For a few nights in a row, I’ve woken up from disturbing dreams. Nothing graphic or horrific. But they make me sad, anxious, and upset. What am I dreaming about? I don’t know. The moment my eyes open, they’re gone, the details drifting away. But I’m left with the negative feelings.
This morning, for the first time in several days, I had the freedom to wake up on my schedule, in my own way. My eyes fluttered open, the last vestiges of my nightmares scurrying back into the dark.
What am I supposed to be doing? How late is it? Where am I supposed to be?
The relief upon realizing that life was back to normal, that I my days would return to the routine I craved, calmed me almost immediately. I indulged in stretching and blinking, checking my phone and then putting it down and dozing.
Until I heard the creak of the door. There he was, my own John Brownstone, always so close but in the past week of upended schedules, long days, and sleepless nights, I’d missed him. I croaked out a good morning in a disused, rusty voice.
He’d missed me, too. The bed shifted as he quickly crawled in with me. I settled against him, happy to be close, prepared for the fucking we’d neglected for several days. Instead, he cradled me, hugged me, made me laugh, and then got back up.
What the?! I…but…we…huh?
I know better than to pout too much. Enticing him back might work better. He was getting dressed as I luxuriated in my nudity. Soft sheets against softer thighs. How could this not tempt him?
Looking to my left, I saw his belt on the bed. My reaction was swift and involuntary. I squeaked, shifted away, and then grabbed it. Maybe this could be the lure.
His eyes sparkled when he realized what I held in my hand. I gave it up with no argument. I don’t love the belt, but I crave the attention.
A few light smacks, and my body melted back into the blankets.
Yes, please. More, please. Now, please.
But John Brownstone’s mind was on a single track, and I wasn’t it. Not in that moment.
Give me a minute.
I rolled over on my back, spreading my knees and thighs. My fingers stroked my outer labia. I could smell my arousal, all from a few whacks with a belt. And the daringness of this moment. I kept quiet, knowing he’d eventually look. He turned. His eyes lit up.
“Are you just going to let this moment slip by?”
Did I really say that? Oh God, his eyes changed. Will I get what I want?
Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. He was by my side in a moment. I hoped for his mouth or finger on my clit. I wished for orgasms and that full, stretched feeling only a cock or few fingers offer. I wished for so much.
His hand came down across my cunt. I quivered and squeaked. It felt good. Barely hurt.
I can handle this. I fucking love this.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
He continued to smack my clit and labia. Each one slightly more forceful than the last. What started out as a pleasant feeling quickly turned into an unbearable burning. I tried to close my knees, move away, pull back.
“Oh no. You wanted to get sassy with me, now you’ll take what you asked for.”
Bruising fingers pulled my leg back into place, holding me there, forcing me to endure the growing burn between my thighs. God fucking damn, it hurt so good. I wanted to it end. I wanted him to continue.
In between smacks, he pressed into my clit. Not rubbing. Not stroking. Pressing. My pelvis moved against his fingertip. Pleasure and pain burst through my brain and body. I grabbed the railing of the bed, bracing myself for…impact?
I stuttered out a plea, begging for release, terrified of either answer he could give. This was going to hurt, no matter which way it went. He played with me like a cat with a mouse. Would he? Wouldn’t he?
“Come for me, girl.”
His voice was quiet but I would have heard him anywhere. He knew what I needed, regardless of what I demanded. Every muscle strained and spasmed as the orgasm flew through my body.
As I came back down to earth, I heard, “That’s what you get for being so damn snarky.”
I knew better than to voice my satisfaction. The next time wouldn’t end nearly as pleasantly. I smiled, stretching like a cat, tangled in the sheets, happy to be petted and loved – in whatever painful way he chose.
Image via Pixabay
Happy Masturbation Monday and Wicked Wednesday! Yes, I’m combining the two because…well, because I can, and because I missed Monday (thank you, jury duty) but I can’t let a week go by without celebrating Masturbation Monday. The theme for Wicked Wednesday this week is nightmares, and they’ve been plaguing me lately. The only thing I remember is how awful they make me feel which until today has taken a while to shake off. I think John Brownstone’s method works best for that.
Anyway, pick one or both places to visit, and go find some more smutty goodness to read this week!