Page 8 of Hurts So Good

“Take the back way home.” He kisses me and heads off to his car.

I walk the agonizing walk to my car and hiss as I sit in the low bucket seat. I start the engine and drive the back way to our house. The back way takes fifteen minutes longer than the straight shot down a main road. More time in the panties. More torture. More anticipation. Wetter panties. I can feel my own liquids seeping down my inner thighs as I pick my way painfully up the front walk.

The door is open and Steve is inside. Waiting for me. I move a little faster now because I know that soon, I will be able to breathe. I move a little faster because I know it will get a little worse before it gets a lot better. But that’s okay. I can handle it. Need it, if I’m honest.

“Upstairs, Janelle!” he calls when the door shuts behind me.

I climb the stairs slowly. Each step makes me wince.

He’s waiting in the bedroom. Naked cock standing straight out. He watches me enter. Pins me with that gaze. His fist jerks up and over the shaft a few times, and I clench my thighs at the sight. His hand on his cock never fails to make me crazy. I’m feeling more than a little crazy as it is.

“Take off your dress,” he commands. I move automatically, without question or thought. I reach around, unzip my dress, and let it fall to the floor.

Steve nods and jerks his fist again. The smooth head of his cock is turning the most magical shade of violet. “Bra.”

I unhook and let the flimsy bit of lingerie fall to the floor. Now it is just me and the too-tight panties. Steve motions me forward with his hand, and I go. My inner thighs are nearly raw from the lack of circulation and chafing. I would give my right arm for an ice pack and a shot of whiskey.

“Lay down and let’s see how bad off you are.” I lie on the bed and let him do his examination. I shoot glances at his hard-on as he begins to look me over. He yanks the elastic, pulling it harder into my indented flesh as I try not to cry. His cock jerks when he does this, as if an invisible string of arousal is tied to it. He works his way around the leg openings, tugging the elastic hard as I try not to beg him to stop. Every time he tugs, his cock jumps in response. He pulls hard on the low waistband, and it bites into the raw line of skin along my lower belly. Finally, he yanks up and the too-tight crotch pulls flush and splits wide my lower lips. I bite my tongue to keep from crying.

“Pretty sore, I imagine,” he says softly. Speaking more to himself than to me. “On your belly.”

I turn and close my eyes. Try to breathe. Wait. The first blow hits right where the leg hole has rubbed my asscheek red. The pain is nearly overwhelming, but the aftershock of pleasure that ripples through my flesh and deep inside my cunt makes it bearable. The other cheek takes its turn, as does the flesh of my lower back. My eyes are leaking salty tears, but a steady beat has started between my thighs. When I don’t think I can stand anymore, he traces the afflicted areas with his gentle palms and tongue. Alternating between the two. Always keeping me off balance.

Finally, I can take a deep breath when he says, “Let’s get you out of these.” He begins to peel the wet, tiny panties from my body. I am not allowed to move or shift to help him. I must stay perfectly still and let him do the removal alone. Sometimes the biting pain on the deeply dented skin is enough to make me scream. I don’t scream.

The horrid panties are finally off. They are off and his hot tongue is back on me. Licking along the wounded skin, following the trail of pain. I sob just a little into the pillow from the pleasure. He turns me again, licking along the red, red lines as he shoves a finger deep into me. Finding the swollen bundle of my G-spot and pulsing his fingertip in a perfect rhythm.

I come. This time I sob deeply. I sound like a wounded animal.

He pushes another big finger into me as his mouth finds my clit. So sensitive and ready it almost hurts when he brushes his flattened tongue against me. He flexes both fingers, licks my sore inner thighs, and returns his tongue.

I come for the second time. This time I am babbling. I think I’m saying, “Please, please, please…” I could be wrong.

The blood flow returning to the wicked marks left by nothing more than elastic and cotton is a tingling, electric bliss. He pushes two pillows under my belly, raising my ass high. I hear the dresser drawer, feel him kneeling behind me. He pushes into my cunt. His cock so hard I feel like I’m dying. He runs his fingertips along my marks and grunts approvingly. I’m so wet, I fear he might fall out when he pulls back before thrusting into me again. I don’t lose him, but he’s hitting all the right places and his fingers on my wounds are heaven.

My cunt bunches around him. Another orgasm to come, we both know. I hear the wet sounds of a lube bottle, feel the cool liquid against my asshole. He’s pounding into me now, his fingers dancing over my lines every so often. When I feel the crown of the dildo nudge my ass, I push back. I’m ready. No preamble.

He slides it into me. He slides into me. Two cocks. Two entries. At some point, he briefly takes both hands along the now fading dents in my skin. It feels like he’s painting me.

“Feel better?” he asks and I nod, waiting.

He resumes his rhythm and pushes me up over that edge one more time, and this time he comes with me.

LUCKY

N. T. Morley

Excuse me, Mistress, may I lick your pussy?”

Claire was up with her ass in the air bent halfway over the bar; thank God the barstools were so fucking sturdy at this place or she’d have gone headfirst into a wall of premium vodkas. She’d climbed up halfway onto the bar not to pull a Coyote Ugly but to get the attention of the bartender, Dylan, who was completely engrossed in flirting with a cute boy in a sailor suit.

Claire came down from the barstool and settled into her six-inch stiletto heels, disbelief and anger evident on her pale face. What the fuck had he just said?

The six-foot, jockey-clad male submissive who stood before her was lucky—very, very lucky—that Claire had been trying for a full ten minutes to get the attention of Dylan. The submissive was also very lucky that he had such an amazingly nice chest.

The expression of shock and outrage that passed over Mistress Claire’s face was actually a cover-up for the aesthetic pleasure she took in looking at the guy. Besides the chest, he had a nice pair of muscular tattooed arms and… my word. Claire popped her eyes back up to his, and made them hard, inspired by the front of his jockey shorts. My, how she did love tighty-whiteys.

“What did you say?” she hissed with practiced outrage.

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