Photographers and their women

I’m lying in bed next to Richard right now. We both have laptops and when I look across at his, there are photos on it, of beautiful women. Gorgeous photos. Photos Richard took.

 

He took them several years ago, and they were lost during a past break-up, and he has re-discovered them.

I am so, so thrilled that he has found them. He is a great photographer, and this was clearly a huge loss to him.

I am also a little intimidated by them, or threatened, I don’t know. The first one he found, wow that was hard to see, because his hand was in it, touching her belly. Not in a sexual way (heck, she was fully clothed even), more in the way you touch something you own.

 

I am the first woman that Richard has owned. He is my first (and last of course) owner. He’s the first man I’ve called Daddy (well, except I guess my father lol) and I’m the first woman he’s called “little girl”. Every day with Richard is a first for me. So that means a) I don’t have anything to feel threatened about in re these old photos, and b) it’s kinda understandable that I do find them a little threatening.

Anyway.

Yesterday morning, after an amaaaaazing early morning session (are you noticing a trend? early morning? this morning too!), I got a bit insecure. I’m still coming to terms with my submissiveness. Or not, depending on the day.

Ever since I started calling Richard Daddy, I’ve been feeling more and more submissive. Mostly I love it, but sometimes I start to fret about it. Yesterday, I wanted to know if it was “real” or…or what? I wasn’t sure. After we talked for a while, I realized that there were two different things that were worrying me.

The first was, I needed to know whether Richard likes being called Daddy as much as I like calling him Daddy. I really really really didn’t want this to be something he was doing to humor me or make me happy. I’ve said before that one of the most wonderful things about a D/s relationship to me is that I don’t have to worry, as I usually would, whether or not Richard is doing what he wants and enjoying himself. This kind of worrying really interfered with me enjoying myself in past vanilla relationships.

He assured me that he loves it as much as I do. We’ve both posted about this before, so I won’t spend more time on it here. But I’m probably going to need reassurance on this semi-regularly.

The second thing that was worrying me was, are we just playing a silly mind-game? Just pretending that he owns me and I submit to him, to make ourselves hot? I’m not sure how to say this in a way that makes sense, but I guess part of me was wondering if we were going to wake up one day and say “What the heck were we doing? Let’s get real now.” Or worse, that just one of us would say that and the other would be up a creek…

Richard says that he’s known who he is for a really long time. I haven’t; I’ve had a lifetime of thinking that I was a plain, boring, vanilla woman. Richard sees me as an exciting, intensely sexual, submissive wanton. I’m glad he sees me that way, but I’m still a ways from seeing myself that way. He says I’m still adjusting to my new understanding of myself. I guess I am. Bottom line, though, is that he’s not going to change who he is and NO WAY am I going back to vanility (rhymes with banality) (vanilla-land? vanilla-hood?)

So that was my crisis of confidence. I don’t feel like I’ve explained it very well. Maybe I’ll do a better job during my next crisis, since I KNOW there will be one.

Oh! And just so you don’t think I’m done being a tease…tonight! we’re going! to a BDSM club! Woooooohooooo!

Advertisements

Second thoughts about submission

As I said in my last post, my fears about Richard’s increasing aggressiveness were justified. Before we went to bed, he put me into leg chains for the night, “so I wouldn’t get away”. He woke me in the middle of the night as he unclipped one of my leg cuffs, then pushed my legs apart and entered me. I could tell from how wet I was that he had been playing with me while I slept.

I moaned, and he slapped a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up. Just fuck.”

I did what I was told. I could tell he was feeling very aggressive. Not good to argue with him at such times.

He fucked me for a while, moving his hands from my mouth, to my throat, to my breasts, and back again. Then he pulled out and shoved his cock in my mouth. His very hard, very large cock. I choked and he just pushed in deeper. Bastard.

He face-fucked me while I drooled and gasped and choked, and then he flipped me onto my belly, grabbed my hips and hauled my ass into the air. He kicked my legs apart and began to slam-fuck me. I could hear the leg chains, still attached to my right leg, rattle as he fucked me.

He grabbed my hair and wrapped it around his wrist and suddenly stopped, deep inside me.

“Where’s your collar?” he growled.

“Um. I don’t know. In the drawer?”

“Get it.” He pushed off me.

I jumped out of bed and starting digging through the dresser drawer in which my collar usually resides.

“It’s not here.”

“Well, where the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look in the bedside table.”

It wasn’t there. I could almost hear his annoyance.

“I just remembered! It’s in the bathroom.” I ran and got it.

He put it on, roughly yanking it closed. “What kind of slave doesn’t know where her collar is?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” (meekly)

Then he fucked me some more, and he was NOT gentle. When he was done, he put the second leg cuff on himself and said “Now you won’t be going anywhere.”

But he didn’t cum, so I knew I was in for it. I behaved like a saint all day yesterday, “Yes sir” and “No sir” about everything. When he said “Jump” I said “How high?” (Not really, my father used to say that lol.) We did a photoshoot, OUTSIDE with me NAKED, and I DID NOT COMPLAIN ONCE. I definitely earned the title “Good Girl” yesterday.

Jeez, I’ve done it again. I haven’t gotten to the part in the title, but I really have to do some work now. More later. Promise.

Who’s your daddy?

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
…I got a bad desire
…I’m on fire
 – Bruce Springsteen

I’ve always loved the menace of those lines. And I love the way it showcases the Daddy/little girl dynamic that Amy has posted about.

She and I have been finding our own way through an unusual relationship, one that isn’t part of the mainstream, and yet in so many ways sits squarely astride classic Middle America values. There are days when I’m Ricky Fucking Ricardo bending Lucy over his knee for a good old fashioned spanking.

bdsmcouple-amy-spanked-spanking

Seriously, how far back does the image of the husband commanding his wife go back? And yet, it’s not exactly who we are.

Amy doesn’t need discipline.

So we aren’t exactly Ricky and Lucy.

And do we need to define ourselves at all?

Will the thought police show up and drag me off as a perv if I call her “baby”, and if she calls me her “stallion,” will they round her up as a potential horse fucker?

Daddy/Little Girl.

It’s a dynamic, not literal.

Amy posted about how Master/slave didn’t capture the dynamic; nor did owner/owned. Neither does husband/wife.

Amy has two other nicknames for me – “The Boss,” and “The Bad Man.” On a good day, maybe “The Bad, Bad, Baaaaaad Man.”

But our relationship involves a more nurturing role for me. And Amy is not a pain slut who craves constant discipline. Amy is eager to be a very good girl. Disobedience is simply out of the question for her.

So.

What kind of relationship has a woman very eager to obey her partner, without question, and have him make the decisions and care for her needs?

For us, it’s a Daddy/girl dynamic.

It’s the most accurate descriptor for how the two of us interact.

In some ways it feels VERY vanilla. I mean, it’s a common theme in mainstream culture, from music to books to sugar daddies and typical flirtation between couples. For me, I grew up in an arch-conservative evangelical Protestant religion. We had an elderly couple in our church, pillars as it were – easily the most influential couple in our little community. He was on the church board, an elder, etc., and his wife, a white haired beehive fashion plate, led out almost weekly in some part of the service, and often referred to her husband.

She called him “Daddy.”

On formal occasions, she would add his last name after the word “Daddy.”

Maybe they were kinksters.

I think of the deep south. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof – Big Daddy. I see the Daddy/little girl dynamic almost everywhere – it appears to be timeless.

That will reassure Amy. She’s still convinced she’s vanilla.

But for now, who’s your Daddy?

Amy, I’m your Daddy.

How to be daddy’s little girl

This is a hard post to write. It’s taken me several months to become comfortable with being sexually submissive. I’ve written about how I’ve wrestled with the term “slave”, as well as the reality of being one.

This is harder. I’m afraid I’m going to squick some of you out. I could squick myself out if I’m not careful.

Richard has forced me, over the last few months, to face who I am, to look into the dark parts of myself and, rather than run and hide, to look harder. This doesn’t come naturally to me, and it has been scary. But, as I said to the silent male, it is incredible how easy everything is once you open up to who you really are, instead of trying to hide it or ignore it. So here goes the next step in that evolution.

Richard and I have talked about how the Master/slave dynamic doesn’t feel 100% right to us, nor does “owner/owned”. One of my problems is that I feel much more nurtured by Richard than those terms seem to imply. I feel like I have a more exclusive and intimate relationship with him than a slave would have with her Master. After all, a Master could have several slaves, yes?

Richard has called me “girl” since he’s known me. Recently he’s been calling me “little girl” and even “baby girl”. I LOVE it when he calls me that. It feels so completely right. It says to me: he’s in control and he will take care of me. All I need to do is be a good girl and do what I’m told. Heaven.

I told him that I wished there was a good word for who he is for me.

He said “What about Daddy?”

I said I felt funny using that word. Wouldn’t that mean I had serious unresolved issues with my own father? Wouldn’t that mean I was a screwed up freak? He didn’t think so.

I tiptoed around the word. I tested it out a couple of times during sex, mumbling it into Richard’s shoulder as he fucked me. It felt weird. Not good.

I realized that calling Richard “Daddy” made me feel more vulnerable and more submissive than I was yet comfortable with. I couldn’t believe that he could still love me and be attracted to me if I were that submissive. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that, the more submissive I am, the happier Richard is. I guess I’ve been around men who’ve wanted to be dommed for most of my life.

hiddendirtysex-sexintheride-238x300-2

To put this in perspective: just a year ago, I learned that many men like women to shave their pussies (yes, I’ve been living in a closet). I thought that men who like this must be closet pedophiles, since young girls have bare pussies. Uh, no. Richard, at least, loves anything that lets him see more of me (remind me to tell you about my new micro bikini. Gulp.)

So what to do about this issue of what to call Richard? I’ve been calling him “Sir” when he gives me an order, Richard in front of others, and basically avoiding the issue.

Richard doesn’t like to avoid issues. Richard doesn’t like for me to avoid issues.

A few days ago, I woke up to him playing with my breasts. When he saw that I was awake he began talking to me.

“Daddy’s girl has beautiful breasts.”

I moaned and tried to pull away. He clamped down on my nipples and pulled me back against him.

“Be a good girl. Daddy wants to play with your breasts.”

He wrapped one arm tight around my waist so I couldn’t move and roughly tugged and pulled and pinched my nipples. I struggled weakly, but I was still groggy and he had a strong grip on me.

“Does that feel good? Tell Daddy how it feels.”

Oh god. It felt incredible. It felt so good, and I was still so groggy, that I wasn’t capable of answering. He kept playing with me and talking to me and when he flipped me onto my back and entered me a few minutes later, I was so wet it startled him.

“Oooooh, Daddy’s girl wants to fuck, doesn’t she? Are you a slut, little girl?”

Gah.

Afterwards, we talked about it. He had decided to push me on this, because he could sense that I had a lot of feelings around it. It turned us both on. A lot.

Today when he was fucking me, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to call him “Sir” anymore, only “Daddy”.

I’ve been calling him “Daddy” all day. It feels really hot. And really right.

Riding space mountain

I’ve never liked roller coasters, or thrill rides.

I don’t like giving up control and putting myself at the mercy of someone else’s creation.

I don’t ride them.

They scare me. I’ve never ridden anything remotely scary. Never wanted too.

I went with my boys yesterday to Disneyland, and we did a few different rides – Indiana Jones, Pirate of the Caribbean, etc. Big stuff, for me. But, they wanted something a little edgier, but they know I don’t go on roller coasters. Ever.

But they didn’t want to go on something without me.

So, I pushed my comfort zone a little when we went to the California Adventure part. Went on the Grizzly something water ride. Scarier than I liked, but within reason. I went backwards down this big water hill – about as bad as I can imagine. I tried the flight simulator that flies over California landmarks, that I was afraid of, and that was cool.

So I suggested the Thunder Run train/roller coaster thing. I just focused on my immediate surroundings, and did ok. We took it again later, and I found myself looking around as we did it.

Not so bad. Should have been scarier, but it wasn’t. Easily the scariest thing I’ve been on, but not so bad.

So.

Space Mountain.

Waited an hour and a half.

No fear in the lineup. Felt fine on the starting gate.

Felt great going up the first hill.

No problems. Shot through space like a wild thing, got slammed around and had a most unusual high speed fast turning adventure.

I could do that again.

I will do it again.

My boys tell me it’s pretty tame, maybe a 4 out of 10. Whatever it is, it’s not something I need to resist anymore, and I’m game to try bigger, wilder rides.

Heights, loss of control – those are some of my biggest fears. But at the right time, they turned out to be nothing.

I expect Amy to push her comfort zone. Nothing wrong with me pushing my own too.

Training myself, these days.

Cool.

Ownership, sharing and monogamy

Richard has discussed in an earlier post his interest in MMF threesomes, and his decision NOT to pursue them in our relationship. His decision was based on my very clear, very loud concerns about them (basically having to do with the potential physical and emotional dangers of bringing another man into the relationship), which led him to feel that it would be psychologically harmful to me to pursue them.

Mia, who posts here sometimes and has a great blog “What We Did Last Night”, posted about a MMF threesome she had recently. I loved her post and it helped me to understand what Richard meant when he talked about what turned him on about them: the woman’s over-stimulation and loss of self-control.

And for him, it is the ultimate sign of ownership, to share what is yours with another.
Amy – owned by Richard
I have always been monogamous. I think maybe I fall in love with anyone I fuck. I actually read something recently that supported that idea; oxytocin levels rise after fucking, oxytocin is a “bonding” hormone (grossly oversimplified), I figure I probably have the world’s highest naturally occurring levels of oxytocin. I am so completely focused on Richard that it is hard to imagine being attracted to another man, much less fucking him! And fucking him while Richard watches! Or joins in! Ack!

However, I’ve been thinking about threesomes a lot lately, because I know how erotic Richard finds them. I think maybe they are his biggest turn-on. I wonder if maybe I feel secure enough in our relationship to try this. It scares me, but maybe being scared can be part of the eroticism, like it is with being blindfolded or handcuffed. I really don’t know.

Richard says that every fantasy he has acted out/lived has turned out much better than he expected. I’ve always felt that fantasies are just that, and don’t need to be lived to be enjoyed. But now I’m living a life that I didn’t even know enough to fantasize about, and it’s WONDERFUL. So maybe this would be the same.

After we had been talking online for about a month, Richard sent me the following short-short story. (I had to dig and dig through my email to find it. I LOVE reading our old emails. The yearning!) I found the story very hot, but didn’t seriously consider it as something that could or would ever happen. I still find it hot…

Answering Richard’s call, Amy entered the room.

A man she didn’t recognize stood talking to Richard.

“Stand here,” Richard said. Then to the man, “show me what you meant.”

Amy, barefoot in a delicate t-shirt and sarong, waited as the stranger deftly untied the sarong, letting it drop to the floor.

Naked from the waist down, Amy stood shyly as the man used her lower body to illustrate some complex tattoo he had once seen, turning Amy around once to show exactly how it had risen over someone’s buttocks.

The demonstration over, Amy waited quietly.

“Beautiful woman,” said the man, almost as an afterthought.

“Yes she is,” answered Richard. “Listen, why don’t you stay for dinner?” With a nod indicating Amy, “We can sit up later with whiskey, and take turns fucking her by the fire.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Richard turned to Amy.

“One more for dinner.”

Star Trek and BDSM

Did I getcha with the title? No, I’m not talking about James Kirk as submissive male.

Several years ago I saw an episode of Star Trek, Next Generation that stuck in my mind. At the time, I didn’t realize why it had such an impact on me, but after I discovered BDSM and in particular D/s I understood. We had a scorching hot discussion after I first told Richard about it, on IM. I think it helped him understand me better, in those pre-meeting days. I remember not being able to sleep that night because I was so turned on. Recently I Netflixed it so that I could show him. It’s not sexy per se, but the implications of it are very sexy to me.

The episode is titled “The Perfect Mate”. Briefly, the Enterprise is hosting a meeting of rapprochement between two worlds. The ambassador from one world, who is picked up first, brings a precious gift for Alrik, the leader of the other world: a woman. Kamala is an empathic metamorph; a very rare mutant who has the ability to sense what men desire and mold herself to their wishes and interests. Empathic metamorphs imprint on and become the ideal mate of one man.

On the way to pick up Alrik, Kamala is accidentally brought out of stasis (blasted Ferengi!). This moves forward her development so that she is in a stage in which she is sending off strong sexual signals to all men. After a few incidents, she decides to remain in her quarters. Jean-Luc, tough guy that he is, tries to stay away from her although he is fascinated by her as well. However, they are thrown together to work on the ceremony of reconciliation and the attraction is intense. She’s smart, strong and intuitive – everything he finds most attractive in a woman (naturally).

Jean-Luc manages to keep her at arm’s length, but only just, and they pick up Alrik. When Jean-Luc goes to Kamala’s room to bring her to the wedding ceremony, she tells him that she has completed her development prematurely and has imprinted on him, rather than on Alrik. However, her strong sense of duty (in part due to her upbringing, but also due to becoming Jean-Luc’s ideal woman) means that she will marry Alrik, to maintain peace between the worlds. She will not reveal to anyone that she has already imprinted, and points out that she is still empathic, so she will still be able to make him happy.

The worst part: Jean-Luc has met Alrik, who is a homely, superficial twit unworthy of Kamala. Nevertheless, he acts as best man at the wedding and hands over his perfect mate to a lesser man.

*sob*

When Richard and I first began to spend time together online, we were flirtatious but also pretty cool. We were trying to be cautious. So we talked about kink more intellectually than emotionally and we talked about a lot of other things too (as we continue to do). However, Richard gradually moved to claim me and to exert control over me, and our relationship became closer to what it is now.

During one IM, I said “I am for you, Richard” and he asked what I meant. I hadn’t thought of it when I said it, but I remembered that this was what Kamala said when she came out of stasis, thinking that Jean-Luc was Alrik: “I am for you Alrik”. That was eye-opening. As we discussed it, I began to understand what it was I wanted in a relationship and what I wanted to be.

I want to be owned. By one man.

I want to be completely his.

I want to be what he wants me to be, in all ways.

I want that man to be worthy of me, and to bring out the best in me.

I want to be cherished for this, to be seen as a rare and precious gift.

And I am.

How to make her cum really hard

I want to quote part of a comment we received on the “How I became a dominant  man” post.

“I hope that you share some details of how the conversation goes, I find what you both share to be intelligent, caring and informative… This is such a real-life relationship and we appreciate your opening yourselves up the way you both do.”
Jdslove

Amy didn’t like the idea of being disposable.

She thinks it is hot.

She doesn’t like it.

Fair enough.

We talked.

I tried to explain the feeling, the idea that I could afford to not take an opportunity to fuck her, for example, because I own her, and I have all the opportunities I could possibly want to fuck her.

She began to compare it to a woman in a singles bar, who doesn’t need to take every offer for sex, because she can have sex whenever she wants. Amy said when she goes to a bar, the last thing she thinks about is getting sex. Which of course the one thing many guys are totally focused on when they go to a bar (or anywhere).

So she began to understand the idea of passing up sex, because you can have it anytime you want.

But she doesn’t want to be taken for granted.

And she talked about being insecure.

We laughed a bit about this.

What does she need to be secure? We just got married, we are working on having a baby…we talked about a host of things that she could think about to make herself feel secure.

Now, Amy is a logical woman. She knows all this. But emotionally?

I think we lost some little bit of connection this past two weeks with some heavy workloads and family cares. Plus the vasectomy reversal surgery sent our sex life and physical connection into an unusual sort of limbo. And when you lose that connection, the first place it shows up is in insecurity. I doubt it would have shown up as insecurity at all, if not for events in our respective pasts.

We have discussed the ways in which we could have held more easily to our connection. I will be firmer with my direction of Amy when telling her what I want. I tend to be too polite, which can fog my true desires. I haven’t been physically aggressive with her as well – hey I’ve got stitches on my balls! I think we both need the rough play, we are used to it with each other, and when it was suddenly cut out we weren’t prepared for the loss of emotional intensity it engendered.

Insecurity comes and goes. We have been together a short time, physically. Three months. Longer online, but physically together, it’s been a short time and we are still learning about each other, and understanding our needs.

I understand Amy’s better now.

She understands mine better.

The only thing I didn’t like about her post was the “Meet the new Boss – same as the old Boss,” theme.

I’m not like her old Boss. I’m not like anyone she’s ever known. It pissed me off to read it, but I know she knows better.

Insecure or secure, happy or unhappy; I own her ass. And every other fucking inch of her.

Whatever problems we have, we settle between us. We talk. We face it. No retreat.

Nobody’s going anywhere.

No apologies either. I don’t want her feeling bad about being emotional.

I’m fucking emotional.

Amy has to be as utterly Amy as possible. I want to know what she loves, what she hates, what she she hungers for, what makes her shudder. It doesn’t matter a fuck if I don’t like what I hear. I want the real Amy.

I want to love the parts that even Amy doesn’t love about herself.

We’ll continue to deal with insecurity, and whatever else we uncover. I’ll continue to use her, throw her on the bed, fuck her, make her cum, or not let her cum, hurt her, pleasure her, all the things I like doing to her. Including treating her like a disposable fuck.

It’s who I am.

Should you call your girlfriend cunt?

Amy told me, the other night while we were cuddling in bed, that she doesn’t like it when I call her cunt when I am fucking her.

WTF?

She was hoping I’d call her something more romantic, like “Sweetie,” or “Angel,” or some such name.

Now, keep in mind I don’t call her “a cunt.” No, she is “Cunt,” an entirely different creature altogether.

bdsmcouple-amy-pussy
She has since claimed to be teasing me, but what am I to guess from this? I know the humiliation I make her feel sometimes through word and action is very hot, for both of us. So, does she really not like being Cunt, or is this a ploy to make me think she really doesn’t like it, and therefore I’ll use it more, heightening the humiliation factor.

Amy doesn’t play mental games.

She does tease, though.

I just think she doesn’t like being Cunt.

Amy is easily the smartest person I know. I have shifted to a new technique when debating topics with her. Namely, don’t pick any position, because Amy will outflank and outmaneuver any logical position with my old nemesis, accurate facts. I hate accurate facts. And she seems to know them all.

Amy reminds me of a Vulcan. All brains and thinky thinky until pon farr hits, and then she’s an excited mass of sexual passion. Seriously, Amy is very intelligent and articulate, but during sex, when she has been properly aroused, she speaks, but the sounds don’t form proper words. All she can say that you understand is “no,” and “please.”

To me, she has become thoroughly female. Completely, 100% cunt.

And what other word could I use? Vagina? Pussy?

No.

I remember running across the word “queynte,” in my old Chaucer reading days. A form of “cunt,” and also meaning knowledge, or cunning if you like. The word “cunt” seems to have been formed from the feminine syllable “co,” pronounced “coo.” Long recognized as a feminine syllabel, you see it today even in phrases like “hootchie-coo,” for example.

While nothing is certain, it is put forward by some that the word evolved through numerous usages, possibly through the Latin “cunae,” which you will recognize as related to “cuneform,” and is seen in the word ” cunnus,” Latin for “vagina.”

The final syllable is often linked to Scandanavian usages of the word meaning “wife,” or “woman” or related meaning such as “kone,” “kut,” “kuton,” “kunta,” and “kutte.”

The Dutch are given credit, ultimately, for the addition of the “t” to the word, and their influence seemed to have been what resulted in the final shape of the word. To run the risk of over-simplification, the “cu” seems to have evolved from the Proto-Indo-European language, the “n” from the Latin, and the “t” from the Dutch, to find a final amalgamation in the word “cunt,”

It’s first recorded in England as a street name in various redlight districts of cities such as London and Oxford, which had streets named “Gropecuntlane.”

Cunt.

A fine word, with a distinguished pedigree, but currently in disfavor, and out of polite usage.

I, however, am not so polite.

When I am fucking her…

Amy is Cunt.

How to get her pregnant

Sex with Amy is a continuum; I’m not always sure when one episode starts and another ends.

Maybe the aggression wipes out short term memory.

As much as I like the Daddy/little girl dynamic, I don’t necessarily think of Amy as a little girl.

I think you can see why.

bdsmcouple-amy-sideboob

Amy and I were lying in bed yesterday around 6:30, just talking and waking
up, when I noticed how beautiful the light on the wall was.

I had her stand against the wall, and shot a few dozen pictures.

This is one.

I think of Amy as “Mine.” I expect her to submit, to obey, to be a good girl. I expect to use her and force her to do what I want.

A few days ago I wanted to fuck her, but I wanted her all tits and cunt. I turned her head to one side, and pressed a pillow over her face. I had her masturbate and cum like that, then I fucked her with the pillow over her face; all wriggling cunt and bouncing breasts. Lovely.

At some point, a day later, maybe more, it’s kinda blurry, I played with her, fucked her, made her masturbate and cum, but didn’t cum myself. I warned her that I’d use her later in the night, after I’d rested.

Didn’t happen.

I slept too soundly, and awoke early in the morning.

Amy lay beside me in a thin t-shirt, because she had felt chilled when she went to bed the night before.

We talked briefly, I don’t remember about what, but I do remember something about torturing her. I remember wanting to, anyway. Then I told her to open her legs, because I wanted to fuck her. As I moved onto her, I remember very clearly her nipples jiggling with her breasts under her shirt, and feeling offended that she had the t-shirt on st all, but also thinking “Fuck it, I don’t want your tits today anyway. This is for me, not you.”

Amy likes breast play, but no way I was giving her anything to work with. I wanted to use her, not make love to her. This was a fuck for me.

I entered her, and I remember being proud that she was wet enough to force my way into her pussy easily, and feeling proud that she was enough of a slut to always be ready to fuck, without foreplay, without warning.

Good girl.

I fucked her in silence, or so I thought. Amy told me the next day, when she dared bring up the previous day’s fuck, that I had been growling deep in my throat from time to time. The kinda growl she pays close attention too.

Could be. I was focused on other things.

I pulled her legs up, and held her thighs open with my biceps, while I had her put her arms down along her sides, where I grasped her wrists, essentially pinning her to the bed, unable to move her legs nor her arms.

Then I fucked her.

Often fucking is a below the waist thing, all hips and pelvic thrusts.

Not now. I full body fucked her, my weight unsupported by my arms, which were busy holding her legs apart and immobilizing her wrists. I drove into her with the force and weight of my full body, forgoing any pretense of making this pleasurable, or even comfortable for her.

This was my fuck.

I fucked her in a few different ways, always pinning her, immobilizing her, not letting her free.

Until I wanted her wetter.

Two ways work for making Amy even wetter. Have her suck my cock, and making her masturbate. I like making her suck my cock, especially when she chocks and almost vomits. I love hearing her gag when I thrust deep down her throat.

But I wanted to rest a moment, let her get wet, and then cum in her. So I told her to masturbate.

I’m not a cruel man. She’d been a good enough girl, compliant, obedient, if a little scared, so I told her “I’ll give you two minutes. If you can cum in two minutes, fine. Otherwise, you aren’t getting to cum.”

Amy begged to have longer, to be allowed to cum, but as I said before, this wasn’t her fuck. I’m giving her two minutes, then I’m finishing her off.

She started to masturbate.

I may have played with her tits through the t-shirt, I don’t remember. I remember reaching down to check her wetness, and deciding her little cunt was close to what I wanted, and that I was going to fuck her shortly.

I think she whimpered.

I didn’t feel very patient. I wanted to fuck the little slut NOW.

But.

I had promised two minutes.

I gave her two minutes.

I went to open her legs and climb between them, and she resisted. Or maybe she didn’t resist. Her legs were just stiff. Usually her legs open easily for me, especially when she’s scared of me, but this time she felt unusually rigid.

No problem. I forced her legs open firmly, and a part of my brain suddenly thought that she might be cumming at that instant, which would explain the rigidity of her body. I figured I might be wrecking her orgasm, interrupting it, but what the fuck. I gave the little cunt two minutes, and now I want her.

She told me the next day that she was indeed cumming, and that she was making little cumming noises. Whatever. I didn’t notice them. I wanted her cunt.

I thrust back into her again.

I fucked her, pinning her in some fashion, I’m not sure what now. But I remember her biting me, biting my shoulder repeatedly, maybe my arms and chest too, it’s hard to be clear. Amy fucks like a wild animal. A scared wild animal, but a wild animal nonetheless. She bites, she writhes, she moans, she claws- none of which she can remember after. I’ve been carrying bite marks and bruises since we met. I counted eleven distinct bruises one day, all in varying degrees of visibility.

She can bite all she wants. I’m all cock and violence, fucking her pinned pussy. It occurs to me, dimly, that she might already at this moment be pregnant.

I like the thought.

In another moment, in all the struggling and chaos of fucking her, forcing her, I empty into her.

I flood her with cum; with my sperm.

I feel primal. I want to see the cunt pregnant.

I want to make her belly swell.