short hair

I like my short hair because
it doesn’t get in my face, and it doesn’t accidentally get leaned on;
“just-fucked” hair is never a big deal;
the nape of my neck is always exposed
and sensitive,
especially when he
licks
my stubble.

give me that fuck now

He gives me my instructions: I’m to have my bath, and once I’ve toweled off I’m to get dressed in a tight little T-shirt, a black thong and stilettos. When I’ve readied myself, he orders me into the kitchen and, with firm hands, bends me over the counter. I know he’s intending to fuck me, and I wait, warm, while anticipation clenches in my stomach.

But it turns out to be a false start. So much of this is still new for him too, and this time focusing so much on exercising domliness renders him less than hard, throwing both of us off our game.

He heads to the bedroom, no doubt revising his plan, and I’m to follow. I’m feeling slightly snappish: after my bath I put lotion on my feet as usual, but the order for the stilettos came after the lotion, and I’ve been worrying about the lotion wrecking the shoes, so I ditch the heels. I retire to the bedroom and now spanks are on the menu. Mood or no mood, I’m at least fairly confident that his hand on my ass will get me in a better frame of mind, as well as wet. I can take it a little harder now, and he gets a few nicely stinging ones in.

Once I’m good and warm, and he’s good and hard, the pounding can begin. One: from behind, with my ass in the air, knees together, and chest pushed down into the bed. Two: on my right side with right leg straight down; I start with my left knee lifted a little toward my chest; after a bit I straighten the left leg and hold my ankle up approximating the splits. Three: on my back with my ankles on his shoulders; then I grasp my feet and stretch my legs up straight almost to the wall behind the head of the bed (thanks, yoga); finally I wrap my legs around his hips and draw him into me.

Thinking to encourage him further with a bit of dirty talk, I demand, “Give me that fuck now.” Given the circumstances, it’s a bit redundant, but he manages to give it to me harder. A little too hard, actually.

I rapidly recant: “OK, maybe not quite so much of a fuck!” and we both dissolve into laughter.

wait and see

Morning. He’s already up, and I’m lying in bed trying to warm up by thinking pleasant thoughts, but I’m distracted and I can’t maintain sufficient concentration to get a fantasy off the ground. Although I’m nicely wet, my mind remains largely disengaged.

He comes in and asks how warm I am. “Somewhat,” I answer vaguely. But I am, at least, in the mood for him to be quite bossy, relatively speaking. The night before, we discussed what ‘bossiness’ will look like: for minor adjustments to my position, he’ll simply push me where he wants me; for anything else, he’ll give me terse instructions.

“Sit up. Move out of the way.” He moves my pillow down to hip-level. “Lie down, face down.” It’s cold, so he covers my back with a blanket.

And then he starts on my bottom. Pats and squeezes and caresses. Spanks and squeezes and caresses. After a little while, he asks if I need any more. “Maybe a few,” I respond. More spanks. And still more. Stinging spanks. It goes on about three times longer than I’d expected, with the last few feeling sharp indeed. My bottom is well warmed and I’m so wet that the moisture is practically dripping off my clit. He checks, hmms appreciatively, and licks the juices off his finger.

He deems me ready (and how!) and arranges me with my ass in the air. But the concentration required for running the show so far as left him less than hard. He lies down beside me, we spoon for a bit, and I start to worry that he’s going to give up in frustration. So I ask, “Would you play with my nipples?” And he says, quietly, “I’m still in charge here…” Oho, the game is afoot!

A moment passes, and then he gets up. “On your hands and knees.” He has opened the dresser drawer, I hear the crinkling of a packet. A pause. And then he’s sliding in and he’s fucking me from behind and he’s putting his finger in my ass. I won’t come this way, but mmm.

He comes and then it’s my turn, with vibe and his fingers on my G-spot. The lead-up is promising but the orgasm is anticlimactic. No matter. We’ll take care of that later, maybe later today. Maybe with fingers or cock or a toy. Maybe just once, or maybe more than once. I’ll just have to wait and see.

my hair is too short

I’ve got a pixie cut, short back and sides. Short. Clippers short.

I want him to grab my hair at the nape of my neck, twine it around his fist, pull my head back sharply.

I want him to breathe on my neck and lick me.

I want him to kiss me deeply, control me.

But my hair is too short.

fuck toy

We wake up at about the same time in the morning but, as usual, he’s out of bed first. I don’t rush into consciousness ­— I drift. And during my drift, I think: about our conversation last night about playing, and about how we might play today. With all these juicy thoughts, I wind myself up surprisingly well.

“Honey?”

He comes to the bedroom to check on me.

“I thought I should tell you that I’m really very wet right now.” I’m the wettest I’ve ever been, in fact. Literally dripping.

“Is that right? And what would you like to do about it?”

I respond quietly, “I think I’d like to be a fuck toy.” Thinking about it has made me wet, and saying it out loud gives me butterflies and that delicious clench in my gut.

As a courtesy, he asks if I have any preferences for position, but I know he may well ignore a request. The game is that he’s to use me as he sees fit, and so when he asks this question, it ironically serves to draw my attention to the fact that my preference is irrelevant. But I duly report my ideas to him.

I nip off to the bathroom briefly: whether you need to go or not, it’s wise to have a pee before embarking on either a trip or a pounding. When I come back, he bends me over the low dresser — a first — with my bare ass exposed. I’m so wet and ready that he slides in easily. He takes me from behind like this for a few moments, then pulls out.

“Get on the bed.” Slightly awkward in my excitement, I quickly arrange the bedding for the fuck I’m about to get.

“On your back.” He puts my legs where he wants them. He bends me like a jackknife with my ankles on his shoulders near my face, or he rears up and puts my ankles together on one shoulder or the other, all the while giving me his entire length. I’m so aroused that I can take it all.

“Turn over.” Now I’m on my hands and knees, ass in the air. Again, he slides in and fucks me rhythmically. Then, without words, he pushes my chest down against the bed and grabs my hips. No longer pacing himself for the distance, he sprints for the finish line and comes hard inside me.

He collapses beside me and, after a few moments, starts working my G-spot with his fingers while I take care of my clit with my vibe. The pounding has changed my sensations — some places have become more sensitive and others less so. It takes some time, but I’m rewarded with an intense G-spot orgasm. Once I come down, I feel sated and thoroughly fucked.

a most pleasant fuck

My bottom is still pink from the heat of the bath. All I’m wearing is a short robe, jacket length, barely decent. In a playful mood, I want to show off a little.

He gestures: I’m to lay across his lap. He raises the hem of the robe and admires me, stroking and squeezing. “Would you like some spanks?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He begins, light and even, a gentle warm-up. My firm bottom jiggles pertly under his hand.

Round two feels pleasant, and I know I’m starting to get wet. (I used to wish I had an ‘on’ button. It seems we have now located it.)

Round three is a little heavier, a little sharper, but still adeptly even. Each spank is followed almost immediately by a small sharp tingle verging on pain, which launches an inner mini-monologue: I’m getting spanked + it feels good + ooh, that smarts a little + this is naughty + mmm. When I’ve had enough, I let him know and he stops immediately. The area around the crease of my thighs is pleasantly pink and warm. We disengage.

He announces, “I’m going to be a bit bossy.”

“OK,” I whisper, trying not to let the corners of my mouth turn up too much.

“On your elbows and knees.” I get into position. “Now, use your vibe.” We’ve talked about using the vibe during sex before but hadn’t yet tried it. For now, I’m to see to myself while he occupies himself with a condom.

When he’s ready, I’m ready too: slick, relaxed and welcoming. He slowly slides his length in then methodically reams me out, holding out as long as he can. I attend to my clit with the vibe, which takes much of my concentration, but I can feel that the vibe makes his in-and-out delicious. When he can hold out no longer, he finishes and collapses beside me. I continue with the vibe, he begins to work my g-spot with his fingers, and I come after just a few strokes.

I few minutes later I realize that I still want. I resume the vibe and the warmup. He joins in a few moments later and begins to slowly finger-fuck me.

Many orgasms are fickle, but this one seems to be manufactured with precise German engineering. The sensation begins well and improves steadily. When I get close, each cycle of the vibe takes me up, up, up, step after measured step. The workmanlike climb gives no hint of the luxuriant peak to follow: I’m surprised at the intensity, and the sounds I’m making feel somehow distant. Shyness hovers around the back of my mind but blessedly sticks to the shadows. A momentary wave of vulnerability and sunshower of tears, and I’m done.

Indeed, a most pleasant fuck.

[This post appeared in e[lust] 66.]

bath time

I fill the tub — too hot, on purpose. Ease myself in tentatively. Can I stand it? Just.

Below the waterline my skin is pinking up. Slowly, slowly, I get as much of myself underwater as I can. Soak up the heat while reading a tome of a book, a borrowed hardcover with smooth, creamy paper. Mustn’t drop it, careful now. The water heats me to my core and I start to sweat.

Chapter finished and water more temperate, I put the book under my towel and start my scrub. A knock on the door and he asks if he can come in to visit. I ask him to give me a minute. (Mild contortions, one leg fully out of the water, crotch skyward, in the middle of shaving the undercarriage. Not quite ready for a visitor.)

When I’m done, I invite him in. I’m still a little shy, so my knees partly conceal my chest. A misheard question and I launch into an explanation of what I was doing when he first knocked.

The shaving is a novelty; I first tried it 3 or 4 weeks before he got back, figuring that if I hated it I could let it grow back and him none the wiser. But it wasn’t bad and I figured he’d like it so I kept at it.

Yes, he liked it. Rather a lot.

So now he bids me stand, turn, and bend forward so he can inspect my work. Admires the view, kneads my bottom. Spreads my cheeks a little and licks, deliberately and thoroughly, from clit to anus, lingering and prodding here and there. Squeezes my bottom and breasts, pinches my nipples.

I’m wet, I’m clean, I’m still mid-bath. Taking advantage of this liminal state, he gets licks in all over: bottom, back, thighs, breasts, chest, arms. I giggle.

When you’re in a tub full of water, it’s hard to tell if you’re wet.

But, yeah, I am.