Blood & Blow Jobs

Marshall was the proverbial thorn in my side. I liked him just enough to be sulky when I didn't get to see him , but was apathetic enough to still play games. I'm not usually a game player, I generally regard it as childish. But there is something about Marshall that just makes me want to torment him. He is a self proclaimed Dom, but has a taste for pain and challenge. He would never take a strap on, but he is emotionally and physically masochistic which fascinates me to no end. We'd been getting along as of late which was almost getting boring so when one Monday morning he told me he would come over for lunch, I was excited.

This would be another frenzied, lust driven session since I no longer seemed to merit the politeness of a public meal, but I decided to make the best of it. I had a new bustier which I wanted to try out, so I dressed to the nines. Tits pushed up and out, body sucked in, heels bringing my height to around 5'11 or so. I went easy on the makeup and perfume, always wary of the cliché lipstick on the collar bit. But I looked damn good.

I kept the door locked so I could have the theatrics of opening it in costume. His reaction did not disappoint when he saw me. Marshall is about 5'10 so with my heels, I was slightly taller, but the desire on his face told me I was not in charge here. He walked in the door with wonderment and appreciation in his eyes. I twirled once, he grabbed me and started kissing roughly. He hands groped anywhere they could, my tits, my ass, my cunt.

The kisses were deep and biting. I grabbed the front of his pants and rubbed. Our blood was going, heart rates were up, the necessary bits were being engorged and achy. I led him to the bedroom and bent over my wrought iron footboard. I was still dressed, my ass presented in a tiny gstring. He began spanking me, lightly at first, but progressing quickly to blows that made me bite the bedding. I could feel the warmth spreading through my ample cheeks, creepy down to my cunt and presenting as wetness. The thong was still nestled tightly against my lips but I knew it was soaked by now.

After he'd spanked my ass to a nice rosy pink, he ripped the thong down and got down on his knees to my cunt. I mumbled something about getting undressed but he continued pushing his tongue where ever he could fit it. Standing back up, he shoved two fingers inside of me. As wet as I was, the slid in effortlessly.

"More," I gasped through the throws of my first orgasm. Two more fingers were quickly added and I was pumped until my knuckles were white knuckled from gripping the footboard and there was an expanding wet spot on the carpet below me. "Do you want more you filthy little cunt?" He didn't have to ask, he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear me. "Tell me what you want."

I felt so dirty uttering my desires, but I had nothing else on my mind right now. "I want all of it, I want your fist." The world were barely out of my mouth when he slammed the entirety of his sizable hand into my already gaping hole. He didn't stop until he met the resistance of my hypersensitive cervix. It fucking hurt and I screamed. He free hand was on my back, holding me down as I resisted. In and out he went, mauling, ravaging, giving no care what my feelings on the matter were. When my screaming became too loud, he pushed my head down into the soft mattress to stifle me.

He pulled out with a flourish and a gush of fluids, "do you want more, slut?" Numbly I nodded, the pain slut facet of me was in complete control at the moment. He gave me a sharp smack on my exposed lips before forcing his way back in. There had never been any lube, just my fluids and I was running low. He resumed the pummeling and I resumed my screaming/orgasming. He was ripping pleasure from me as my muscles contracted over and over. When I'm in a state of orgasmic contraction, it's much more difficult to force a fist in.

He yelled at me for the resistance, but it was beyond my control. Finally, I could take no more and I crumpled to the floor in shock. I struggled to undo my bustier as I was having difficulty breathing. I sat there naked for a moment, vaguely aware of the cold puddle beneath me, but thoroughly apathetic to the fact. He bent down to kiss me, marginally apologetic for my current state, but most of his blood had migrated elsewhere so I rose to my knees to do my due diligence.

Uncut cocks always feel a little unnatural in the mouth. The extra skin, the ultra smooth head can be a little unnerving, but what kind of slut would I be if I denied him a good cock sucking? I smiled up as I swallowed him, making eye contact with his cock firmly down my throat. My smiling Irish eyes accenting his hard Irish cock. I gripped his chest, pinching his nipples until he winced, he liked it almost as hard as I did, but didn't quite have the masochistic endurance.

I enveloped his pectoral muscles with my hands, fingers and nails digging in, finding the separation of muscle and bone. If I'd had superhuman strength, I could have ripped them off and exposed the ribs. I smiled as best as I could with a full mouth. I embraced him, my fingers tracing down his back, across his muscular ass, down his thighs. His years of soccer playing were evident, the man was incredible from the waist down, the muscles felt like those of someone 20 years younger. I stopped sucking and he reached down to stimulate himself.

I kept myself entertained, I tongued and sucked his balls, I bit the flesh above his iliac crest hard, but not hard enough to mark. I nipped and played, teasing and tormenting. Then without much warning, I dug my nails in the center of his back hard. I raked them slowly towards his hips and down his legs. I looked up the whole time, watching the grimace, wondering if he would implore me to stop for the sake of his marriage. He didn't, I watched my work in the mirror, I could see the blood rising to the surface and seeping out in some parts. His skin was embedded under my nails.

Too many episodes of Law & Order made me hope he didn't accidentally die on the way home, I'd be the prime suspect at this point. He kept stroking his cock as I smirked at him. I decided to be nice and resumed pleasuring his testicles gently. He asked where I wanted his cum. "All over my face, make a mess," I told him. I was leaving him with some damn good marks, the least I could do in return was take a facial. I watched him stroke, ensuring that when the time came, I'd be able to close my eyes.

Waiting for someone to jerk off on your face is a nerve wracking experience, you have no control whatsoever, and if you miscalculate, you'll wind up with stinging eyes. He was gracious enough to warm me and soon I felt the warm flood of ejaculate on my nose, mouth, chin and chest. He'd missed the top portion of my face so I opened my eyes and grinned at him. It was all around satisfying.

Lying in bed after, he lamented the marks and was obviously worried about their concealment. I was slightly remorseful, but mostly gleeful at his discomfort. All this was a reminder in my mind as to why I would never marry. I certainly didn't want him to get busted, but I did delight in knowing that he would be scheming not to. I am a fiery little cunt, best watch out not to get burned.