Sod The Roses - Sex Stories

Sod The Roses

... writing it...Then I want to hear about it.

So that is when the real intense mess began because 1. my cries for mercy only made him more sadistic, 2. he had found my favourite magenta paddle on the TV stand. I honestly don't know which one was better or worse. His bare hands burned more, but the paddle stung like stings from a hundred bees.

With every blow, I cried out, not really caring any more whether I was waking the kids or the neighbours or Quinn's deaf aunt on the other side of the city. I desperately tried to pull away and tell him to stop.

But he didn't.

Why?

Because 'stop' is not a fucking safe word! Nor is 'enough' or 'it hurts'. For both of our miswired brains, it was just another squirt of fuel into the flames.

I was getting so fucking wet that our bed was in danger of being turned into a water bed. And he knew exactly. Because between administering the cruel whacks, he checked. The misfit knew exactly what he was doing to me, and he knew he could go harder, still. And he did just that. Until the barrage was constant and everywhere. Until my brain finally told me I had enough.

Then what did I do? Safeword out? Hah. Nope. Never have, and I don't intend to, but I really, really love to see them try to make me. Instead, I tried to wrestle them off me.

Now, neither of them is exactly small built. My husband, while not a gym rat type, has arms and shoulders that wouldn't look out of place in a boxing ring, and G.T. is that athletic, lean, 15% ...

... body fat type. Both around six feet or just above. So I stood no chance in catty hell. But damn me if I didn't try.

Considering my five foot six, size twelve assets, I was surprised just how much strength I had against them. Adrenaline supercharge blast, I guess. I couldn't push them off me, but they needed all of their four arms and G.T.'s full body weight to keep me still. Relatively. I still got what I wanted because now he didn't have a free hand to hit me with.

We froze in that truce suspense for a moment while I instinctively clenched my teeth and growled at them.

"That feral cat will be purring soon," G.T. said, stroking my face, and I melted like never ever before.

I like it when the afterplay is peppered into the rough stuff. In fact, I've recently written a whole story about it. And this was just the sweetest of that kind. Just pure lush. Who cares about love and roses when I can have this??? What he said next was even neater.

"Have you had enough?" Checking in on me in that twisted, mock condescending way took all the knotty, hard-to-please spots in my body and mind on the best joyride there is.

With my chest heaving rapidly, my voice somewhere between a sob and a voodoo chant, I pointed to my right breast. "I think this one had too much," when I added, "too much 'fun'", they both laughed, and I was in happy kitty heaven because not only was I a champ, but apparently a funny one too.

"Doesn't mean you're getting out of anything," G.T. threatened, ...