Riding the Crop Again

"What would you like?" he asks me as he slips into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Hmmmmm.... Everything," I tell him, knowing that everything is both too much to accomplish in one night and not specific enough to narrow down the focus.

"Would you be more specific?" he requests.

"Are you saying you can't read my mind and you'd prefer if I told you explicitly what I want?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying," he tells me as he squeezes toothpaste onto the head of his toothbrush and begins to brush his teeth.

I come up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. I kiss the back of his neck. I reach into to waistband of his boxers and begin to stroke his cock with one hand while I cup his balls with the other.  "I want the riding crop or your belt tonight," I tell him. "Whichever you prefer."

When his toothbrush gives three pulses, I know his two minutes are up. I return to the bedroom and lie face-down on the bed, naked, waiting for him to finish his evening routine.

He enters the bedroom and picks up the riding crop from the top of my nightstand a few moments later. Standing at the foot of the bed, between my feet which are dangling off the end, he begins to caress me with the leather flap and his free hand. The tickling sensation is enticing.

Without warning he strikes me with the crop. I know from the loud crack the leather flap makes as it connects with my skin that this is a good one even before my brain can process the impact. Milliseconds later the sting catches up with the sound and my pussy is instantly dripping on the duvet.

He continues like this for some time, alternating gentle caresses with sharp cracks, stroking my calves, knees, the backs of my thighs.

Every time he touches my with his hands, my body tenses up and I push my ass closer to him, desperate for his fingers to spread open my pussy lips and feel how wet he makes me.

And every time he withdraws his hands without touching my cunt, I whimper with need until my body relaxes into the bed and the joy of feeling the crop hitting my ass again.

My brain goes blissfully numb and I reach the silent space. When he asks how I'm doing, I struggle to answer, because there are no words in my head. Just silence, clean and white and empty.

After several minutes, he asks again, "What would you like?" as I writhe and moan when he touches me with his bare hands, near tears when he strokes the juncture where my inner thighs meet my sex, but never once actually touching my pussy.

I have shift down the length of the bed, pressing my pussy against him, desperate to feel pressure on my outer lips, my clit, aching to feel him penetrate me with his fingers, his cock, fuck I don't care, the handle of the riding crop - anything so long as I get filled and he's the one doing it.

"What would you like?" is a question I can't answer at this point because it requires thoughts and words and desires; in this moment I am nothing but burning fire and need and hunger.

"Touch me," I tell him, because it's all I can get out.

And he does touch me. He caresses my legs, my ass, my back. He reaches around to my sides and I lift my torso off the bed so that he can caress my breasts and play with my nipples.

But it's not enough. I need him in me. Right the fuck now!

"Feel how wet I am," I plead with him. And when he touches my cunt I think I'm going to explode with the desire to have him hammering into me.

I leap forward on the bed, immediately on all fours, my ass in the air, a clear invitation for him to take me.

It's an invitation he accepts with vigor. And as he fucks me from behind, fucking me harder and longer than he ever has before, I pull out my magic wand and hold it to my clit, moaning, gasping, pleading with him to "Just keep fucking me," screaming in ecstasy when my orgasm peaks and sends me tumbling over wave after wave after wave of pleasure.

He finishes shortly after I do. We collapse onto the bed and I curl into his side and sleep peacefully.