Another old story reposted: The first time, and second time, and more…

One of the “complaints” with my writing is that I don’t often write about actual sex. I write about the build up, the setup, and maybe the very beginnings, but some of my readers are unhappy that I don’t write more of the “main event”. I think this story should satisfy those readers, and, I hope, maybe some of the rest of you as well. Oh, and there’s a little spanking. There is almost always a little spanking…

You remember the last time—you don’t know if it was minutes or hours ago (it was hours ago)—when I woke, shoved you down to suck me likethis. I said almost nothing to you, except telling you what a good girl you were, telling you to suck Daddy’s cock like a good girl, and you did.

I held you there, your face pinned against my chest, me just using your mouth as a convenient, tight wet hole. Then you felt my hands tighten in your hair, holding your head with enough force that my fingers brought the very beginning of tears to your eyes—my whole body tensed, I moaned into the dark room, my cock grew even bigger and harder in your mouth, and I spurted—again and again—and you struggled to keep up. Gasping, choking a bit as you swallowed. I held you there for a moment, enjoying the calm, enjoying the warmth of your mouth. When I pulled out of my mouth, you hungrily licked up the few drops you lost, not knowing or caring that yes, princess, you have some cum smeared in your hair. I obviously didn’t care either, as I grabbed your head again, moving you like a doll, pulling you up beside me, kissing you fully and deeply on the mouth—the mouth I own, like all of you, the mouth that just pleased me so well—and then wrapping you up in my arms, the sheet wrapped around you, and falling asleep as I held you tight to my body.

You thought back to the beginning of the evening, when we first met—though only half a day ago, it already seems like another lifetime. You came to my hotel room; perhaps that was not wise, but you truly did trust me. And you were a vision. I wish you could have seen through my eyes, to see the beauty standing before me when I opened the door. Everything so natural, so comfortable from the beginning. There was no question of a hug as you practically launched yourself at me as soon as I opened the door, whatever butterflies or doubts you had melting under your eagerness. I felt your body alive and trembling against me—all electric nerves and excitement. My lips found yours so naturally, and I don’t know how we got the door closed before you fell back into it. I wanted you right then and there, and I know you could feel my hardness as I pressed up against you. It would have been so easy—we both wanted nothing else in the word—but it wasn’t right then—not yet.

I kissed you, my tongue deep in your mouth as I held your hair and tilted your face up to mine. My lips and tongue on your neck—tasting you, feeling you move and stiffen under my touch, playfully pulling away when my tongue, in that line under your jaw, tickled a bit in surprise. Holding you, moving with you, laughing into your mouth as your eyes laughed with me. Then it got serious, didn’t it, kitten? Do you remember (yes, I know you do)… do you remember when I traced my hand down over your chest, over your ribs, down, down, down the curve of your impossibly tiny waist, over the swell of your hips, down, down (how can such a small girl have such long curves?), down the outside of your leg. Remember when my finger found bare skin there? Remember when I moved my hand around your front, lingering between your legs? Do you remember how I looked at you, very serious in that moment? I knew I was maybe crossing a line here, and it was maybe too soon—I moved my fingers a few inches up under your skirt (and, really, you had dripped that far down your leg?), and I looked into your eyes? “Is this ok?” You smiled and nodded, but that wasn’t enough, “no, really. Are you sure? May I touch you?”

You were in a hotel with a strange man you actually met maybe sixty seconds ago. You are a smart girl, but there was not a shred of a doubt in your mind. An easy, sexy little smile, “yes. Fuck yes. Please touch me…” But I didn’t, did I? No, not really, not like you wanted: I moved my fingers up your legs—literally dripping wet from your needy little pussy—up, and I touched you so lightly. I don’t think I have ever felt skin so soft, so warm as between your legs. I teased, light grazing touches, smiling at your need, at the way you rolled your hips, trying to push yourself into my hand. Yes, I know how you want me to touch you. I know you want me to press two fingers between your wet lips. I know you want me to find that spot, right there, and push you up against the door, the weight of my body pinning you there, my hand pressing into that spot on your hip while my fingers work magic circles with full, deep pressure on that magical little piece of flesh. And I do find your clit so easily, don’t I? But I graze, I tease, not giving you what you want. Do you remember the sounds that came from your throat? I know you remember me smiling at you, my fingers now dripping wet with your need.

And then those fingers in your mouth—Two fingers deep in your mouth, probing, exploring, and me thinking about your lips wrapped around my cock, growing harder in my pants by the second—my hand holding your jaw as I press you into the door, helpless against my strength as you collapsed into my arms. You weren’t even managing to stand up at that point. And then me kissing you again, tasting your pussy on your lips and your tongue—fairly devouring you with my want and need—and, yes, your wanton need—against the hard door at your back. And then I pulled away from you, looking, again, seriously into your eyes, making sure you were ok, smiling at you. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” I laughed. “Let’s go get dinner.”

And we did, despite your protests. I laughed at your begging, your hands holding my arm. I playfully slapped your face to get your attention and told you to be a good girl. I grabbed my coat, and we left, you wetter and more needy than you had ever been at any time in your life—almost crazy with need. And I played with that, played with you, through a long dinner. Remember people looking at us, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. I think we could probably have passed for father and daughter, but my hand on your shoulder wasn’t quite right for that, was it? That simple hand on your shoulder, fingers touching your collarbone—that was a hand that showed a certain ownership. The hand on the small of your back—a little too intimate. I think some people were confused, but I think some people knew exactly what are you, kitten. I know you remember dinner. You remember me holding your hand, stroking your wrist and thumb with a few fingers. When I saw you moving in your seat, grinding your legs together, pressing yourself against the seat, I’d laughed and told you to sit still. You remember the wine, me feeding you a few bites from my fork.

So much more: you remember undressing for me, me watching you, appraising, walking around you. You remember me asking a few times if you were ok—just to be certain. You remember when I laid you down on the bed, and explored your back with gentle touches, deep massages, with wet, full kisses down your spine, and I did not stop there, did I? No, just for a moment—your legs spread, your back arched, and my tongue licking between your legs, pressing against your tight little ass while my other hand moved under you, found your clit and rubbed exactly like you needed. I think you could have cum very quickly like that, but, not yet. Then me moving to your feet, up your legs from your ankles—hands and lips and tongue. And then me rolling you over, touching and exploring your breasts, sucking each nipple full into my mouth—you feeling the heat and wetness of my tongue against them.

Then me licking up those long, slender legs. There is no such thing, in my world, as teasing too much, but I might have teased you too much—too long. How long did I lick around that tender skin? How did you cry out? How close did you come to crying with need while I held your legs spread wide with my hands on your thighs? Do you know what I dripping mess you made, down your ass to the bedsheet? Then you remember I first kissed your pussy—light little butterfly kisses up and down your lips, your clit—still teasing, and then I closed my mouth on you, and fully, deeply pressed my tongue between your lips. I spent forever between your legs like that, but I think it was not long enough for either of us. You came, but I am not sure how many times; you came with your hands holding my head as your body moved under me and I drank in the fullness of your pleasure.

You remembered me moving up, kissing up your flat stomach, pausing at your breasts—yes, you know my unnatural fascination with your curves—even with my need, I stopped to explore you here: kissing, licking the soft, tender, secret skin under your breasts, between them, licking down to where they become your ribs, then back up, teasing around the nipples. Yes, little one, you arched your back, trying to thrust that hard nipple in my mouth, but I only laughed at you and kissed over to your other breast. Then up your throat; your collarbone is a thing of beauty—I planted hungry kisses along its length, out to your shoulder—then up that shoulder up to your neck. I held you there then, a gentle hand on your throat, and I looked deeply into your eyes. I held you there, motionless, in a timeless moment, and then you felt my cock brush between your lips, and then slowly, oh so slowly, slide into you inch by inch.

It seemed to take forever, but I filled you—my hardness filled that empty need—that need between your legs, but so much more. Already you knew, you had known for a long time, that I would touch parts of you that no one had ever seen. That I would want parts of you, and would want to know you in ways that no one had ever seen. And, in that moment, our bodies joined together, our breath as one breath, in that one moment we were somehow something so much more. I held you there, and then kissed you gently on the lips as I moved in and out of you with agonizing tenderness.

There were no words; there could have been no words. There certainly are no words I know that could have captured that moment. I moved in you, my hands along your sides, around your back, holding your ass tight to me. My lips all over you—exploring, touching, tasting what is mine. Your skin covered with a fine dew, the taste of you driving me to greater need. My teeth on your throat, and your head tilting back, even in this simple thing your body giving itself to me without thought. Much of that time is lost to your memory even now, for your mind went somewhere else and we became something simpler, something much older and more powerful. I couldn’t possibly get enough of you in my mouth, and I held you down, open and exposed to me, as I licked and kissed your throat, your breasts, your arms from your elbows to your shoulders, then kissing you and you could taste your skin on my tongue and lips, and you knew my need. After a very long time, you felt me stiffen and grow even bigger between your legs. My hands held you with such force you may find fingertip bruises tomorrow—on your wrists, on your hips… and I came inside you—spurt after spurt after spurt. Every time you thought I was done, I pushed into you deeper, once again, and held your eyes locked to mine—no words, but everything that could possibly have been said, was said in that look. It was an intimacy that should have been terrifying in its completeness, but, in the moment, all you could do was wrap your legs around me and pull me even deeper into your body.

After a time, I rolled over, pulled you into me like a doll, and held you tight to me. Our bodies still sticky as our breathing calmed, and you melted into me. You did, sweetheart—you melted into me, and in that quiet moment, we found a special peace. We drifted off to sleep, and I know you remember much more, though much of it is hazy. You remember me spanking you, don’t you? First, over my knee, you awkwardly trying to balance yourself. Then I picked up the hairbrush, and you knew pain like you have never known.

Honestly, I did not intend to spank you that hard or that long, but the way you moved, the sounds you made–Kitten, I really liked to hurt you. I wanted to hurt you much, much more, and your begging and sobbing only made that need stronger. I thought about picking up the belt, and I almost did, but I changed my mind, and, sitting there on the edge of the bed, I picked you up, put you in my lap, and lowered you onto my throbbing cock. I thought I knew a few things about girls, but I did not know it was possible to be as wet as you were. Even when you dripped down your thigh when we just met, or when you dripped down to your knees as we were waiting at the restaurant (which I discovered as I stood close behind you and teased), even then, I did not realize a girl could be as wet as you were. And how did you get so wet? Because I hurt you. And I know that, and we will revisit that and explore that later. You have, in your future, some very rough evenings. I can promise you that.

But I just looked into your eyes as I felt your wetness drip down over my cock and legs and down to my balls. I looked into your eyes and smiled and simply said, “I really like to hurt you,” as I kissed your tears away. I don’t think I have to tell you how any normal girl would have reacted, but do you remember what you did? Do you remember how your hips moved? Do you remember how your body moved to please me? I know you remember my hands on your back, holding you there as you rode me. My hand holding the back of your neck, your hair, the other hand in the small of your back as you moved on me—impossible perfection and grace. And the second time I came, I came in you like that, and we laughed into each other’s eyes as I fell back and spilled you onto the sheet in a not-so-gracious flail of arms and legs.

Remember how close I held you when we slept? Remember when you got up to go to the bathroom, how I did not quite awaken, but I growled my displeasure at you leaving my arms? Remember how I wrapped you up in warmth when you came back to bed?

I know you remember all of that, at least in little bits and pieces, as I hold you there, using your mouth again. How do you think this will end? Will I hold you there, again, just like before, and cum down your pretty little throat? Or I will I pull you up, lay your body over mine, and hold your hips while I slide into you, my hands on your flanks as I guide you, moving over me, riding me? All of those thoughts are gone, as my hands tighten around your neck, as I groan as I slide into your mouth, and you simple are—you simply are there, serving me, given to me, offering your body to me for my pleasure. In that moment, you simply are what you are—my beautiful, perfect, good little girl, and that is all that matters to either of us.

……….bumby rabbits