He lay, almost serene, face down on the bed and I looked him over. Naked and lovely. Not perfect — neither am I — but beautiful to me and completely mine.

We’re sweet outside of this; average. I grinned, slipping into who I am deep in my bones. “Beg.”

“Help me feel better. Give me this. Please. I want all you can give me.” With his face turned to me and pained eyes, I made him wait.

Letting him watch, I took out a new set of bed restraints, and in a few minutes, I had them attached, velcroing his ankles and wrists tightly, knowing how much he struggled.


“Perfectly so.”

He wasn’t stretched out and had enough leeway to get on his knees and elbows when need be.

He frowned a little, trying to work out my game as he pulled on the straps.

I grinned. “Ready to play?”

“Yes.” That emphatic, single word was a joy, and with a laugh, I got to work.

I slapped his bottom hard. “Open your legs.”

He swore and obeyed. I grabbed the lube and put a healthy cold dollop on his arse, and he hummed.

“I have a new toy for us. Do you want it?”

“Fuck me, please.”

“Such a dirty mouth.” I slapped his bottom again, and he cried out.

I wanted to hurt him. He needed me too, but I wouldn’t rush.

The plug was the biggest we’d used yet. Pressing it against his entrance, he tensed for a second and relaxed. I worked the lube over it and eased it in. The first inch was easy, and then he pulled on the restraints.

“Too much?” I soothed his arse cheek, and he relaxed.


“Good.” I pressed in harder, the resistance tight as I went, and once he gave, it eased all the way in. He cried out, arching his back. It had to hurt. He took deep breaths as he adjusted. I gave him that.

Getting off the bed, I took off my dress, letting him glimpse that I was wearing his favourite underwear. A dark blue lace set with stockings, and my ample cleavage and curves were all there for him. He gave me a drugged smile and blinked the tears from his eyes.

“Poor lover.” I sat next to him on the bed, smoothing his hair to the side.


Taking a fist of it, I pulled so he looked at me. “That is not an answer.”

“Yes, yes, yes, please.” He licked his lips.

I felt all the texture of him. So perfect. The hair on his thighs. Smooth skin on his back. The muscle in places, the softness in others. It was all beautiful, and I loved it.

“One question. Pain?” I asked him quietly even though I knew his answer.


Relishing his heat and scent, I kissed down his back until reaching his bottom and bit his cheek. He moaned.

I moved lower and bit the inside of his thigh, harder this time, and he arched up, finding the dildo in his arse painful and he swore.

I laughed. I sat up and grabbed the flogger. This was a newer toy for us. It hurt more, but it made lovely patterns on him. He loved it. I shifted so I was comfortable and teased him with it.

I wasn’t kind and never built up. I struck across his upper back, and he arched and writhed. Leaving a moment for the shock to pass, I hit again, lower down. Each strike was the same, but I landed all over his back — avoiding his kidneys — bottom and thighs.

They were my favourite. I loved how he shouted and wriggled.

He pulled away, almost on his side, drawing on the restraints. He loved to resist. Terrible at being still. Only when he gave in would I stop — unless he used our safe word — but he didn’t. That plug must have been stretching him inside as he moved, rubbing in all the right places.

He shouted louder as I moved back up to the mass of red lines on his back. It would be so sensitive there.

There always comes a moment when I see it. The pain crosses over into something else. I don’t know how it feels, but it’s surrender. It’s agony and bliss. Sharp stinging pain. Warm and deep. These are the words he’s used to explain, but I can’t feel it. I become ecstatic at his reactions and power that he gracefully bestows on me.

This was when I needed to be careful with him. I kept striking, but he didn’t buck. He twitched and made continuous incoherent cries.

There were tears in his eyes. I stopped.

Tossing the thing down, I looked at his wounds. The thick almost purple lines lasted for days. They’d be hot and throbbing, stinging and sore. There’d also be an utter relief and sated need. I loved it when he’d tell me these things after, whispering them to me, almost embarrassed. Emotion clogged my throat, and my fingers hovered over the heat of his skin.

He’d gone to the place where he’ll do anything I say. Utterly mine. I blinked back the intensity. This responsibility and control was enormous, and there were moments it overwhelmed me.

Taking a deep breath, I leant down. “Hey, lover.” I stroked his hair.

He grunted with a glazed look.

“I need more. Words.”

He swallowed. “Green.”

My heart kicked up, and I shimmied off my knickers, desperate for him.

Leaving him as he was, I told him to shift onto his knees. It took a minute for him to be able to obey, but he did it.

I climbed up to the headboard and slid down under him.

He leant his weight on me, and his hot body with hammering heart made me giddy with desire. I slid my legs around his waist, his cock pressed between us.

Reaching down, I guided him in, and his body took over. He made a long sound and went still. The need to thrust made him tense. He growled and grunted his breaths.

“Ready?” I whispered.

He pulled on the restraints.

“Speak.” My mouth was so close to his; he licked my lips. I tapped his face. “I’ll not ask you again,” I said in a sharp tone.

“Command me.” His eyes set in challenge before he rested his head down, body trembling over mine.

“That’s it. Now.” I soothed him as he pressed his face into my hair. He shifted a little and thrust. Sweat prickled us as he moved. He was so hot, his weight just right as his elbows and knees took most of it.

I put my hands on his tender arse cheeks and whispered in his ear, and he moved slightly in me. “You will not come. You will not do anything unless I say. Speak.”

“Yes.” It was a guttural moan. Close enough.

Digging in my fingernails to that lovely bottom, he thrust in and hissed. “Sensitive? Painful?”

His reply was a desperate noise. I laughed and kissed his neck. Using my nails to press into him, I guided his thrusts.

Slowly, so slowly, I let him move, and he almost resisted but didn’t. I knew what he needed. I knew the urge to come was so intense at that point, but I wouldn’t let him.

His hips stuttered, and I kissed his neck again. My own orgasm built. I was so wet, so ready, but I resisted it, keeping my abs relaxed. He kept grunting, holding back. I knew how much he edged, and that he would do anything I asked, no matter how painful.

I came, I could not hold back. The taut bliss of excited nerves was too intense to hold off. The fist-like clench around his cock stilled him, leaving him a twitching wreck, and then I said the word, the one that he needed so much. “Come.”

I let go of his cheeks, and he growled, fucking me hard. The animal in him when pushed too far took over, and furiously and without reservation, he took me as I rode out the last of my intense orgasm. I held his neck as his hips stuttered and body bucked. It went on for so long; I went limp under him. Revelling in my own surrender, I loved what I could do to him. My gentle, sweet, and caring man became a torrent of power. Masculine need. I coaxed and wound and needled him into a dark place.

I controlled that. It was a wallop to my heart when I thought about it.

Then he collapsed. We were both utterly spent.

“Lover, let me undo you.” I tried to catch my breath.

He didn’t speak or move.

Reaching over from under him, I pulled the velcro from one wrist — more convenient than undoing buckles — and then the other.

He held me, pulling me tight, hands holding what was his, trembling and gentle once more.

“There, there, lover, you’re okay now, I’m here. I love you.”

He swallowed. “Thank you. Perfect.”

Three words were pretty good at this point. It always took awhile to come around.

He tasted his mouth and shifted a little, nuzzling my hair.

Holding his face, I lifted it. “Time to get comfortable.”

He nodded, withdrew, and we moaned together. Moving off the bed, I unstrapped his feet, and he lay down on his side. After I’d cleaned up in the bathroom, I gave him water, which he chugged. I checked each mark and cleaned his skin in a slow ritual. The same practice after every play.

“How do you feel?” I asked, dabbing at the lines on his back.

“Amazing. I didn’t even know how stressed and tense I was after this week.”

“Management is high pressure.” I glanced up.

“And you, my Goddess?” Twisting his face to me, he smiled, sated and sleepy.

“Better now. I did okay?”

“Perfect, as always. You do everything just right.”

“I worry sometimes it’s too much,” I murmured.

“Never, you love me, and I love you. We know what we want. It was amazing. You broke me.” He grinned.

I let his damp skin cool as he liked, and he relaxed.

I undressed and tidied up, slipped into bed with him, and he held me.

He kissed my hair and whispered in my ear all he felt, giving me his experience.

One arm wandered lower, and he lazily geared up to please me as he told me everything.



7 thoughts on “Lovers

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