Of course you deprived me.
You made me get dressed, supervising to stop me from touching myself. My panties were soaked the second I put them on. My thighs were tender, slicked and slippery. Now I have bed hair and a seeping wet spot on the back of my skirt, in no condition to leave the house, but you know that. You've no plans to take me anywhere.
Releasing my nipples, you snap my bra back in place, the pain subsiding, the relief so intense I almost topple over.
One look from you and I know what 'breakfast' means. I don't need to be told to get down on my knees; I'm automatically there, mouth open like a baby bird, a slut-faced blow-up doll. Once I aspired to be loved, but these days I'm resigned to being nothing but a cum receptacle.
I've always savoured giving you head (one thing I truly die for), but somewhere along the line tenderness has been lost and I mourn for it. I want to taste you, I do, but it scares me that there'll be no sweet kiss at the end of it, no release for me. I wonder with more frequency lately why I let you abuse me.
Shirt off, belt and pants open, you come to me exposed, erect, strong and dangerous.
Every time I see you like this my doubts fade, my blood boils, and my juices flow.
You're always thinking – the wheels turning on some deep thought - and you're the master of self-control. I live for the moments when your foundations shatter, when the voice in your head blanks to white noise, instinct overwhelming you. Only then do I feel that we're equals, that you're just as much at the mercy of your sex as I am.
It's an intense turn-on for me, inciting you to that animal state, seeing the unguarded hunger on your face when you forget everything except the pursuit of orgasm.
Fisting my hair in your hands, you ram your cock between my lips, surging to the back of my throat, fast and punishing. I'm gagging, looking up into your eyes, tears streaming down my face. Feeding on my misery, you grow bigger in my mouth, backing me up until my head hits the wall. You hold me captive, slamming your cock into me over and over. All I can do is hold my throat open and suck harder, my tongue flickering over you, urging you to finish quickly.
Body seizing, you pull out and pump yourself, spurting white hot fluid all over my face, deliberately missing my mouth. Wiping your priceless deposit off my cheek, I'm desperate to taste you, but your hand tightens around my wrist and you whip my fingers away, cleaning them off on my skirt.
"Fuck you," I sputter. God damn you. I'm hurt, insulted, infuriated. You're lucky I don't jump up and plant my knee in your balls. I'm over it. I've had enough of your bullshit.
Standing on wobbly legs I turn my back on you, stumbling towards the bathroom.
You're right you know. Why would I want to swallow the cum of an iceberg, an unmoved, heartless pig? I'll wash you off, I'll scrub off every toxic drop, and if you ever try to face fuck me again, you'll get a guillotine of teeth. (Little do you know how much I'll suffer, far more than you, to be denied the taste and wonder of your cock in my mouth, at least, the way that I like it).
"What did you say to me?"
I freeze at the menace in your tone. I could repent but the damage is done, it's too late to take back my disrespect. I could bolt, but with the dead lock keys hidden, there's nowhere to run. A switch flips on in my head, a subconscious need to provoke you further. The more I push you, the hotter you get, the higher the chance that you'll lose your way and cave in to me, conceding me that elusive orgasm.
Then there's the terrifying, yet alluring, possibility that one day your beatings will go too far. It's all part of the rush.
Without looking at you, I reply, "What I said, was 'fuck you', but what I really meant to say was, fuck you, you cold-hearted, sadistic piece of shit." Put that mouthful in your Piecepipe and smoke it. I'll teach you for thinking I'm submissive.
There's a flurry of air behind me, and then you're on me, dragging me by the hair into the kitchen, pinning me face down on the table, holding me there while you rip my skirt and panties down.
Not saying a word, you release me and walk out.
It's an illusion of freedom, designed to put me in my place. Why cry and carry on when I'd the opportunity to walk away whenever I wanted? You're so devious. You know me too well. You know there are elements of anticipation and excitement building in me as I wonder what depraved punishment you have in store.
I know the rules.
Stepping out of my panties, I spread my legs so wide that my buttocks are stretched apart, my muscles starting to ache, the strain on my body amplifying every hurt and ill you've already inflicted.
The house is cold and silent. The minutes tick away while I stand absolutely still with my genitalia on display, open and vulnerable, my cheek pressed against the table, waiting.
After what seems an eternity you return, cool and aloof, hiding something behind your back. Before I can guess what it is you penetrate me with your fingers, slipping so easily into me that I'm embarrassed and ashamed. I can protest all I want but my pussy doesn't lie.
Impaling me on your hand you tell me what a dirty mouth I have, what a wet little slut I am, a leech who wants to suck you dry. The whole world knows I'm a bad girl, a dirty whore, a nymphomaniac cunt who thinks too highly of herself . . . everything derogatory you can think of.
With your inventive mind the debasements are endless.
It destroys me to hear you call me filthy names, particularly while you're manipulating me, making me ooze into your palm, lending credence to your words. Gripping the table, I wriggle and squirm, humiliated, transported to the most soul-destroying recess in my mind.
Your fingers withdraw from me, replaced with the arctic burn of your nasty tool, the icy fullness of the steel dildo you made especially for me, crudely rammed into my snatch, right to the hilt. Every cruel node you adorned it with tortures my inner passage as you twist the evil thing inside me, leaving me painfully sensitised and breathless.
I wish you'd taped my mouth, anything to stop the strangled moans of longing and anguish that spill out of me. I want your cock, the real thing, you inside me, you fingering my clit, you making me explode, please Master, please god, pleeease.
As if you could care less what I want.
Wrenching my chin up, you slip your fingers into my mouth, smearing my slut juice all over my lips, forcing me to lick your hand clean while you're fucking me like a corkscrew with your evil toy. Just enough, just enough to bring me to the cliff and leave me hanging there before ripping the dildo out of me and deep-throating me with it.
I'm a sobbing, quivering mess when you throw the dildo aside and land the first deadly blow.
Oh my god, my god, my god, my fucking god, you have never been so pitiless, never hit me with something as vicious or sharp as metal. My head hits the table as your belt welts my skin, the buckle cutting into my bruised ass, the pain so acute that, in screaming, I bite my tongue, blood filling my mouth with a distinctive tang. You've taken to me with your open hand, your whip, but this...this is beyond pleasure or pain.
This is annihilation.
You flay me a second and a third time, and I'm shocked to realise that the choked, tortured sounds echoing off the walls in the kitchen are coming from me. My mind clears and I suddenly detest you with a passion I've never felt for my worst enemies, fueling my determination to never let you win.
It won't be me who calls a halt to this.
Rage sustains me through the following hit - only just - but the beating is too much. My body breaks into a cold sweat and my soul cracks wide open. Flinching away to avoid the next blow, I succeed only in ramming my pelvic bones into the table's edge, adding more contusions to my body and worst of all, elevating your wrath. How dare I try to ease my suffering?
Drawing your arm back as far as possible, your belt whistles through the air as you bring it down hard across my buttocks in the most despicable, inhumane stroke of them all.
It's over for me.
Slumping to the floor, my body and mind shrieking, I'm scarcely able to
curl into a foetal ball, past knowing who I am, no longer caring what happens to me. Right now I would gladly face death and embrace oblivion, anything to evade the profound devastation you induce in me.
You look down at me, really look at me, an expression crossing your face that my hazed, confused brain can't comprehend.
It could be remorse for breaking your plaything.
It could be triumph.
Then you're on the floor with me, rolling me on to my back, pushing my limp legs aside as you run your tongue through my sopping pussy. My bodyweight presses down on my wounds, and I howl from the shock of it, but the tiles are cool and soothing, numbing my burning, bloody skin. My body is so overwrought I can see the poetry of your head between my legs but I can't feel your mouth. I cant feel a thing until your lips and teeth latch on to my clitoris.
That's all I need.
All the pent up emotions and the knife edge of frustration you've balanced me on for days, implodes inside me. Powerless, I thrust my hips into your face and let go, endlessly pulsing around your fingers wedged in my pussy, your tongue working its way into my ass as my spend goes on forever.
My total surrender sends you over the edge, flying into the abyss.
I can't believe you're hard again, hauling me on top of you, drilling your way into me with my pussy fighting to expel you. Holding me tight, you fuck me right through my climax, lifting me and slamming me down on your cock like a rag doll, my body anesthetised but my pussy on fire, my cries incoherent, close to madness. You're frenetic now, wrenching apart my blouse, buttons flying everywhere as you maul my tits, your hips levering up into me.
I can't escape you and I can't remember the reasons I wanted to. All that matters is that you're inside me, filling me up, out of control, just as much a slave as I am. Your loss of self revives me. Biting hard on your throat, sucking your neck, I claw at your back, leaving my own savage marks as you drive into me one last time, your body jerking in tandem with mine when you flood my tight passage with semen.
Collapsing against you, I fold my body into yours, reluctant to let you go as silence descends over us. Schizophrenic I know. A moment ago I wanted to leave you, maim you, die, but now I'm struck with the irrational necessity of keeping you close, dreading the moment when you withdraw from me in body, mind, and spirit. It's almost as if you've given up a secret part of yourself and you resent me for taking it.
This is the telling moment for me, the switch from craving sex to feeling used, full of despair, needy for approval, searching for some kind of meaning in all this because without it I'm left with utter emptiness.
For some reason I can't fathom, now is one of those rare moments when your cock fades away, but you, you are still with me. Helping me to my feet, you support me to the bedroom. I'm not used to consideration. It plays havoc with my head, but it's an implicit part of your charm, like lightning spearing through storm clouds.
Cautiously I crawl on the bed, easing myself down on my stomach, exhausted, my body flaming in agony. I've no spirit left to cry; I've already given you an ocean.
Handing me painkillers to swallow, you wash my injuries and salve my skin, rubbing my back to gentle me whenever you touch a tender spot. It stuns me that your comforting hands were capable of such barbaric treatment.
I don't know what you think or feel when you clean the six cuts where your belt buckle drew blood. Nor when you lift my hips off the bed and plunge your face between my legs, slowly lapping every drop of your own salty cum from me.
This simple act (if I wasn't so tired and sore), makes me yearn to have you back inside me all over again.
When I least expect it you brush my hair off my face and gift me the longest, sweetest kiss, finally letting me taste you, all of you. Your kiss is a silent communion: It's you understanding the ordeal you've put me through and just how deeply you value my capitulation.
I know your dirty little secret.
You're not as heartless as you pretend to be, and that, dear one, is why I keep coming back.
The End.
Saturday Afternoon
My husband, Doug and I separated about 3 months ago. I wasn't in love with him and had tried to make it work, but it wasn't. He's a great guy and we still talk; he was always a good husband and father. We had been married for 20 years and raised 3 daughters, all still at home but in their late teens.
One night about 6 weeks after we split, Doug and I were talking in the bedroom. It's the only way to get privacy in a house full of teenagers. He kept looking at me and then looking at the side of the bed where I used to sleep. I knew that look. I kept checking my clothes. My 38d tits were completely covered so I knew I wasn't giving him a show. Finally, he told me that he had been having sexual dreams about me and wanted to have sex again. Sexual dreams about me. That was pretty funny. I'm not what you would normally consider attractive. Some would consider me a BBW, but I'm probably a little bigger around the middle than most would like.
I didn't think having sex with him again was a good idea. I knew that he was still in love with me and missed me and I didn't want to hurt him further. But I was horny, too so I said yes. It was fantastic the first time and pretty good 2 weeks later as well. But I started to feel a little guilty. I knew that he was still in love with me. And even though he said he knew we weren't ever getting back together again, both times we had had sex; he made it all about me. He made sure I had several orgasms and took care of me first—just like old times.
I talked to him about it and said I wouldn't be able to continue having sex with him if I kept feeling guilty. I told him that in order for me to stop feeling guilty; he would have to make it more about him. If it was going to be "friends with benefits" then we both would have to benefit. No more one-sided. I also said he would have to tell me what he wants or I wouldn't do anything. So we arranged to get together again on Saturday afternoon.
He was in the shower when I got there. I used the opportunity to go in the bedroom and get ready. I took my clothes off and checked the closet for porn. I found a DVD on top and put it in the player turning on the TV as I got in bed. The screen started where he last left off, I guess. There was a blonde with huge tits reverse cowboy on a guy whose face I couldn't see yet. But he was very hard and she was very enthusiastic. Doug walked in looking as good as ever with his flat stomach and full head of dark brown hair and said, "That's what I want" motioning towards the screen. I looked at the TV again and said, "There's no way I can do that. You'll have to get someone who looks like her." Let's get real. I outweigh her skinny blonde ass by 50 pounds easy. So he climbed in bed with me and lay on top blocking my view. He started kissing me and I shied away a little. He says, "What's wrong? You have a cold sore or something?"
"No." He kissed me again and I turn ever so slightly so he ends up on the corner of my mouth.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I couldn't tell him that I didn't want to kiss him. That the kissing was too intimate and I didn't want to. I wasn't strong enough this time so I let him kiss me. Don't get me wrong, I want to kiss. God I miss kissing. I just don't want him to get the wrong idea.
So he leaned in to kiss me again. Immediately his tongue touched my lips and I opened up for him. His kisses were very insistent. He was taking control and leaving no doubt as to his intentions. He grabbed my hands and held them against the bed while using his knee to open my legs.
"What if I do this?" I liked it, but when I looked at him, he smiled and let go.
"Just kidding," he says. Totally ruined it for me. But then he redeemed himself by pulling up on his knees effectively placing his cock in my face.
"I shaved for you."
I could see that. "Oh, really?"
"What if I want you to suck it?"
He's not getting this whole tell me what you want thing. But I really do want to suck it so I do. I can't help myself and immediately take it all the way in my mouth. I hear him groan as I slowly pull my mouth back. It's so hard and so soft at the same time.
Damn, I love cock. Sometimes I think about going lesbian just to get good oral sex. But then I think about cock and how much I love the way it feels. There's no way to replace the real thing. No toy ever feels this good.
I pull off and lick all along the underside and look up at him. This of course embarrasses him and he looks away. Damn, I hate that. But I love his cock. It may not be the biggest out there, but at 6 inches it's more than enough for me. So I go back to it licking all the way down to the underside of his balls then back up again. I just love the way it feels. I circle my tongue around the surface and go back down and up before taking him in my mouth again. I can't quite get him all the way in because I'm at the wrong angle. Plus he's playing with my pussy and I'm having trouble concentrating on him.
He'd been circling my clit the whole time, but even more distracting were the 2 fingers he inserted and the placement of his thumb on my clit. I know exactly what he's about to do and really can't wait. I love the way he strokes my g-spot while doing my clit at the same time. I suck him hard but give up and lay back. He takes this opportunity to lean down and lick my clit. He's licking me and his fingers are going in and out. In and out. His tongue circles around. In and out. Around. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensations. I can feel myself building up. I open my eyes and look at the screen. There's another couple on there now. More huge fake boobs. More reverse cowboy. Why did I open my eyes?
I reach down and start stroking him. He's still really hard. He lifts up on his knees again but continues pumping in and out faster and faster with his hand. He replaces his tongue with his thumb. So perfect. Faster and faster. I'm stroking him. He's pummeling with his fingers in and out. I lift my hips to meet his hand. I can't help it. I'm almost there. I stop stroking him and lay my head back. I'm concentrating now. Please keep going. Oh God, don't stop. But I don't say anything, I can't. So close, so fast.
"AAAahhhhggg." I finally get over the edge. He keeps going through the contractions, and then stops when he feels me come down. But he doesn't remove his hand. I look up at him. He's got this silly grin on his face. He always has that silly grin when he makes me cum.
Daddy's Bedtime Taboo Sex Stories Page 40