by Wayward Ink
“Please! Please. I’ll do anything.”
“You beg so prettily, Jack. I can’t deny you.”
I groaned as all three digits returned to my channel, hitting my sweet spot with unerring aim, as if they were metal and it a magnet.
My nerves were stretched to breaking point—I needed to be taken.
“Please, Coach. Please fuck me.”
“Soon, handsome. Soon I’ll be sliding something even better than my fingers up your ass. Your sweet spot is going to be in heaven.”
I wanted it. He knew I wanted it. My body was quivering with desire, shaking in anticipation. And my cock, my cock was making a swimming pool of the desk.
I arched my back, meeting his pistoning fingers, silently begging him to take me.
I almost cried with both a sense of loss and relief when he withdrew from me and I heard the rustle of clothing being removed. I didn’t need to turn my head to know what would be jutting out from his groin. Rhys was “gifted”. The gods had been generous with him.
He positioned himself behind me. I pushed my ass back, letting him know how much I wanted him to fill me with his big beautiful cock. I listened to the slight squelching sound as he fisted himself, lubing his dick.
“Jack, I want your eyes open,” he ordered. “I want you looking at the camera. I want you to show the audience how your body responds to my touch. I want them to see your face. I want them to hear your words. I want them to know how much you love what I’m doing to you.”
Biting my bottom lip, I nodded.
At the touch of Rhys’ cock against my twitching hole, I looked up at the camera and moaned, pushing back.
“Coach’s cock…. I’m scared, but I want it. I feel like if I don’t get it inside me, I’ll explode. It’s… oh God, it’s pressing against my hole. I can feel it slowly pushing into me. It’s burning a little, but I don’t care. I want it. All of it. I want to feel it filling me.”
My words were punctuated by little pants, like an athlete exhaling between reps.
“Oh, Jesus, Coach’s dick feels so big. Big and hard and thick. Aagh, it’s filling me… never felt… never felt so fucking full. Christ, it’s like I have a log lodged inside me.”
Compelled by need, I threw the second rule out the window—I couldn’t hold still. I pushed my ass back, trying to swallow more of his dick. I’d gladly take my punishment for disobedience later, after he’d filled me.
“So good. Feels so fucking good. Coach is pushing in and pulling out and…. Oh God. Every time… aagh… every time he pushes back in… m-m-m-more… he pushes more of his cock in. I-I can feel every inch.”
Finally, he was fully sheathed within me. We both sighed.
“Jack, your ass feels good. Your ass is making my cock feel real good,” Rhys rasped.
Ever so slowly, he withdrew. I wailed when I both heard and felt him leave my body.
“No! Put it back!”
“Tut, tut, Jack. Who’s in charge?”
“You are, Coach,” I whimpered.
“That’s right, Jack. I decide how much cock you get.”
He pressed against my hole, which opened in defeat without offering so much as a shred of resistance.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I chanted as inch by inch he filled me again.
Again and again he totally removed himself from me, pausing while I begged him to reinsert his dick.
“Please, Coach. Please stop teasing me. Please fuck me.”
He ran his hands up my sides, leaned over me, and whispered in my ear, “Tell them, Jack. Tell them how good it feels to have my cock sliding in and out of your ass.”
As I recommenced my commentary, he kissed me between my shoulder blades, rewarding me.
“Coach’s cock feels so big. He’s moving it in and out of me so slowly it’s driving me insane. I want, I want him to pound me. I want to feel him come, but at the same time, I want it to last forever. It feels incredible.”
I couldn’t stop; the words poured out of me. I forgot I was talking to a camera, to an unseen future audience.
“Coach has his hands on my butt. He’s squeezing and kneading and parting my cheeks. I can feel air on my hole and… um…. Oh God… um, his thumbs are brushing over my balls. Fuck! It all feels so good.”
I heard Rhys’ soft grunts and pants, and my whole being swelled with pride that I was bringing him pleasure. It was what I wanted—I wanted to please him.
“More, Coach. More, please… please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Feels so fucking fantastic! I-I can feel every ridge and vein of your cock. I want to touch my dick. Coach, please… please can I touch my dick?”
“No, Jack. Keep your hands on the desk.” Rhys’ command was almost a growl as he continued to plow my needy ass with long, slow, deliberate strokes.
“Oh God, harder. Please fuck me harder. I can’t believe how good this feels. Yes! Oh God, give it to me.”
Rhys increased his pace, long-dicking my channel like I was the violin and he was the bow. Without losing rhythm, he adjusted my hips and his angle of penetration.
“Sweet Jesus! Oh my God. Coach…. Oh, I-he-he’s hitting that spot again. Aagh. Fuck! Coach, I’m going to come all over your desk. My balls feel so fucking tight. I… Christ, I’m so close. Oh Jesus, Coach… I-I haven’t… fuck, I haven’t even touched my dick.”
“You will not come, Jack. Not yet. Do you hear me? You are not to come until I say so.” Grunts punctuated Rhys’ words as he began to really pound my ass.
“He’s fucking me. Coach is really fucking me… and I… aagh… Jesus. And I love it! Harder. Please, Coach, harder.”
The room was filled with the sound of our skin slapping, mixing with that of our moans, grunts, and pants.
Faster and faster he pistoned, jabbing my sweet spot with each inward thrust. I felt his cock swell within my channel as he rocketed toward his own release.
“Such a sweet, hungry little ass,” he grunted. “I’m going to love fucking you again and again. That’s it, Jack, take it. Take all of my big fat cock. Take everything I have to give you.”
“Yes! Oh, yes! Fuck me. Fill my ass.”
“Come for me, Jack. Touch yourself and come for me.”
I growled with relief, scrambling to get my hand between my belly and the desk to palm my aching dick. My knuckles grazed the surface of the desk, burning slightly, but I didn’t care. I needed to come. I jerked my hips erratically, desperately pushing my ass back on Rhys’ dick and my cock back and forth in the glove of my pumping fist. My balls tightened, tingling ominously, and for a moment I teetered on the edge, before I exploded, jettisoning my release out of the head of my cock and all over the desk.
With each spurt, my inner muscles clenched, prolonging my orgasm and milking Rhys’ pulsing cock. I moaned to feel the warmth of his ejaculate fill my channel.
Rhys collapsed over my back, breathing heavily. My chest heaved too. I felt as if I’d just run a marathon.
We stayed like that until we’d both regained our senses and the ability to breathe normally.
I hissed when Rhys eased out of me. I felt empty. My channel was a little sore, but, despite that, I wanted him to fill it again. I remained sprawled over the desk, sated and content.
Rhys reached out and caressed my ass. I trembled and moved into his touch.
“Your skin shivers at my touch, Jack. You’re pushing your backside into my hand. And your pretty little hole is winking at me. I’d have to say the evidence points to you and your ass liking being fucked by your Coach.”
SOMEWHERE ALONG THE line, though, things spiraled out of control. We’d started with doing a scene maybe once every couple of weeks, then it became every week, then twice a week, three times, until now it felt like it was almost daily. And worse, it was spilling out of the playroom into every room of our home. Like tonight.
At first, I hadn’t objected. It was interesting. Exciting. Different. After more than a decade together, I felt as if I was rediscovering Rhys, peeling a
nother layer away to reveal more of his complexities. And now, in our thirties, we were old enough, and our trust in each other deep enough, to be comfortable revealing some of our innermost desires or kinks.
It was like discovering sex all over again.
But whereas I’d reached a point where I could taper off and have it be but one facet of our sexual relationship, I feared Rhys was addicted. He really got off on the control. The level escalated, and as his enthrallment increased, mine waned in equal increments. All I’d ever sought from our playtime was an hour or two of pretending to be something other than what I was—a mini vacation from myself, so to speak.
That imbalance, in itself, was worrisome, but of even more concern were some elements of the domination I hadn’t signed up for. Now, with the wisdom of hindsight, I could see we probably should have done more research about limits and agreements and what we each were hoping to achieve out of our BDSM play. Perhaps, rather than merely contenting ourselves with a few Google searches, we should have joined a group or club, attended a workshop or two. Instead, we’d been like two kids rushing in to play with a box of matches with no thought we had the power within our hands to burn the whole house down.
Our last scene being a prime example of all that was wrong with our play, as far as I was concerned….
MY KNEES HURT from having spent the last hour being pressed into the carpet. Prior to this session, I’d have said we had soft, plush carpets throughout our home, but I guess after an hour even a cushion would start to feel as hard as cement flooring. I just hoped I wasn’t going to end up with carpet burns. That would suck—and not in a good way.
Trying to hide the movement from Rhys, I twisted my hips a little to the left and then a little to the right in an effort to ease the strain to my lower back. Rhys made no comment, so perhaps he hadn’t noticed. Then again, he was probably too busy fucking my face to notice much of anything.
I weighed up the risks of displeasing him if I took a further chance to also roll and flex my tired shoulders. Would he punish me if he caught me? I’d been instructed to remain perfectly still…. Would the relief of a little movement be worth suffering a bit of pain and discomfort? Of being denied my orgasm?
Deciding that with his hands holding my head in place, he would more than likely notice, I opted to flex and contract the muscles in my upper body and arms to stimulate blood flow through the area. The movement caused my clenched hands, cuffed behind my back by Rhys, to press into my buttocks.
I knew if I was a good submissive, my only thoughts would have been on pleasing my Dom, but as I already suspected, I wasn’t a good submissive. I wasn’t enjoying our session—in fact, I hadn’t enjoyed many of them of late. I felt as if my needs were being forgotten—to the point I was no longer finding pleasure in serving Rhys. There was no relief in submitting my control to him. Our scenes had become tests of endurance.
“That’s it, Pet. Take my cock. Take all of my cock.”
Lust made Rhys’ voice husky and low. I hoped it signified his release wasn’t far off—my jaw, along with the rest of me, was aching.
My prayers were answered. Rhys’ cock swelled and pulsed. In the few seconds that remained before he emptied his balls down my throat, I prepared for the mammoth load I was certain I was about to receive.
“Yes!” he cried, throwing his head back, the arch of his neck emphasizing his Adam’s apple. “Swallow it all. Don’t lose a drop. Not so much as a single drop, Pet.”
I did my best, but I failed. By his third volley, I couldn’t keep up with the flow and the excess dribbled from the side of my mouth.
Rhys pulled his cock free, shaking his head. “Tut, tut, Pet. What did I tell you?”
“To not waste a drop, Sir,” I dutifully replied, continuing in my role in the hope the scene would soon end.
“And what did you do?”
I refused to demean myself by trying to explain or beg. “I failed, Sir.”
“Do you know what that means, Pet?”
Utilizing skills gained through my career, I kept my features neutral. “Yes, Sir.”
Rhys cocked his eyebrow, silently urging me to continue.
“I’ll be punished.”
“Yes, you will.”
Great. There goes my climax. For sure, I can kiss it goodbye.
Rhys walked around and behind me and opened a drawer in the storage unit he’d installed to house his sex toys and equipment. As much as I wanted to turn my head to see what form my punishment would take, I held firm—I didn’t want to risk further punishment. Nor did I want to give Rhys the satisfaction of revealing my curiosity.
“Close your eyes, Pet.”
I obeyed, resisting the urge to sigh.
At the touch of something cool against the heated flesh of my cock, my eyes flew open. At the exact moment I took in the sight of a cock cage, I heard the click as Rhys locked it into place.
I stumbled to my feet, made awkward by my tethered wrists. I was too furious to care if I was less than graceful.
“Take it off, Rhys. Take it off now! At the outset, I told you no clamps, no pain.”
“But this is your punishment, Pet.”
“Enough! This scene is finished. Untie my hands and unlock this fucking contraption.”
“Pet—”
“Release me now, Rhys. I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Pet—”
“Hymen!” I roared. “Get this thing off me now, Rhys.”
THINGS HAD BEEN chilly in our house in the few days since that unfortunate session. And now, tonight….
“Pet, do you want to be punished?”
Rhys’ words snapped me back to the here and now.
“No, Rhys, I don’t. Nor do I feel like playing this evening. What I’d really like is to sit down with my man, sink a beer, share a conversation about our respective days, and have some dinner. So do you think you could put your cock away and meet me in the kitchen?”
“What if I want to play?”
“Then I guess you’re going to have to figure out a scene you can do on your own, because you can count me out.”
Rhys deflated before my eyes. Remorse bowed my head, my shoulders sagging under the weight.
“Babe, I’m sorry. That came out harsher than I intended, but I think we need to talk about this. We need to sort out some things. Can we please sit down and talk? Really talk.”
Rhys didn’t reply directly, but he did turn and head toward our living room. I waited to see where he chose to sit and was relieved when he opted for the lounge. I sat beside him, angling my body to face him, and took the hand nearest to me in mine.
“First up, I love you.” I rubbed the back of Rhys’ hand with my thumb, willing him to look at me. “And certainly, since experiencing your beautiful cock up my ass, I’m more than happy—eager, even—to bottom on a regular basis. But, babe, I still want to top.”
Rhys still hadn’t looked at me or uttered a word, but I could tell he was listening by the tilt of his chin.
“I’m not saying I want to abandon our BDSM play, but I think we need to learn more. Maybe get mentored by a Dom, or attend a workshop or two, because at the moment the goal posts keep changing and neither of us is confident of what’s acceptable or not. I think we both need to decide what we want out of this. What needs are we looking to see satisfied? Talk to me, Rhys. Has anything I’ve said touched a nerve?”
A soft sigh gusted out of Rhys, and finally he turned to look at me. “Yes, Jack. I’m hearing you.”
“Thank God,” I whispered, leaning into him. “I mean it, Rhys. I love you. I don’t want to lose you, lose us, over this. I’m sure we can find a compromise if we set our minds to it.”
Rhys nodded. “Okay, let’s talk.”
And so our negotiations began.
“I’ll get the ball rolling then.” I took a deep breath and launched into my spiel. “Babe, I need some structure to our play. I don’t have to tell you how demanding Carrington Consulting is.” Rhys nodde
d at my statement. “But on top of that, I have a responsibility to the people I employ. I can’t go into a presentation or contract negotiation with my head not in the game. I can’t allow myself to be distracted by what we did the previous night, or what you may have planned for me that night.”
“That kind of takes away a lot of the spontaneity, Jack.”
“Yes, it does—no denying that. That’s the downside, but on the upside, I do know the bulk of my schedule a week or two in advance, which would give you time to plan and for us to discuss and, um, hold our own negotiations about the scene you have in mind.”
Rhys nodded. “True.”
“Which leads me to the next thing. I don’t want it to be our entire lifestyle. I don’t want a master–slave or twenty-four-seven thing. We can negotiate the frequency, but I can tell you here and now, I won’t be your submissive all day every day. When the scene ends and we close the door to the playroom, my time as submissive also ends until the next time we enter that room or the venue we’ve chosen for a scene. I’m not yours to order around—outside of the playroom we are partners and equals. I’m sorry, Rhys, I don’t want to issue ultimatums, but in this case I have to, because this one is a deal breaker for me.”
Rhys turned his head away, but not before I saw the frown creasing his brow.
Shit, that’s what he wants.
Pain lanced through me, and I was certain my heart actually creaked like ice about to shatter. As a child, I heard it once first hand, when I foolishly ventured out onto the ice-covered lake fronting our camping lodge. It had groaned and creaked, the cracks starting slow but rapidly multiplying, fanning out like veins, the sight both beautiful and terrifying. I saw the black of the lake beneath and I froze, half in fascination, half in fear. My father had grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, yanking me to safety.
My heart was making the same sounds as the ice had that day, except now I had no one to rescue me.
I had hoped this conversation would be a new start for us, but what if Rhys’ frown signified an ending rather than a beginning? Would I stick to my guns? Would I turn my back on our relationship?