The Craving

“I can do anything I want to you.”

There was a pause while she took in those words. She could hear the steady tic tic tic  from the clock in the kitchen as it counted the seconds.

“Anything.”

It was almost a whisper. Behind the whisper lay a threat. And a promise. Life had simply gotten in the way of their playtime. She’d seen the need in him grow. Felt it curling and tangling under her fingers as they’d slept spooned to one another at the end of yet another busy day.

Parents, work, house, bills, soccer, swim, piano, dance. Extended family, birthday parties, church. The weeks flicked past, one after the next; rarely did they even think of this other, darker shadow life.

But the need was there.

The craving.

She longed to be hard-used.

He longed to use her.

There was fucking, and lovemaking aplenty, but the other need lay coiled in their bellies, unspoken.

Until the craven need clawed free and fell out into the still and silent room one midnight.

The sex had been particularly spectacular. Her orgasm had come before his, and even as his ripped through his cock to pour his thick and sticky semen into her belly, she clenched and grabbed at his pulsing hardness with another orgasm. Her pussy milked his cock, in that way that nature had designed.

Later, breath smooth and even, she had sighed.

“So good. I wish you would beat me.”

The beast had freed itself.

“I want to beat you. I want to hit you until you crawl across the floor begging me to stop, to fuck your ears off. I want to see your flesh wearing my marks, to poke you and watch you wince days later as we stand with those soccer moms and dads, and laugh inside because I know you want to scream with how much it hurts.”

She’d groaned, then. Turning to face him in the darkness, she bit his shoulder, while he pinched her nipple.

“Next week. Kids. My mom and dad,” she’d gasped as she came yet again, from the pain of his fingers on her breast. So good. So very good.

Now she lay, bound on their dining room table. Legs folded up and tied, and didn’t she feel like a chicken with her legs  splayed open to his view.  Her wrists tied over her head, bound together with rough hemp rope that scratched and irritated. He could turn her to her belly, or leave her here on her back.

She watched at he slid a second rope through the bindings on her legs, tying them off to the opposite legs, keeping her open.  Her ass was poised right at the edge of the table, her pussy open, gaping.

“So useable. All your slut holes ready for my cock.”  He paced out of her vantage, and she wondered what he would do next. He came back, jangling the clovers.

Ohboy she hated those fucking things!

He dropped them onto her belly, placing his palms on her inner thighs. Bending, he stabbed his tongue against her clit, making her groan. He fastened his lips around the sensitive bud, and sucked.

She arched up, moaning loudly. He sucked so hard it was just this side of painful. His hands moved from her thighs to her ass, cupping her, lifting her.

And he began to feast.

Sucking, licking, biting, he worked his mouth around her folds, into her hole, around her swelling clit. She was humping his mouth, desperate.

He kept her on the edge, always pulling away before she could fall over. She would beg, writhe, hump the air seeking him. He would blow a breath across heated, wet, flesh making her shiver, until his mouth would descend once again.

“Orgasms are always better with pain.” His face was glossy with her juices, as he rose from his half-crouch, and flicked her nipples with his fingers. Powerful flicks, sending a jolt of sensation to her aching clitoris. And then the sharp stab of pain as the rubber heads pinched down upon her tender nipples.

So long, it had been so very long since she had felt pain like this. Since she had served as His paintoy.

He stood looking at her, as an artist observes his work. He pulled his belt from his pant loops slowly, enjoying the look on her face as it came free, inch by slow inch. A striptease with a promise of pain.  He folded the leather in half, and began slapping her thigh. Short little strokes that stung, that sang with a staccato rhythm.

slap gasp

slap gasp

slap gasp

whomp! 

She cried out at the sharpness of the last blow, just at the juncture of her thighs. The belt hit pussylip and thigh just there.  Bending, his lips encircled her aching clit, and sucked it hard between his teeth.

She arched and cried as he pulled her over the precipice, as his fingers jabbed into her clenching pussy, finger fucking her roughly. Juice leaked around his fingers, as he continued to suck, as he continued to fuck.

She lay, gasping from the force of her orgasm.

“That was just the appetizer.” He smiled at her, and picked up his belt once more.

11 thoughts on “The Craving

    1. I seem to be on a roll (as are you!) with tidy little one-day stands this week…a bit of a change. The writing break is making me think about writing a few new chapters for Feliciations…not tonight as it is so late now, and i’ve gotta get some sleep!

      But during the day Thursday… 🙂 yeah, that might work.

      nilla

    1. Hi dancing, welcome to blogland! Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment. I hope you continue to be hooked and find my tales to be enjoyable for you!

      nilla

    1. doing a whole series of “stand alones” this week, darling! You’ll have to imagine what cums next, so to speak.

      *grin*

      nilla

  1. Daaaammmnn! Right up until you wrote “beat me”, you were so describing Wolf and I that I wondered where you’d hidden the camera. We’ve been too tired, sore, ill, busy to have playtime. We have been on our version of ZNN for over a week. Gaaaaahhhh!

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