by Ily Goyanes
I think about all the men who had waited in line just to have a turn with me. I remember all the men who had offered me money—a lot of it—to take the action a little further, raise the stakes a little higher, to let them fuck me.
I can feel my pussy contracting and I know I am soaked. My pussy has been aching for attention since the first blow landed on my ass about three hours ago. I need to fuck.
Jacob senses the shift in my mood and lifts my head, arranging our bodies so that we are lying next to each other, the length of our bodies parallel, our faces almost touching. I close my eyes again and breathe him in.
“Minty fresh,” I whisper into his ear, undoing my corset and pulling it off my dulce de leche colored shoulders.
Jacob just nods and reaches down with his powerful hands to my black panties, which he then pulls down over my wide hips, finally removing them completely.
“Are you wet?” he asks in a low voice, eager to hear about my adventure, excited to listen to tales of other men, many men, disciplining his girl.
I feel his cock against my thigh and it is solid. All nine glorious inches are poking into my pliant flesh. For a second it occurs to me that Jacob’s magnificent cock is also his microphone, a listening device ready and able to record my performance.
He sees my smile and searches my dark brown eyes. “What’s so funny, linda?” he asks.
I love when he speaks in my native tongue. His endearing, more-American-than-apple-pie accent makes the familiar words sound fresh to me.
“Nada,” I reply and kiss his neck, tracing that one sweet vein with my tongue, knowing that I have his undivided attention.
His body trembles as if he just saw a ghost—or came—or tasted the most delicious ice cream in the universe. I reach down and cup his heavy nuts, rolling them gently in my hand, massaging and caressing the most quintessential feature of my boyfriend’s masculinity.
He groans softly, reaching for my breasts, grabbing them, kneading them in his large hands. A moan escapes my pouty, painted red lips and I tug sharply—just once—on his balls.
He shivers. “Did you like it?” he asks, his voice thick, and I can already tell that he is right there with me, heady, lost, gone.
“Yes,” I breathe into his ear, wrapping my hand around his fat prick and stroking it ever-so-slowly. “There were over twenty of them. Real estate broker-bank manager types, in chinos and polos. They started out with their hands, but that only lasted for a short while before one of them took off his belt.”
I watch Jacob’s face closely. This part turns us on so much. His eyes are closed as he pictures me bent over, my ass exposed for all those horny men, men who would never, could never, touch me the way that my man does.
“We set up in the kitchen. It was one of those wide, open space type kitchens, and the host placed a stool in the center and made me bend over it.”
Jacob’s breathing is fast and hard. I squeeze his prick once and then continue to slide my hand up and down his slick shaft.
“Did—did you take your panties off?” he asks, the words more difficult now, his tongue an obstacle, not an ally.
I lick his strong neck and then kiss and suck his small, flat nipples before answering. “Yes,” I say. “I peeled them off slowly in front of all the men right before I bent over to let them punish me.”
A deep growl leaves his slightly open mouth and it seems to have come from way down below his chest. I love him like this—well, I love him all the time—but especially like this.
“Did they spank you hard?”
I drape my leg over his waist, our most private parts now touching. I can feel his hardness against my slit and I know he can feel the heat and moisture from my cunt. I grind my wet pussy against his throbbing cock, moaning as currents of electricity travel throughout my body.
“Yes,” I moan loudly, head thrown back, throat exposed. “Yes, they spanked me very, very hard,” I say, still rubbing, still grinding. My need is almost too much; I can feel my hunger for Jacob starting to consume me.
“Did you like it?” he asks again, ready now for my full answer, my true answer, my detailed account.
“It made me so horny, baby,” I say, my face hot, my breath fast. “As soon as they started to spank me, I was wet. And as each one spanked me, it turned me on even more to know that there were more, many more, behind him, waiting in line to spank my perfect, Cuban ass.”
With a loud groan Jacob rolls over on top off me, but I just continue talking, knowing that we’re getting to the good part, the juicy part, the most delicious and savory part of the story—our story. Because that’s what it really is, what it has always been.
“And they all took turns, baby. Each and every one of the men came up behind me and caressed my bare ass then began to hit me--hard. They used a leather belt on my caramel skin; they used it like a whip. Some of them leaned into me, pretending it was an accident, and I could feel their hard cocks against my ass. My pussy was so wet that my thighs were slick. I rubbed and squeezed them together to apply pressure to my clit as they took turns spanking me,” I moaned. Jacob was between my legs now; our sweet, delicious parts pushing, grinding, rubbing together.
“Did—did—you come?” he gasps, barely able to articulate his need, his desire, to know.
I wrap my legs around his back and pull him closer. “I came so hard, Jacob, and so many times, that I lost count.”
And then I feel it—the most incredible sensation a woman can feel—to be completely and utterly full, plugged, occupied. He is inside me, pushing and pulling, his thick cock fulfilling my aching need, my desperate hunger.
We kiss and it no longer surprises me that like every other kiss between us, it feels like the first. Our hot, wet tongues roll around, explore, swirl, lick, lap and tickle. We keep kissing as he pumps his cock into me, deeper and harder the longer we dance. My clit is throbbing and I know that soon both of us will come, together, like we always do.
I cry out and arch my back, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he begins to really pound into me, his strong hips and even stronger legs pushing against the mattress for leverage. “Do you want it?” he asks me. “Do you want my come inside you?” Jacob asks, the same way that he asks every time we make love, every time we fuck. I know he isn’t asking for permission—he just wants to hear that his woman, the woman who had just come home from being a rental, wants his, and only his, come inside of her.
“Yes!” I scream, my body starting shake from the center outward. My cunt clenches and unclenches around his pulsating prick. My hard, swollen clit throbs. “Yes!” I scream again, pulling harder on his hair then dragging my sharp fingernails across his back.
He pushes deep inside me one last time and stays there, buried. We both cry out; we both release. My come squirts between us as his shoots inside me and we both lay there, together, inseparable, united, one.
We share oxygen for a few minutes and then he rolls off of me, to my side. Jacob gently turns me over so that I am lying flat on my stomach. I close my eyes and listen as he leaves the bed, putters around, opens a drawer, and comes back. I feel cold metal against my skin, first between my shoulders, then down my back and finally on my ass.
“You’ve been a very bad girl,” he says in a voice unlike his earlier one. This is my master’s voice.
“I know,” I whimper, only to feel a quick reply from the thin metal ruler that he holds in his electric hands.
“Master! I know, Master!” I add hastily, mostly for effect.
He slides the cold metal between my butt cheeks and then lays into me again. One swift, sharp and excruciatingly delicious smack on my already inflamed ass.
“You snuck out behind my back again,” he says, grabbing my long, thick hair and wrapping it around his fist.
“Yes, Master,” I moan, my pussy needier, hungrier than before.
“Why?” he asks, tugging harder on my hair, my throat stretched to full capacity.
“Because, Master,” I groan. “I
was horny. And you were ignoring me, doing some paperwork on the dining room table. I knew that I could find some men, a group of men, that would pay attention to me.”
“You are a dirty, little slut and must be disciplined,” he says. I can feel the intense heat emanating from his body and it kills me, thrills me, that he is so close and yet so far away at the same time.
“Yes, Master,” I whimper. “I am a dirty, filthy slut. I need your punishment, Master. Please, Master. Teach me how to behave.”
I can hear him breathing and I anticipate his next move. This is what we yearn for. This game. Our make believe. We are perfect at this--and for each other.
“I will teach you how to behave like a proper young lady even if I have to punish you over and over again,” he says, and almost as if we tuned into the same radio station at exactly the same time, we both sigh, thinking of a long future full of my errant ways and his stern discipline.
“Count out loud,” he says suddenly. “And what happens if you fuck up?” he adds, almost as if this question were an afterthought.
“You will start over again, Master.”
He raises his arm and brings the pain down on me, the shiny metal landing on my right ass cheek with such force that I yelp.
“One,” I say, as he raises his arm again only to come down on my other cheek with the same amount of force.
“Two!” I cry out.
“Filthy fucking slut,” comes out of his mouth as he wails upon me, my count never faltering, not even slightly, for twenty lashes on each cheek.
“Tell me,” he grunts, sliding his fingers into my sopping wet cunt. “Tell me what a dirty slut you are,” he demands.
I push back against his fingers greedily. “I am such a slut, Master,” I whimper. “I am a dirty, filthy, worthless whore. I open my legs for any man I see. I want cock inside of me all the time. My cunt aches for it. I just can’t get enough, Master.”
This works because I know that I am not worthless, especially to him. I know that he values me above all else, just as I cherish him in return. “Do you want some right now?” he asks, slamming his fingers into me over and over again.
“Yes, Master,” I beg. “Please. You have made me so horny, Master. I need your big, fat cock.”
With one strong arm, he lifts me slightly off the bed and slides a pillow under my hips with the other. I lift my ass, wiggling it a little, showing off the evidence of his beating.
As he slides his swollen prick between my parted lips, I can’t help but come. Jacob grabs me by the hips and thrusts into me; oblivious or apathetic to the fact that I am already liquid and insubstantial. I silently thank God for the pillow. My legs cannot hold me up now--that is how strongly this man, this beast, my master, affects me.
I come again and again as he pumps his thick cock in and out of me. My cunt is slick and I can hear the slurping sounds as my pussy sucks on his prick. As I usually do, I get a second wind. All of a sudden, I push up and back, slamming my ass into his pelvis. His balls slap against me, adding to the hushed cacophony of our fucking.
“Whore,” he mutters, slapping me on the ass. “Cum bucket. Slut. Bitch. Cum rag. Meat hole. Cock puppet.”
These are words and phrases that we laugh at in real life, but here, between us, they excite and thrill us. I dig deeper into my role, that of the ‘dirty slut,’ and moan loudly, my cunt’s ravenous appetite not yet quenched. “Yes! Yes! Master!” I cry out, playing my character--playing our game. “Please fuck your dirty, filthy slut, Master,” I beg, shoving back with more force than I thought possible after being rented out and then meticulously ‘inspected’ upon my return. “Please, Master,” I cry. “Teach me how to behave. Teach me how to be good.”
On the last word, my boyfriend, my man, my master, pushes my face down against the mattress and holds it there.
“You are nothing but a piece of meat,” he says, his breath ragged and uneven. “You exist solely to pleasure me, cunt,” he says and I am never more confident in our relationship or in his love for me than right now.
Jacob pulls my hair suddenly and twists my head so that I am looking at him over my shoulder. A quick smile crosses his lips, only to disappear just as quickly. We lock eyes and the last four or five minutes of our sex, our fucking, is spent silently looking into each other’s eyes. We hold fast; we go deep. More intimate than with any previous lover or partner before this, before us.
His eyes crinkle up and I know that he is about to come, about to fill me with his delicious cream, about to stake his claim yet again. “Fill me up, baby,” I say breathlessly and wink at him. He smiles again, this time it lingers. We both come, shaking, panting, sweaty.
I feel him pull out and then he is next to me, his eyes boring into mine. “I love you,” he says. Simply. Sincerely. We don’t play up our emotions. We play them out.
About the Author
Ily Goyanes is a Cuban-American, a political moderate, an expert billiards player, a liger, and somewhat of a Zelig, but above all else she is a seeker of knowledge. Goyanes is commonly known as the Fuming Foodie--a controversial, yet amusing persona she has cultivated via her column of the same name. In addition to her food column, she also writes about film, theater, music, and popular culture for the Miami New Times (Village Voice Media) and is a published erotic fiction writer whose work has appeared in Lesbian Cops, Best Lesbian Erotica 2012 and Spankalicious: Erotic Spanking Stories. Her first full anthology, Girls Who Score: Hot Lesbian Erotica will be published by Cleis Press in August 2012. She loves to get dirty both in the kitchen and in bed. For more information, to cuss at and/or praise her, or to invite her to a game of pool or a plate of Mexican food, she encourages you (strongly) to email her at: [email protected].
Table of Contents
Synopsis
His & Hers
Undercover
Fun & Games
About the Author
