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* * * * * *

BEGGING YOU

* * * * * *

One of the first times you spanked me was because I begged you to. And then I dared you to as well.

The begging bit I kind of liked, and I think maybe you did too.

We were at home, watching TV, kind of groping each other and stuff while we watched something, but I can’t remember what. Maybe something sexy, but maybe just TV. I think we’d already talked a little about what I like, because we were getting serious-ish, but we hadn’t actually done very much of it yet. Mostly, just being a bit rougher than is probably normal, and you holding me down while we fuck.

I was kind of horny that night, I think, and specifically horny for that. Because I hadn’t a while, I suppose, because of starting out with you. And just being in a kinky kind of mood, too. Anyways, for some reason I start begging you to spank me. And I’m kind of half being silly, but half-not. Like actually begging. As in, I slide onto the floor and kneel there and hold onto your hand, and kind of go, “Please please please spank me.”

You say you aren’t sure.

“You’re just scared of a sore hand,” I say. And then please please some more.

“I’m not,” you say.

“I dare you,” I say, which even then I knew was probably going to work.

You look annoyed. Probably because you know it will too.

“Go on,” I say.

You pull me up and spank me. I think I had shorts on. You pull whatever it was down, anyway, and spank my bare ass really hard. Like really hard. I think people who haven’t done much spanking before are sometimes a bit rougher than they mean to be. Like they have no kind of perspective, or idea of what to expect, so they’re sometimes either way too gentle or way too hard.

You’re way too hard.

It really hurts, which is what I want.

You spank me until I’m basically mostly sore with a tiny bit actual pussy-sensation-smacking turned-on-ness. But mostly actually sore.

I’m bruised. I can feel it, and check later and I am.

I’m bruised and sore and crying despite myself, and you hit me anyway. And I’m glad. I want this terribly.

I lie there, being hit, and kind of grinding against the bit of your leg I’m lying on. You see that, or feel it, and start fingering me too, as well as hitting me. I think because I’d already said I liked that.

You do that for a bit., and seem to be getting into it. Then you get so into it you kind of pull your jeans open, and twist me around so you can pull my mouth against yourself. Which is tricky, because jeans on and a girl, so I’m being half-smothered by clothes, and can’t reach properly, but I do my best. I get my hand in against you, and lick you too, and you keep hitting me really hard as I do.

I like it. I want this. You’re suddenly all sexy and in charge and wonderful. You hit me, and hold me against yourself too, kind of making me lick you, and I lie on my hand and touch myself while I lick you out.

You hit me, and I lick you until you come.

You stop spanking me when you do, so I kind of turn over and pull you on top of myself to keep going with the sex. Like into a messy, tangled-up sixty-nine, with clothes and arms and hair everywhere in the way, but we manage. We casino şirketleri lick each other out.

Later, I remember, you’re apologetic and almost guilty. Later you say sorry, but also that you kind of liked it. Later I lie across you and you kiss my ass all tenderly and say sorry.

Later you apologise and try and kiss me better, but I tell you not to be silly. That it was wonderful. That it was exactly what I wanted you to do. And that a little bit of me fell for a little bit of you a little bit more as you did.

* * * * * *

HITTING MY CHEST

* * * * * *

[um, just to warn,this might be a little stronger than some people like…?]

I remember us in bed, having sex. It’s morning, and probably a weekend. I’m still half dressed, because we didn’t bother taking all my clothes off. I either have shorts or just undies, I’m not sure now. I haven’t got a top on, probably because I was sleeping like that, but I don’t completely remember that either. We’re fucking, and you have your hand on my neck, how I like.

You have your hand on my neck, but your weight isn’t on that arm. You’ve done this to me enough you’re worked out how to be safe. I’m glad of that. Sometimes it’s slightly a worry someone will lean on me if they get distracted, while they come, and actually choke me unconscious.

It’s a worry, but it’s exciting too.

It isn’t going to happen today, though. You’re leaning on me safely. With your weight on your other arm, or on the backs of your fingers with only your thumb across my neck. Something like that, anyway. I’m not completely sure, and I don’t really care how.

You’re on top of me, fucking me, holding my neck, and looking down at me. You whisper that you love me a few times, as you move again me. You’re looking at my tits a lot, too. You like them, I guess. I mean, I know you do. I know you’re into them more than I’m into tits, is what I mean. You watch them moving as you fuck me.

You look at them, and sometimes bend down and kiss them, and then look at me again.

And then you say, almost puzzled at yourself, almost guilty for even thinking this, “I want to hit your tits.”

“Oh,” I say.

I’m excited. I want you to.

“Go on,” I say. “Please?”

“Are you sure?” you say.

I’m sure. I can’t breathe I’m so excited by you saying that. I’m sure, but you don’t seem to be. You hesitate.

“Hit me,” I say. “Please?”

You still hesitate.

“Please,” I say, and kiss you. “Please do it.”

You do. You slap one of my breasts, and it’s not a hard blow, but it hurts. It stings in a weird kind of inside way too, like the force of it went inside and bounced off my ribs or something before it actually hurt.

I gasp. “Do it again,” I say.

You do, and it hurts again. Then you hit my other tit.

You look at me, and are still moving against me, still holding my neck. You kiss me, and then you reach down and pull on my nipple, and keep pulling upwards until I wince. Then you kiss it, and lick it, and then you just kind of squeeze my whole breast. Squeeze hard, so it hurts and feels like being hugged, too. You try to pull my nipple again, but your spit makes your fingers slip. So you do it to my other casino firmaları breast instead, which isn’t slippery, and it seems more rough on that one too. Although perhaps it’s just more sensitive. Sometimes it is.

When you pinch and pull that time, it stings so much my eyes water.

You seem to like that.

You kiss me again. You hit me a few more times. You squeeze, and tug, and then you say, “I want to use a whip on you.”

I nod. I want you to as well. I’m feeling scared and brave and sexy right now. I’m feeling sore, in a wonderful way. I’m feeling happy you want to do this with me.

You let go of my neck, and slide off me, and get a little floggy whip out of the box in the wardrobe where you keep toys hidden. You get it, and come back to me, and start fucking me again, and kissing me.

You kiss me, then you hit me. It hurts. It stings. You hit my nipple, whether you meant to or not, and it hurts more sharply and hotter than your hand did.

I gasp. I sob and sigh. My eyes water and I can’t think for pain. I can’t think for pain, and I don’t care, because sex and this, feeling you wetly pushing onto my pussy and that blow stinging sore in my chest, that’s everything I need right now.

I usually try not to cry when we do this, at least when you can see my face, because it seems to unsettle you, to make you think what you’re doing is wrong, or too much, so you stop. We’ve talked, and I’ve said not to, and that I want it even when I cry, and that this is for me and you should let me. I’ve said that, but it still unsettles you, so I try not to.

I can’t help it now, though. That blow hurt far too much. I sob, sort of. I gasp for air. My eyes water, and you look at me, concerned.

“Do it again,” I say.

You don’t look sure.

“Please,” I say. “Oh fuck, please, do it again.”

You nod, and kiss my face, kiss my tears, then hit my other breast. It hurts less, but still a lot. I think I kind of bent away from it, wriggle away from it, and hold onto your arm, the one holding my neck, and I think I moan, too.

My eyes are closed. I don’t realize at first, until I feel your lips on my face again, and start thinking.

“Please?” I say, without opening my eyes, without looking, knowing you’ll be all worried again.

You hit me. I scream a little, I think, for not knowing exactly when it was coming. I scream, and then realize I did, and open my eyes, and see you looking all concerned.

This is probably more than you expected, more than you meant to do to me. Usually you hit my back, from behind me, and probably can’t see my face.

You’ve stopped moving. You’re just looking at me.

You aren’t moving and I need to feel something with my pussy as you do this. I reach down, and rub myself, and try to rub you with the back of my hand, at the same time, as I do.

“Please?” I say. “For me? Just do this for a moment.”

You nod. You’re worried, but you do. You hit my breasts as I masturbate.

You hit my breasts, and watch me. You watch my face, and watch my chest too. Watch my tits move, as you hit them, I suppose. Watch them turn all pink and marked.

I’m pretty close to coming. Being hurt makes me close. I’m not sure güvenilir casino if I feel more of the good because of the pain, somehow, or if it just turns me on to be treated like this, but choking and hair-pulling and being hit, I’ll always come quicker and more if that’s done to me.

I masturbate, and whisper that you should keep going, and please, and do it for me. I masturbate, and you’re almost still against me now, except for hitting my chest. I masturbate, and look up at your face, and can see when you’re about to hit me in your eyes. I think you flinch more than I do, and I like that, for some reason.

I masturbate, and you hit me, and I’m so achingly close I want to sigh.

And then I’m there.

I come, and you hit me right as I do, and that’s wrong and exciting and wonderful, all at once. You hit me as I come, and then right after I finish too, and then you keep hitting me as I lie there, breathless.

You’re moving against me again, I realize. You’re fucking me again. You must be hitting me for yourself now, not for me. Because you just watched me come like this, I realize. Because you watched, and despite yourself it turned you on, and now you want to hit me some more, for you.

You hit me and fuck me. I’ve come, so it’s hurting now, but not too much I can’t stand it. Not so much I don’t mind doing this if you want to, for a little while. If you suddenly want to do this, to excite yourself. You hit my chest, and fuck me, and I bite my lip so I don’t moan or scream and put you off. I take my hand out my clothes, and put it on you. Not to hurry you up, not really. More just to help you enjoy this more.

I rub you, finger you, and you stop moving yourself. You kind of kneel there, hitting me, while I get you off with my hand.

While I get you off, and feel your blows, and try not to sob. While you look down at my chest, not at my face now, and stare at the marks you are leaving on my skin. I can see you’re excited. I can see it on your face, and in your stare. I can see you are, but that you’re a little worried, too. Perhaps surprised by this dark thing inside yourself.

Or whatever it is people feel when they hurt other people. I don’t know what that is, to be honest, because I never have, and don’t want to, but I’ve seen it in people’s faces as they hurt me before.

You feel guilty, I think. Guilty, but also some kind of power over me.

I get what’s happening, and lick my fingers, and rub you more. I want you to enjoy this, and not just selfishly. Not just so you’re quick and stop hurting me, and not so we do it again. I really think this is something wonderful. Wonderful for people who like to hurt other people, in the same way being hurt is wonderful for me. It’s wonderful for you, and I think you shouldn’t not do this just because you feel bad and love me, or whatever it is that puts you off.

So I rub you, and lie there, and let you hit me, and try not to cry or moan. I try, but I gasp sometimes. It’s getting quite sore, almost more than I can stand.

Then, I make you come. I know you enough I can if I try. I make you come, and as you get close you stop and just kneel there, over me, feeling my hand.

I make you come, and then you look guilt-stricken, so we hug and kiss and I tell you I’m okay.

Later, you seem to believe it, but you still seem to feel awful whenever I move the wrong way and wince. Later I tell you how glad I am we did, and later you almost seem to believe me.

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