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“Coming home” (part 2)

June 7, 2010

(continued from here)… It was difficult to keep myself up on the slippery counter. It was getting hot. There was the steam from the shower, and all the activity didn’t help. We’d left the door closed and it was starting to get hot. I was overheating and as much as I regretted it, I had to ask him to stop so we could open the door. Luckily for me he had a better idea. We walk into the living room and I could tell he was surveying the furniture. To my surprise he walks up to the sliding glass door to the patio, pulling back the blinds he looks back at me and smiles.

“Hi” he said. He had my smile on. “Come stand… right here” He backed away and left just enough room between himself and the glass. It was well past midnight by this point and it was a pitch black night outside. Anyone outside could very easily see into the well it living room, and of course the lights behind framed our every move… I felt a hand on the back of my neck, it slowly moved up into my hair and caught hold. My still moist body pressed against the glass, hoisted up on my tip toes he grabbed hold of my hips with the other hand and pulled away from the door leaving me in a precocious arched position. Just as he was positioning himself the hand that had been holding my hair suddenly pulled tight and my movement became impaired. I couldn’t look back and watch him fucking me. I couldn’t look out the door to make sure no one was watching. I was stuck, completely on display.

He began to fuck me deeper. My body wanted to shake. I wanted to release and just let go of all the tension between us. But I couldn’t shake, let alone move the way he had me positioned. After another few minutes of pounding, moaning, and heavy breathing- I couldn’t take it anymore and my legs collapsed under me as they began shaking violently. We weren’t done but he could tell I had reached my limits. He carried me back to the bedroom and we proceeded to have sex. Intimate, connective, meaningful sex.

Lying together in bed later that night, we began to talk about our fight. We talked for a good hour or two. After all the tears and angry words were gone, I laid in his arms and finally felt at ease. With one exception that is.

“Can you hate fuck me?” I quietly mumbled into his chest. “Can I WHAT?” he was a bit taken back, “What are you talking about?” I explained that I still felt that I had wronged him. I needed to pay for my part in it all. I wanted him to use me. I wanted him to take me, my sexuality, and my body as retribution for my wrongs. I wanted to feel lovingly punished. It took him a while to think about it. “I don’t ever have sex with people I have negative feelings about,” he explained, “so I don’t know that I can do that.” I pressed him further, I told him I needed to have some sort of resolution if I was going to be able to get past the conversation we had just had and actually take to heart that we were okay, that our relationship was okay.

“Go get a new condom.” I hopped out of bed and ran down the hallway to the stash. When I came back, he took it from me and placed it on his nightstand. “Get me hard again,” was all he said as he pulled the covers back. I turned myself around on the bed so I was now facing the opposite direction and grabbed hold of his cock. Slowly teasing, licking, stroking until I finally decided to swallow it in its entirety. I proceeded to suck and stroke him until he began to make my favorite noises. It was hard by now, like he had asked, and I looked up at him, seeking permission for what I wanted next. I was all excited and ready to have him inside me. He knew what my look meant and didn’t seem to have much of a reaction. “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he began to say, “I’m not going to fuck you.” He didn’t seem to be joking, “You’re going to get me off and then we’re going to bed. You don’t get another orgasm tonight. You don’t get to feel connected to me or any other type of satisfaction. You will make it up to me by pleasing me.” His decision was unexpected, considering our sexual dynamic, but exactly what I needed. As I began to get back to my new task he quietly reminded me, “Punishments aren’t supposed to be enjoyed.”

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