I woke up. Sa’afia had rolled over so that she faced me, but she was a little further to her side of the bed. She wasn’t touching me. I needed to piss. I didn’t want to disturb her. I wondered if I could go back to sleep and piss when it was daylight. Then I stopped wondering: no. 

So I tried to remember where the toilet was. And what was on the bedroom floor between the bed and the door. Once I’d closed the door behind me, I could at least turn a passage light on. If I could find the switch. 

The change in my breathing, while I thought these things, stirred Sa’afia. She said, “Ah? Oh, falopa.” She said ‘falopa’ in the high, kind voice you use to entice a child, or a cat. She was pleased to find me in her bed. “Not morning, is it?” 

I kissed her, and said, “Not morning. Bladder.” 

Sa’afia said, “wha?” But she didn’t let go of the kiss. She scootched over to me so our bodies touched, and, while I reacted to her closeness, she put her right thigh on my hip. Her cunt, wet with me, and my cock, wet with her, were almost touching, and we knew it. The bladder issue went away. Maybe there are guys who can piss with an erection, but I’m not one of them. Anyway, I was thoroughly distracted.

I pushed her down and pushed into her in one movement. Sa’afia raised her legs and wrapped them round my waist. I thought we might be delicate with each other this time since it expressed some things I felt, and I thought she might like the change from our earlier sex. But when I paused for a second, buried deep in her, she made that grunting noise she’d made when I’d fucked her over her chair. She wasn’t looking for gentle. So we weren’t.

Later I padded down the corridor to the second door to the right in the corridor. I saw my face in the bathroom mirror. My hair was soaked with sweat, but try as I might I couldn’t make myself look haggard. For no good reason I laughed at myself, loud enough for Sa’afia to hear. She yelled, “Yo, come back to bed now, palagi!”

I’d realised that I’d have to smack her for that. And then I’d have to fuck her. But I obeyed. A bed with Sa’afia in it was a good place to be. It was odd, opening the door again, with Sa’afia in the darkness,having pushed the sheets off to show that she knew that a bed with her in it was the best place to be. I was happy. 

We cuddled under the covers. Eventually Sa’afia turned her back and jammed her ass  tight against me. My cock wet with her juices, her bottom hot with my … cruelty. But I was spent. 

I reached around her and took a breast in my hand. Sometimes I squeezed. 

I heard a sound from the pillow under her head, a tiny sound at the edge of my hearing. I leaned over. She was smiling. I kissed her ear and her jaw line, and dropped back, resting my head on the same pillow. I breathed air and strands of black hair. Her body smelled of cocoanut oil and spices, and her cunt smelled of sex. And of me. Her hair smelled of apple-scented shampoo. 

Sa’afia pressed her ass against me again, and made lazy fucking movements. She chuckled. “Good night,” I said.

The wicker chair. Dedicated to discomfort.

Sa’afia bent over the back of her wicker armchair. She kept a blanket thrown over it so it was comfortable for her sit at, beside her window. I’d dropped that on the floor before pushing her over the back, hand on the back of her neck till her head pressed on the chair cushion. I wanted the wicker weaving to mark her belly while I fucked her. 

I’d joined her and we’d fucked with urgency. The chair had moved across the room and only stopped once its front feet were pressed against the wall. Sa’afia’s sides ran with sweat. Most of the sweat was mine. 

Despite the furious tension in our bodies Sa’afia’s hands hung limply on either side of the chair. After a period of bdsm-ish intensity I usually want the sex to bring my partner and me closer to equality. Joined, we start to move from dominant and submissive to something gentler. The submissive may regain rights – to speak, for example – that I might have been taken away during the session.

This was different. I’d felt that Sa’afia didn’t want to leave her new place yet. She was enjoying submission, and her awareness of herself, doing things that only submissives do. So I’d told her that she was to keep the top of her head in the pillow, and to let her hands hang down. If I saw her move her head or her hands, I’d said, I’d be disappointed in her. By that stage in her surrender that was a harsher threat than any physical punishment I could promise.   

But comfort wasn’t the point

But the muscles of her spread thighs were taut, and her welted ass blazed heat back at me. She’d been breathing hard, like an exhausted runner, but now here were deeper noises, grunts from inside her. I hadn’t heard those sounds before. They were sex, desperation and a kind of determination.

Sa’afia was about to come. It’s a moment I like. It’s the moment that I can recall, in living detail.

And then I shouted too. So was I.  

Tableau 3: Sa’afia lay on her belly, hands still tied, cunt still stressed, just inside her lips, by two tight strips of soaked silk. I had three fingers in that silk-lined and sensitive cunt, while with my other hand I spanked her, quite hard, in time with the movement of her hips. Her bottom rose to meet my hand, and, freshly stung, fell again to stretch the silk and press herself onto that glistening knot just below her clitoris.

She was working on her orgasm, and we both knew that she was one movement, or at most three or four, from going over. Her breathing was fierce and fast. But the instant I remember is the second before she came.

She looked up at me, washed in sweat, and there was terror in her eyes.

The orgasm she was building was too big. It was like surfing and finding, just as the wave was going to break, that it was as high as an office block.  

I know that a second after I’d seen her fear I’d said to her something like, “I’m holding you, love. You’ll be fine.”

After I’d spoken, Sa’afia screamed and came. Not because of what I’d said.But she screamed again, and her contractions felt like they were going to break my fingers.

But the vivid memory isn’t her orgasm. it’s that look of fear and amazement at her own sensations, and her nervousness about letting go as hard as she wanted to.

That moment stuck, with the sounds and smells, and the discomfort of my left hand cramped wetly in her cunt, and my right hand warm from smacking her.

But it’s that terrified look that fixed that instant in time. The eyes have it.

2  Sa’afia had put her wrists together behind her back. I’d told her to. She liked obeying very easy orders. I’d wrapped two old silk ties – nice fabric, but unfashionable cut, so they were only good for low-budget bondage – round both wrists, then round each wrist, with a non-slip knot. I took the long ends and slipped them down between her buttocks, then between her thighs, pulling them tight against her cunt.

Sa’afia had pressed and rubbed the silk, breathing hard, until the ties disappeared between plump lips. I’d smacked her bottom as a kind of reward, and told her to get her ass up. While she complied, making a rounded tripod of her chest and her parted knees, with her ass at the apex, I’d run the ties under her.

It wasn’t quite like this. She was prone, not sitting. But the emotion is right, and it’s a pretty picture anyway.

The moment at which this memory still is centred is when her fingers felt for mine while I tied the silken ends together.

The silk, where it re-appeared below her cunt, was already wet. She smelled of arousal, and cocoanut oil and soap and spices, a red spice I couldn’t name. She had turned her head so her eyes were on me. I amused her, I think, just then, but she didn’t smile. 

1  Sa’afia lay long and strong across my knee. She wasn’t being spanked. She expected to be, since she’d asked so sweetly to be punished. I couldn’t remember what it was that I was supposed to be punishing her for. It didn’t matter because I knew Sa’afia didn’t remember either, and she wasn’t going to ask me. Anyway, she’d expect that if she asked I’d be sure to punish her for forgetting.

She wasn’t a remotely silly or gullible person, but in that moment she believed that I knew everything important about what was happening, that I was in charge, and that all was well in the world because I cared for her and was just. 

She could feel that way because it was a sexy thing to think, and because she could rationally know that if I could help it I’d do nothing to shatter that faith.

Her ass was raised a little, not to much to invite the spanking she expected but because I had the lips of her cunt held firmly between my right thumb and forefinger. I had to hold and squeeze very hard, because she was very wet. She was getting wetter, demanding a tighter grip. Her buttocks trembled slightly, with the effort she put into being still.

She’d drawn in her breath and was still holding it because a few seconds ago I had twisted her lips hard to the right, as if they were a key, before relaxing back to vertical. She was expecting another twist. She was not wrong.