Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s orgasm

Maddie said nothing. She could enjoy whatever was to come, but what happened or how it happened was not her concern. I put lube, more that seemed possible, on my condommed cock, then put my hands on her ass and opened her a little. The moment she knew she was to be taken anally was the moment my cock pressed against her little ring.

She said, “O”, teeth still holding the cane. I pushed forward into her, slowly but in one long movement. Maddie didn’t breathe. I stopped, then, my belly tight against her buttocks, my cock throbbing deep inside her. My body was shaking with the pleasure of it. 

I’d intended to fuck her hard and fast, refusing her permission to come, but something in her acquiescence called to me.

She was submitting deeply. She was being a good girl. So I fucked her ass hard, but less brutally than I’d planned. Maddie rolled her hips with my movements, holding my cock tight, keeping me deep inside her.

Her breath sped up, after we’d rocked together for some time, and so I sped up too, pumping her hard and feeling my orgasm collecting, building, at the base of my spine.

I reached under her to stroke her cunt, and we moved hard, bodies joined, until she came, squealing and yowling like a fucked cat.

I said, “good girl, good girl,” over and over, while she came. It was the first time I’d praised her since this morning, though she’d worked all day to obey and please me.

Later I dragged out the spare matters from the sick room, and we piled up sheets and [illows and lay together, a girl and her master.

Companionably. 

 

 

Voice of the thunder

Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronn-tuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk

That’s what the thunder said. You know that.

It had been the hottest, most oppressive day you can imagine. The sky absolutely still, the temperature far too high and the humidity close to 100 per cent. You felt you could reach for a handful of air and squeeze it like a sponge. I was at my desk in just my underpants, trying to write, with sweat running down my body. 

Then, finally the clouds arrived, speeding like the Seventh Cavalry, like a huge black blanket being towed by a speeding car. The rain came. It was a tropical downpour, with water drops as big as golf balls.

I heard a whoop from the other office; Therese, my houseguest. A few seconds she ran into my office, wearing a summer shirt, a bra and knickers. She grabbed my shoulder, leaned down and kissed me. “Let’s get the fuck out into this!”

“I’m Thor!” Lady Therese, goddeth of the thunder

So we ran out into my front yard, and her shirt was instantly soaked, clinging transparent to her skin. We squealed and yowled, running circles round each other and dancing at each other, furiously, stamping on the grass so the rain jumped, all energy and no grace. It was pagan enough.

Then the lightning struck; the thunder spoke only two seconds later.

The lightning bolt was only a couple of kilometres away. In lightning terms that’s right on top of you. The next bolt hit a tree on the property next door. The thunder was so fast, and close and loud that we both ducked, involuntarily.

Therese grabbed my arms and rolled down onto her back, pulling me down with her. On top of her. I pulled her shirt away from her body, and pushed her bra up, round her neck. She lifted her hips, so I shoved her knickers down to her knees, and put my foot into the gusset, pushing them the rest of the way down and off.

I said, “Um, I didn’t pack any condoms. Must have left them in my other underpants. I’ll- ”

She grabbed my shoulder again. “I’m still bleeding. You don’t mind a bit of blood, do you?”

“Fuck no.” That was the answer she expected. Years ago, when I started university, she’d been the first girl to cover my cock in her menstrual blood, so she knew I had no objection. (Though when I’d seen myself in the bathroom mirror post-fuck, that first time, with my cock covered in girl-gore, looking like it’d been in a car crash, I’d found that a bit of a shock. But I got used to it, and I’d never told her that.)

That skin feeling

“So you’re not going to get me pregnant. Fuck me. You can come in me.”

There were urgencies involved, so I said nothing and slipped my cock into warm, viscous cunt. We held each other and fucked, rolling each other over and over in the rain, with the lightning crashing around us, and the air we were in flashing into brilliance, and the thunder roaring.

Her cunt and my cock, sharing body territory, were wet and slippery, and because we’d started hard and fast, and continued faster, it was only a few minutes before I shouted something wordless, and made that space even wetter and more slippery. 

She shouted for me not to stop, so I stayed, still pumping furiously, hoping she’d come while I still hard. And she screamed, water pummelling her opened mouth, and she drew her knees up, since she was on her back at that stage. She wrapped her legs round me. We lay in the grass, gasping, while the rain poured onto us, not so much in drops but as if someone was tipping out baths and 40 gallon drums of warm water onto us. 

Thunderstorm fetish? Maybe.

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Taking my Leda: the Swan’s tale

Leda lay face down over a pillow, ass upraised,

Fresh and pinkly paddled, human, dangerously beautiful.

(Danger? I could get lost in there.) My talons scratch

Down the backs of her thighs, slapping brutally,

Then tightening to possess her athlete’s relaxed

Softness. I pull her thigh closer, to open her,

Hard cock yearning at the soft, sweet, sea-shelled clasp

Of her cunt. I knead my human girl.

 

leda from behindShe makes that short, low moan that drives me to hold

And hurt her, and I must put my knees between hers,

A feathered god mounting his mortal. My bone-like need

Thrusts forward. She engulfs me in her universe.

I gasp amazed and wordless love, awed by unity,

Then I take my girl and she takes my divinity.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 72: Sisterhood is powerful 2

Then my brain came back on. This is how I get into trouble. I moved my hand up to the small of Dorabella’s back, where it could be affectionate and non-sexual. I kissed her cheek. “Um. Bellie, I better say goodnight.”

Her face had reddened nearly as much as Raylene’s ass. “I guess you better. Are you really going to strap Raylene again in the morning?”

eversocaned1“Not the strap. I’m going to cane her. For being rude to Lynette.”

“Christ. I should be horrified. But … well, she was a brat during dinner. Give her one for me.”

I should have left on that note.

But it was a generous concession from Bellie, and I was happy not to be a monster any more. So I kissed her mouth. She opened her mouth and we explored each other’s tongues and teeth, the way we’d done after that party, years ago. Bellie moved her feet apart. I knew that if I put my hands firmly on her ass, she’d lift her legs so I was carrying her. Then we’d fuck. I said, “Bellie. I have to go to bed…”

“And fuck Raylene.”

“Yup. Fucking will happen.”

Bellie sighed again, still in my arms. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ve made a bit of a mess of this. I was wanting to tell you to be careful with Raylene, not try to fuck her … boyfriend.”

“We’re all people. You’re a good person. So’s Raylene. And Lynette, I guess.”

“You’d better think so. If you’re going to cane Raylene for being cheeky to her. Can she listen?”

It takes the male brain 0.05/second to start thinking on those terms. My brain, anyway, I'm afraid. No encouragement seems to be required

It takes the male brain 0.05/second to start thinking on those terms. My brain, anyway, I’m afraid. No encouragement seems to be required

“She can watch, if she likes.” That was my cock, seizing control of my vocal cords. I didn’t expect that Lynette would want to watch a woman being brutalised by the patriarchy.

Bellie probably would, I suspected, but not with her sister. Probably. “Anyway, I try to be good too. So I’d best get the hell out of here and join Raylene. Goodnight, sweetie. And I will take care of her.” 

I let go of Bellie and stood back. She smiled again, a mock-brave smile like a woman waving goodbye to a lover about to join the troops. I managed not to kiss her again. She said, “goodnight. Sir.” 

That was a joke, mocking me and Raylene. I tried not to think about how it would sound if she’d meant it. I said, “Good night. Sleep tight.” 

And I went to Raylene’s bedroom, not sure whether I’d just been heroically self-denying, or just an asshole. 

Frisky business among the Venetian searchlights: Food for Thought Friday

f4tf_button2The Food for Thought Friday people have asked: 

Where is the riskiest/most adventurous place that you have had sex?

Did you get caught?

 

My answer:

Richard Wagner died in his rooms at a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice. The locals, naturally, turned this great historical building, rich in artistic associations, into a casino. 

Wagner's old digs. At night

Wagner’s old digs at night. See the dark area on the second floor, towards the left? We were there

A few years ago I went to the Casino de Venezia with Niamh, a girl I’d met in Dublin. Gambling bores me, and she said she didn’t care about casinos one way or the other. But I wanted to have a look at Wagner’s old rooms, and she came along because we were sharing a bed so we might as well share this too. Also, I’d promised and demonstrated that if she didn’t do as she was told I’d smack her arse. So there was that. She was fond of the hairbrush, in particular.

I guess I should admit that I’d answered her ad on Fetlife, once I realised I was going to be in Ireland for a while, so even before we’d met we’d both established that Niamh was a girl who liked doing as she was told. And getting a smacked arse. Anyway, there we both were. Niamh still wore that afternoon’s wonderful summer dress, the top of which was held up mainly by her breasts. I wasn’t so glamorous, since I was in jeans, but at least I had on decent shoes and a jacket. 

Once we were in the top floor I asked a few casino staff where the Wagner rooms were. They didn’t know. They’d never heard of Wagner. If I wanted an explanation of anything you could do with dice and some cards – in public, at least – then they’d be happy to help, but this Wagner fellow … They’d shrug and hold their hands open and empty.

I got annoyed with this, so when I found a closed door I opened it, and when I found a closed curtain I drew it. When I found the back stairs we went down them to the mezzanine floor where Wagner had lived. And died. It turned out that someone had made a Wagner Museum out of Wagner’s old rooms. It was closed of course. Well, it was closed in the sense that it was dark and there was no-one there. But I turned the door handle, and it opened.  

I wondered about security alarms, and decided that I could probably bullshit my way out of trouble if an alarm went off, and I held the door open for her. Then I followed, and after a minute it was clear that if there was an alarm someone had forgotten to switch it on. Italy’s cool like that. 

I moved through the exhibits, feeling a certain mix of excitement and disappointment. Excitement because we’re here, where Wagner lived! And this is his stuff! And disappointment because I’d hoped for some sense of communion and connection. But there wasn’t. There’s his piano, but he’s dead. He’s not here. 

Wagner's Rhinemaidens. They may kill you but it's worth it. Drawing: Arthur Packham (detail)

Wagner’s Rhinemaidens. They may kill you but it’s worth it. Drawing: Arthur Rackham (detail)

But there was a certain kind of homage to the great man when Niamh came back from her exploration. I kissed her, and then pushed her dress down to her waist, so her breasts were bare.

Like a Rhinemaiden’s. Like a Flower Maiden. Then I put light pressure on her shoulders and she sank to her knees, unzipped me and took out my cock. She licked, then kissed my glans, then opened her mouth a little wider. Oddly, it was me who said, “Ahhh.”

So I was standing there, my cock deep in the mouth of a bare-breasted Irish girl, when I heard something. A security guard had walked onto the mezzanine floor. He’d seen us. I put my hands on Niamh’s shoulders and squeezed, to let her feel how pleased I was with her, though my cock was already conveying that information, and to obscure her peripheral vision.

Then I looked at the security guard and shrugged the apologetic Italian shrug. Niamh was still sucking me, oblivious. He considered for a second or two: is a couple having oral sex in the museum likely to steal things? Or are they innocents pursuing innocent and harmless pleasures? He didn’t smile, but he lit a cigarette (yes, I know; it’s an old building) and wandered back to the stairs. 

overthewallLater I pulled out of Niamh’s mouth and took her by the hand. I opened the window out onto the Grand Canal. There was a ledge with a stone barrier. There were also lights lighting up the front of the casino, but they left pools of darkness at the sides of each projector. So that’s where I bent her over, smacked her pretty little ass, and took a condom from my wallet and put it on my cock. And put my cock in her. 

You’d think that was the riskier situation, but it wasn’t. Our view was fantastic, lights and gondolas and vaporetti, and the throng of people, and so was the softness of her cunt and my hardness sliding slowly together, and the gritty stone under her breasts, uncomfortable in the good way, and our urgency slowly building.

It’s a good place to fuck. Venice is a city for lovers, because without us there wouldn’t be the money to pay to preserve all those drowned streets and buildings. So there aren’t many people in Venice, I don’t think, who don’t like the sight of bare breasts joggling while their owner gets pumped from behind.

But they missed out. Even when Niamh and I came, fairly close together, and not completely succeeding in suppressing orgasm noises (we sounded like donkeys coughing), not a soul noticed us. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 68: What is humiliation, anyway?

Bellie brought us tea and chocolate biscuits, smirking like the sort of girl who isn’t embarrassed when she’s winning at Monopoly. I suppose she was pleased to see that Raylene was relaxed and happy. At the same time, a sister can also be quite pleased with the knowledge that her younger sister has just had her arse thoroughly smacked.  

Bellie said she and Lynette had found moussaka in the freezer, and they’d expect us down for dinner in about half an hour. Then she said Raylene was a bad girl, and I was a bad man, though for different reasons. She waved at us, but perhaps just me, pausing at the door just before she left.

Raylene still sprawled on her back on her pile of pillows, looking like the Venus de Milo, all pampered but without arms. She looked at me. “She’s just jealous.”

tied handsI wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t to discuss Bellie with her sister just then. I said, “Just a second,” and rolled her onto her side. Her hands were still tied, her arse still gloriously, tomato-ey red. I smacked her again so that she made a protesting noise.

Then she decided that she wasn’t allowed to protest, and fell silent. I said, “Good girl,” again, and untied her hands. When she’d righted herself and relaxed against her pillows again I passed a mug of tea.

Raylene grinned, not nicely. “Bellie’s always thought you were hers.”

I frowned. That had to mean that Bellie had talked about our night together, and that Raylene had known things about me when we met in the kitchen. Sisters are competitive. I thought again about that moment she’d come close to me and pulled her jersey up to show me her tattoo. And her creamy body. Then I pushed the thought aside. It had happened, and whatever Raylene’s motivations had been, I was happy with the outcome. And she seemed to be too.

stairssmackInstead I said, “Is that why you didn’t move, on the stairs. When Bellie and Lynette came home?”

Raylene looked at me as if I’d said something extraordinary. “No. You hadn’t told me to move.”

“Ok. But if you were on the road and a car was coming, you wouldn’t wait for me to tell you to move.”

“Well, I guess not. But that’s different. I don’t want to get run over.”

“But you did want – . Ah. Never mind.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” I passed her a chocolate biscuit.

So I’d learned two things. One was why Raylene and I had moved so fast. I hadn’t been as firmly in the driving seat as I’d thought. Raylene had had her own impetus too. The other thing I’d learned – 

That isn't Photoshop, by the way; just an unfeasibly large spoon

That isn’t Photoshop, by the way; just an unfeasibly large wooden spoon

I now knew that if I ordered Raylene to go down to the kitchen naked to fetch me a wooden spoon, she’d think that was hot. If I said that while she was down there she’d explain to Lynette, say, that we needed it for me to spank her arse with, then that would be hotter. And if I said she’d have to wait down there till I came down and spanked her in the kitchen,I’d find her there red-faced, but also  a hot, wet and needy girl.

I couldn’t actually do it, of course, because it wouldn’t be right to use Bellie and Raylene, without their consent, as props for a sexual adventure between Raylene and me.

But I did know what Raylene’s reaction would be, to exhibiting herself like that. It would be … positive.

And that knowledge gave me some clues about how I was going to deal with her guilt and my disapproval about her time with that gang of boot boy dickheads. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 67: The neighbours don’t learn my name

We’d been stuck there four months since the last post in this story, Raylene and I. I lay on my back in Raylene’s bed, with a stack of pillows under my head and shoulders, while was on her knees further down the bed, hands behind her back, her head bobbing industriously. She looked intent, when I glimpsed her face. Serious-minded. 

suckI was happy to be there, being served, my orgasm building but in no hurry. But Raylene’s sister Dorabella (“Bellie”) had promised to make us cups of tea, which would give her and maybe her friend Lynette an excuse to come into the room. Raylene would probably enjoy that, but I wouldn’t.

That set me an orgasm deadline. I should come before the Tea Invasion, if I wanted to come at all. That meant there was no way I’d come in Raylene’s mouth in the time it takes to make a cup of tea, especially now that the deadline was there to distract me.

So I pulled Raylene off by her hair and manhandled her onto her back roughly where I’d been lying, so she could rest her tied hands in the pile of pillows. I slapped her outer thigh to show that I wasn’t really a considerate man, and growled, “Legs up, Raylene. I want your heels pointing at the ceiling.”

Raylene was wriggling to get her tied hands comfortable. She frowned. “Um…  You mean … You mean my toes? Sir?”

“No. Heels. Get your legs straight up. You’ll have to stretch a bit. This is what razor strops are for, so I’d suggest you try hard.” 

Raylene raised her legs, knees as straight as she could hold them, trying to comply. She lifted her ass a little way above the sheet. I think her heels were higher than her toes. I smiled, unreasonably pleased with her. “Good girl. Now put your feet about a metre apart.”

legs upRaylene said, “I don’t think I can hold this for – ” But I put my hand on her mouth, and my body between her thighs. Her ass dropped back to the bed under my weight, but she kept her legs up. She was breathing hard. I lined my cock against her beautiful slippery cunt, and leaned forward. 

I took my hand away, and Raylene said, “onnhh, yeah,” as I filled her. When I was buried in her all the way, she looked up at me, searching for something in my face. Usually I’d smile and say something affectionate at that moment, but this wasn’t going to be that kind of fuck.

I dropped my head, bit her jawline just below her ear, and lost myself in her hair, paying her face no further attention. I put my hands under her to cup her ass – still blazing heat from the razor strop – and hold her tight against me while I fucked her.

She still held her legs up while I claimed her and re-claimed her as hard and roughly as I could, chasing my orgasm down. At some stage I discovered that her bed, which had seemed sturdy, rocked if you were violent enough. The headboard started bashing the wall in a loud and unmistakeable rhythm. 

I sped up, and Raylene wailed painfully loud in my ear. I hadn’t expected her to come, but clearly she was seconds away. I couldn’t decipher what she was wailing, except that it included the word “sir”.

So the neighbours weren’t going to learn my name, just a title. Raylene’s sexual screaming set them some puzzles. 

legs less upA few seconds later I breathed, “yeah.” It was at once encouragement and permission for her to come again, and warning that I was about to do the same. Coming in Raylene was like falling, in slow, sweet comfort in a warm, wet and weightless world.

She brought her legs down, without permission, and rested her feet on my arse, enfolding me. Her face contorted and she moved her head back as far she could. And she screamed, uninhibitedly. “Sir” again. I liked it. 

afterwardsFor a time, in the afterwards, we did nothing, had nothing to say. Eventually I kissed her neck and let her take all of my weight while we puffed and panted together. She caressed me with her thighs. Her hands were still tied, but she made no complaint about that. I left it.

Someone said, “Hmm.” It wasn’t either of us. The door edged open.

Mouth to mouth 10: In Qing’s petite cunt

There are things you can’t do, when you’re a Dom about to have sex with a vanilla woman. You can’t whack her arse if she’s awkward or displeases you. You can’t haul her into the position you want her, because a vanilla girl expects to be asked, or at least not pushed and pulled into place like an artist’s dummy. You can’t give her orders or else she’ll get stubborn, not obedient.. 

I’ve developed a style for vanilla fucking that’s unlikely to trigger any sort of anti-bdsm response. I take the lead but every so often I ask for permission. It doesn’t matter what for. I just ask her something from time to time but not so often that it becomes annoying. There are some other things, but that’ll have to be a different post. 

qing outercoursedSo I was on my knees, sliding the underside of my cock along Qing’s slippery and wet groove, while she’d bent double, her knees almost touching her nipples. Qing’s face when she was being pleasured was absurdly happy.

I hadn’t seen that expression on her before. I leaned down and kissed her; it wasn’t something anyone could not do. 

She kissed me back, and then caught my cock with her hand. I stopped, letting her capture me. That’s another difference. In vanilla sex I let that sort of thing pass, but in bdsm sex I’d have been genuinely shocked if a submissive girl had done that. I’ve have pulled her up from the bed and walloped her ass hard, until I figured I’d done enough to make her cry. (The idea is to be fair to women who don’t cry at the same stage when other women are likely to be weeping.)

qing fuckedSo, in a vanilla bed, I let Qing line my cock up so the head pressed against her cunt. I’d intended to tease her longer, but that invitation, and her soft, sleek folds were too much to resist. 

I pushed forward and though she was a tight girl she felt warm and wet around my glans. Qing frowned once, and said, “uh”.

“We’ll be fine. I’ll take care. And let me know if it’s too much.” And, because that seemed vanilla enough for a while, I pushed down on her shoulders so she couldn’t move. I took her nipples in my mouth one by one, and kissed then gently bit. Qing had closed her eyes and stopped breathing, by the time I’d repeated this.

I pushed forward, and though she was still tight on me, she was slickly, sweetly wet. I pulled back a little and pushed forward again, and she clasped my cock warmly, using her vaginal muscles to point out that I was welcome. I slipped forward, the way becoming easier as we joined, until our pelvic bones met, and I was fully lodged in her.

Mouth to mouth 9: In Qing’s bed

Qing was slender with small and perfect breasts and nipples the colour and to some extent the shape of olives. Because of the sheer drabness of the pyjamas, I’d expected to find a huge, thick, metal-reinforced bra under her pyjama top. But if she had one she wasn’t wearing it.

I’d also expected her to close in for a hug, because she’d figure that if we were cuddling she could keep her modesty, since I wouldn’t be able to look at her breasts. So she’d surprised me when she’d stood there, letting me look at her.

Shenzhen in the smog

Shenzhen in the smog

Qing seemed to be an odd mix of mainland Chinese dowdiness and diaspora Chinese sophistication. She’d said that she grew up in Shenzen, a hideous industrial town, Shenzhen, all smoke, rubbish, noise and steel. Then she’d taken the university path as her ticket the hell out of there. That was why her English, and her lack of accent, were so unusually good.

So was the sight of her, waiting bare-breasted for me to show some appreciation. I’d decided that my choices amounted to kissing her nipples, which would be vanilla and possibly a little staid for a girl who seemed to be wanting a bit of adventure, or using my thumb and forefingers to pinch those nipples until her face showed pain and her breathing quickened. While that wouldn’t be boring it could easily be the wrong kind of painful, and slightly annoying. I could annoy my way right out of Qing’s bedroom.

So I put my hands on her hips, with my thumbs inside the pyjama bottoms so that I felt like a mild-ish sexual threat. I leaned forward and kissed her left nipple, adding special effects like sometimes trying to suck her entire breast into my mouth, and sometimes lifting my head so the cold night air caught her wet olive. She whined when I took my mouth away, so I was doing the right thing. 

asian-girl 1I kissed and sucked her breasts for some time, and then turned my face from side to side, letting my teeth graze along her rubber-hard nipples. I glanced up to find Qing’s fiercely concentrating face, eyes closed. 

So I pushed her pyjama bottoms down over her hips. Underneath she turned out to be wearing knickers with a pattern of smiley frogs joining hands and kicking like a chorus line. I ripped them down too. They might have been sexy on a less girly girl than Qing, but on her they were just too much.

Qing sat on her bed, almost naked, with her legs out and her pyjamas bunched below her knees.

I tugged the pyjamas and knickers all the way off, and she lifted her knees to help me. And to present her tiny cunt, between her raised, open thighs. She watched me as I got on my hands and knees and crawled up her white sheets towards that little cunt, like a wolf who sees a baby in the snow. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 65: Of human bondage

cuddleRaylene had turned her back to me and closed her eyes, so I’d pulled a sheet up from the floor and draped it over us, but mostly her, and put an arm round her.

She slept while I watched her, snuggled in close, the heat and feminine roundness of her arse pressed against me.

My cock was still wet with her fluids, comfortable and exhausted. And smug: I remembered Raylene’s screams, and that we’d lost count of her orgasms.

Raylene may have had a similar memory, because she pushed her hips back, making the querulous little moan that babies make when they’re starting to wake up. Her mouth opened and closed as if she was sucking her thumb, and she rubbed her ass against me. Maybe she wanted to let the coolness of my body take some of the heat from her strapped bottom and thighs. Maybe she wanted my cock to wake up and show some interest. Her mouth stopped working on that imaginary thumb, and her breathing relaxed. She was asleep again, but she still undulated her hips, very slowly.

The heat of her skin against my cock reminded me of how we’d spent our afternoon, and thoughts about that got me to semi-erect. So my cock pressed slightly more firmly against her ass, and that tighter contact meant that my cock got harder. And so on. It’s a virtuous circle.

So I began to pump her, my cock sliding along the crevice between her buttocks. Raylene began to move her ass in time with my thrusts. Her eyes were still closed and her breathing was still regular and quiet, but it was obvious that she’d woken and was only pretending to be asleep. So I reached down under the sheet, and stroked her bottom lightly, and then smacked her. She turned and gazed at me, shocked and betrayed.

“I’d be sorry to have woken you. But I didn’t, did I?”

Raylene rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. “I thought you might try to fuck me while I was asleep. I was going to let you win.”

“I’d have to do a fair bit of shoving you about before I could just stick my cock in. Roll you over, get your legs apart, get your ass up, depending on how I’m going to fuck you. And if you – if any woman – looks asleep while that’s going on, then you’re faking. Or you’re drunk or drugged out of your brain, and … Well. Not my idea of a good time.”

“Yeah. Creepy, that shit.”

There was something in her voice. “That’s happened to you?”

“You lie down with boot boys…” She pulled a face. “Can I tell you some other time? Right now it’d be a buzzkill. Sir.”

“Ernfff. Okay, we can talk about it later. Would you like -?”

“What I’d like to do is suck your cock.”

I’d been about to offer to get her a glass of water. But that seemed more interesting. “Well, you’ll have to beg nicely.” 

“Please, Sir, can I… Wait a minute. I have to beg you to be allowed to suck your cock?” 

“Well, you get to serve me. And it’s a very nice cock. But what’s in it for me?” 

Raylene looked at me, astonished. Then she laughed. “Yeah ok-ay. An oldie but a goodie. So, please sir, may I pretty please have the pleasure of sucking your cock?”

“I think so. But I think I’ll have you tied for that.” I looked around her room, not finding what I wanted. “Got any rope? Or cord, maybe?”