Yes

It has been too long, beloved, since I have tasted your submission on my lips.
It has been too long since your eyes have darted from mine, shy and downcast.
It has been too long since you have bitten your lip, your voice an aroused, embarrassed whisper: "Yes, Ma'am".

Your body stretched across mine, across my lap with your hands in the small of your back, wringing nervously but your cock warm and half-hard trapped between my thighs. My hands rubbing your rounded ass, teasing you while tiny whimpers and moans escape your lips and your hips move against me whenever you can't quite help it. The first blow- not too hard but your jerk and low moan are symphonic as I'm getting steadily more aroused against you. The next, harder, and the next. Backing off a little, rubbing and teasing and stroking your perineum until your wriggle and shiver before another flurry of spanks. Your ass reddening against me, heating up, your sounds becoming more anguished and yet your body relaxing against me, submitting to my hands to my touch, to my will.
You have no idea how beautiful that you are right now, no idea how much I want you just yet.

It is later, and the toys are set aside, the bed cleaned off, and you have licked the cum from your fingers with embarrassed, pleased eyes and hidden your face against me.
It is later and you are still sticky against your belly and the ache in my cunt is threatening to turn to pain as I lie back, beckoning your face between my legs, dragging your head where I want you, placing you against my engorged and throbbing clit.
Your eager obedience thrills me, as always. The avid hunger with which you approach me, tempered with the strength of your desire to please me and slowing you down to approach as I prefer. The kisses up my thighs, cheeks pressed firmly against the ticklish skin, heated breath against the hyper-sensitive flesh until I am moaning in wanton desire. Quick flick of your tongue, teasing and hungry as you taste my arousal, taste the soaking proof of my desire for you. Your groan louder than my own moan as you press into me, licking and sucking and kissing and teasing my clit with flicks of your tongue and gentle touches of your lips.
Your tongue sliding between my engorged lips, pressing deeply into me, circling my lips until my fingers curl around your neck and press you into me in clear demand.
Your lips against my clit, your tongue circling me until I am moaning and arching into you and it isn't going to take much longer, my love, before......

Yes.

Yes, this.

Your face pressed between my legs, your tender submission in my hands, your head resting on my thigh in complete surrender as I shake and moan against you, riding waves of pleasure and need and love and desire.

Yes, my love.

Yes, this.

Quiet Night In

We have been teasing, toying, and playing all day.
Text messages and pictures, low laughter on the phone. I know that you want me, and it is mutual my love.
But first, there is life to put to rights: cooking for the rest of the week, caring for our child, cleaning up the house, a shower and hair dye for me, shaving with long, slow strokes of the razor until my skin is pink and smooth and as soft as massage oil can make it.
There is the shower for you, and clean sheets for the bed, dealing with the small mountain of clean laundry.

But finally, finally, there is me, and there is you and there is nothing else.
There is your body against mine, the wild-shy look on your face and the predatory glint in mine.

There is my low chuckle, "I think you've missed me, sweetheart," and your whispered affirmative.
My order to welcome me back, by kissing every inch of my body.
Long, slow moans as you obey, beginning at the arches of my feet. I am infernally ticklish, and detest being tickled, but in the years we've been together you have learned to touch me without my most dreaded response, and my low, throaty sounds are entirely those of pleasure tonight.
Unsurprisingly, you linger at the juncture of hip and thigh, teasing my warm pussy with tiny kisses and heated breath, before following orders and moving on.
Across the flat planes of my belly, in the hollow of my hip and curve of my waist, along the sensitive undersides of my breasts and gentle teasing kisses to my hardened nipples.
Long, slow caresses of your tongue to my neck, until I grab your face and drag you in for a kiss of my own. Your almost-innocent smile of pleasure, thrilled at pleasing me and my answering grin of delight.

Kneeling across my chest now, giving me the show I requested. My hands roaming your body, teasing your nipples, stroking your thighs, toying with your balls as you stroke your cock. My fingers in your perineum, tongue flicking across your cockhead, your indrawn breath.
"Cum on my breasts, love," my quiet order.
Your moaning assent, head thrown back and eyes closed. Your body spasming, heat splashing across my breasts and trickling along my throat. My soft sound of pleasure.

Your body, lying across mine now, cooling cum sticky on our pressed-together chests. My body moving against yours in demand.
"You're not finished yet, love." The words alone enough to harden you again, but not so large now, not so thick.
I am 120lbs and built to proportion. I love to be fucked hard, but my cervix can't take another round of rough sex tonight, not when I seem to only ever attract well-endowed lovers and my Rush is certainly no exception.
We have learned, though, that the second erection is not so long, not so hard, and much easier on my still-sore body.

"Ride me, my love. Fuck me until I cum."
I love the eagerness on your face at my words, love your joy in pleasing me, in pleasuring me.
I love the ease with which you slide into me, no stretching now, no soreness or pain. Only the warm weight of your body inside of mine, the joyful fullness of your cock in me.
Your hips moving, face intent, my fingers finding my clit almost unnecessary because you keep hitting that spot, keep stroking me over and over as you kneel up with your hands on my breasts and your hips pounding into me but there is no pain now, only pleasure, and soon I am spilling over the edge and moaning against you as I shake and cum and cry out your name.

Birthday Treat

Yesterday, for my birthday, Boywonder gave me a beautiful gift.

He requested to be in service to me for the day.

He cooked for me, drove, opened doors, deferred to me in everything I wanted to do for the day, and ended the night with a long massage and delicious orgasm.

Afterwards- although admittedly after some discussion as I was too tired to even think about anyone/anything else! LOL- he requested an orgasm and I agreed.

He is beautiful when he is shy, hiding his face in my neck like a little boy, and blushing when I tell him how beautiful he is.

He is slightly ashamed of this side of himself, like so many men, but that hint of shame only makes it hotter for me- reminding him he'd had to 'earn' this orgasm through his service to me that day made him squirm delightfully. Telling him how much I'd enjoyed riding his face until I came powerfully (and loudly!) drew a low moan, and my fingers busy on his nipples and toying with his balls brought a symphony of small, shy, hot noises.

And when I guided his hand back to my groin, letting him feel the heat and reawakened dampness there? Oh, that sound was music.

Finally, after he'd cum, I drew him to me, nestling his face into my neck in that shy position he loves when feeling submissive, and brought myself to orgasm again, letting him see, feel, hear, and smell how hot his surrender made me.

It was a good birthday.

Sharing

I'm a little nervous, and very excited. it's been a long time since I've played, and longer since the one time I've played with this boy. Kaye is delectable as a boy, lovely as a girl, and the last time that I played with him was with Terry and Lucivar. That memory still brings dampness to my thighs, and now I'm here with his beautiful Mistress and we are preparing to hurt him.

I'm more hesitant than usual, taking my cue from her. Miss Gigi has become a good friend quickly, but new friendships can be fragile and I don't want to offend her by crossing boundaries with her boy. Besides, their relationship is beyond adorable, and the last thing that I want is to chance driving any kind of wedge between them...

but oh his naked vulnerability is too beautiful, and I have a bag full of toys beside me! Miss Gigi binds his arms, then shoves him onto the bed, gorgeous red hair swirling around a perfect heart-shaped face. She has no idea how beautiful she is every day, but particularly this moment, her eyes alight with love and cruelty and concern, all wrapped together. He is facedown, and we start on his already-red ass and thighs. We alternate caressing touches and cruel blows with our various toys. Her flogger, my Ikea toy. My fingertips, her nails. My rubber loop paddle, her lips, over and over and over. Unpredictable, intense, beautiful this partnership over the helpless body of a beautiful boy.

She remove the armbinder, flip him over. Pig-slapper to the nipples, alternating with gentle fingertips, her dragon-tail, my fingernails. His face contorts, body writhing in agony only a breath away from ecstasy. Harsh angry grunts escape his mouth and we mock him, lovingly. “Poor thing, we’re so mean to you!” I giggle, and Miss Gigi and I share a smile. I wonder if she knows that she’s breathtaking like this. We find a rhythm between us, not the ease of practice, but a half-wary consciousness of one another that eventually blends into comfort.

And then it’s clear that he’s peaking, reaching the limit of what he can take, and she halts us. It’s clear in every fiber of her being that her world is wrapped inside this beautiful boy spread in naked vulnerability beneath her, and as his eyes open it’s equally clear that this sentiment is shared. I feel like a voyeur, watching them communicate wordlessly. Her mind is still afraid of the way the she loves him, afraid of the myriad things that happen in any relationship, but it’s clear from her smile that her heart can read that adoration in his eyes. I simply lie beside them, content to bask in the reflected warmth of their love- my own loves are not present just now, but I am secure in them and content to enjoy the happiness of those I’ve so quickly come to care for.

We cuddle him between us, speaking silly words of praise, care, desire, and I can only sigh in contentment… and gratitude at having been offered the opportunity to share in this moment with them.

Retribution

Her hands are fisted in his hair. ‘I don’t give a flying fuck what you want today, boy,’ she tells him in a low snarl.

There is real anger there, backed by a pain that gnaws relentlessly at her heart, at her pride, at her faith in herself. A pain he put there.   

A pain she will make him pay for.   

Her hands are fast, cruel, relentless, driving into his skin, finding every painful, tender spot until he writhes beneath her. 

He is not bound: she warned him at the beginning that she wasn’t going to bother. ‘Just fucking stay still. You can do that, can’t you boy?’  

She knows better, knows he will move, knows he will flail and strike out. She wants him to fail. Wants him to understand the pain of failure as she punishes every movement with something like glee.   

The sharp end of an evil stick on every twitching piece of skin. The rubber loop paddle on every limb that spasms. Her fingernails in every sensitive spot he exposes.   

This is not love. This is not friendship, or meeting one another’s needs. This is retribution, and she wants him to feel every jagged piece of it sticking in his craw as his words stick in hers. She wants to hurt him, to leave scars on his skin as he has on her heart.   

There is the snick of the knife now, and he goes still. This has always been something loving between them, this knife. It has always been something intimate, but she wants to destroy something tonight and if it can’t be him then it will be a piece of them, together.   

It’s at his throat now, and he’s gone still. She laughs, a jagged sound nothing like her usual throaty chuckle, feeling the tension in him. Feeling the knowledge that he’s finally getting it, finally understanding that the love for him that’s always held her sociopathy back will not do so today. Feeling his throat working against the blade, her rationale, her love, they’re all subsumed by the single desire, the single need to cut. The carotid, with it’s beautiful, spurting blood that feeds the brain. The jugular, which takes it back, recycling it in the heart. They are bare under her blade now, and her hand is trembling with the need to plunge it in.   

Slow, deep breaths now. Collecting herself. Gently drawing herself back from the edge… a little. Following the path of the subclavian with the tip of the blade, teasing herself with the knowledge that a single good wound there would bleed him out within 6 minutes- probably less time, given the subclavian’s proximity to the heart. 

As though the very thought had drawn her attention to that organ, pressing the tip of the knife just under his sternum, angling a little up.

‘What’s the fastest way to man’s heart, boy?’ she asks him, and lets him see the insanity in her eyes. His own are a little wild, and she laughs. The sound of it is still jagged and raw, more like a sob than a chuckle, and he begins to understand. Seeing the dawning comprehension in his eyes, she leans into him, smiling. 

‘It’s under the breastbone and up,’ she whispers, shoving the knife home. 

 

(The slightly saner ending)

It’s been reversed at the last moment, and with more than a little reluctance, but she knows it will leave a bruise he won’t soon forget. 

Any more than she will. 

And she draws him up to her, pressing his face tightly into her shoulder so that he won’t see her silent tears. 

‘I love you, puppy.’