about doing this on a hard wood floor next time, where I wouldn't be accidentally smothered. I could feel a swelling soreness in my cunt from the rough friction but I hadn't torn again, and the pain was worth every moment of pleasure.
In any case, when I'm suspended in his control like that, the two are very hard to tell apart.
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