The Switch

Something behind his eyes changed. She was laying on his bed, naked but for a smile. She was looking up at him in that goading way she had, egging him on to, to what? To nothing as far as she was concerned. Oh to more sex, to fucking, to sweatiness and lust. But now she had seen a switch in him. His smile disappeared and his eyes seemed to flash green before her. His cock was erect, tumescent, as he turned to his attention to his wardrobe and purposefully began rifling through his belongings. Her interest was piqued. Something kept him aroused, some secret mission only he was on, in his serious skin. She remained still on the bed, curiously quiet. He turned to her with two neck ties and grabbed her left wrist, tethering it swiftly to the bed head. He immediately turned his attention to her right wrist. She giggled, in for a bit of fun and not at all bothered by the restraints. He didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. She began to struggle a little against the restraints, tugging harder at the ties that bound her before realising he had (so cleverly) tied them so they became tighter with struggle. Still, she struggled, relishing the slight burn as they cut into her wrists. He was on her swiftly, on her and in her, stroking with purpose and power. She was intrigued by his look and her giggles soon turned to gasps and moans and oh gods. He loosened one tie and flipped her over deftly; in the same movement his hand met her bare arse cheek. She yelped in surprise at the stinging before feeling his hand connect with her again. Over and over his hand met her arse until it was burning with heat. Each stroke elicited a sharp gasp from her. With the pain she felt her desire grow, the heat between her legs now raging. As if recognizing this, his hands spread her legs and she expected to feel his fingers begin to probe her. Instead his hand met with her pussy in a stinging smack, the pain of a million nerve endings screaming and wanting and crying for more. A few smacks later and he was in her, filling her from behind, slamming into her stinging flesh. She was begging for release, one hand still tethered to the bed, he riding her harder and harder. He came in slow silent shudders, rolling off her and onto his back. She laid there bewildered, overcome with desire, shock, wondering who on earth had just done that to her. He smiled and said, “Hello.”

By Ritual

By ritual, he undresses her. He always undresses her. She lies on the bed, her breath short with anticipation. She looks at him knowingly. She knows what is coming next, knows the kiss, knows the gradual unveiling of her, knows the sounds that he will utter, half delight, half desire. The kiss comes, both gentle and passionate. His tongue is on hers and as if by clockwork a few seconds later, her centre starts to ache. She smiles internally at the thought that he can do this to her with a single kiss. She starts her dance, her squirming and writhing, grinding her arse against the bed and if he is close, her pelvis into his whatever, whatever she can come in contact with. He smirks. Now it is his turn to look knowingly at her. He knows her need has grown; her want is becoming unbearable for her. And so the unveiling begins, with unbuckling, unbuttoning, opening, yanking pulling tossing aside. She is now in her underwear and as he lays his hands on her flesh, a guttural moan escapes his lips as his anticipation builds. He is still fully dressed, as always, the bulge of his cock outlined against his pants, begging for attention. He bites at her nipples through gauziness of bra and she arches in response, her eyes now lustful and angry. He presses his whole hand between her legs, pushing the fabric of her panties against her wetness. Pushing it deeper, forcing the fabric into the slippery space between her lips as she bucks her hips up to meet his hand. He pulls her panties aside and slips long fingers between her, dipping into her wetness before sliding them deep inside. They let out simultaneous groans, she as he finds his mark and he as he feels her soft warmth encapsulate his fingers. One, two orgasms later and his clothes are removed quickly. He is poised over her now, his cock proud and beautiful, his arms and shoulders taking his full weight as veins bulge. She is desperate to take his cock in her mouth, to love it with tongue and lips and teeth, but she knows he will insist on fucking first. Always. Sometimes she begs him to allow her to taste him, but he always says no. And so, he places the head at her entrance and presses himself slowly inside. That first slide in slide out is pure bliss. There is something so perfect about that moment that sometimes she cries at how beautiful he feels, so hard against her softness, like all his love is pouring into her at that one point of contact. At that moment they are lost. So they fuck, and they love, and kiss, and suck and lick over and over again until they are exhausted, and there is nothing left but to lie on the bed motionless, she on her stomach, he on his back. He leans across and plants a little kiss between her shoulder blades. Runs his lips across the fine hair on her back, muttering words she cannot decipher under his breath. He plants another kiss, and another, on shoulders and back. She begins to respond, to start her wriggling and squirming, her arse arching up and legs parted. His hand snakes its way between her legs again and his fingers find their mark once more.