#396) Before We Got Carried Away

I’m standing in front of my computer in the nude. I’m writing, and it’s going really well. So my nipples are super hard and my sex is super wet. My lover comes up behind me and cuddles close.
“Somebody needs a spanking…” he whispers in my ear. I didn’t think I could get any more turned on, but I was wrong.
“Why?” I mock-protest. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“You look too good not to…”
So I squat and stick my ass out at him, glad that he feels this way, wondering if he’ll think that when I’m fifty. My posture isn’t sexy, it’s functional; I want a wide stance, not knowing how hard he’s going to hit.
He gives me moderate-level swats, but what they lack in intensity, they make up for in quantity. He spanks me a lot, I mean several hundred spanks! They’re delivered in languid fashion, so I can appreciate each one, feel how it contributes cumulatively.
“I’ll be bruised tomorrow…!” I again protest while feeling joyous.
“I’ll look forward to it,” he growls and just keeps spanking.
“Me, too!” I sigh.
My lover has accomplished his intent. He has distracted me from writing because I can’t think straight. I can think of only one thing.
“Fuck me!” I implore. I stay in the same position, feet placed wide, knees bent, ass out, back dipped, everything about me receptive to his attentions.
From behind, he runs his erection down the crack of my behind, finds my slit, and pushes it in unceremoniously. We do it like wild animals, urgently, hungrily, fast and furiously.
“Take me to bed…!” I beg.
“If I do, it won’t be a quickie,” he warns, allowing me to beg-off if I’d prefer to work on my writing.
Knowing that it will only fuel my writing, jump start my imagination and libido, I answer like a smart-aleck, “Promise me?”
My man dismounts, picks me up in his arms, carries me to our bedroom, lays me on the mattress, and resumes making love in the missionary position. This is the polar opposite from what we were doing. Our coitus is slow and sincere, profound and poetic, meaningful and moving. I’m staring deep into his eyes as he brings me to orgasm.
One thing I’ve learned about him in our short time together is that he’s a variety junkie. I get only one climax in a position before he wants to change it up. He flips me over, sits on my hamstrings, and fucks me like that, thrusting into my pussy while be beats on my bottom like a bongo drum. This time I orgasm with a whole series of climaxes, like strong sneezes that come in a group. This takes the starch out of me, I am limp, I am compliant, I am his. He senses this.
“I want you up this beautiful ass,” he whispers now.
“Of course you do…” I reply with resignation. “Get the KY gel, butter my buns…” and I wiggle them as an enticement. As he fetches the tube of lube, I push my ass into the air so that I’m spread and open to him. As always, his finger up there feels so fucking fantastic. “Sometime, promise me that we’ll just play like this, with you fingering my anus for hours, no fucking on the agenda, just anal play… Promise?”
“Sure thing, lover,” he answers, as he works two fingers inside and makes me moan with desire. “But not today…”
“No, not today…” as I take a deep breath to prepare for the invasion. Penetration here takes concentration, takes focus, takes commitment. He takes me in my butt. I love being taken up my butt for a whole host of reasons. It makes me feel dirty, so the redemption of an orgasm is all the more righteous. It takes me through all the feels, from oh-no-it’ll-never-fit-in-there to oh-yes-it-fills-me-so-completely. I like it best when he possesses me all the way, is balls deep up there, and then we just hold still and luxuriate in doing it this nasty way. I won’t say that we “freeze” in place because everything about this act is so hot. He’s lying with his entire length on top of mine. When a stallion has intercourse with a mare, they call it “covering.” I feel covered in this position by my partner. And my rosebud feels completely deflowered, stretched wide and filled along its entire length. He knows that I like it best just like this, possessed up the patootie. But he also has his own needs and desires. He wants more friction. So instead of “sitting chilly,” he inches it out of me and presses it back in. That’s it. Really it amounts to mere millimeters, not even an inch. There is something more significant going on than just an itch that we both want scratched. We have both been alone for too long, and are now both elated to be in a relationship, falling in love, in a D/s relationship, deeply in lust. I want him in me in this forbidden place as much as he wants to pleasure me there.
So, instead of a little, mild fuckery, it becomes a full-blown ass fucking extravaganza, with me moaning and cursing my encouragement, and him groaning and blessing the beauty of the sinful act. We make a chaotic cacophony until we both climax simultaneously, and then, spent and exhausted and a little embarrassed at how wrapped-up we both were in doing something so dirty, we are silent. He pulls out of my backside so that he can turn me around, hold me to his thumping heart, encircle me in his embrace. I watch a small amount of cum leak out of his red, shrinking cock, as I feel a small amount of cum leak out of my red, shrinking anus. I clasp a hand over my butt crack, wanting to hold the glorious glow in place there for as long as possible. He clasps his hand over mine, marking the spot where we got carried away and he fucked me so hard, where he’s marked me with handprints.
“I guess I got a little carried away,” he says while smiling sheepishly.
“I guess I did, too,” I return with the same kind of smile. But I’m not sorry at all, though I’ll be sore tomorrow. These are the shared moments that make a relationship strong, as if the exchange of body fluids creates a cement that binds us together, a mortar for the brick wall we’re erecting together, to wall the world out and create a safe space for just us two.

7 responses to “#396) Before We Got Carried Away”

  1. You write soooo well.. When I read your stories I always feel like I am there and I love that. That is a sign of a great writer and you are most definitely a great writer!
    Thanx for a great post!

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Beautifully put…

    “These are the shared moments that make a relationship strong, as if the exchange of body fluids creates a cement that binds us together, a mortar for the brick wall we’re erecting together, to wall the world out and create a safe space for just us two.”

    Seriously… gorgeous.

    I don’t have that kind of relationship in my life, and not sure I can see the likelihood of one waiting down the line, but you open up the sense of yearning with this kind of writing…

    because you conjure what it is to create that safe space with somebody.

    Liked by 3 people

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