by D. L. King
She alternates between the dishes she’s prepared until I’m satisfied. Then moaning, she finishes off the plate as I watch, endeared by the simple pleasure of her love for food. Lou washes the dishes, stores the leftovers, and puts everything in its place so that I’m sure it’s time for me to be released. Instead Lou turns the oven on and walks to me, her lips on my ear and hands on my thighs, and whispers, “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Okay.” My body flushes and my skin thrums, longing for more of Lou’s touch.
Her boots thump across the living room and while listening for any hint of what comes next I’m keenly aware of the wetness between my thighs. When Lou finally returns, she kneels in front of me, between my parted legs, while looking up my naked body, into my eyes. Smiling nervously, I long for her to act, unable to endure the anticipation any longer. Lou knows this: I’m a jump-and-ask-questions-later type, so it’s torture for me to sit still and wait.
That sly grin returns as she runs one hand up my thigh, the other hidden behind her back. She tickles her way to my cunt and continues to tease. Rather than diving in Lou caresses my labia, causing me to buck into her hand with need.
“Stay!” Lou says as she slaps my thigh hard with a sting that forces me back into the desired position. “Understand?”
I nod and she returns to where she left off, stroking my lower lips. All the while I groan and plead wordlessly. “Someone is still hungry,” she says, running a finger across my wetness, and I shake my head to the affirmative again.
Lou brings her other hand between us, revealing a small silver bullet vibrator. She slides the bullet inside me, places the control on the chair between my parted legs, and bares her teeth ferociously. I know I’m in trouble.
Gradually Lou thumbs the power switch up, the buzz of the vibrator increasing and throbbing through my cunt. When I arch my back into the chair, closing my eyes to the pleasure, Lou knows she’s found the sweet spot and speed to get me going. I’m so on edge already that it’s nearly enough to make me orgasm. The teasing has me crazed with lust, so that I’m thrusting my hips to encourage the pressure of the vibrator into my pleasure centers.
I’m ready to pass over the edge when I feel Lou’s hand on my throat again, pulling me back to reality. “Don’t you dare.”
“Please?” I try. Lou tightens her grasp for emphasis.
“If you come before dessert is ready, you’ll be in so much trouble.”
I whimper as Lou walks to the stove. She doubles back and there’s that look again. Lou turns the vibrator up just enough to drive me mad. Groaning desperately, I can’t imagine resisting the urge to come much longer. Lou chuckles to watch my struggle. Dessert better be a strawberry or there’s no way I’ll be able to hold out.
She places two ramekins in the preheated oven. I know there’s only one thing Lou makes in these dishes, my favorite treat: a decadent cake with a center of liquid chocolate. It feels cruel, her using my desires against me, pitting chocolate and orgasms in a battle of wills.
Knowing that those cakes take twelve minutes to cook, I try centering myself to muster the willpower to endure this torment as long as Lou desires. She closes the oven and leans against it, setting the timer while smiling knowingly. “Well, what shall we do to pass the time?”
I’m so focused on thinking of something, anything, other than how much I need to come that I can’t respond. She watches me, sweaty and shaking, feeling as if I’ve run a marathon. “Aw, no smart-ass response?” I shake my head and look at her pleadingly. “You look stressed, let me help you.”
Lou knows she isn’t playing fair to run her fingers down my shoulders and arms. This only heightens my lust and already I’m so wet I worry the bullet will pop out of me to shoot across the room.
I look at my nemesis, the oven, hoping to make time pass faster. Lou, not to be ignored, ups the ante by running her hands down my breasts. My focus switches to admiring the contrast of her dark fingers on my moon-tan white skin, adoring the numerous differences between us: color, age, lifestyle, and attitude. Opposites do seem to attract and hard. But now that attraction is working against me.
“Is there a problem?” Lou pinches my nipple, shooting a jolt of pleasure to my cunt that nearly makes me come without warning. I dart Lou a look of disproval while panting. “What’s the matter?” Her devious fingers brush my hips and angle lower, grazing my bush.
Groaning, I try to close my legs, knowing even as I do that it’s not going to help. Lou slaps at my inner thighs hard, forcing them open again. “What did I say?” I whimper but she doesn’t relent; instead she massages my cunt and clit expertly. I want to disappear into the chair or will away the need to orgasm but I can’t, not with her touching me with such intensity.
“I can’t . . . uh . . . oh fuck, Lou . . . you’re gonna . . . ” Lou quickens the pace. Now I’m certain she’s set me up to fail and feel no remorse about letting myself go. Giving myself over to the vibration, I moan and thrust against Lou’s hand. Meeting her fingers to undulate into the seat, I’m wiggling uncontrollably, my cunt muscles grasping at the vibrator as it pushes me over the edge repeatedly.
Lou continues fingering my clit while grinning. She leans in and whispers, “Naughty, naughty, now you’re going to have to suck me off.”
That’s a punishment? I think. The promise of having Lou inside me causes another wave of orgasm.
Lou’s erect cock appears for me to wrap my lips around. The head of the slick silicone member slips down my throat until much to Lou’s delight I’m gagging. She grabs the back of my head to force her dick deeper. My body shudders and tears roll down my cheeks. Lou thrusts roughly, intensifying my gagging until I have to pull away to suck in a full breath. Another wave of orgasm passes through me.
“You dirty cock-sucking slut.”
Lou smiles, as I lean in to once again bob against her dick. Hoping to see her get off, I push the base against Lou’s crotch to transfer my movements into her body. It’s like a very grown-up version of playing make-believe. If we both pretend that this cock is real then magical things happen. It certainly feels genuine, a very important part of my lover, imbued with so much pleasure-giving desire for both of us. It’s not some prop.
Lou grabs my nipples to pull me forward as motivation to not pull away, not even for a breath, because the pain would be too intense. I’m sputtering and gagging, drool and tears running down my face until my chest is glistening with my own bodily fluids.
“You’re so pretty right now.” The look in her eyes is pure admiration as I make a disaster of my mascara. Even as I’m sniffling and sweating, I know she means it, getting off on the mess she’s made of me.
When the timer goes off, Lou tweaks my nipples until I force myself to pull away and break her grasp, instinctively needing to cry out at her cruelty. Lou giggles, throws her head back, and glides her hand between her legs. She gestures for me to continue sucking and I’m more than happy to bob back and forth on her cock as the alarm sounds urgently throughout the kitchen.
Between her ministrations and my attention to her shaft, Lou comes, her knees melting in delight. The shuddering of her body is so intense she holds on to my shoulders so as to not tip over. I look up the expanse of her chest to the bliss on her face. My lover is so handsome I almost want to come again, but I’m having too much fun watching her get off so I focus on pleasing her.
As soon as the peak of her pleasure subsides, Lou pets my head and walks away to remove the cakes from the oven. At last the alarm is silenced and she waggles her cock at me salaciously from afar. “Ready for something sweet?”
I can’t tell whether she means her dick or the cake, but starving for either, or both, I say, “Fuck, yes!”
BITCH SLAP
Sir Manther
As soon as we’re both over the threshold, the door shut behind us, she grabs me by my tie and pulls me toward her. She holds me there for a teasing moment, a glimmer of mocking delight playing around her eyes and smile, before reeling m
e in all the way. The moment her mouth touches mine, it already feels like we’re fucking. This isn’t foreplay or some kind of introduction, it’s just straight-up sex: heat, friction, penetration. Our tongues are thrust deep inside each other’s throats, our teeth pressing forcefully through the flesh of our lips. There is a ferocity to our movements, as though we are snarling through our wide-open mouths, eating each other alive.
I feel one of her hands trace the front of my shirt, pulling open the buttons. She reaches inside, ignoring my tits, and grabs my waist with a forceful caress. Her fingers drift up my torso, the sides of her nails scraping as she presses into the divot between each rib. Reaching lower, she grips the curved ridges just above my pants, what most people would mistakenly call hip bones, but we both know better, these aren’t joints, they’re the pelvic wings, and when she touches them, I’m flying. With one arm, I circle her body, my hand finding entry between her shirt and pants, fingers grazing the top of her ass, applying a dancing pattern of pressure. As the tips of my fingers register the sensation of her skin, something begins to come alive between my legs, a liquid creature pulsing with heat.
She stops kissing me so fast it takes a moment for me to catch up, and I’m still trying to recover myself when, grinning, she hands me my tie, loose and unknotted. I didn’t notice her untying it. She pushes my opened shirt off my shoulders, teasingly snaps the waistband of my trousers with one finger. I hasten to remove the rest of my clothes. Beside me, she does the same.
She doesn’t look at me as we are undressing, but I can’t help stealing a glance at her. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her naked; we were friends years ago in college and spent many warm evenings skinny-dipping in the river that ran through town. I wanted her that whole time, of course. Whether she knew it or not, I can’t say, and I never had the courage to ask. We’re not friends anymore, but her magnificence is no less tantalizing. You won’t see a body like hers in magazines, but to me, she’s everything I want in a woman and more. This girl doesn’t need a tight, hard body to prove she’s tough as nails. She catches me looking, and I can see in her face that I will pay later for my lack of discretion.
Freed from our clothes, we stand together by the edge of the bed like swimmers poised to enter a pool. She pushes me in. I struggle for a minute, not quite able to regain my balance, but manage to grab on to her as we tumble down onto the mattress. I squirm and thrash until I’m on top, her body under mine. I’m not playing nice. One of my thighs presses between hers, and I start to move, thrusting into her, rubbing myself against her hip.
She doesn’t protest or try to wrestle me down. Instead, she brings her forearms up around my back, hands gripping my shoulders. Even though we haven’t moved, even though her body is still below me, she is the one setting the pace now, ensuring that I harbor no illusions of control.
I can feel her wetness and mine as we move together, gathering momentum. Tensing my quadriceps until they scream, I ride her hard, like my leg is a cock, hitting her right where I know she’ll feel it most.
Her climax is silent, but her breath comes in gasps and her body arches and struggles. I dated a girl once who used to say my name when she came, or sometimes “I love you.” I hated this. The girl beneath me now is thrashing and shuddering, but I’m not quite there, so I tighten my own grip and don’t let up until my clit is hard as a diamond and beginning to tingle. The orgasm spreads outward through me in a kaleidoscope of colors and textures that I know she cannot see. I’m quiet too when I come. There’s no way for me to share with her or anyone else these visions that fill me in the highest moments of sexual ecstasy, and right now, I am enjoying this selfishness.
We both collapse onto the mattress, sprawled haphazardly, bodies overlapping slightly. I become aware of the sensation of her hair lying against my shoulder, so fine and silky that I almost can’t feel it. Her tattoos have multiplied since I saw her last, and I can make out a single word done in white ink across her collarbone, lines of black slanting script tracing her rib cage, but it’s too dark in here for me to read them. The way that we are lying together, halfway intertwined, could be almost tender, but I know better. Sitting up, I look her hard in the eye, even though I know she can’t see me in the dimness, and ask, “Do you trust me?”
I can tell by the way her posture changes, becoming instantly alert, that she understands exactly what I mean.
“Yes.”
Standing up, I’m suddenly nervous. I’ve never done this before, and I’m not sure if she has either, but I vowed years ago that if I ever had the chance, I would do it to her. Scanning the room, I see my discarded clothes lying in a pile. It won’t be an expert job, not even close, but hopefully she’ll go with it.
I had been wearing kneesocks, and I fasten one around each of her ankles, attaching the other ends to the foot of the bed. She is resting on her back, and I use my necktie to bind her wrists together, her arms extended, hands above her head. Her eyes follow my movements, but otherwise she is still. Waiting.
Finished, I pause and evaluate my handiwork. I know she could free herself if she really wanted to, but she has agreed to this, allowed herself to be vulnerable, given me the illusion that she can be contained. The power I have over her in this moment is only that which she has explicitly granted me, for the sake of both of our pleasure.
Slowly, I lay myself over her, feeling the delicious sensation of her skin against mine, maximizing the interface of our surface areas. I run the point of my canine tooth along the edge of her clavicle, lightly at first, then harder. Moving down her body, my fingers find her nipple and dance around its perimeter before grabbing and pinching it sharply, twisting a little. She flinches, an inhale catching in her throat, and I smile.
I repeat the motion with my teeth across the raised edges of her pelvic bones. Her steely self-possession is as acute as ever, but I hear a subtle quickening in the rhythm of her breathing. Tugging hard on her other nipple, I bite her hip again, increasing the pressure until I can see the imprints of my incisors on her skin, a curved smile of marks. A drop of blood wells in one of the indentations, and I push it away with my thumb, not sure if she has noticed. Regardless, I can smell her arousal, and I know neither of us feels like waiting any longer. Grabbing her ass with both hands, I move to her center, teasing her clit with firm, relentless strokes. I can feel the energy building under my tongue, converging to a point and then expanding in forceful pulses. A ripple passes up her body, then another and another, a flagellated, whiplike motion. I don’t let up until she is limp and panting.
Slowly, I untie her ankles and wrists. She moves her hands and feet slightly, readjusting to their freedom, as I sit down beside her. Pulling herself upright, she gives me a fast, hard kiss, less thank you, more you’re welcome. Unable to stop myself, I lower my head to nuzzle her neck.
In a single gesture, she flips my body, shoving me down into the bed. Helpless, I stare up into her face. She’s grinning, her hands on my shoulders, eyes locked into mine. I know it’s my turn, though what exactly she has in mind remains a mystery. A slight shiver of fear passes through me, but it’s almost fully overshadowed by my enjoyment at feeling her unapologetically substantial form pressing down on me from above.
She too asks only a single question.
“Do you want to watch?”
“No.”
She blindfolds me with my tie. I lie there for a moment, adjusting to this greater darkness within darkness, not knowing what will come next.
The sting of her first slap brands me across the side of my hip, the impacted skin awakening at her touch. She continues with an onslaught of openhanded smacks all across my body, each blow forceful and intentional, the way we used to slap each other as a chaser after a long pull from a passed bottle of whiskey. The throbbing echoes of her touch crisscross and overlap across my body, and behind my blindfold I can picture the marks on my flesh, a sensory map of Technicolor sensation traversing the topography of my arms, legs, and torso. This isn’t pleasure
from pain or painful pleasure; rather, the two are synonymous, indistinguishable. She is an artist, stimulating every sense of my synesthetic landscape, bringing me to life, painting me from the outside inward.
Without warning, she shoves her knee into my crotch and I come at once. A small cry escapes my throat, the sound one of surprise as much as pleasure. I’ve never come this way before, instantaneously, without any preamble of velocity and acceleration, didn’t think it was possible for my body to so drastically redefine the laws of physics. The arousal flashes across the impressions left by her hands, pulsating patterns of color and sensation. No one has ever made me feel like this before. My orgasm crashes through me in lurching waves, finally descending back into the motionless reality of my spent body sprawled across the bed.
When I have finally regained composure, I open my eyes to realize that she has removed my blindfold. She sits on one side of the bed, running her right thumb lightly across her left palm. I don’t have the words to tell her my gratitude, to express how much I needed this, have always needed it I guess. To be fucked by someone who could see through the muscles, the men’s clothing, the advanced degrees, someone who knew me before all of that and wasn’t afraid to possess me, fully and without remorse.
Looking over at me, a smile slips across her face, and she gestures with her head toward the shower, then stands and walks in that direction. We’re finished here, I understand, and it would be pointless to protest.
I follow her into the bathroom. Under the bright overhead light, I can see her body in its entirety, can finally read the verses adorning the curves of her flesh. She is exquisite, every inch a masterpiece, and I feel a momentary sadness that I will never, can never, call her my own. Nor could anyone for that matter. But the feeling passes, and we step into the shower.
Her hands trace my shoulders and sides as she admires my own ink work, which has also increased in the years we’ve been apart. The colorful images announce themselves from my skin, each one the signature of choice and defiance, my best attempts to claim this body as my own. I can feel her approval in the lingering caress of her fingertips, outlining each design as if to animate its static contours.