put it on. Panties
on the outside.” Also makes peeing a lot easier, but I don't say that. “Aren't
you going to kiss me?”
He takes a few steps back. I catch his hand and he pulls me
with him.
“That depends. Perhaps we should discuss that begging thing
a little more.”
My cheeks burn. I would if he asked me to. I would do a lot
of things if he asked.
We communicate through telepathy or some other
impossibility, needing no more words to understand the next move. Shoes
abandoned. Sheets mussed. Still fully clothed. Only after he's laid beside
me—body and weight imposing gratifyingly on my personal space—only then does
his mouth descend upon mine. Such soft lips. The better to drink me with.
When I’m certain I'll die if I don't breathe soon, he moves
his kisses, his tongue, over my jaw, pausing to tickle my ear, then continuing
down the curve of my neck and over my chest. Shirt and bra disappear over the
edge of the bed in record time, with little help from me. I know I’m supposed
to reciprocate, to touch, to move, to participate. But he's doing such a
fabulous job on his own.
My nipples are small, but he coaxes them into a
not-insubstantial existence with his tongue. And then – ah, the teeth. Just a
little nibble, but more than enough to send a shiver down my spine. Back
arches. Chest lifts. Like my body knows to deliver itself to the source of
pleasure.
My insides quiver, a mix of pleasure and unsteady nerves,
when he reaches to unzip my skirt. That irrational female fear that a man might
get a look at you fully naked, stop what he's doing, and walk out. Or worse.
Probably hasn't ever happened in the history of sex, but it doesn't stop the
thought from crossing my mind. And the skirt is gone. Only lace panties, garter,
and stockings left. Josh smooths away my fears with an appreciative sweep of
his gaze over my body.
He kisses me again, tongue probing urgently, tasting my
mouth as though it held some life-sustaining essence. His restraint is
slipping. Part of me wishes he'd let it go already, and take me every which way
he wants me. But another part of me would mourn the loss of this slow tease and
build. I want to rush to the sweet climax, but at the same time I don't want it
to end. I want to culminate forever, and never have to come down.
It isn't right that he should still be so fully clothed. He
seems more interested in touching and tasting me, but I manage to strip him
naked between kisses and caresses. The sight of his hard cock instills in me
modicum of pride, knowing he's been in a semi-aroused state all night, and all
on my account. I take him in my hand. The softness of a man's cock never ceases
to amaze me. Soft and yet hard. Vulnerable and yet meant to make me vulnerable.
Josh's eyelids flutter momentarily, but he doesn't lose himself in my touch.
Instead, he sits up. Tugs my panties off less carefully than he removed the
rest of my clothing. Pushes me over onto my stomach. Unfastens the back garters
from the top of my stockings and shoves them out of the way.
“Yes.” The answer escapes my lips without there ever having
been a question.
The first blow lands firmly on my left buttock. Not too
hard. He gently rubs the spot. Then another smack. And another. Each time a
little harder. Then the other side, building up to the same moderate level.
Then breath in my ear.
“More?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips, anticipating.
The smack! fills the room this time, and it's hard
enough to make me start. But oh god, I love how it feels. The surprised sting.
The adrenaline. The way he soothes my flesh after each blow with firm,
massaging strokes. My scalp prickles and every cell in my body seems to come
alive with sensation.
He is confident in his spanking, increasing the intensity
every few strokes. If he's afraid of hurting me, it doesn't show. He never
hesitates. I never thought pain and pleasure could mix, or that pain could turn
into pleasure, until an old boyfriend swatted my rear in a
on the outside.” Also makes peeing a lot easier, but I don't say that. “Aren't
you going to kiss me?”
He takes a few steps back. I catch his hand and he pulls me
with him.
“That depends. Perhaps we should discuss that begging thing
a little more.”
My cheeks burn. I would if he asked me to. I would do a lot
of things if he asked.
We communicate through telepathy or some other
impossibility, needing no more words to understand the next move. Shoes
abandoned. Sheets mussed. Still fully clothed. Only after he's laid beside
me—body and weight imposing gratifyingly on my personal space—only then does
his mouth descend upon mine. Such soft lips. The better to drink me with.
When I’m certain I'll die if I don't breathe soon, he moves
his kisses, his tongue, over my jaw, pausing to tickle my ear, then continuing
down the curve of my neck and over my chest. Shirt and bra disappear over the
edge of the bed in record time, with little help from me. I know I’m supposed
to reciprocate, to touch, to move, to participate. But he's doing such a
fabulous job on his own.
My nipples are small, but he coaxes them into a
not-insubstantial existence with his tongue. And then – ah, the teeth. Just a
little nibble, but more than enough to send a shiver down my spine. Back
arches. Chest lifts. Like my body knows to deliver itself to the source of
pleasure.
My insides quiver, a mix of pleasure and unsteady nerves,
when he reaches to unzip my skirt. That irrational female fear that a man might
get a look at you fully naked, stop what he's doing, and walk out. Or worse.
Probably hasn't ever happened in the history of sex, but it doesn't stop the
thought from crossing my mind. And the skirt is gone. Only lace panties, garter,
and stockings left. Josh smooths away my fears with an appreciative sweep of
his gaze over my body.
He kisses me again, tongue probing urgently, tasting my
mouth as though it held some life-sustaining essence. His restraint is
slipping. Part of me wishes he'd let it go already, and take me every which way
he wants me. But another part of me would mourn the loss of this slow tease and
build. I want to rush to the sweet climax, but at the same time I don't want it
to end. I want to culminate forever, and never have to come down.
It isn't right that he should still be so fully clothed. He
seems more interested in touching and tasting me, but I manage to strip him
naked between kisses and caresses. The sight of his hard cock instills in me
modicum of pride, knowing he's been in a semi-aroused state all night, and all
on my account. I take him in my hand. The softness of a man's cock never ceases
to amaze me. Soft and yet hard. Vulnerable and yet meant to make me vulnerable.
Josh's eyelids flutter momentarily, but he doesn't lose himself in my touch.
Instead, he sits up. Tugs my panties off less carefully than he removed the
rest of my clothing. Pushes me over onto my stomach. Unfastens the back garters
from the top of my stockings and shoves them out of the way.
“Yes.” The answer escapes my lips without there ever having
been a question.
The first blow lands firmly on my left buttock. Not too
hard. He gently rubs the spot. Then another smack. And another. Each time a
little harder. Then the other side, building up to the same moderate level.
Then breath in my ear.
“More?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips, anticipating.
The smack! fills the room this time, and it's hard
enough to make me start. But oh god, I love how it feels. The surprised sting.
The adrenaline. The way he soothes my flesh after each blow with firm,
massaging strokes. My scalp prickles and every cell in my body seems to come
alive with sensation.
He is confident in his spanking, increasing the intensity
every few strokes. If he's afraid of hurting me, it doesn't show. He never
hesitates. I never thought pain and pleasure could mix, or that pain could turn
into pleasure, until an old boyfriend swatted my rear in a
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