“Climb on,” he says. “Fuck yourself. You’ve got 45 seconds.”
He has just finished flogging and paddling me, nothing horrific, but enough to make me squirm. I’ve been laying naked next to him ever since, stroking his cock into stiffness in a sort of warm laziness that was more about idle pleasure than a desire for sex.
That is until he said those words. My pussy throbbed in response, as though he had reached down and touched me physically.
Ingrained responses don’t go dormant that easily, I suppose.
But even so, I wasn’t wet – not yet.
He put a hand in my hair and pulled me on top of him. “Do it,” he said. “Fuck yourself. Grind yourself down on my cock. Shove it in, I don’t care if you’re dry. Time starts when I’m all the way in.” So I did, pushing myself down on him in spite of the rings, through the rings, shoving and pinching and pulling through the dryness – until suddenly, I was wet.
Because that is another ingrained response. W loves that part, the forcing through my rings, especially when I’m dry, when it hurts both him and me. And, because it turns him on, it turns me on. The pain itself has become a trigger, and my body reacts to it the same way it reacts to the pain of a whipping, or to him pinching my nipples.
I moan, and grind myself down, and feel him push all the way inside me –
“Yes,” he says, “that’s it.” And then: “1…2…3…”
He begins a slow count.
I wasn’t really thinking I could come in 45 seconds, no matter how warmed up I was. Under certain circumstances, I come quite easily, but I didn’t think this was one of them.
Until it is. The sound of his voice, the feel of his cock inside me, and then his hands on my breasts –
He’s pinching my nipples now. Nipples that are tender from what he was doing to them this morning, pinching and twisting them while I rode him, saying “Harder, yes, yes, like that – ” Wanting him to pull harder, pinch more…
Be careful what you wish for, Jade. Because he is pinching hard now, just this side of viciously, and I gasp and stop thrusting myself against him, even though a moment before I could feel the orgasm beginning its slow build –
I stop and I hear his voice, inexorable. “…17…18…19…”
And fuck if the slow cadence of his voice doesn’t twist something inside me. I groan and push against him, push myself down on him, push my breasts into his hands, feel him pinching, pinching and counting and I am panting now. I can’t stop now, I am panting and groaning and pushing –
And I am riding his voice up, riding the pain up, riding the numbers up –
Twist, push, pinch, pull, sliding now, slippery, so damn wet…”Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…” I am saying over and over –
And then, there it is, there I am, as he pushes up into me, counting still –
And that’s my magic number. I cry out as the orgasm crashes over me, through a haze of pain and pleasure and his voice and his hands and his cock and my slippery, slippery cunt.
Spent, I collapse on top of him.
“…43…44…45…” he says, and pushes my limp body off of him.
I curl against him, smelling our sex and sweat and heat, and feel him smiling against the top of my head, and we both fall asleep.