Last night, while writing about tasks and obedience and edging-as-punishment and paying the piper when I’ve disobeyed, I got pretty wound up. Earlier in the evening, V had instructed me to think of him at least twice while I was out with a friend – to think of me in my devotion pose, with him behind me, ready to push his cock into my ass. It’s a compelling image, and one grounded in reality (except for one detail.) A couple of weeks ago he had pulled me down off the spanking bench where he’d had me sitting, facing him, legs spread, so he could use the wicked sticks on the insides of my thighs while he made me hold Baldy on my clit. Delicious, vicious torment, made more torturous by the fact that (of course) he insisted that I not orgasm. Once I was on the floor, he pushed me face down and told me to get into my devotion pose.
“Is that how you do it when you’re alone?” he taunted, pushing my chest down further, pulling my hips up higher. “Get your tits on the ground!”
It is a nearly impossible pose for a woman of my diminutive breast size to achieve. (When I later pointed that out to him he raised an eyebrow. “And your point is?” My point: “Well it’s nearly impossible to do. Do you really expect me to do it every time…?” Him: “It’s obviously not impossible, you did it here. That’s why I told you to do it. I know how hard it is. It’s not for every time…it’s for times that I want to make it hard on you, that I want to make you suffer.”) And, hearing that, of course it makes me want to do it, makes me want to suffer for him. My stupid body throbs when he says those words, when I know that he is making me suffer for him, and that he is getting off on it.
He did make me suffer that night. He commanded me to stay in that position, pushed into the carpet, then to spread my knees a little wider. (Later: “It spreads your pussy lips apart, makes them flower for me, an invitation…” ) Then he positions himself behind me and starts to fuck me, slowly. “Don’t move!” and “Don’t come!” as he smacks my ass and thighs with a small whip and keeps fucking me, harder, faster. “Don’t come!” as I twitch and writhe beneath him. As he shoves my face and chest into the carpet, as I feel his cock blooming inside me. “Do you want me to come inside your pussy?” I can only groan. His words nearly tip me over into an orgasm, but he grabs my hips hard and says through gritted teeth, “Don’t you come!” as he explodes inside of me.
So no, he had not used my ass as he had told me to imagine, but imagining it was not difficult after that scene.
And imagining it, mixed in with remembering the feel of his semen spurting inside of me, the feel of his cock swelling and twitching as he came, and that impossibly-delicious feel of his wet, semen-and-cunt-juice-coated cock sliding out of my body, well, it fueled the orgasm I had been trying so hard to have (and not succeeding) the night before. An orgasm I wasn’t supposed to have last night, but…I just couldn’t stop myself. I knew I was really really disobeying, but…I just couldn’t stop. I wanted to come so damn bad.
I blame him.