You Can't Mix To Save Your Life - Sex Stories

You Can't Mix To Save Your Life

... me over the stool and ties the cable to the footrest.

"I need to give you a good spanking to teach you a lesson, Bunny. Ten for toying with my decks and another ten for trying to use the auto-beat match." Hiking up my skirt, he wastes no time to deliver five medium blows. "Hmm, it's turning nice and red. And you're turning nice and wet for me," he comments, stroking my red-hot cheeks. He delivers the next five that feel much more brutal, maybe because they are already quite sore.

"Yes. Mmmm. More!" I foolishly provoke him.

"Somebody is enjoying this a bit too much for my liking." He lands two giant swats with his big open palm to drive his message home.

"Five more," he announces. I decide not to correct his numbers and consequently — being my own worst enemy — ask for more.

By the last few, my tone changes, and I beg him to stop. "I will behave. Enough, enough!" I plead after every blow. No reply to any of them. But who cares about a bit of pain when I'm about to receive what I came here for?

Except...

"You know my rule, Bunny. It's never about what you want." He fingers me so close to the edge that — with tears in my eyes — I find myself begging for a lot of things. But because of his last line, I somehow have a bad feeling about all this.

When he drives his thumb — coated with my juices — into my other hole, I suddenly realise what he is playing at.

Using my cookie-cream as lubrication, he probes my little star with two of his fingers, sliding ...

... them in with ease. I throw my head back and utter some garbled profanities.

"Oh, you know how I prefer this one. You really shouldn't be surprised."

No, he doesn't; I know that for a fact. He's just playing me because he knows that I don't like anal. Never have, never will. Just not for me. But he very quickly figured out that, on the other hand, I'm really really into being used, having my limits pushed and not having my way.

* He was the one who made me realise that at least part of me was/is really, really deeply and disturbingly submissive — at least when it came to him. He had learned that he had a power over me that not many did. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted to me, and I would be into it. And, of course, he kept using it against me. And I let him; anyway, he wanted, any day he wanted. I was his groupie, his slut, his sub, his plaything, his escape, his everything. It was obsession; it was mad love.

And that day was just the surface. Never, to this day, have I sunk so much into deep, dark submission than with him. To the point it was hazardous, to the point he was the only one ever to mark me for life. Maybe this was the real reason I had to break up with him and move thousands of miles away and not his wife's pregnancy. *

He muffles my mouth with his palm as he drives his cock into my tight hole, and I whimper and cry, not so much due to physical pleasure or pain but the knowledge that he can do anything to me, especially here with a soundproofed ...