The Verb to Fuck
She lies on her back, crosswise on the bed, looking up at him. He has leaned over slightly, the fingers of his left hand curled under her neck, his palm along her jawline, the ball of his thumb on her lower lip.
He looks down at her calmly, at this upside-down portrait of her. His thumb tingles against the perfect soft flesh of her lip. Her mouth is pushed open, but gently as yet. Her neck is slightly arched, her eyes softly closed in anticipation, her head tipped back against the coverlet, her body stretched along the sheets, naked, legs spread.
His thumb slips between her lips, touching the warm liquid life of her tongue. Her lips close and she sucks; her tongue darts and rests, darts and rests. It is an instinct, her sucking, but not only an instinct. She wants to show him how eager she is, how much she wants to serve. Needs to serve.
He pulls his thumb back for a moment. It is slick with her saliva, the water of her need. He circles her lips with his thumb-tip, wetting them, making them shine. The perfect O of her mouth, her eyes still closed. He could fill that O with his cock this instant, and she would sigh with pure pleasure, and it's all he can do to wait.
He wants her on the floor though, kneeling beside the bed. When she is there for him, her pale thighs open, her nipples dark and swollen with her thoughts, eyes still closed, head tipped back, he gives her two fingers, middle and ring, pushed deep into her mouth and pressing down on her tongue.
She sucks, harder, harder, and he uses his wrist to push his fingers in and then back, fucking her mouth with them. This goes on for a while, a dreamy interval in which her saliva coats her chin and begins to run down her throat. Before they are finished her breasts and torso will be gleaming.
He is still fully clothed.
Things he can smell in this moment: her hair, her skin, her wet warm cunt, open for him, flushed with need, dripping.
He bends, bringing his mouth close to her ear, and says: "You're always open for me, aren't you? Even if you're sitting in a meeting at work, the most excruciatingly dull hour of your life, your legs crossed, pressed together - even then you are open for me, in your deepest essence you are open for me, legs flung wide, mouth agape, tongue out. Yes?"
She nods, still sucking his fingers.
He strokes her throat with his other hand. This is her signal to stop sucking. He draws his drenched fingers from her lips and rubs them over her breasts, her nipples, glazing them.
"I have something for you," he tells her. She obediently opens her mouth and extends her tongue. She expects his cock.
What she gets instead is a hard bright sting, and then another. Her eyes flash open, and she takes it in: the riding crop, the folded leather tab that struck her tongue.
Still kneeling, she holds her body a little straighter, a little more upright. Her breasts thrust forward. Her head tipped back more. Her mouth open wider, her tongue extended further in a beautiful downward arc.
She wants more.
He gives her three more strokes with the crop, harder than the first two. She makes small vocalizations each time the leather tab strikes her tongue. Impossible to describe them. Wordless cries of pain that are also eloquent expressions of her need.
More. Please. More of the pain that is as sharp and piercing and perfect as beauty itself.
Her mouth waters copiously. She squeezes hot tears from the outer corners of her eyes, which are still shut tight; the tears run down past her temples and onto her neck. Her cunt weeps its own salt tears.
More, Sir, she silently begs. And he gives her three more answers.
Now she needs a respite, she needs relief. He bends to her mouth and strokes her tongue very slowly and softly with his fingers. He kisses her wet open trembling mouth, ever so gently sucking her punished tongue into his mouth and caressing it with his own tongue. She breathes a moaning sigh into his throat.
One might think she wants something cool on her whipped tongue-a chilled drink, a chip of ice. How quickly it would melt. He knows better, however. He stands and unzips his trousers. He gives her the rigid heat of his cock, he lays it heavily on the spanked flesh of her tongue, and by the quickening that passes through her body he knows this is precisely what she craves.
He does not move; he lets her suckle softly; he knows that she must be cautious and deliberate with her tongue. Her hands are placed demurely on her thighs. There is silence except for the small sounds of her gentle sucking. He is deeply tempted to take her head in both his hands and fuck her mouth roughly, push himself into her throat until she gags and his balls are pressed against her spit-slick chin.
Not yet.
As she suckles - as she bends all her concentration on her task and on the way his cock feels in her mouth, the way it trembles, the way the smooth skin of it slides over the hard muscle beneath - as she suckles he is touching her with the tip of the crop, drawing it lightly along the skin of her face, her throat, her breasts, her belly. He strokes her nipples with the folded leather tab, watching as they extend and harden and quiver for him, feeling the pleasure this gives her in the way she moves her mouth.
He draws the tip of the crop downward, and still she sucks. He traces the lips of her cunt with it, exquisitely slowly, wetting the leather, circling her clit with it, around and around and around, and still she sucks. He draws the leather tab between the lips of her cunt, entering her with it, letting it soak in her juices.
The scent of her need is everywhere. Her saliva is trickling down the shaft of his cock and over his balls. The leather tab is inside her and the crop's thin shaft is pressed against her clit. She sucks harder; her tongue is feeling better, or it is feeling numbed by the punishment it's taken.
At a signal from the universe that neither of them could ever hope to explain, things suddenly begin to happen quickly.
He pulls the tip of the crop from her cunt.
He pulls his cock from her mouth and rubs it all over her beautiful upturned face, making her shine with the mixture of her saliva and his precum.
He strikes her left nipple with the wet leather tab on the end of the crop, twice. It stings badly, and she cries out. Before she can move, he strikes the right nipple twice, the same way. Even though she knew this was coming, yearned for it, she looks surprised; it is an intense pain. Both nipples are bright red. In the next moment his mouth is on them, licking, sucking, one then the other, biting, bathing them in his saliva, and his fingers slip inside her cunt, two fingers, the same two fingers that were in her mouth earlier, his thick strong fingers held tightly together and fucking her hard and fast. She spreads her legs as wide as she can. The heel of his hand presses down on her clit as his fingers fuck her. She bucks and writhes, she gasps, she moans, she is pushing her hips at him, working to get his fingers as deep inside her as possible, and again, with no warning and no planning on his part, just a shift in the light, a nudge from the moon's gravity, something, he pulls his fingers from inside her and takes up the crop again.
She is open so wide for him, she dreaded and yearned for this, the quick sharp strokes on her throbbing wet clit.
Three, four.
Five.
She screams, and then he is inside her, he has pulled her up and flung her face-down on the bed, her legs on the floor, and he is inside her, deep hard fast, fucking her with every ounce of his being, pounding his flesh into her tight squirming heat, the weight of his upper body on hers, pinning her to the bed, fucking her, fucking, their entire shared world just an endless conjugation of the verb to fuck, and he is on the verge of erupting, filling her magnificent fingered spanked fucked cunt, but the time isn't right, not quite yet.
A pause as he rearranges her on the bed, her head hanging off, her hair reaching the floor, so that he can fuck her mouth and throat, her mouth open wide and her throat welcoming his thrusts, her legs spread wide, and he reaches forward, leaning over her, and pushes his fingers into her again, and fucks her with them, the thrusts of his fingers into her cunt matching the thrusts of his cock in her throat, and he feels her begin to squeeze him, her cunt clenching and squeezing his plunging fingers, and then she is cumming and she needs to cry out, and his hips pull back and his cock emerges from her mouth simultaneously with her cries of orgasm, and his seed jets and spills, a soft warm spatter, tracing her face, her throat, her breasts, her belly. And even as he stands panting above her, her fingertips gather and spread his cum on her spanked places, her nipples, her clit, she collects and feeds it to herself, balm for her tongue, all her hot swollen punished places soothed.
And still he is not rid of that feeling, the tingling in the ball of his thumb.
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