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Aching Revisited

by | erotica | 1 comment

It had been a while since I had Chrissy over, and frankly, I wasn’t sure where we stood. I wanted her since the first time I met her. There was something about her smirk, her round metal-framed glasses, the daring in her eyes. Daring me to do something.

We hooked up once, a few years before, but after that, she went through a breakup, got a new job, and got into a new relationship. We were two people with very full lives, neither of which made something happen, even though we both seemed to want to. Sometimes it was a wonder how people like us ever found time to connect, let alone reconnect.

We ran into each other at a friend’s birthday party and got into a heated conversation about a documentary we had both read about. On the surface, she was coming over to watch that documentary, but there was a vagueness to our plans that made me eager.

The bell rang fifteen minutes late. She came in with a huff. I took her red pea coat. Her big eyes seemed a bit wild. She looked all over the apartment but wouldn’t meet my gaze.

As usual, she dressed in a somewhat retro style. A 60s mod style knee-length blue polka dot dress with a white Peter Pan collar. Navy thigh-high socks and blue and white saddle shoes. Her hair was in a ponytail tied up with a large blue ribbon. Her bangs fell almost to her eyes, and her makeup was perfect, as always.

She was perfectly chubby, not much up top, all hips and ass and glorious thighs—a pear to pluck. I tried not to groan with want. Some people did that to me. Kept me in a constant state of lust.

I was still in a suit, coming right home from the office. Navy with a light plaid pattern. She seemed agitated. Not nervous, almost angry.

“How are you? You look lovely as always,” I said, hanging up her coat and guiding her into the living room.

She rolled her eyes again and sighed loudly.

“I’m fine,” she said, looking at my bookshelf and shrugging.

I tried to read her but wasn’t sure what was going on.

“Should we order us some food?”

She shrugged again.

“Perhaps I should just start the movie?” I suggested.

“Whatever. I don’t really care,” she said with a huff, crossing her arms under her breasts.

I switched on the television and scrolled through the movies and shows, eying Chrissy for any positive reaction. She just pouted, and her knee bounced as she waited for me to pick.

“Do you still want to watch-” I started, but she cut me off. “I don’t know, just pick something. I don’t want to decide. God. Can I get a drink?” She said, standing up suddenly.

I stood as well. “Of course, what would you like? Are you okay? You seem like you don’t want to be here,” I said, walking to my little bar cart and looking at my Scotches.

She raised both eyebrows, puzzled.

“What? No. I’m here, so obviously, I want to be here. I just, I mean, I just want you to pick. You pick the movie. You pick the drink. Okay?”

I watched her fidget with the hem of her dress and bite her bottom lip, and it all made sense. I poured a large glass of water, then walked over and handed it to her.

“Drink up,” I said evenly.

She looked at me with another petulant pout and furled her eyebrows.

“I wanted a real drink-” she started, but I cut her off with a look. “Drink up. Now,” I added.

She seemed to snap out of something. She took the glass and sipped it. Her eyes finally met mine.

“All of it,” I said. Her eyes widened. She kept going, draining the pint glass.

“Good girl,” I said, taking the glass.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I said, moving in and putting my hand on her cheek.

She was still pouting, but she seemed to instinctually move forward, pressing her lips to my thumb.

My hand slipped to her neck for a moment, my thumb on her chin, and her eyes widened. My hand went to the back of her head, taking hold of her ponytail.

“I asked you a question. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I asked seriously, tightening my grip on her hair.

“Yes, sir.” The words were like a squeak. Small and desperate.

“It’s not good for a girl like you to go so long without being put in your place, is it?”

“No, sir.” She seemed, suddenly, almost on the verge of tears. The vulnerability hit me like a wave, but I hardened. I moved in, and she stiffened. My bottom lip brushed against her ear.

“It’s very confusing when you have to pretend to be a grown-up for so long,” I whispered.

She cracked, just a little. “It is very confusing, sir,” she said, her body trembling.

“Why don’t you go over to the couch and get down on your knees and pull down your panties for me.”

She looked up and glared at me. Her bottom lip stuck out. She wasn’t shaking anymore. Her eyes narrowed. She shook her head like a petulant child. No.

There’s a feeling. When my jaw tightens and my fists clenched, and I have to take a long deep breath to gain control of myself. I stepped forward and watched as she braced herself. I laughed at her.

“Well, come on then, out with it. I know you want to. You’re trying so hard to be tough. Step over the line,” I said, with all the self-control and mockery I could.

She whined and squirmed under my gaze. I stepped forward, closer, and slapped her once across the face. She looked shocked. Her eyes were wide but unfocused. I wondered if a slap would break her or bait her.

“Say it, you little coward. Say it and see what happens.”

She looked up, fierceness in her eyes. “M-make me,” she pushed out.

I smiled for a second, then my hand was around her throat. She hardly had time to gasp before she was against the wall. “Thank you,” I said with a smile. It was that smile that I couldn’t fake or even summon on my own. It was the smile when I got to be really mean.

I flipped her around so that she was facing the wall and pulled up her dress and smacked her ass, once, twice, then over and over until she squirmed away. I grabbed her again and dragged her to the couch. I pulled her over my lap and pulled up her dress, and ripped down her panties.

She struggled again, but I pinned her legs down, under one of my own, and got both of her wrists in one of my hands.

As much as her struggling was cute, when I started to really spank her, the fight evaporated quickly. She only whimpered when I focused on one cheek and then the other, hard, steady slaps that pushed her whole body forward.

The whole room rang with the sound of my hand spanking her big ass. It made me growl. The feel of her skin made me hard. The sounds she made, the little whimpers, undid me. The way she squirmed and pushed her ass out for more and then tried to wiggle away when it got too hard.

“I thought you wanted to be a brat,” I said, surprised that I was out of breath.

She looked back at me with those big brown eyes, her dark eyeliner still perfect, with the little wings sharp and clean. She shrugged like a little girl—another barrage of spanks until she was weakly mewing and squirming away.

“Let’s see those big eyes. Still got that brat in them,” I said while squeezing her red and purple ass.

She turned back, her wide eyes shining and on the edge of tears. She shook her head, no.

I kept my eyes locked on hers as my fingers slipped down between her thighs. I watched those eyes roll back as my fingers found wetness and moved in.

“God. From a spanking? You got this wet from a spanking? What kind of sick little slut are you?” I laughed.

It was stupid. It was why we were both there. It was what we both wanted, but her cheeks went red. The shame washed over her. I loved how deep it all went. How, no matter how much we know we are playing a game, it still worked. The indelible rules that were built into our core still function.

I pushed two fingers into her, and she pushed her face into the couch and pushed her ass up in the air. What a predictable little slut, but god damn, I liked fingering her. I liked how she became like a puppet on a string for me. How I could stop and listen to her whine for more or speed up and watch her body brace for an orgasm. How I could edge her, finding the rhythm of her pleasure’s cycle. Few things were more decadent than having control over a pretty girl’s pleasure.

“No, no, little girls don’t come on fingers. What do they come on?”

She looked back at me, her bangs in her eyes, her hands covering her mouth. She shrugged. I stood and pushed her onto the couch. I roughed her up, pulled her around, and finally slapped her once, twice, three times.

“Answer me, you little slut!” I said, grabbing her by the throat again.

She looked so authentically scared. She had gotten to that place, that place where part of her really thought I might hurt her. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“On-on your cock,” she whispered, small and broken.

“So, take it out,” I said, standing up straight.

She moved forward, still fidgeting and little. She opened my belt, unbuttoned my slacks, unzipped them, not looking up at me, but licking her lips. She pulled out my cock and bit her bottom lip as she squeezed it softly and stroked it.

“Good girl. Can you give it a kiss?”

She looked up at me and smiled a little girl smile, mixed with that smirk, that smirk that first grabbed me. She nodded. I nodded back.

She sighed deeply and slipped the head into her mouth, moaning on my hard cock. She moved forward, taking more of my cock into her mouth, and my legs gave a little. It was like I was being pulled into a tide of pleasure. I closed my eyes for a moment and then opened them with a flash, pushing her away.

“Enough of that. Be a good girl and take off that dress.”

She sat on the couch, looking shy, not meeting my eye. I sighed and slapped her hands away and found the zipper, pulling it off of her and batting away her weak protests. Dress off, bra off, standing her up and looking at her naked except for her thigh-high socks and saddle shoes, her hands folded in front of her bare pussy as she timidly squirmed in place.

“Look how pretty you are,” I said, taking her by the wrists and putting her hands behind her back.

“Don’t you want to show me how pretty you are?” I cooed, and she looked up at me through her thick eyelashes and nodded.

I pushed her back onto the couch.

“Now legs up in the air,” I said sweetly. Her eyebrows furled, unsure.

“Up in the air and spread wide so I can get a good look at your prettiest parts,” I said. She tried, but got shy again.

“You don’t want the belt, do you?” I asked, let my voice grow a little meaner.

It was so hot to see how the fight had gone out of her. She was just a pliable little thing now. Something pretty for me to use. It felt good to let myself be that mean man, big and strong and uncaring. Full of desire to hurt and fuck and strangle her.

I stood up as she struggled to open her legs wider. I caught our reflection in the mirror. I was still in my suit, with my hard cock sticking out of my slacks, and she was naked, only in those socks, exposing herself to me. It was a lovely image.

I knelt down and examined her pussy. Oh, the look of her sock-covered legs in the air, how they made the tops of her thighs look so much more naked. She was covering her face, and I thought I should slap her hands away, but there was a certain perfection in the way her tits stuck out between her elbows and the delicious embarrassment she radiated.

“Mm, I wanted to see how pretty you were down here, but it’s so wet and swollen. You must really be turned on by being hit,” I said, putting my hands on her inner thighs and spreading her out wider.

“Was it the smack across the face that made you drip like this?” She let out a little sob from under her palms.

It was very pretty. I could tease and mock her, but there were few things prettier than her pussy. Her tan skin, slightly darker at the fat outer lips. Her lips were shaved bare with a naturally shaped triangle of short dark hair just above the split of her pussy.

She was growing shy again, trying to close her legs, which got her a few bright flashes of pain as I slapped her inner thighs.

I wonder if she knew that all I wanted to do was bury my face between her legs for hours. We had games to play and needs to fulfill, for both of us, but the few moments I gifted myself to go down on her were absolute heaven.

The taste of her was familiar—the smell of her. I remembered the first and only other time we were together. I remember how lovely it was, but how there was some fumbling, bumbling, hesitation. We were different people then.

The memories faded, and I lost myself between her thighs. Time sometimes slowed, and the world disappeared. Everything became the smell of her and the wetness and the slightly salty taste of her—the gifts of her little moans and squirming approval.

Her breath was hitched, little gasps climbing higher and higher and higher until- her hands her in my hair pushing me away. I looked up at her in confusion. Her face was bright red, her eyes wide, she panted. “You-you said. I’m not supposed to. I mean, not on your fingers and not on your tongue.”

The smile was there, behind the wide-eyed need—a smirk swimming in subtlety. I did say that. It was my rule. So I didn’t get to have her come with my mouth between her pretty legs. Maybe she sensed exactly how much I wanted that.

It snapped me out of the spell, and I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, the smell of her still all around me, burying me perfectly.

“Well, what a good girl you are to remember. We almost got carried away, didn’t we?” She nodded, childishly, enthusiastically, biting her lip, her ponytail bobbing.

“I suppose that is the best way to use you, isn’t it?” I asked, repositioning her, keeping her legs spread.

“Why don’t you show me what you do when you’re all alone while I get ready to fuck you. Don’t get too carried away, though.”

She nodded, laying back on the couch, legs spread, one hand on one of her small breasts and the other between her legs. She watched me carefully as she squeezed her nipple. I was impressed at how hard and smiled down at her, watching her wince as she tried to show off.

The warmth of my suit suddenly felt stifling. I stood and finally took off my jacket. I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off, folding everything neatly on the coffee table. Shoes, socks, slacks, until I stood in only boxers, watching her, then I slipped them off too and slipped my hand around my cock, watching her fingers between her legs, slick and rubbing in circles.

“So this is what you do when you are all alone in bed? Such a pretty thing to watch.”

The shyness was there, somewhere behind her eyes, but the lust was stronger. She smiled and nodded. “When I think about you,” she said in a very small voice. She was tiny and wanton. She knew how attracted I was to her. She spread her legs wider to show off for me, to show me more. She slipped two fingers into herself, and sighed. Her hips rose as her fingers moved.

For a few moments, we both jerked off for each other and to each other. The game melted away for me a little, and it was just bodies, hard and wet, on display and in use. I liked that. I enjoyed it until my body told me it was time to stop playing and start fucking.

“I want you to keep rubbing for me,” I said as I knelt in front of the couch, between her legs. She nodded, and her fingers moved back to her clit, back to quick little circles.

Then the obscenity of my hard cock slapping against her inner thigh, against her wet cunt. Her panting audible as she pushed her hips out, straining for more contact. Then rubbing, slow and insistent, dragging my cock up and down between the lips of her pussy. Almost slipping in, over and over.

As I teased us both, she passed into some other state, her legs shaking and her eyes closed and each breath marked with a needy little whine. Really, I would have teased for longer, but my own need was catching up to me. The thought of finally slipping into the silk heat of her cunt was a siren call, and it felt marvelous to give in to it.

My spit-slick thumb rubbed against the red head of my cock as I watched her hips rise up, trying desperately to connect with me.

I felt the word “fuck” push past my lips as I pushed the head of my cock into her, and her legs rose up and wrapped around my hips. The biological need to be as deep as possible inside of her took over. In my head, images of rutting animals flashed, naked bodies in an orgy, my hand on her neck, and the fear that was in her eyes minutes before.

I gripped her hips tightly and fucked her. Our bodies moved and found the right position, the way we could be as deep as possible, fuck as hard as possible, and then there was only the sound of our bodies slapping against each other and our moans.

“Do-do you like it? Do you like fucking my pussy?” She asked in a rough whisper, eyes wild where they were shy or bratty or hungry. I growled, “it’s perfect. A perfect little pussy. My useful little girl.”

I felt her tighten before I heard her say, “please!” Then I watched her struggle to form more words. “Can I come? Please?”

“Where do you want to come?” I said, speeding up. “On your cock! Please!” She said, legs shaking, eyes unfocused, body straining.

“Come for me. Come like a good girl on my cock.”

It was quite a spectacle. Something that pops up in my memory, sometimes at inopportune times. The way she screamed, so loud I worried about my neighbors, and I wasn’t a worrier. The way the word “fuck” came out of her mouth like a popped balloon. The way she beat on my chest and tightened her legs around me and then suddenly just went limp.

Panting, dazed, slack, she weakly looked up at me and said. “Thank you. Take it now. Take whatever you need. Do whatever you want to me.”

As much as I enjoyed the brat and the needy little girl, my body just needed her soft body, her thick hips, and her wet cunt. I slipped deep into her and fucked her. I pushed her legs up, getting more of her. My hands found her tits. I pounded hard, the sound of slapping skin and her wetness filling the room.

“You can come in me if you want. You can use me all day. You can tie me to the bed and keep fucking me as much as you want. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be anything you need,” she whispered into my ear.

She tightened around me. Her body coming back to life. She pushed back at my thrusts. She moaned and whispered more filth in my ear. “Come inside my pussy. I won’t tell anyone. I can be your little pet. Your little secret. You can keep me in a box and take me out and use me. Come inside of me over and over again.”

And then it was the familiar but also unique electricity. My body succumbing to the pleasure. And somewhere in the distance, I heard her voice. “Fuck, fuck, I can feel it. Fuck, I can feel it shooting inside of me.”

Then it was glasses of cold water and warm towels. The silence of two people who were spent. Smiles and kisses. A surprisingly vulnerable embrace that lasted a long time.

“Well, should we find that documentary? Order some food?” I asked, pulling my boxers back on.

She shrugged. “That was just a trick. I just used that so I could come here and get you to fuck me,” she said with a shrug.

I nodded. “Well. I see. You know how I feel about deception.”

She pouted and then stuck her tongue at me.

“I guess this time you’ll have to actually hit me hard,” she said, rolling over and laying on the couch with her ass up in the air, legs scissoring.

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1 Comment

  1. E

    Fuck. Perfect.

    Reply

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