Ask and Receive

I got to the room first. Turned on soft music. Lit a couple of candles. Was just beginning to undress when he called to say he was running late. I pouted, stripped, flopped down on the bed and kicked my feet like a 2 year old, and then began writing a text message to him. An explicit one, detailing exactly what I wanted when he walked in the door. Step by step by step. I figured it was a good way to kill time and keep him driving with a painful hard-on.

“You know, I’ve always had a fantasy of being turned, naked, over the knee of a fully dressed man. Spank me with a slow, heavy hand. Then swift and sharp.”

I heard the card in the door and the latch and the familiar surge of excitement rushed through me. Reclining on the bed, I watched him stride over to the window to adjust the air in the room (he’s always hot. I’m always cold.) and then turn and grasp my hand and pull me over to the chair in the corner and across his lap. His heavy slap sent a shock through my system, my heart rate tripled as he slowly, methodically, warmed my bare bottom with strong, burning slaps. I felt the heat and moisture building at my core and a lethargy that accompanies lust filter through my veins. He was doing just as I asked and it made me a little giddy. The spanking suddenly changed, three quick – heavy – stinging spanks to one spot, a brief pause, three to another. The pain escalated and I threw a hand back to stop him for a second, to catch my breath. He moved my hand, and continued the quick, flat handed blows, and I tried to wiggle away, tried to stem the distressed noises I heard myself making, tried to remember I’d asked for this. He spanked me a little longer than I expected, long enough to remind me who was in charge, who owned me, who would decide when I’d had enough. He released me and I fell to my knees and was immediately wrapped in his strong arms. I clung to him tightly until I could catch my breath again, stunned, weak with desire, a little awestruck at his nerve.

“Tongue me lightly, enter me gently, let me get used to your size, then fuck me deeply, slowly.”

He tossed me on the bed and began to undress. I could feel the sheets under my ass and they seemed too rough, too coarse. My skin throbbed and burned. Splendidly naked, muscled, furred, purely masculine, he began an assault on my clit that left me quivering and moaning. When he entered me so slowly, so carefully, I could feel myself pulsing hotly around him, and I wrapped my legs and arms and pulled him in as deeply as I could.

“Then flip me over and fuck me hard, and fast, and furious.”

He pulled back and lifted my legs, standing at the edge of the bed and slamming against me – forcing breathless cries and overpowering my senses. Flipping me over, he fucked me on the edge of the bed, fiercely as I’d asked, bouncing off my ass with the movements of a piston. Moving me further up in the bed, he pulled me to my knees, pressed my back down to the bed and continued slapping wetly in and out of me. I eventually found myself lying prone, with my ass pointed up and his engorged and enormous cock filling and fucking me. When his orgasm hit, it was explosive, nearly violent, and powerful. His guttural sounds of release excited and thrilled me.

Turning me over, he moved to the apex of my thighs and latched onto me with a hot, searching mouth, bringing me swiftly to my peak. And not letting go until he’d taken me taken even higher, I’d lost count of the number of orgasms from the night before and that morning, but I left him feeling weak, blissfully used, sweetly sore, and fiercely loved. As only he could make me feel. As only he had ever made me feel.