Sunday, February 13, 2011


In this story, I am 23. We are both young, my lover and I, and we do not get to see each other with any kind of frequency. I spend long bus trips traveling out to his apartment, my pussy getting wetter with anticipation and every passing mile. The town he lives in is conservative and traditional; he and I are not.

Simon is tall and slim, in sharp contrast to my voluptuousness. He is patient and caring, and historically very attentive to my pleasure. He has large, strong hands that he does not use gently. His bed has a wooden headboard with rings that he installed on it that clang when we roll over in our sleep, or when he fucks me too hard. They are not for show alone. He keeps a row of cabinets on the wall by the bed.

I am straddling his lap on the small blue couch in his apartment. I am kissing him deeply; smelling his slightly salty, slightly earthy body and feeling his tongue explore me. His hands move from firmly gripping both of the globes of my ass and pulling me closer towards him, to gripping my hips as he lifts me off. As I stand, he undoes the buckle on my wide belt roughly pulls my jeans off, dragging my panties along with. I step out of them and he pulls my shirt over my head. I am standing in front of him in a black lace bra, with my blonde hair in a sloppy ponytail, his hand lifting my chin up so that I am looking him directly in his hazel eyes. He kisses me deeply again and leads me by the hand to his bedroom.

The only light that's on tonight is a lamp standing in the corner. The bed is made.

“Sit on the bed, Margot, put this over your eyes. Do not take it off. Do not move. Do not make a sound, unless I tell you to.”

I say nothing, as requested, as he roughly ties a blindfold around my face. The room is just a little bit cooler than is comfortable, and my nipples stick out prominently from my breasts. My skin is covered in goosebumps, my hands are patiently waiting on my thighs, and I am sitting upright with perfect posture. I hear a shuffling in the room, the opening and closing of cabinet doors, and the familiar ring of metal on metal. My lover has a predilection for chains.

He roughly picks my hands up off my lap, straps them into leather cuffs, and pulls me into standing. He presses me against the back of the bedroom door.

“Turn around,” he says, “put your hands over your head and put your ankles apart.” I oblige. I feel a click at each wrist and my arms are supported from above. I hear him pace around the room, and I feel my pussy swelling in tiny increments with every step he takes while he makes me wait.

The first slap of the flogger is a surprise. It lands squarely across my back, stinging it a bright red, and pushing me forwards into the door. I stifle a gasp. He flogs me again, this time on my left asscheek, and again on the right. I fail to remain silent on the last one and let out a squeak.

“What's that noise you made, Margot?” He stops flogging me, and steps close behind me. I can feel his words on my shoulders.

I say nothing.

“Didn't I tell you not to make a sound?” He is reaching his left arm around my hips and snaking it down towards my dripping sex.

I nod my head yes.

“You failed to obey me,” he informs he, as he runs his fingers over the outsides of my folds. I arch my back into him and hold the restraints in a white-knuckled grip, pressing my breasts into the wall and my ass into his hips. “I'll have to punish you for that.” His finger lightly grazes my clit, and flicks it a tiny bit. I leak a little onto my inner thighs as he pushes off of me.

He steps back. There is a moment of silence, which is broken by the loud thud of the flogger against my hips. He works into a rhythm again, and I am silent for as long as I can help it, until a gasp involuntarily escapes my lips a second time. He stops flogging me.

“Margot, I told you to be silent.” He places his left hand on the curve below my waist.

“I told you not to do that.” He brings his body close behind me, and I feel that his cock is completely hard and pressed against my body. I arch my back the slightest bit, and feel the heat of his erection against my pussy.

“I can't have you disobeying me.” With that, he thrusts his hips forward and pulls me towards him, roughly entering me completely. I am biting my lip and my nostrils flare. I am standing on the tips of my feet as he pulls back and thrusts into me again, and with his left hand roughly pinches and rolls my left nipple through the lace of my bra. After entirely too little time, he pulls out, stands back, and flogs me again.

This time he only flogs me for a few strokes, and then stops.

“Margot,” he informs me, “Your pussy felt so good and juicy that I think I need to fuck you some more.” He pushes into me again, and with every thrust he presses against the spot on the back of my pelvis that seems to go straight to my core. The restraints are cutting into my wrists and my hands are nearly numb, but his body feels exquisite in mine.

“You are allowed to moan, but you must not come or speak unless I tell you to,” he tells me as he fucks me. I finally let out a sigh. My breasts are are shaking with every thrust and my hard nipples are sensitive even to air moving over them. His fingers draws circles around my clit. I am struggling. He pulls out and starts flogging me again.

We continue like this for a time; him flogging me for a few strokes, stopping, and fucking me for a few strokes. Sometimes he is so kind as to rub my clit at the same time, sometimes not. At one point, he pulls down the fabric of my bra just far enough to expose my nipples, and the cool room air thrills me. I am moaning, my pussy is tightening, and every time he pulls out of me liquid leads out of my pussy and rolls down the inside of my thighs. It is by sheer force of will and obedience that I am not orgasming.

He puts down the flogger.

“Margot,” he says, “when I fuck you you moan like a whore. What does that make you?”

I am silent; quivering.

“Margot, I asked you a question. What are you?”

“I'm a dirty whore.” My voice is hoarse and unsteady.

“For whom?”

“For you, Simon.” My hips are still gyrating the smallest bit.

“Why don't you tell me what you are? Be loud for me”

“I'm your dirty whore, Simon.” I am not shouting, but I'm not whispering.

“What's that? I need you to be louder.”

“I AM YOUR DIRTY WHORE.” I am speaking form my guts and projecting my voice loudly enough that his small-town neighbors will surely perk up a bit.

“Good! What does a dirty whore like you love to do?” He is running both of his hands up and down my body, and as if to punctuate his question he pinches my nipples.

“I love it when you fuck me, Simon.” I am gasping, he is still playing with my breasts, and my pussy is hinting at tightening and spasming.

“Good.” He runs his hands down to my hips and tugs me roughly onto his waiting cock. He slides inside me easily, despite my tightness, and starts slowly fucking me. I am breathless.

“Margot, when I tell you to I want you to come.”

“Yes Simon.” My pussy is tightening and relaxing at regular intervals, and his cock is getting harder and harder inside me. Fluid is coming out on my body, running down my legs and making a small puddle on the floor. My breasts shake with every thrust and I feel sweat drip off of him and onto the small of my back. I am panting and groaning; practically shouting while he is nearly silent.

Not orgasming is almost impossible. My control over my body is flagging, and Simon can feel it. He is rhythmically rubbing my clit, and I am nearly crying.

“Margot, I feel your snatch gripping pretty tightly. Do you want to come?”

I can't use words, I can only moan.

“Margot, you have to tell me, do you want to come?”

“Yes, Simon.” I sigh.

“Good girl,” he says. “I'm going to let you come.”

With that, he pounds into me harder and faster, and indelicately massages my clit. My pussy gushes all over our thighs and I tighten up so much around him that he will tell me later it became nearly impossible to fuck me. I let out a sound that comes from somewhere primitive inside me while my body flushes and my hips thrust back into him.

He is not far behind me. When he comes, he grabs my hips tightly and fucks me more deeply than I thought he could, he also moans out my name.

We stand together for a moment, and he lets my wrists out of their restraints. My arms are completely numb, but I don't particularly care.

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his body and his warmth, kissing my neck. I am still shaking as I turn around and place my face in his chest. He runs his hand through my hair, undoes my bra, lets it fall to the floor, and holds me to him.

He leads me by the hand to the shower, where he washes me from head to toe, even shampooing my scalp before he does the same to himself, and we crawl into bed.


  1. I could not do that. I could not write that. I can barely read it. Nice job.

  2. I haven't done this in a long time. My flogger is languishing in a box under my bed. I miss it.

    If you've got and D/s inclinations whatsoever, they can be really fun to explore, and ultimately really gratifying in the context of a relationship like the one you have with River (ie, one that is both extremely sexual and extremely intimate).

  3. Put the flogger in your own hand, you dirty whore.