Clever Girl

For a secret someone.
Happy Valentine's Day, babies!

“Come on, baby…be a good boy,” I say, twinkling. He’ll smile at first, tell me I’m a funny girl—razor sharp, baby. He’ll look past me. I am still not sure why he does that; it feels like he’s making sure we’re alone, like he’s closing off my exits.

I like this. It makes me afraid. I like fear; I like the way it travels through my body, fiery cold trickle trickle down my spine, wash through my hips and lick my cunt. I like how it contains. I am calm and focused. My eyebrow tilts so slightly; a familiar incorrigible grin slopes up my face. I am not a good girl.

“Come on, baby,” I breathe so softly, a kissing whisper, my hand a falling curtain from knee to flushed thigh, “You are begging for a taste.”

His smile deepens, and his eyes are bright with arrogance; he reminds me, “I do not beg for anything.”

I catch my lip in my teeth, narrowing on him with a decided pout, and inch farther up the bare wood headboard, my legs unfolding before him, smug. I slide two delicate fingers across my dewy petals as my eyes flicker over him.

His smile is gone. Just like that.

I wonder what he will say. A warning? A threat? Nothing at all. His eyes are on my face; my sweet cunt is only a trifle when he can own me, all of me. I am to be obedient. He expects nothing less that absolute submission and I have paid a high price for past insolence. But it is part of the game.

He must always re-earn me, remind me. And now, with my wicked hands on his property, I would be a stupid girl to expect anything less than strict and exacting punishment. And I am not. I am razor sharp, baby.

My hand has found its way to my mouth, fluttering at my wet, swollen pucker; my tongue is braver than I, whipping out and wrapping recklessly around my fingers, pulling them into my mouth. A moan, a breath from my greedy throat. He is livid; his fists clenching and jaw tense.

But it passes, and his eyes clear, focus on my cunt, “Close your legs, please.”

A request? I couldn’t have heard that right. He is watching me, but he is impassive. I feel the stupid girl, sitting there nearly naked, my thighs cleaved and parted, my pussy shamelessly exhibited. I cross my arms but not my legs, scowling up at him.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he scoffs, somehow superior again in his jeans and tee, “Close your legs and stop touching what isn’t yours.”

I am furious. No! He won’t—he can’t! I hate this. I hate how he always takes it. Thief. Fucking thief. I close my legs and pull them up to my chest, lacing my arms around them miserably. He sits on the edge of the bed and runs his hand up the inside of my calf, my thigh, his fingertips a tremble away from my slut cunt. I want them inside of me, but I shouldn’t ask.

His breath is slower; mine has caught, praying for him to be merciful. He is not. I know better than to trap his hand between my creamy thighs; his expectations are unspoken but perfectly clear.

He joins me on the bed, and takes my wrist into his heavy hand pulling me into a straddle across his lap, my hips and pussy spreading around his thighs and my back pressed against his chest. His arms wrap around my waist and I can feel his lips on the back of my neck, his cock swelling under my grinding ass. He drapes my long, thick hair over my shoulder and bites gently down my back, following my arching spine. His hands rake up my belly, my ribs, and clasp my tits, curling deep into my soft flesh and making me gasp. His teeth sink deeper into my back and I moan.

“Mine,” he says, his palm now escaping my breast and slapping down sharply on the top of my thigh, holding me securely as I buck up against the sting of flesh on flesh. His voice is in my ear, through a vicious growl, “Mine. Mine.”

I shake my head violently, his nails burrowing into my thighs and scratching toward my dripping slit. My hair thrashes his face while I struggle, groaning into the onslaught of physical reminders. He palms my cunt and presses me down into him; I can feel his cock tucked thick and eager inside his rough jeans. I moan loudly through damp lips.

“Fuck, woman,” he says, hips slamming against my naked ass, “Why can’t you just ask like a good girl?”

He sighs irritably and shoves me forward; I catch myself palms down on the bed, my hair shutting out light around my face, my breath erratic and deep. I curl around to peek at him. He is tugging off his shirt and staring down at my ass purposefully. I am on my hands and knees, my cunt hovering inches from his thighs, my nipples brushing his ankles. He catches my eye through my tangle of hair and I smile, sliding my knees farther from each other and sitting back into my hips, my ass split, my pussy throbbing.

His hands cup my hips and he strokes over my scorched skin with his thumbs; he can feel my thighs quivering. One hand locks my left leg, fingers sinking into my tender flesh, while the other rises up quickly and slaps down hard across the bottom of my ass. I wince and jerk against him, but he has begun and I cannot stop him. He is skimming my captured backside with a severe and rapid spanking, and I can’t get away.

His hands are rough, heavy and my bottom bruises like a ripe plum, glowing pink and searing reds. I claw at his legs, gasping and spluttering my pleas, my obscenities. I bounce in frustration, my clit happily tapping against his thighs.

Fuck. Yesss. I hiccup my pleasure as I ride against his lap, brushing my pouty bud across the coarsely ridged fabric. I moan and he narrows his eyes, lifting my hips from his jeans and frowning. He spanks me faster, harder.

“Fuck, stop!” I cry, back twisting and legs pounding the bed on either side of him, but he is deaf and relentless, now torrentially smacking the outer edge of my right cheek, the sound so constant it seems to echo, the pain spreading like a rash and settling into my muscles. I am near tears, just now, fighting frantically, shrieking and begging.

“Quiet. You deserve this,” he grunts, not even slowing. My right side is devastated but my cunt is open, soaked. I groan, thrashing my hips into his punishment, into his lap.

“Yes yes yes,” I plead, shoulders tensing and lip ground between my cries. He stops. Mid air. He can see how my bruises are shadows beneath the surface, waiting for their hour of bloom. His hand rests gently on my ass, fingers climbing onto the small of my back.

It is merely pause and my luring crease is heavily filling the air between us. He grabs the sides of my hips and pulls my lap to his mouth, his tongue darting out and lapping at my frenzied cunt.

“Fuck,” I breath, vision elusive, coherence obliterated. He tongue-fucks my delicious fold, and makes me ask to cum, like a good girl. Restrained, grateful, obedient. He loves the humiliation; he loves enforcing his control over all that was mine.

And I beg—shamelessly; I grovel and plead, promise and bargain. I get nothing without his consent. He is up, shoving me forward, unbuttoning, unzipping, his jeans gone, his shorts gone. He drives his cock into my willing cunt; it is swallowed into my snug slickness.

“Fuck,” I groan, as my swollen pussy stretches around his cock. Flicking my hair away from my face, I turn to watch him fuck me. He slams me harder, reaching toward me to slap my face lightly and point forward.

“Ask first,” he commands, driving his taut, sanguine head into the deepest corners of my cunt. My mouth drops open, moans choked from my throat; I am trying to make words.

“P-pl-pl-please. Can I. W-wa-watch?” I stutter, squeaking as he yanks my sore ass against his lap, cock hammering my slit rhythmically. He shakes his head and I try to keep my eyes open. I want to cum. Fuck, I want to cum.

I can feel him tensing, and he gasps his permission. It is so sweet; my cunt clutching him, tugging, slurping, devouring. I am loud, appreciative, back bowing and thighs shaking hard. I leak sugar between my legs and he cums, plunging his cock brutally into my aching hollow. I can feel him fill me, tricky sticky, hips slapped under my tender ass.

Fuck. Fuck. He is panting and damp, clutching my body to his own.

He leans down, his dick still imbedded in my possessive puss. His hand curves into my hair and tugs gently, pulling my ear to his lips. He asks me, “You think you got what you wanted so badly?”

I hide my smile. Razor sharp, baby.