by Bebe Wilde
He slapped it against his hand. “I used to ride, play polo. Do you like polo?”
I shrugged. I’d never given it a thought one way or another.
“You will like this,” he said. “Undress, please.”
I wasn’t so sure. But when I was down to my panties and bra, he shook his head, indicating he wanted me all the way undressed. I complied and stood naked in front of him.
“Bend over the bed,” he said.
Oh…okay. I went to the bed and bent over, my ass in front of him. He approached me but then stopped short just before he could touch me. Then I felt the crop making its way down my naked back and then down the crack of my ass. I shivered in delight. What was going to do with that thing?
I soon found out. He pulled back and cracked the crop against my ass. I screamed as it hit my skin. Then I felt the burn. I started to rise but then he said, “No, no, no.” What? What did he mean no? He got up next to me and slid his hand down my other ass cheek, touching it softly, then gave it a hard crack with the crop. I screamed again as the pain seemed to bite into my soul.
Then there was silence.
Neither one of us moved or spoke for a long time, then he whispered, “Another?”
Another? Could I handle another? Something in me decided that, yes, I could. So I said, “Yes,” breathlessly and he made contact again. And again. Each time, the crop bore into my skin and made it burn. Each time, I was brought closer and closer to ecstasy, closer to freedom.
Soon, my ass was on fire and the crop had been cast aside on the bed in front of me. François positioned himself behind me and slipped his hand around until it rested on my pussy. He began to move it, up and down, up and down. The juices from my pussy allowed his hand to slide easily. He stopped and then ran both hands up and down my ass cheeks before pulling them open and playing with my anus with one finger before he slipped it in.
Aahhh! Ahhh! I’d never had that, never had someone do something like that to me. I heard him unzip his pants then felt his hard cock slide between my ass cheeks until he positioned it for entry. I tensed in anticipation, in lust, wanting him to stick it in. He eased it in, inch by hard and thick inch, until he was fucking me, fucking me in the ass. I was still bent over the bed, my ass in the air, him taking me from behind, him fucking me like that, fucking me dirty. I didn’t know what this felt like, this all encompassing feeling of true dirty lust, but it felt like nothing I’d ever had before and I never wanted it to stop.
As he fucked me, he pushed my legs open wider then reached around and grabbed the riding crop. He turned it around until the handle pointed at me and somehow—I don’t know how—he slid it between my legs until it found my clit. Ahhh! I didn’t know if I could stand much more of this. It was almost too much. I was going in overload. I began to ride to handle of the crop, feeling its slightly rough leather rub against my clit nicely. And so, I rode the crop and François rode me. We took our time. This fucking was slow and methodical. It was deep and intense, his hard cock in me like that and I clit-playing with the crop. It didn’t take long before I began to come and as I came, I wailed a deep, long throaty wail with the orgasm. François pumped into me as my orgasm kept coming and coming then he pulled out and shot his load of hot come all over my back. I squirmed as it hit me, loving how it felt, how it slid down between my ass cheeks, the sheer dirtiness of it. I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the crop, as it seemed to stare back at me. The crop had beaten me in more ways than one. It would become a welcomed friend, I knew.
“Tonight,” he said and kissed my naked shoulder. “You will stay for dinner.”
There was no arguing with that. James would have to fend for himself.
Alive With Lust
It was like that. It was wonderful. It was the best time of my life. Every day, I would awake and begin to think about him. Some days, when he had business to attend to, we didn’t meet and on those days, I would be alive with lust for him. I would obsess about the riding crop and what he would do with it. I loved not knowing. I loved what we were doing, how adult and how dirty it was. I loved that it was never tiresome and each time got better.
Like this time. It was one of the best. Or it was going to be. He was just about to crack the riding crop across my naked ass but then suddenly stopped. He took it away. I grabbed at it on instinct but he held it away from me. I huffed and tried to think of a way that would make him to do it.
“I want it,” I said, unable to come up with anything better.
“No,” he said.
I sighed with desire and impatience. “Please.”
He grinned and motioned for me to turn over again. I smiled back and turned over, pushing my face into the mattress of the bed and raising my ass in the air. He brought it down across my ass. I shivered with delight. “Again.”
He did it again, this time it would leave a mark that would be covered by my clothes that no would know about. But me. And him.
He turned me around and pressed his forehead to mine. We were like a pair of antelopes who press their heads together as they battle. He always did this when we fucked, as if he wanted to make sure I understood he was the dominant one. He didn’t have to make sure. I gave him that privilege long before we played our first game.
Sometimes, I did think about what we were doing and why it turned me on so much. Was there a primary need in me to be punished? He took it when he wanted it. That’s all that mattered to him. And getting it from me was where he wanted it from. He wasn’t interested in doing any of this stuff with anyone else. Only me; I had been picked, I was his star, his fuck buddy, the woman who would run to the ends of the earth and back again for him.
Well, as long as he went with me, I mean.
He made everything in my life less important. Silly things I’d cried about no longer made me miserable. And I had been miserable for a long, long time.
Misery, like anything else, becomes a habit. There is a lot of safety in misery. It’s almost comforting. I had spent a lot of time being afraid. But afraid of what? The unknown? The fear of being alone? What was the fear that bound me to him? I didn’t know but it didn’t matter too much. But I did know that the introduction of the riding crop had somehow disabled the fear. I was no longer afraid. I was free.
I loved to take what he gave to me, those hot, lusty and sweaty sex sessions but I always felt a little uneasy afterwards, as if I’d gotten something without getting approval first and I’d get punished later on for it. Which wasn’t so bad.
Today was a different game. Today was the waiting game. He was doing everything to build up to the fuck. Delaying it, that’s what he was doing. He moved away from me and walked around studying me like he’d studied the painting in the museum the first day we met.
“If you don’t fuck me soon,” I said. “I’ll leave and fuck the first man I see on the street.”
The smile slid off his face. “Don’t ever say that.”
I stared into his eyes. He was serious. The thought of me and another man drove him crazy, which meant only one thing. He loved me. And that sort of scared me. I knew he did but this proved it. If you don’t love someone, you’re not jealous with whom they spend time. And you certainly don’t send them expensive gifts. Had he done that out of insecurity? Had he done that to buy my love? He never had to do that. Maybe he had done it to show me that he could do it, that he would do it, that he should do it. It wasn’t so bad being on the receiving end of someone wanting to impress you, either.
“Does the thought of me fucking another man scare you, François?” I asked, really wanting to know though I already knew the truth.
He shook his head. “No, it angers me.”
I loved it. I hated to admit it, but I loved knowing that he was jealous of me. He pushed me back on the bed and pushed my legs open with his knee. I went with him and we were just about to kiss when he pulled back.
“No,” he said and moved off the bed. “I’ll take you home.”
“Yes, I am,” he replied. “Get dressed.”
I shook my head. So, I wasn’t going to get fucked, was I? Whatever. I decided I wasn’t going to bitch at him and I wasn’t going to do that because I had pushed him too far. Next time I would keep my mouth shut. Besides, I knew he wouldn’t let me leave without at least a quickie. It was still early, still daylight. We still had plenty of time. I asked, “So, you’ll drive me?”
“Oui.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m getting sick of the metro.”
He nodded and we got dressed. I looked over at him and realized he was one-hundred percent mine. I didn’t share anything about him with anyone, not even my roommate James, who I now rarely saw. All I told him was that I was having a storybook Parisian romance. He was glad for me as he was having one himself. I never even told him François’s name or what he looked like. He was kept secret because I didn’t want to give anything about our affair away to anyone else, not even a detail about it.
“Ready?” he asked and headed out the door.
I stared after him, then glanced at my watch. It was still early, so early that I wondered why he was doing this. We hadn’t even had sex yet. And I hadn’t come all the way out here not to get what I’d come for.
“François?” I called.
“Come, Nina,” he called back. “We must go.”
I stared after him. He was serious! So much for the quickie. I followed him down the stairs and out the door and then we took off in his car. But he didn’t head back into Paris; he headed out, towards the country.
“Where are we going?” I asked and looked out at an open field full of fresh spring grass.
“For a drive,” he said and took my hand and kissed it. “Would you like that?”
“Very much,” I said and smiled at him. “Are you still mad at me?”
“A little,” he said. “Let’s not discuss.”
Fine by me. We drove in silence for a while, then he stopped the car and pointed at a field which was surrounded by trees. “I want to fuck you there.”
I turned to stare at it.
“Would you let me do that?”
I stared at him. “I don’t think so, François.”
“But I think you should,” he whispered in my ear.
I looked away from him towards the field, then back. He smiled his most gracious smile and gave a little nod.
“I want you to get out and take off your clothes and wait for me.”
I stared at him. “I can’t do that.”
“Try and see.”
I looked at the field then at the road, which was pretty much deserted.
“Umm?” he said.
“Uh,” I said, unable to think straight. “Uh…uh…”
“I think you would like it,” he said and leaned over and slipped his under my sweater until he was squeezing my breast. “You will like it very much.”
“Fran—”
“Shh,” he murmured and played with my breast.
I squeezed my eyes shut as he did that.
“Go on now,” he said and nudged me.
I took a breath and got out of the car. I looked back at him and he nodded for me to go on. I turned and walked towards the field, taking my jacket off and throwing it to the side. I turned back around to stare at him. He was watching me with a bemused smile. That smile gave me courage and I kept taking clothes off as I went deeper into the field. First my boots, then my jeans, my light sweater, my bra and then my panties. Then I turned to stare at the car, towards him. And I waited.
I was totally naked. I was totally vulnerable. I loved it.
It didn’t take him ten seconds before he was out of the car and running towards me. My heart began to race and I began to feel so alive I thought I could fly into the blue sky above. He was there, suddenly, he was there and he was kissing me, touching my naked body as it pressed into his fully clothed one. I’d never felt as alive as I did then. I’d never felt as loved.
I grabbed into his ass and pulled him deeper into me. He walked me over and pushed me up against a tree. My mouth opened wide and grabbed onto his tongue, sucking on it, wanting it on my neck, then my breast, then my pussy. He pulled back and ran his tongue down my neck and then to my chest and then to my breast. He grabbed my arms and pushed them up over my head and then he ran his tongue down my underarm. A moan came out of my mouth. That felt so good.
His hands began to play with my breasts, squeeze them. Then he bent down and kissed each nipple once, before going back to the first to suck it into his mouth. Another moan came out of my lips, this one more intense.
He paused and pulled back a little, staring into my eyes. I stared back and watched his hand, flat and wide, as it slid down my naked chest, between my breasts and to the little bit of hair I didn’t have waxed off and there it stopped and he ran his fingers into it, massaging me there, before his thumb slipped between my lips and found my clit.
“Ummm…” I moaned. “Oh, more, baby, more...”
He complied and kept his thumb there while his other finger began to play with my ass, slightly slipping into my hole while another one slipped into my cunt. My hips began to sway and I began to move slightly at the touch and before I knew it, this light, warm and welcoming orgasm opened up in me, much like a flower opens up during the first warm day of spring. I was in heaven. This was heaven.
I grabbed into his face, pulling it to me and sucked at his lips, biting at them with lust and need. I needed more of that, wherever it came from. I needed his hard cock inside of me.
He took his cue and pushed me down into the grass and climbed over me, then he began to kiss me, kiss my naked body, taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. I moaned and arched up and grabbed onto his neck, pulling him down on me. I just wanted to fuck him now. I grabbed onto his belt and began to undo it. He helped and then I unzipped his pants and took his cock in my hand. It was hard and ready to fill me.
I pushed his pants down over his ass and wrapped my legs around his waist and his cock found its way into me. I let out a hiss of lust as he began to fuck me, ram into me with all his might. He was making me whole again, fucking me silly. I could not get enough of him. He couldn’t get enough of me.
Then he paused. He stopped moving. My eyes fluttered open and I stared at him, into his eyes.
“What is it?” I asked breathlessly.
“I love you,” he said and began to move again. “I love you very much, Nina.”
A big smile came over my face. “I love you too, François.”
He grinned and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and told myself I’d never let him go. It wasn’t long before I felt the orgasm and I felt him coming, too. That made the fuck intensify and I was moaning loudly, with such intense satisfaction I thought I’d burst. When it was over, he gave me little kisses all over my face, on my eyelids, on the tip of my nose, on my lips. I lay there and wanted more.
When I opened my eyes, we smiled at each other. I thought, He could make me do anything. Anything. He was pushing me to make me feel emotions that had been lying dormant inside of me. They’d been asleep for so long and now they were being awakened. It was like I was being awakened. And I was. I cried with it whenever he fucked the orgasm out of my body. I screamed with the liberation he gave me when he brought the crop down against my bare ass. I moaned with it whenever he threw me up against the wall and took me. That’s when I realized it’s not about enslavement of the body; it’s about enslavement of the heart. And once the heart is enslaved, there’s no going back. And there was no going back for me. Not now, maybe not ever.
And, of course, that’s when I panicked. That’s when I knew I couldn’t stay.
Better Left Unsaid
“Where are you going?” François asked and looked at the two small suitcases in the apartment hallway.
�
�You can’t come in,” I said and stopped him.
“Why not?” he asked. “I haven’t heard from you in days.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been busy. It’s been a year and James had already left. We’re going back home.”
Which was true, sort of. But James had been gone for about a month. I was just staying here until I worked up the nerve to leave François. To leave Paris, to leave it all behind. And I was leaving because I was scared. I knew how much I loved him and that scared me. I knew how much he loved me and that scared me even more. Why I was just coming to this conclusion was anyone’s guess. I didn’t know why love scared me like that. I guess I’d just never felt the intensity of it before. I didn’t want to be consumed by it. And it was time to go home.
But the real reason? I was afraid our relationship might become too comfortable, too nice. I didn’t want him to be so familiar that the sight of toothpaste in the sink in the morning would piss me off, the way it used to when my ex-husband did that. What we had was a dream and I didn’t want to lose that feeling of passion. I knew I was just panicking. That’s all. It’s like I thought I had to run. And so, I followed that instinct though it was leading me to a great big nowhere.
“Where are you going?” he asked again.
“Home.”
“Why?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I said. “Besides, I told you that I had to leave.”
“No, you didn’t.”
It was true. I hadn’t. I thought once that I should, but I didn’t want to spoil the mood. I didn’t want to hurt him, either.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “It’s just time I left.”
“Why are you leaving?” he asked. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Yes, I do,” I said.
“Tell me why.”
“It’s better left unsaid, François,” I said and wished he wouldn’t have come here. This was too hard. I had just wanted to run away without seeing him ever again. I had to go home. It was time. Besides, what else could I have done? Rented an apartment? Then I’d have to get a job… It was too much to think about. It would have complicated things for me. But I knew what he wanted and what he wanted was not what I wanted.