It’s the end of two nights together. I am at the dining room table, both laptops open while I work on homework. Surprisingly, we had not had a heavy scene over the two nights. Saturday we had played at our local groups’ playspace, but it had been a rope scene – more predicament and psychological play than straight-up impact.
Remembering balancing on one leg, the other high up in the air, spreading me open for all to see; the rope tight around my torso, arms and leg; the feel of whatever-it-was he was whacking me with sharp and insistent as I spun away from him and struggled to stay upright. Then him drawing me in close. “What’s a kitty say?” he whispers in my ear. “No,” I say, just to resist. He smacks my thigh. “What’s a kitty say?” “Ow!” I yelp. He smacks me again, sharper. “What’s a kitty say?” (smack) “Meow!” I say, trying to keep quiet and failing. “What?” (smack) “What’s that?” (smack) “I can’t hear you.” (smack smack smack) And me: “Ow ow, ow!” Until, finally, “Meow! Meow meow meow!” Not caring who hears.
Later, after the rope has come off, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me back as I move to get dressed. “Not yet, kitty. Have you forgotten?” I look over to see the V-crop in his hand. “Face down, bottom up,” he says. I present my ass to him obediently, and he gives me three sharp strikes with it, marking my ass and thighs with V’s. Then, while I am still naked: “Go get a bag of Skittles,” he says, gesturing to the candy dishes on one of the tables. And then he has me feed them to him, one by one, naked on my knees, while he winds up his rope. I think that may have been my favorite part of the scene.
In any case, though it might not have been heavy play, I was exhausted and was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. No sex! So sunday morning I am doing homework and know that I have to leave soon, and I lament, “I wish we could play just a little bit today…” And I am sad that I didn’t get his cock last night, that I was too tired for it.
It’s 20 minutes later and he walks by the table. “Come with me,” he says. I get up to follow him into the garage, thinking he wants my help outside. Instead he grabs my hair and drags me over to his workbench. Wordlessly he shoves me against the bench, pushes my face down onto its rough surface. I smell sawdust, oil and machinery. Holding me there with one hand, I hear him pulling down his zipper with the other. And then the sound of packaging crinkling. He presses me hard against the bench and holds me there with his body while he gets the condom out and slides it onto his cock. And then his hands are dragging at my clothes, pulling my bottoms down, and between my legs, shoving fingers inside me as I squirm, and in my hair, shoving my face into the wood as he positions himself behind me and then pushes into me. My body resists him at first, even though my heart is pounding with excitement, and I adjust to allow him better access. And then he is inside me, pumping into me, slamming into me, over and over. Holding my waist or my shoulder or my hair as he fucks me from behind in his garage.
And then he comes, groaning, and I feel his his cock pulsing inside of me. He pulls out and steps away, out of the tangle of machinery, then gestures to a place on the floor in front of him as I turn to face him, a bit dazed. I drop to my knees on the dirty floor, remove the condom, and clean him off with my mouth. When I am done, he pulls me upright and checks my face for splinters, then kisses me gently. We both laugh, the last of the adrenaline coursing through us as we head back into the house.
I got my wish.