I don’t like to be restrained, I like to be able to move freely. I like to be man handled, tossed around, and I don’t like things like ropes and cuffs inhibiting my movement. This time though he insists on looping his belt around my ankles and I let him and I thought I’d hate it but he is good at what he does.
He loves eating me out. I’m told it’s one of the sexiest things about me; when someone’s face is buried in my quivering ass. I’m very vocal, especially with him, because he is rough and he likes to slap each cheek, hard, while he flicks his tongue desperately, like a dog who hasn’t eaten in days. Sometimes he punches it. Sometimes he bites. He never reaches around to jerk me as pre-cum stains the sheet below me. He never lets me touch myself either; ever actually. The only thing I am allowed to grab are the bedsheets themselves, the pillow I’m biting when I moan, his cock when he fucks my face.
He likes to have his fingers inside of me. He doesn’t care which hole, just as long as he is filling me constantly. He loves a finger in my ass, or four, or even shoving his fingers in my mouth as a gag that I choke and groan them. He sometimes will slide a dildo inside my ass and just hold it in there while he drags his nails down my thighs. He scratches slowly but firmly, and steady, leaving deep red marks down my legs. He never asks me if it’s too hard. It’s never hard enough. Each line is like a badge of honor that I wear proudly.
Each bruised swollen welted cheek is also tender reminder for days that follow of the abuse he put me through. Sitting is only comfortable if I have something to lean against, standing even hurts especially if it’s for a long period of time, and each step I take when I walk a pulsating ‘thud’ shoots down my legs, the epicenter an ass covered with deep red handprints and purple fist marks. I go to work like this sometimes and ring up customers. I smile the whole time, sometimes smiling just at the knowing of why I am smiling, and I sometimes seem very cheerful. “You’re always in a good mood Brandon.” Somedays better than others.
He hovers above me, me on my back. He smiles with one side of his mouth as he looks deeply into my eyes, sweat falling from his forehead as he stares, and I know exactly what he is thinking. I never say it, it would be breaking, but I know – he is so high off of this, and it’s not like this with just anyone. It’s like this with only us, and his smile and stare show a sadistic love for me. It’s fleeting though when he collects his bearings, realizing that if he stares for a beat too long that our energy will shift in a different direction. He jumps back into it, grabs the belt around my ankles and drags my body to the edge of the bed. Using one hand he lifts the belt, my legs, over one of his shoulders. He grabs one of the condoms we have prepared on the bed. We like playing risky, not stupid.
He unrolls the condom down the shaft of his dick, which is a monster all on its own. His dick is thick, 7”, and tilts slightly into a curve pointing towards his stomach. He’s so hot now that his cock throbs with each rush of blood, filling it up and making it thicker, longer. He steadies himself by cradling my legs against his chest, using his other hand to guide himself inside me. I let out the only words I am able tosay; “Oh fuck,” and that sets him off. He doesn’t start slow, we aren’t slow people, he fucks me fast and hard right away. He always gets me nice and loose with his fingers and mouth, but despite that his cock always feels just shy of too big. It’s never too big though, and my body tightens with each thrust. “Oh fuck, oh fuck” I say mindlessly. When you’re feeling that good, you find yourself wanting to just talk but you can’t say anything else.
He’s had enough of letting me talk and covers my mouth with his hand, his dick still thrusting deep inside of me. Sometimes he pulls all the way out abruptly, pauses, and then shoves it back in and repeats. It drives me crazy and my moan against his palm is almost begging. I’m never sure for what, I never can say anything more than “Please”, I’m pretty sure it’s a form of worship. Show me the god who can make me feel like that and I’ll be in church every fucking day.
He fucks and fucks and fucks, sometimes removing the hand over my mouth only to beat a fist onto my chest. It’s here where we are both at our most vulnerable and most powerful; he has this thing where he can’t cum unless he watches me cum, and I am not allowed to touch myself.
I don’t need to. The way he feels inside me makes me shoot high and long, my voice screaming under his palm. My legs shake and he keeps pounding me, staring at me, and as soon as he sees me cumming I can see the expression in his face change. I just gave myself to him, and now he accepts his victory.
I close my eyes as he pulls out and feel him climb closer to me. He beats his dick fast, he moans and shouts “FUCK”. All I see is the beating red thuds of blood against the inside of my eyelids. All I feel are thick ropes of cum landing against my face, dripping down my cheek, landing on my chin.
Three weeks ago he and I were having dinner. I told him that I was writing a piece for my next zine, and he asked me what I was writing. I told him that this time I was writing a piece that hadn’t happened yet, but rather this time I’d be writing a piece that explained point by point everything that I wanted him to do to me. “How will I know which one it is?” he asked. “I’ll call it something obscure; To-Do List.” He smiled out the corner of his mouth and stared at me, and after a moment, correcting himself, said “I can’t wait to read it.”
It’s not like this with anyone else.