Malik happily obliged. Her caramel ass turned black and blue. I could see it from my surveillance point.
“Angie. I need to fuck you now.”
He carried Nikki to bed and laid her down. He caressed her ass with his stiff cock.
“Oh baby! That made me so hot. I’ll probably come the minute I get inside you.”
“I’m on the edge myself, honey, so let ’er rip!” Nikki giggled.
He dove into her like a diver searching for a precious pearl. Her inner seas welcomed him as his tool reached its depths. His cock resurfaced to take a breath, then charged again into her dark crevasse. Her pussy gripped him like a black velvet wet suit. She spread her legs wider and he pushed deeper, in and out, growing bigger with every thrust. She wrapped her legs around him as their rivers merged.
When her breathing returned to normal, Nikki disappeared.
Malik said, “Angie, you liked that a lot. I hope it doesn’t hurt too bad.”
“I’m okay,” I said. I didn’t tell him about Nikki.
A few nights later, after my bruises had faded, Malik said, “Todd wants to spank you.”
“Huh? How does Todd know about that?” I growled.
“It slipped out at happy hour tonight. Just say yes. Try it once.”
“Yes.”
“He’s waiting outside. I’ll call him in. Take the drinks and wait in the living room.”
I chose a spot on the comfy couch. Malik sat on my left and Todd on my right. Todd watched intensely as Malik kissed me and fondled my breasts through my blouse. He took off my shirt and my bra.
“Go ahead and cop a feel, man. It’s okay, right, honey?”
I nodded.
Todd put both hands on my boobs, kneading them and brushing his hands against my nipples. He kissed me. I moaned. Malik twisted my left nipple. Todd bit the right. I had two handsome men sucking my breasts and the promise of a spanking. Todd reached down to play with my clit. My pussy juices flowed.
Malik unzipped his pants. Todd did too.
“Suck Todd’s dick, Angie. Show him your skills.”
Malik stroked himself and I lapped at Todd’s hard white cock like a thirsty cat. I swirled my tongue around the tip and inside the hole. I sucked him. I licked his balls. Malik pointed to the bench in front of the fireplace.
“Go lie across the bench. Now!” Malik demanded.
He pulled my skirt up around my waist, the checkered white-and-black linen one. He removed my panties. He scooted me forward until my breasts hung down, ripe to be plucked. He asked if I wanted the handcuffs. My legs dangled.
“Go ahead, Todd. Spank her.”
A couple of hard thwacks and Nikki showed up. I tried to talk but couldn’t. My role became voyeur.
“Let’s get her ass on fire. She loves it.”
Each hand smack left an imprint on Nikki’s burnt-sugar ass.
“Can I lick her pussy?” Todd asked.
“Of course,” Malik said. He peppered her reddened bottom with kisses while Todd dined on her pussy.
“Do you want to come in Todd’s mouth?” Nikki nodded. Malik punished her again.
“No. You don’t come until Todd does. He spanked your ass like a pro and you need to give him a reward. Suck him off and swallow. I’m going to fuck your brains out.”
Todd took the hint and stuck his cock in Nikki’s mouth. She opened her lips wide. Malik pushed his long, dark cock into her sex.
“Baby. Your ass is a mess! You won’t be able to sit down tomorrow.”
Nikki didn’t care about that. She drank Todd’s come and shrieked like a banshee when she and Malik exploded. She waved good-bye when she left.
In the morning, my ass looked like Jackson Pollock had flung pots of purple, red, and blue on it. I admired it in the mirror and smiled.
Why am I celebrating this day? Because nothing like that ever happened again. I got divorced, and these days I’m dating.
I can still get myself off thinking about it though! And if I’m lucky, I’ll find another man who likes to spank. Nikki and my ass are ready!
CHOKER
Rachel Kramer Bussel
One of the reasons I love Raul so much is that he knows exactly how to push my buttons, and doesn’t mind that one of the best ways of doing so is stuffing my mouth full of cock. He gets that I don’t just love giving blow jobs—to him and occasionally other men—but that I love being made to give them, the rougher, the better. Before him, I’d been with more than a few who just couldn’t take my cravings, who found them unseemly or over the top—but not Raul.
The first time I went down on him, I wasn’t sure how to convey this predilection. But the way I started moaning and opening my throat the moment he tugged my hair and stroked my cheek, then got louder when he pressed my head down so the head hit the back of my throat, clued him in. It was glorious to simply become a vessel for his passion. When he held me tight as he came, I loved every gagging second—not to mention the delightful spanking he delivered afterward as my reward.
Now, we’ve got things down almost to a routine. Blow jobs aren’t just foreplay for us, they’re often the main event, though he usually lets me use a vibrator or wear a butt plug while I’m giving one. But last night, he surprised me. No, it wasn’t an anniversary or birthday, just a regular old Tuesday night, but it felt like a celebration of everything good in this world.
First, he made dinner: a delicious Cobb salad, served with champagne. They may not seem like they go together, but with Raul, they certainly did. He made me walk around the table to him to get the champagne, which he poured directly from the flute into my mouth. Sometimes it dribbled down my chin, but that was okay—did I mention I was naked? He licked up every spilled drop, giving my nipples a pinch whenever that happened.
When dinner was over, he said, “Get in position.” I knew what that meant, of course. He’d pulled his chair out from the table, turned it around, and taken out his cock. I crawled around the table this time, my hard nipples hanging low. When I got there, he tied my hands behind my back and guided my tongue up and down his length. He knows I both love this act of tender licking and that it drives me mad—because I want the whole thing down my throat, as soon as humanly possible.
“Oh, don’t worry, Colleen, you’re going to get everything you want and more,” he said with a wicked, beautiful laugh while I could do nothing more but press my tongue against his hot, hard skin. Mewling sounds of desire started in my throat, but I only made the merest of sounds, knowing that not only was he aware of exactly what I wanted, but he’d make me wait the more I begged. Some tops love the act of begging, but my Raul simply likes to know that I’m begging on the inside.
When I thought I’d just about collapse with my need, my pussy clenched so tight I wasn’t even sure if his cock could fit there should he change course, he guided me up for a deep kiss, his lips bruising mine before he gave me a slap across the face that made tears and a smile leap to my face.
Raul untied my wrists, and then made me crawl ahead of him up the stairs, until I was once again kneeling, this time on the bed, blindfolded. Having won back the use of my hands, I wrapped them around his shaft, guiding them up and down. But within a few minutes, he’d instructed me to squeeze his balls, and was slamming his dick in and out of my mouth, the way we both like it.
That’s when I felt it—fingers probing my pussy. I held back my startled reaction, because an even more urgent one was rushing on its heels—sheer arousal. The other times we’d played with other people, it had always been prearranged by both of us. Clearly, this was a special treat for me. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” Raul growled, giving my hair an extra-hard tug as he pulled me up, while the unknown person’s fingers not only plunged deeper, but also played with my clit.
I didn’t try to figure out who it was by sound cues, I simply let myself choke on Raul’s dick. I can’t truly say I was “swallowing” it because that would involve far more agency than my husband was giving me. He was fucking m
y mouth, plain and simple, while his accomplice tried to either distract me or enhance the experience.
No sooner was I grooving to this new triple play than Raul lifted me up, and then said, “Since you like dick so much, I brought you another one—and he’s bigger than me.” I lost it then, coming against the fat fingers that were deep inside my pussy.
“And no, don’t even ask, because I’m not going to tell you whose cock you’re about to suck. All you need to know is that I want to watch.” Then I was turned around and given a pillow for my knees, as a hand I was pretty sure wasn’t Raul’s gripped my long hair this time.
“I was told you’re the best,” a voice I didn’t recognize said. Then all of a sudden the biggest cock my mouth had ever met was probing my lips. I struggled to open wide enough, all too aware by now that there was no way on earth even a blow-job queen like me could swallow it all. Those familiar tears—of pleasure, of want, of challenge—rose up as I did manage to get some of it inside. “That’s it, that’s what I want,” the man said as he pushed himself just a little bit deeper.
I took intense breaths through my nose, heady with the high of having two men at once, when I felt something I’d know anytime, anywhere—Raul’s cock, this time at the entrance to my pussy. I’d been wet as could be since dinner, so he slid right in.
This was another first. Sure, we’d had threesomes with both men and women, but I’d never gotten fucked while having a cock in my mouth. Having Raul inside me unlocked something for me. I was able to take more of the stranger than before, even before he pressed my head down.
No, I never managed to have the head hit the back of my throat as I do with Raul, but I got pretty darn close. I knew it was safe to swallow his come, so I did, also taking Raul’s warm burst. I was placed on my back on the bed, but I never got to say thank you. When Raul finally took the blindfold off, the stranger was gone. But that was okay—my mouth was very happy, and I made sure Raul knew it all night long.
THE FRAMEWORK OF FANTASY
Sonni de Soto
Are you ready?”
Nerves churn in my stomach but my gaze never falters.
“Ready.”
I tell you no; you do it anyway.
I shove you; you push back.
I try to scream; you seal my lips with yours, swallowing the sound.
Your fingers are unrelenting inside me. Each thrust of your rough hand pounds against my soft sex, reverberating through my whole body.
I raise my leg to strike, power surging as I bend my knee. But, when I kick, you catch my sole in your palm.
My body jerks. I bite back a shrieking laugh. “Yellow.” The sound squeaks out as my ticklish foot, trapped by your fingers, recoils.
“Sorry.” You let go, wincing at the break in scene.
I give a small shake of my head, hoping to hold it together. “Green.”
You nod, a relieved smile flashing before it’s replaced by yet another finger driving deeper within me. Stretching me farther, you claim more space as your own, leaving me gasping at the loss of my body, bit by bit, to you.
“So, even though you’ll tell me to stop, I shouldn’t stop.” You look at me like my words—like I—don’t make sense. Like I’m crazy.
I know.
I’m sorry.
Sitting next to you on the couch, I shake my head. “If I say ‘stop,’ it’s just part of the scene.”
Frustrated, you shake your head. “Then how will I know if you, you know, actually want me to stop?”
I touch your knee. “That’s what the safewords are for.” I know this is hard for you. That I’m asking a lot of you.
I bet, when you’d asked me about my greatest fantasy, you were hoping it was anal or swinging or exhibitionism.
Sometimes, I wish it were too.
My voice cracks as I say, “Stop.”
I feel your hand against my face. “Color?” Your voice is quiet, unsure.
I turn my face with a slight shake, my scent still strong as it clings to your fingers. “Green.” I struggle beneath you while your semi-hard length smacks limply against my thighs. I push you; I don’t need your softness. “Green.”
Nostrils flaring, you grunt and nod. Your hand snakes around my wrist, my arousal slicking the twist of skin.
I sink my teeth into my lips, biting back the urge to beg you to stop. I want to scream it, but the muffled sound groans low in my throat.
You won’t stop.
My mind centers on that thought, my other hand straining against the hard plane of your chest.
I just know it.
“I don’t think I can do this.” You pace our kitchen, from silverware to canned goods. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I just don’t see how this is going to work.” Pausing, you lean against the sink. “One of the best parts of sex is watching you get off.”
I turn the stove down to a low simmer before facing you. “I’ll still be getting off.” That’s the point.
“But it won’t look like it.” You shift your weight from foot to foot. “Will it?”
I purse my lips thoughtfully before sitting us down at the dinner table. “That depends.” We’ve been together for a year and a half now. “You know my body.” Better than anyone else. “You know, without words, how my breath hitches and my toes curl when I’m about to come. You know how my hands clench and my hips hitch. You know how hot—how wet—I can get at your touch.”
Your gaze traces my body, remembering every hint and sign of my arousal. Desire sparks in your eyes before you shut them and shake your head. “I’m just not sure.”
I cover your hand with mine. “So, we’ll wait until you are.”
My fantasy is to feel the force of your body on mine, but I never want to force that on you. “We’ll wait.”
I choke on a breath. The scent of your sweat, your skin, mixes with mine, infusing the room. It fills my nose, my lungs. I feel you in my pores, seeping into my blood.
Your thick length grinds along the lips of my sex, hardening with each pressing pass. You grip your shaft between us to plant it at my opening. I inhale sharply and wait for your thrust.
“Green?”
“Green.”
My breath heaves out at your fullness surging into me, the sound helpless and inevitable in my ears. With each buck, you overtake me. My body. My senses. My thoughts. You plunge and push until I’m more aware of you than me, my receptive body a ripple raging against the brunt of yours. Lost to instinct, I cling to you and cry out, losing myself in the crashing swell of you.
You’ve been staring at me through the bathroom door while I floss my teeth. “Why this?”
Sighing, I toss the string in the trash. We’ve been having this conversation for weeks now.
Not that I mind, I remind myself.
Of course I don’t.
This is how fantasy becomes reality. As awkward and uncomfortable as this is, it’s what will make the experience, when it finally happens—if it happens—all the better.
So, I join you on the edge of our bed.
Look, I know I shouldn’t like this.
Consensual non-consent.
Rape play.
It’s so wrong. Disturbing and probably disrespectful. God knows I would never actually want to be raped. Would never wish that kind of violation on anyone.
Yet.
I frown, shaking my head and shrugging. “There’s something about someone taking control of me, taking control from me. Someone forcing me out of myself and making me feel.” I close my eyes and let the words I’ve guarded inside pour out. “I want someone’s desire to overpower me, to be so big it consumes me. I want it to be so strong it reaches inside me and forces some unseen side of my desire out.”
“And our regular sex doesn’t do that for you?”
My eyes open at the sad tone in your voice. No. That’s not what I mean. “Our sex is wonderful.” Always. “This is just…” I shrug. “A fantasy.” One I would only trust to someone like you. Someone who lo
ves me and understands that, even within a fantasy that plays with erasing my pleasure, this is all about my desire. All about transcendentally finding myself by getting lost in you.
But, at the end of the day… “I don’t need this.” Not if you don’t want it. “I need you.”
“But you want this?” You say it as if the words are an endless echo in your brain. “You want this.”
I shrug. “I’d like to see what this fantasy is like. With you.”
Furrowing your brow, you look down at the bed. You’re so quiet, but I can almost hear every conversation we’ve ever had about this replay in your head. Our whole history spreads out silently between us.
Under the weight of all those words, I worry.
Then you look up, your face set. “Are you ready?”
I blink blankly. Slowly, almost disbelieving, I grin and nod. Even though nerves churn in my stomach, my gaze never falters. “Ready.”
MORE
Michael in Texas
I’ll give you a while to think about that,” he says. “Think about where I’ll spank next.” Then he drapes the tawse across the bench in front of my right hand and walks away behind me. The carpet muffles his footsteps; I can’t tell where he is. Is he standing there looking at me?
I’m on the rails—that’s our name for it. The first time we tried this elevated elbows-and-knees position, the benches were crossways to my body—both elbows on the same bench, and the same for my knees. It was uncomfortable, even though he padded the wood benches with folded bath towels, but I felt secure.
But the next time we tried it, he turned the benches so my left elbow and knee were on one bench, right elbow and knee on the other. Same position—entirely different effect. I felt vulnerable. And he could tell. Was my breathing faster? He knew somehow. We’ve done it that way ever since. Soft cotton ropes at wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles hold me in place. Each time, he moves the benches slightly farther apart—my thighs are at almost a right angle to each other tonight.
We use other positions—spread-eagle on the bed, faceup or facedown; bent over a chair—but this is our favorite. I’m almost always tied up nowadays—my struggles to stay in position are over, and I don’t miss them or the extra swats I received for moving.
Big Book of Submission Volume 2 Page 17