Best S&M, Volume 3 (20 page)

“You cheater!” he cursed, and leaped at her. “I’ll give you panty pussy, you cunt, you whore!”

She giggled as he unzipped his pants and was in between her legs, fast; she didn’t even resist, and wanted him, pulling him in her. It had been three weeks for her too! And he was in, and out, and in, and out, back, and forth, back, and forth, in, and out, her ankles on his shoulders, her ass at his balls, his cursing mouth (Bitch! Whore! Pussy! Cheater!) spitting at her, grunting, yelping, teeth and lips (Oh God! Yes! Fuck me! Oh! Cock!). She screamed, he yelped, they came, and he collapsed atop her heaving chest, her legs falling down his arms but circling around his ass and waist and holding him in…

They gasped into each other’s ear; they kissed.

Maybe the guessing game had gone on too long. He gently stroked a breast; the cup under the blouse seemed stiff. Was it new? Blue? He leered. Since the blouse was red, her fashion logic probably called for green. He asked. She smirked.

“Guess,” she teased.

He guessed; she frowned.

“Guess again…”

You Awake Ahead of the Alarm

By

Oatmeal Girl

You awake ahead of the alarm, the sun knocking on your face, the drapes deliberately left open the night before. She is curled up at the end of the bed, the obedient thing, the light-weight extra blanket partially covering her nakedness, a pillow tucked under her head, her arms wrapped around your feet. She snuggles in closer and moans with pleasure.

You awake ahead of the alarm, the sun knocking on your face, the girl snuggled close, warm flesh melting into warm flesh. She presses her face into your chest, foolishly seeking comfort from the source of her degradation. But all that matters to her is that you are her Master. Whatever you do to her, whatever you demand, she accepts as a gift. She presses herself in closer and moans softly with pleasure. You thread your fingers through her tangled red hair and use it as a handle to raise her face towards yours. Well trained, she opens her mouth and presents her tongue. You kiss her softly, deeply, your body coming closer to consciousness in her mouth, before sinking your teeth into her lip.

You awake ahead of the alarm, the sun knocking on your face, the girl snuggled close, pressing her back into your chest and her bounteous bottom into your crotch. You are hard, your cock having awakened long before the rest of you. Somehow, in the course of the night, she ended up spooned against you, your arms around her, her front so conveniently positioned for torture. Like a boy driven to pull the wings off elegant butterflies, your fingers inexorably move to her nipples. A normal man would have fondled her breasts, cupped them, circled his hands gently around them before pressing gently in on the hardening nipples. You are who you are. Like a rabid lobster, you grab each nipple, pinching, digging your nails in, and then twisting them as far as they will go, and then one notch farther. She gasps, jerks, and screams, jolted out of her illusion of intimacy into the reality of an intimacy much deeper than she had ever known before you snared her. You reach down. She is as wet as a saturated sponge. You thread your fingers through her tangled red hair and use it as a handle to pull her head to the side before sinking your teeth into her neck. You leave them there, feeling the blood pulse beneath your mouth, feeling the desire pulse in your cock, wishing your teeth were sharp enough to pierce the artery. You want to feed on her. She moans with pain and pleasure, grinding her ass back into you.

You push her on her back and throw yourself on her, crushing her down into the bed. You lower your mouth to hers, barely giving her enough time to part her lips and present her tongue. You kiss her, and then pull back and slap her face, ordering her to soften. She cries out from the slap, she’s not used to being slapped, she whimpers slightly and struggles to relax in the middle of panic at having displeased you. She has no gradations of grief at disappointing you. Any failure feels like the end of the world to her.

You enjoy the luxury of a long exploration of her mouth. She gives herself with pleasure, she can’t help feeling pleasure, while fighting the urge to return your kisses with the fierce passion that you know is crying for release. You smile inwardly at her frustration. You always know it is there.

She struggles beneath you, gasping for air. You castigate her for wriggling without being ordered to do so. You pull yourself off her, relocate to the side of the bed, and haul her over your knee. You spank her hard, for fun more than anything else, for the pleasure of her screams, for the pleasure of her tears, for the pleasure of the darkening blush that spreads across that delicious butt.

Damn, but you’re hard.

You glance at the clock on the bedside table and sigh inwardly. There is never enough time. Moore will be unbearable all day if you turn up late for tee time. He’ll be teasing you enough as it is, you don’t want to give him one more excuse to razz you. Not that you don’t have plenty of ammunition to use against him, what with that bitch who took up residence and made off with his balls. What desire can do to a man...

You end the spanking, and give her time for the sobs to subside. You love the way her belly shakes against your lap. You examine the welts that remain from the caning you gave her the night before. Beautiful. Not to mention the initial you scratched into her flesh with the ragged end of the wooden strip you use as a cane. You love the feeling that courses through you when you mark her.

Enough. You rise up off the bed and toss her onto the floor. She starts to scramble to her feet, but you stop her with one word.

“Crawl.”

“Please, my Master.” She sounds so plaintive. “Please, Sir, may I pee?”

“Of course, my pet,” you say, enjoying the little sigh of relief that escapes her lungs. Your testicles pulse at that small, breathy sound. She crawls the short distance to the bathroom, she crawls on her forearms and knees, giving you an unobstructed view of her inviting pussy and well-defended butt hole. You follow behind her and kick open the bathroom door when she foolishly, naively, tries to close it.

You stand there at the door, pointedly watching, as she pulls herself up onto the toilet seat and tries to relieve herself. You see a look of panic cross her face. You know she is too tense. You know she can’t let it go. You know she is horribly embarrassed. You make a show of leaning against the door jamb. You’re not going anywhere.

She blushes. You hear her make a little hissing sound to herself. She starts to look down. You order her to look you in the eyes. She raises her head, looks you in the eyes, gives you her soul, and continues her imitation of a small boiling tea kettle. You see it in her eyes before you hear the spigot open. She smiles. She exults. She has given you what you demanded.

“Good girl.”

She is ridiculously pleased with herself.

You push back the shower curtain and start the water running. You send it up to the shower head and order her into the tub, giving her butt a gratuitous smack on her way in. She turns back to you and grins.

Sharply, abruptly, as if displeased, you order her to face the wall opposite the spray.

“Spread-eagled,” you bark. “Push those tits into the wall! Arch your back! Bring that lovely ass up as high as you can. Let me see my property. All of it!”

You know exactly what she’s expecting.

But she won’t get it.

Not yet.

You watch her struggling to hold the position exactly the way you described it. Her eager willingness to do whatever you want makes you hot. She is so fucking easy to manipulate.

It clearly takes a moment or two for her to identify the hot stream of liquid that suddenly strikes the small of her back and makes its way in a rivulet down her ass and into the crack between her cheeks. You only wish you could have seen her face when she realized it was urine.

And then she surprises you. She doesn’t flinch. She writhes a little, she presses her tits further into the ceramic tile, she arches her back even further, she raises her ass even higher, she tilts her head back, you almost think she’s going to cum, and then—

“Thank you, my Master,” she says in that damn breathy voice. “Thank you for marking me, thank you for claiming me, please, Master, pee all over me, i am your pet, i am your poet, i am your whore, i am your toy, i am nothing except what you want me to be. Degrade me, hurt me, fuck me, share me... i am yours and that is all that matters.”

You come up close behind her and fuck her ass.

Tits for Tat

By

Jude Mason

Shaking his head, Peter
Tat
Jackson wondered what had possessed him to go along with her request. He thought he knew her, but as it turned out, she knew him a whole lot better. She’d managed to gain control of their relationship somehow and that both mystified and excited him.

Looking down, all he could see were gigantic tits – his.

Tat knew he was young, virile, and handsome in a dark foreboding way. He also knew deeply that he was God’s gift to whoever he fancied at the moment. Hell, he’d been told often enough by an assortment of both men and women, and he wasn’t stupid. He listened and believed.

The trouble was, Tat had secrets. One he’d never shared with anybody and thought he never would. Then, four years ago, he met Susan MacKay and his world changed completely. It took some time, but he grew to care for her, and then trust her implicitly with anything and everything. A year after they met, he found it almost easy to reveal his deepest, darkest fantasies to her. Susan had seemed to relish each new detail, every juicy tidbit. It wasn’t until nine months ago he began to worry that perhaps she was a little too interested, a little too under-standing, and possibly a little too perverted.

Lying on his back in their king-sized bed, those soft mounds rising majestically from a chest that used to be fairly flat yet well muscled in a very masculine way. The tip of each tit was crowned by a luscious red nipple surrounded by an areola, the circumference of which would be large enough to fill the palm of any woman he knew.

Woman, what woman would ever want him again? What woman would ever look at him again without laughing her ass off?

Fuck! What have I done?

Rolling over, he pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. It took him a moment to get his balance. Still unused to the
weight
of them, he tended to tip forward and had nearly toppled over several times. He couldn’t see past them – hadn’t seen his toes, or other appendages, in months. Carefully, he leaned forward, peering down between those giant melons. No luck, but he couldn’t be disappointed. Deep in the depraved depths of his lustful heart, he thought they really were spectacular.

“Tat,” came a stern yet hushed feminine voice from the doorway. Susan had taken to calling him that after she’d spotted the small tattoo he had on his lower belly. It wasn’t anything outrageous, just a small upside-down heart with a delicate, elongated nipple pointing at his belly button. He, of course, couldn’t see that either. Not without a mirror.

He looked up at her. Dark haired, voluptuous yet tiny compared to his six-feet-two, she still turned him on, no matter what she’d talked him into. “Lady Susan,” he replied, using the pet name she’d suggested a couple of years ago while they were in the throes of passion. She seemed to enjoy it very much, and it completely turned him on. “I’m awake, come in.”

“Jeeze, Tat, every time I see you, I want you again.”

His cock twitched and lengthened, sliding along his inner thigh. “You say the nicest things.” The head of his cock jerked against his thigh and he reached down for it. Fingers slipped around the shaft, he gently massaged himself.

“Have I told you, your tits look amazing?” Susan eased out of her robe, her lovely, firm tits suddenly pointing toward him. “Move up, put your back to the headboard.”

He looked down again, and had to agree with her. He adored big tits – the bigger the better. That was part of his secret, the innocent part. He absolutely loved gigantic tits, wanted to bury himself in them or mound them around his face and be smothered.

Before he met Susan, he used to dream about sliding his cock, which in those dreams was always so much bigger and so much harder, between a pair of enormous boobs. He’d come in his sleep, shuddering and groaning, like some adolescent having a wet dream. The few times he’d actually found women with the right sized breasts, he’d scared them off with his over exuberant pawing and not so playful nipping.

But now, thanks to Susan, his lover and his Lady, he had his very own set of succulent mammaries. Adding to his pleasure, she seemed as enamored with them as he was, and had spent hours caressing and nibbling on them since his surgery.

“Now!” Lady Susan snapped her fingers, regaining his attention.

Scooting up the bed, he leaned against the headboard and placed his hands on the bed at his sides. A moment later, she straddled his thighs, her wet, pink inner flesh grazing the base of his cock. She leaned forward, pressing her soft skin against his, her breasts flattened against his.

“Mm, this is nice,” she murmured in that deep steady voice he’d heard so many times before. She’d accept no denial or slackness, and he’d give her no reason to punish him. She raised her face, her eyes meeting his. “Hold me. I want to feel your strong arms around me. Press our tits together.”

Tat’s heart fluttered. He pulled her close, mashing their breasts together. Her nipples felt like tiny marbles digging into his tender flesh. “May I kiss you, my Lady?”

Looking deep into his eyes, she smiled. “Yes, of course you can, just be careful and don’t come.” Closing her eyes, she pursed her lips and waited.

He took a breath and pushed down the urge to turn her on her back and take his pleasure. He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, savoring the minty toothpaste taste of her breath in his mouth. Tongues met, entwined and battled with the other, only to dip deeply into the other’s mouth, wanting more. He slid down her back to the curve of her ass, cruelly tempted to cup her butt cheeks and pull her astride. Instead, he eased her even closer, mashing their tits together. The pressure of Lady Susan’s smaller mounds flattened against his much larger ones felt amazing, and he wanted it to go on forever.