He hit my ass until I cried.
First he slaps my butt through the sweatpants I wear at home. I was lying on his tummy and we were kissing very sexily. It took my breath away. He slapped again and studied my expression and sounds.
Did that hurt? he asked after the blow.
No, I said shyly and continued kissing him.
He caressed my butt through the fabric and hit again, harder but still holding back.
Did that hurt? he asked.
A bit, I answered still kissing him.
I could feel how he drew my pants down revealing only my butt. He caressed it gently, sensually with his fingers tracing its round shape. He grabbed it harder and moulded it in his hands. Then he hit it. Hard.
Did that hurt?
A bit, I said and stopped kissing him. He looked at me with a smile in his eyes. Smile and vickedness. He pulled his hand up and looked at me. I covered my face in his chest. I looked up at him, blinking. I waited. I whimpered. Finally he hit me. The hit made me press my face against his head. It made tears well in my eyes. It hurt so much.
Did that hurt? he asked again.
Yes, I only answered with a small voice.
He hit me again, just as hard, but with the other hand. I could feel my butt sting. The skin was hot and prickly were he’d touched it. He caressed my butt again.
Yes, I sniffled. I couldn’t help the tears, they ran down my face. I felt punished. I felt he was trying to break me. I though about safewording.
He pressed his cock against me and I could feel it twitch and grow, when he heard my answer.
Good. I like to hurt you. I like it when you hurt.
And he hit me again.
I raised my head and faced him, kissed him.
Are you crying? he asked and I nodded and sniffled. I also grinded my cunt against his cock. It responded in the most marvelous way and at the same time – Whabang! He spanked me again. Then he made me wait. His hand was raised, he was tensed to hit… but he didn’t. I whimpered.
I like it when you cry, he murmured and the cock just kept on getting bigger.
He hit me again.
Take your clothes off, he commanded suddenly and lifted his hands from my butt.
I did, and next I had to take his clothes off too. When I tried to start with his tenting boxer briefs he denied me. No, the socks first. Then the shirt. And then, last, the boxers, he guided me. His cock bobbed from its prison hard and ready.
He ordered me to lick him along the saft, then suck it and threw my hair from my face so he could see it. He repositioned me to see better, slapped my tits a bit and twisted my nipples, but mostly he just enjoyed. I started getting tired. My jaw was straining and my arms were getting tired because of the exhausting 1,5 hour workout I’d done earlier that day on his command. It was a first and it felt… arousing. I stretched my arm, flexed ia a couple of times, raised my head and got the “you’re so good, just keep doing it” answer.
You know the licker also gets tired sometimes, I say.
SLAM! I get a slap on my ass.
I lick, I deepthroat so that a puddle of his and my juices gather on his bush and the thick hairs on the belly. I watch it oveflow and run along his tummy and thighs. I gurgle. I can’t breath. I choke and raise my head. He pushes me away and I immediately go to find a handkerchief to blow my running nose in. I don’t wipe my face, but I’m chastised anyway.
Did I give you a permission to blow your nose?
He whacks my buttocks. He’s chastised me for this before, I make a mental note. Why? Why wouldn’t he let me blow my nose? It’s uncomfortable to be full of snot, struggling to breath through it. And the nose just starts running when I deepthroat, there’s not stopping that. Then I remember that he likes my face messy with his juices. I guess he likes it when my makeup runs competing with my nose. I look so vulnerable like that. A little uncomfortable for me? A lot of hot for him.
But I don’t like to be uncomfortable. It’s not hot for me. It’s annoying. It sometimes stops me from enjoying all the good things happening at the same time. I can take pain, pain is deliberate. He does that to me on purpose. Behind it there’s his will to hurt me. That’s hot. But discomfort? Not so much. Most of the time I think he doesn’t even realize how bad it feels. Doesn’t realize that he could never pull through something like that and still enjoy. Why would he expect me to? Because he pays it no mind. It’s something he like, end of story. If I don’t come and am irritated by it and the discomfort he refused to make right, it’s my fault. Everything was well until you spoiled it… by telling how I really feel.
He whips me over onto my tummy, straddles my legs on top of my ass and starts to whack his cock against my butt and my lower back.
I hate this position. His legs get somehow tangled with mine so that I can’t raise my butt to meet his cock. My feet point outward, which makes my cunt shut tightly and makes it impossible for me to enjoy any penetration. If I happen to enjoy, even for a second, the cock won’t go in right anymore and it hurts. Just like it hurts to tense myself in a position where penetration doesn’t hurt. I hate this position.
He starts to fuck me commenting on my tightness and sighing out of pleasure, which only makes me angrier. My legs are trembling from exhaustion and it hurts and I say ouch and I say this doesn’t work for me. He doesn’t change anything, just asks something, but I don’t remember what. After a minute of him continuing to fuck me I just put on an angry face and he stops, rolls to my side and sighes.
I explain a thing I’ve explained time and again. I don’t enjoy in this position. It’s impossible for me to reach orgasm, but it also hurts.
Should I have fucked you in another position first? he asks.
Well, we have that deal that you should. Always fuck me first in another position, I answer, because this is not the first time we discuss this.
I thought this was a new thing I though of, he answers and I get even angrier.
Yeah, whatever, I think but I don’t say it.
Well, there’s no use continuing if you’re going to be so angry, he says. And my cock has gone all soft too, he adds and I angrily think about him making me suck it again. After I’ve sucked it for such a long time already! Yarrrrgh! I’m also angry at him for just letting things go. Like he coulnd’t face anyt discontent on my part.
No wonder I have a hard time expressing my discontent, when everything stops and I’m to blame, if I do, I say. I believe this is partly true and an example of the same ways of enacting our gender that Clarisse Thorn so thorougly heart-breakingly just wrote about in her aticle about the Unified theory of orgasm.
You know I don’t like that position. I always make it clear. I always yell ouch and make my discomfort known.
I’ve just fantasized about fucking you from behind all day, Wonderboy answers. At work. I really wanted to do it.
That’s nice I answer. And it is your right to fuck me from behind as th first thing if you so choose. It’s just not as pleasurable for me then, I explain. He should know this. He should really know this by now. How is it possible that he so conveniently forgets or just plain ignores my discomfort when it suits him. It’s not so hard to spot, is it?
You can still fuck me from behind. I like it too. Just do it in another position. Don’t cage my legs like that, I continue. I confess my muscles are also in the brink of breaking down and he accuses me of just being lazy. I counter with explaining how hard of an angle it is for me to hold my whole hips in and that it makes absolutely impossible for me to enjoy. At ll.
Would a pillow help? he then goes on to ask.
It might, I say. And then I smile. And I’m not angry. It’s just the hormones.
He gets a pillow and puts me in my place and fucks me. It’s hard to reach orgasm although I come close a couple of times. I hate these fucking hormones. He is close a long time before he comes and he tells me about it, but like usually it does nothing for me. It just makes me angry, because I’m not. He pulls me from my hair so that I’m stretched upward from my head and my butt. It’s not a pleasurable position for me, although I know it looks sexy as he goes on to exclaim. It’s the position of all the doggie style porn I ever saw. Why is it more important to him that I look sexy than it is that I feel good?
I try not to think about it, when he forces me back up every time I start enjoying and fall down to tha mattress. I try not to think at all.
You are so thin and your butt is so big now you’ve worked out, he says after. And your hair is big and reaches your butt. You’re so beautiful. I’m just a sucker like that, he says.
He said the same thing earlier, when I made a sound of pain or faint and he was immediately all over me in the kitchen making dinner. It makes me angry that he should be more caring and loving, if I’m thinner and my hair is longer. If I look more attractive. It makes me angry. It makes me like him less, even if the actual actions are more affectionate. I don’t understand it. I don’t approve of it. How shallow can you get.
I hate these hormones, I exclaim when we’re done. I hate them. They make it so hard for me to achieve an orgasm.
And then I dream that we’re in a hotel abroads and he says he wants to fuck other people. He goes on to do just that even though I’m against it. He comes back after fucking a prostitute, “Jen” as I found out, and tells me how beautiful she was – and even shows me pictures, but assures me that he didn’t come in her. I lose my shit completely looking at a picture of his cock, still veiny and hard but covered with jizz, still inside her cunt some of the way. I also find a picture of this Jen, a blond silicone filled really beautiful young woman. 50 euros, that’s what it says on the card. That was the cost.
He just wanted to try it! Isn’t it fun he tried a prostitute! What’s my problem? We agreed. He had fun so I should be happy for him.
And when I fully wake up, I immediately send him a text message telling about the things he put me through in my dreams. He answers, Oh no! Dream-me is pretty bad. Kisses. It makes me smile. Dream-him certainly is pretty bad. All my worst fears come true in my dreams.
I know why it came up now. His collague is travelling to Thailand soon and his travel plans include seeing prostitutes for the whole duration. The guy’s my age. It makes me sick to my stomach. I hear stories of his words and actions every day. He’s still going to go, still going to do it, even though he’s met this amazing woman just a few weeks back. I hate that I know this about anyone. It makes me lose faith in men. It makes me lose faith in Wonderboy.
And he’s doing everything right!
I hate these hormones.