Feb 112013
 

My part 2 was light on prurient details. Hers isn’t. Read on…. (and remember, this was her part 1)

I walk in front of N. and he tries to direct me to the car. I almost go the wrong way– again.  (I swear it’s because I’m too turned on to think…)

We get in the car and start to kiss, my hand reaches down to feel him.  I want my mouth on him right then, but I know I have to be patient.  He twists my nipple, hard.  He asks me to touch myself as he fiddles with his phone.

Heavy breathing starts to come out through the speakers, and I recognize it– it’s me. He has the volume turned up all the way and the sun roof open.  N. points out a man on the opposite side of the street and says he can hear me.  I’m pretty sure he’s making it up, but it turns me on so I choose to believe it.

We start to drive.  “Hands up over your head,” he asks. I comply.

He pulls over and asks me to run in to a bodega and grab matches.  I look ridiculous in a sleeveless dress without a coat in the middle of January, but it’s just a few steps.

I ask for matches at the counter and the clerk pulls out a box of 500 matchbooks.  He offers them to me with a smile. “Here, matches for you, miss!” I smile and laugh back, telling him I only need one.  He tries to insist, but again I tell him just one.  I try to pay him for it, but he won’t take any money.  I wish him a good evening and hustle back out to the car.

When we reach the hotel, N. asks me to wait in the car and then texts me to join him inside. He looks like a little kid, spinning around in one of the ridiculous modern egg chairs they have in the lobby.  He gives me a key and tells me to get ice and wait for him as in a picture I had sent him earlier– kneeling on the bed, hands up on the headboard with only my underwear on.

I get up to the room and grab the ice bucket, but it turns out the machine is back down on the first floor.  I have to pass N. to retrieve it, and can’t help but give him a smile and a little saunter as I walk by.  I think I trailed my hand up my thigh, dragging my dress up with it as I walked away from him and back to the elevator.

I take off my dress and approach the bed when N. opens the door, walks up right behind me and spanks me, hard.  I yelp and brace myself against the bed.  He spanks me again and again.  I give into it and at one point collapse flat on the bed.

He steps away from the bed and asks me to undress him. I instantly drop to my knees, my face close to his crotch, my hands reaching for his belt.

“Shirt first,” he says.

I moan a bit into his crotch, disappointed. I haven’t had an orgasm all week at his request. I want his cock out.  Now.  But I stay kneeling and slip my hands up along his waist under his shirt, then I stand up and remove it. I drop down to my knees again, ready for his belt.

“Now my shoes, please,” he says.

He walks over to the bed and sits down.  I stay kneeling and pull off his boots, his socks. I undo his belt, and take of his pants.  Finally, finally, I reach to touch him.

He stops me.

“Hand me the matches, please.”

I am frustrated beyond belief.

He has me lay face down on the bed and slides a piece of ice around in circles on my ass. It soothes the pain from the spanking. I hear the strike of a match and am nervous, anticipating the wax. Will it hurt? The sensation is new to me– hot, smooth, then just warm.

Finally, some cold water trickled down my ass, which was relieving. It wasn’t erotic per se, but it was incredibly stimulating and certainly heightened my senses. (I’m not sure it did much for N. beyond the element of control.)

I’m panting, soaking wet, spread before him. I have never been so turned on and so vulnerable in front of someone.  I would stretch this moment out for the whole night if I could.

He turns me around, slips his fingers into me, and then blessedly lowers his mouth to my cunt.  It takes me longer to cum than I expected, having deprived myself for so long, but the first was followed by many.

When N. hears my mounting orgasm, he moans into me.  Sometimes he adds, “cum for me,” which I fucking love.

“Turn around,” he asks, and I do. He pushes inside of me in one motion and fucks me against the bed. I feel him against my g-spot which is delicious, and then I think I ask him to lay down for me. I lower myself on to him and rock against him.  I reach back and caress his balls as I fuck him.

I slide my hands up my sides, grab my breasts, and keep sliding them up to the back of my neck, lifting up my hair a bit.  He tells me to touch my clit and then tells me what a good girl I am. I cum again, hard.

I make my way down to put my mouth on him.  I take my time, savoring how hard he is, how delicious he tastes, watching the faces he makes as I circle his head with my tongue and then slide him all the way into my mouth.

I’m learning just how much time N. actually wants me on his cock, which is as much time as he can possibly have.  Eventually he cums, he goes down on me again, I go down on him again, this time with him in a chair at my request. (I think he liked that I requested that.)

It was an excruciating week with a constant barrage of his daily stimulation and no orgasms, but in the end, N. more than made up for it.  I never doubted that he would.

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