Talking. Laughing. Teasing. Sharing the paper. Sexual innuendo flying between us. The air sparkling with the heat of our desire for each other.
At the car. Touching. Lips, hands. Soft kisses, teasing kisses, hungry kisses.
Pressed hard against the hot metal of the passenger door, His hands fist around my middle, grabbing flesh and squeezing, squeezing. His body presses me hard into the metal, his hands lift and pinch.
Hot and cold, pain, oh hurty pain.
The thick, heated breath of Him against the nape of my neck, just under my ear.
“Who owns you?” A little shake. “Who’s is this?” And, impossibly, the hands pinch harder.
Breathless, pain filled gasps…exhalations…’yours, yours, yours…’
Deep-throated laughter against my hair.
More pinching, little nips between thumb and finger, tiny little ‘bites’ of his fingernails on tender flesh.
OUCHIE OW…Dancing, trying to dance, pull away.
Except….there is no away.
A reiteration of my exercise routine, shot to hell by my recent illness, and my fast, oh-so-fast, agreement, as His hands pincer impossibly hard into my flesh.
Bruised, marked, i ache all the way home. It’s a good feeling, that pain, that marking. i will carry those marks for a long while. Little divots of pain, little colored knots on my flesh as reminders to keep on track with eating, exercising.
Reminders that i am owned and managed by His hands.
Reminders that He cares for me, cares about me.
And reminders that this is not ‘my’ body alone anymore… not caring for it is not an option.
And the pain of those multitude of bruises mitigates the pain in my heart from our play delay…brings a smile to my face every time i feel the tender flesh on my sides, reminds me of His hands controlling me.
Reminds me that i am never really alone.
And my pussy? Neglected on what should have been a day of many fuckings, of being inspected, fingered, tortured…yes, what of the poor pussy?
She was soaked. So wet that it was running down my thighs to my knees.
All that in 90 minutes.
i am such a lucky slut.