Tonight, I'll ask you for it.
You'll come home from work and sit down to relax, and I'll climb into your lap and kiss you. I'll kiss your lips, softly, convince them to open to let my tongue in. Move along your jaw, back to that spot under and just behind your ear that I learned drives you mad. You'll give a soft groan, and I'll nip at your neck, continuing downward, undoing the first couple of buttons on your shirt as I do. Run my lips, lightly at first, along your shoulders, swoop down to your clavicles, kissing at the small of your chest. My hands all over you at once, gliding up and down your sides, grazing lightly along your lower stomach, just above the waistband of your pants, under the unimportant fabric of your shirt. Kissing further down your chest, undoing the buttons as I go, paying a world of attention to every inch of your torso. With a bit of your help and the shirt finally off, I'll kiss along your biceps, down your upper arms, dart back to your chest, and begin to kiss a bit lower, lower ("Oh, god... lower, baby," you'll mutter, a direct command to continue,) and as I slide off your lap, onto the floor in front of you, get down to where my fingers just were -- just above the waistband of your slacks -- with my face. I'll breathe in your musk, that manly, misleadingly elusive smell that I get so easily drugged on, as I continue to kiss along your lower abdomen; but when I try to open the fly of your pants -- admittedly with a less-than-graceful manner, my fingers fumbling all over the two buttons that should be so simple and so familiar -- you'll grab my hair, pull me, forcefully, up to you, kiss my lips. Stop me. The kiss will tell me why. You know I don't deserve that; I don't deserve to taste you. Not yet.
You'll know that I've been a bad girl the moment you walk through the door; you'll suspect what I've been doing today. You know me. You know that when I'm all over you like this immediately after you get home what I've been doing to myself - lying on our bed, my hand between my legs, fantasizing about you coming home. And today, I've been especially mischievous.
Stand up. Pull me, by my hair, back to my feet. Bend me over the bed you'd been sitting on, lift my white dress above my ass to rest on my back. I'm not wearing panties. I threw on that sheer dress after you left, not even bothering to have
any
shame about my want for you throughout the day.
Slap my toned, nicely rounded ass. Not lightly -- you don't bother with a warmup.
No, your hand will fall crisply on the outer curve of my ass, almost on my left hip. You'll move to the other side, repeat that motion. Over and over again. You'll smack me till it's a light red and your hand stings from contact. You'll grab the paddle we leave on the bedside table, and in one swift motion bring me face-down over your lap, on the bed again. Continue my spanking. Slap me
hard
with that paddle, the light, fast one that leaves a loud
crack
in the air each time it hits me. Tell me precisely whose I am as you spank me -- tell me I'm a
really
bad girl for disrespecting his wishes today.
I'll start fighting it a bit, wiggling around in your lap, trying to escape. Keep going. Turn my perky little ass a bright, hot-to-the-touch, impossible-to-miss red. Make me aware, not just with your words, what a fucking slut I am.
After what will seem like ages, you'll put down the paddle. Finally, you'll lay it back down on the table, and run your hands over my sore ass, at first accentuating the pain, and then soothing -- and I'll be able to get a few breaths in. But only a few, because you'll run a finger along my slit, between my legs. It'll be wet, there. I'll have been far too distracted by the sting on my defenseless bottom to notice how wet I'll be getting. You'll slide a finger along that slit, and you'll go a bit further, able to directly find my clit and rubbing in a few light, teasing circles. I'll struggle. I'll try to grind down on your hand, but you'll hold me where I am, gripping me hard, and tell me to stay put. I'll obey. I'll resign. I'll let you touch me, tantalize me. For a few tortuously long minutes, you'll do so. After I've had a bit of pleasure, you'll continue to punish.
You'll toss me off you, onto the center of the bed. Before I'll have time to so much as regain any of my senses, you'll have the entirety of that naughty, see-through dress at distant memory status and my hands behind my back. You'll hold them there firmly as you secure my wrists to each other with a necktie from your bedside table's drawer. Another tie will go around my head, covering my eyes and tying at the back. On my knees, in front of you, you'll push me back down to the bed and use your thigh to gently coax my legs apart. My face will be in the mattress, my ass up in the air, and I'll be completely surrendered to you, open for you.
You'll use the still-dressed thigh you have between my two bare ones to grind against my cunt a bit, and just as I start enjoying it, you'll take it away.
Back up, off the bed; stand up, look at me. Admire at my ass, presented plainly to you and coloured a satisfying fiery red -- just the way you like to see it. Follow at the curve of my back with your eyes, arching up toward you, my hands restrained above my hips. From this perspective, you'll be able to see clearly just how badly I want it. On the inside of each of my thighs, a nice line of my own juices shimmers on the soft, pale skin there. Scrutinize me with your gaze -- I can feel it. It makes me squirm and you know it.
You'll lean down, pull my body up to you enough to nibble on my skin. I'll inhale shakily as you place kisses along my shoulder blades, up my arms, along the nape of my neck. You'll growl in my ear ("You want it, don't you, baby?") and punctuate with a more forceful nip at the back of my neck.
You'll push my head back down to the bedspread. I'll sense you moving about the room, fetching something. Lying there, focusing on gaining footing in my own breath, I'll have hardly registered your question. "Answer me, bitch," you'll say, suddenly running the cool, flat surface of your most recent favourite thing to discipline me with along the underside of my ass. "Answer me. Do you want it?"
"Yes, sir, I want it," I'll gasp, a breathy, insecure confirmation.
"Hmm... what is it, exactly, that you want? And I don't hear the magic word, baby," You'll remind me, dragging the crop up the back of one of my legs and coming
very
close to a more forbidden place.
I'll struggle to pick out acceptable words. Finally, I'll muster, "I'm sorry, sir. I want to be fucked. Please fuck me."
You'll bring the crop down gently on the inside of my thigh. "What was that, you nasty little thing?" You'll smack the thin skin of my leg again, harder. "You
really
think it's going to be that
easy
?" Again. Harder. Louder. And higher on my body this time. The wetness on my leg will increase as you climb it with that leather, intensifying its sting. "You think that all day, you've been lying here on this bed, dripping wet for a cock, touching yourself and giving yourself
whatever you want
, and you're going to be
rewarded
for it? Hell, you probably got into the toys, you fucking whore. Each and every one of those playthings I bought for you -- and told you
expressly
were only to be used in the event I give you my permission -- was probably in your cunt today."
Slap the inside of my other thigh with that flexible little whip. Make me gasp and jump."Guess what, bitch?" you'll say, resting the layered material of the crop right against my poor little cunt. "
You're. My. Plaything
."
I'll brace myself, but it'll do little good. The smart of that flogger will make be lose my breath. You'll savour watching me gasp and writhe in response to that pain, and you'll fulfill your promise -- you'll make me your toy, make it known that I am, without a doubt, all yours, to do with exactly as you please.
You'll vary the precise places you hit me in -- in total, I'll probably only get three or four on the actual lips of my pussy -- but you'll draw out the punishment as long as is possible, allowing just enough pause between smacks to make them more poignant when they land; it will be an excruciating, exhilarating assertion of your absolute dominance. You are
not
to be disobeyed. If there was ever a time I didn't understand that, I'll forget it after this.
