Wanna Play?

For S. I wasn't even late with this one, so you can just knock that stomping right off. See, I just take time to finesse the edges, to lick before I fuck, so to speak. Grin. Hope you like it, bad boy.

“Let’s play a game,” I suggested, crossing my arms over my chest and raising an eyebrow at him. The couch behind me was digging into my ass, and I shifted a bit, running one naked leg against the other and settling more comfortably. I could see him straighten up, pause and then turn the computer chair slowly around to face me.

“What kind of a game?” he asked, tilting his head at me. He was chewing his lip absently, and I wondered if he wasn’t just a little afraid of what I was about to say.

“It’s a fun game. You’ll like it. Do you want to play?” I asked, stalling for time, trying to secure an all-purpose commitment. He stood and walked over to me, his footsteps heavy in the carpet. He stopped inches away and fingered a lock of my hair, twisting it around his palm, his eyes traveling to my throat, my mouth, my eyes. I felt naked and pulled the bottom of my tee-shirt down farther over my panties.

“What kind of game, Lola?” he repeated, giving the curl a soft tug. I smiled and scooted up onto the back of the sofa, pulling my hair free and creating a bit more space. He followed me around the side and sat down in the middle, pulling my thigh over his shoulder and kissing the inside of my knee.

I shivered, “It’s a guessing game. You’re good at guessing things. Do you want to play?”

He was amused; I could tell. He was not used to evasive answers and for now he was humoring me. I smiled, curling my leg over his chest and tucking my foot behind his back. I ran my fingers through his short, dark hair and swung my other leg around his neck, squeezing him gently between my thighs. I knew how to make him compliant; it was a matter of him accepting my advances.

And he was in a good mood. And so, without anymore explanation I heard a brief, low grunt followed by a nod.

“Good,” I squeaked, clapping my hands and pulling my thighs quickly from his shoulders. I slid down the couch and into the seat next to him.

“So, here’s how it works,” I began, as he smiled gently, slipping his hands between my legs and caressing me through my panties. My breath caught momentarily and I realized that I would never get through my game if he continued along that path. I clamped my legs together tightly around his wrist and trapped him, motionless. He smirked and shook his head, acquiescing to the rest of my explanation.

“Okay, so,” I continued, letting go of his roaming fingers, “I ask you a series of questions—”

His eyebrow was moving up his forehead, and his head was bobbing up and down, indicating that he had already figured that part out. I took a deep breath.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay,” I sighed, irritably.

“No attitude necessary, my pet. I said I’d play your game,” he admonished, the playful smile slipping from his lips.

“Mm, yes. Sorry. Okay,” I took another deep breath, hating to have to apologize, and always doing it as quietly, quickly and unobtrusively as possible, “Well, anyway. I ask you these questions and if you get them right, then I give you a series of prizes.”

I looked at him, quickly, fleetingly, wondering if he’d go for it. He was skeptical—he knew me too well.

“That’s it?” he asked, hesitantly. I thought very carefully about the next part.

“Almost,” I said, fiddling with my sleeve and avoiding all eye contact.

“What are you leaving out then?” he asked, slapping my hand away from my shirt.

“I’m not leaving anything out,” I protested indignantly, too indignantly. His eyes locked on mine, sharp and aggravated.

“Behave yourself or we will be playing one of my little games, my pet,” he promised, reaching over and squeezing my thigh, cruelly. I bit my lip hard and winced.

“Yes,” I gasped loudly, nearly growling, my body shaking a bit, angrily, hating being patronized, hating being reminded of my place. His hand closed over my wrist and tugged lightly, pulling me forward and across his lap, my hips resting on his thighs. The pout on my lips was unmistakable. I fidgeted into the cushions, digging my knees into the fabric and trying to get back up.

His hand was on the small of my back and pressing me down, locking my thighs and belly against his lap. I could hear his soft shushing and tried to be still. He was stroking my back, my thighs, my ass, sliding his large hands across my panties, grabbing the waistband and drawing them up higher. I put my head down against the sofa and glanced back at him, soothed by his petting.

“What are you leaving out?” he asked softly, his fingertips skimming the line of my panties, trailing down between my legs, making my pulse hiccup erratically. It isn’t going to work, I thought resolutely, steeling myself to his touch. I had a goal, an objective.

“Well, you see, if you get the questions wrong, then you have to give me a series of prizes,” I waited, holding my breath.

“What sorts of prizes, my pet?” he asked, cupping my ass and pinching it absently. I squeaked quietly and leaned up, glancing back at him. I began to explain what I had been rehearsing all morning in the bathroom mirror.

“Well, I could do lots of things,” I grinned, “You know, sexual favors, things involving licking and touching, rubbing, stroking…you know, debased things, unimaginably debased. And you could do things like getridifthesillyandpointlessbedtimerule.”

He chuckled to himself.

“What was that last part?” he asked, leaning down to my mouth. I groaned a little, dropping my head back onto the sofa, dejectedly.

“I hate bedtimes. I don’t want one. So, if you don’t get the questions right, then you could like, start peeling off hours indefinitely. What do you think?” I asked hopefully.

His face was full of arrogant delight.

“Well, first off, why do I need a game to get you to do debased things, darlin’? If I want you to do something slutty or dirty, I will simply tell you to. It’s not something I have to earn, my pet. You’re mine. You’ll do what I tell you,” he began, his voice light, but holding a distinctive sincerity and earnestness meant to remind me.

My brows were pulling closer together and my lip dipping lower; it’s no fair. I had no leverage. So what he said next came as a tremendous surprise.

“Okay, we’ll play your game,” he said quietly, peeling my panties down my legs and dropping them on the floor, slipping his fingers between my cheeks and over my slick cunt lips. I could never help how wet I got when in that position. Exposed and vulnerable, my pussy and ass so accessible. The breath was sucked through my lips loudly, and I kicked my feet against the sofa pillows.

“Really?” I purred, happily, grinning at him.

“Mm hm,” he nodded, fucking my wet cunt slowly with his fingers, his thumb circling my tightly puckered asshole. I turned my head and groaned into the sofa, my hips digging hard against his lap, “Mm hm, but with one little alteration.”

Alteration? I whimpered unhappily, banging my fist down onto the couch cushions, “Fuck!”

The sharp slap was so fast, I couldn’t prepare myself for it. My mind swung between the moment of being deliciously stroked to embarrassing wetness and being spanked, hard and fast on my unsuspecting and very naked bottom. I reached back instantly to protect myself. He caught my wrist and smacked me again, again, my backside dawning warm, wet heat like daybreak.

“You don’t want to play, my pet?” he asked, the grin audible as his heavy hand marked me. I yelped, shaking my head forcefully, twisting hard against his grip, “Are you ready to answer my questions?”

He stopped spanking me, but held me tight, pinned to his lap and I could feel him, firm and thick under me. My breath was short gasps, wheezing wet; my hair cloaking my face, neck, weighty and warm, suffocating. I flipped it back and looked at him.

“Question number one,” he began, his hands were tide down my back, slow ripples over my ass, breath, breath, parting my thighs. He looked, long look, fucking my cunt with his eyes, famished. I grinned—privately, but he knew, saw it. His palm left my thigh and traveled quickly up the length of my body, covering the back of my head and shoving my face into the cushions. I felt his fingers leave my scalp and then a slap, cruel and quick to the untouched, inner moon of my ass. I moaned. He did not let go of my cheek as he proceeded with his question, his fingers biting my flesh, “Answer this correctly, and you’ll get something nice. Answer it incorrectly, and I’ll make you cry.”

He was waiting. I nodded, my shoulders tense.

“Do you like it when I spank your naughty bottom, my pet?”

I didn’t know how to answer this. My pussy was liquid, steam at the mere insinuation that he was about to bend me over, but to say, yes yes, would more than likely earn me an aching backside. This is not the way I saw this game going.

My nod was nearly imperceptible. His fingers laced into my hair and dragged my head up from the couch, “Speak up, Lola.”

“Yes,” I whispered and he let go of my hair. He spanked me hard and fast, covering my sore bottom with devastation, as I kicked and howled, twisting away from his painful onslaught.

“No, no, my pet. You were correct and you deserve your prize,” he grinned, smacking the back of my thighs brutally. I grabbed the arm of the couch tunneling, burrowing into the fabric, holding tightly for dear life. My skin was firelicked, my cunt dripping, blooming, dewy warm petals between thrashing thighs. My breath was coming in sobbing gasps, face soaked, mouth swollen. I groaned, low and guttural, my throat stripped. He spanked me again, one ruinous slap where my thighs meet my cheeks. I gasped, broken.

“Next question,” he continued, as my breath slowed and the ache slipped deeper into my muscles, “Do you like to touch your pussy?”

I nodded quickly this time, my cunt drenched and heavy. He pushed my thighs apart, his fingers dipping into my sugar slit. I trembled, low, my hips grinding against his lap, swimming against his dick, soft clay, hard marble. He pushed me off him, abruptly. I blinked, puzzled, and then he gestured at the coffee table.

“Sit, my pet,” he instructed, running his hand across the heavy, glass surface. It was cold, cool, my burnt cheeks flattened against the pane. It felt good.

“Open them, sweetheart,” he directed, pushing my knees apart, and then sitting back on the sofa to watch me.

I did as I was told, spreading my thighs wide apart for him. My pussy flowered, slick, trickling, tropical hot. I sat back on my palm and scratched lightly over my inner thighs, dancing across my skin towards my begging cunt. He smirked.

“What a beautiful pussy,” he whispered, his voice throaty. He was controlled, contained, but his eyes gave him away. In any other circumstance, I would fuck him here. I would take myself up and down, I would leave the table slippery and stained with my juice; I would make him crazy, blind, twitchy. But I was past that point today.

I closed my eyes and slipped my fingers into my slit, gloving my hand with warm, tight pussy, flicking my clit as my body writhed. I could hear his breath change; I sped up, leaking down my thighs, close, closer. His groan was loud.

“Suck me,” he commanded, standing and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs. His dick was inches from my face, the cloth barrier between us stretched tight.

“That wasn’t a question,” I replied before I could even think. His eyes flashed and he slapped my face. It wasn’t hard, but it was sudden.

“Get your fucking hands out of your cunt and suck my cock. Now,” he added, glaring at me. I did as I was told, quickly, removing his shorts and wrapping my fist around his thick cock, opening my full cherry mouth and sliding him into my throat. He grabbed my hair and pulled my face farther, my lips sliding over him and locking around the base, flush with his lap.

I could feel his heartbeat, his firm sack on my lower lip. My hands were on his thighs, digging into his skin; I was trying hard not to breathe. Saliva was leaking down my chin and my pussy was sizzling. He fucked my face slow and deliberately, controlling both the speed and depth, thrusting, using. I could feel the ache in my ass spreading up my spine, the nerves alive, racing down my arms and legs.

My brain had stopped working; my hands were independent now and they wanted more pussy. My fingers were on my clit, plucking, circling, twisting, grinding. I groaned around his cock, sure I was going to cum. He looked down and grabbed my hands roughly, yanking them out of my glowing slit.

“Don’t fucking touch yourself! Did I fucking say you could touch yourself?” he growled, angrily, slamming his cock into my throat and holding me there. My eyes were wide, scared; I shook my head slightly, mouth full, body screaming for release.

“I was going to fuck your pretty cunt, my pet,” he said, low and measured, “But you had to be a bad girl, didn’t you?”

He was almost disgusted, “Next question.”

I was choking, blinking hard, my nipples furious points of ache, my cunt throbbing.

“Do you like me fucking your mouth until you can’t breathe,” he snarled, thrusting hard, clutching my hair tightly, dragging my lips along his cock, slapping his balls against my chin and neck, “And then cumming...hot and sticky...all over your pretty face and hair?”

His grin was wicked.