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Then suddenly the salvation of cold lotion. Two hands massaged the burning skin, fingers slid into my cunt, transporting me to the cusp between pain and pleasure. Seconds later, as I felt his hard cock power its way forward to my very depths, my world exploded and shattered with shock waves of pleasure. Now I let myself scream as he pulled himself back and plunged deep again. My legs were trembling, but he hooked an arm around me to keep me in position as he slammed into me again and again. With every wave of pleasure my muscles tightened around him, grasping his cock, pulling it in as he pulled it out and finally I felt the hot surge of his release as he groaned long and loud, still pumping hard for the duration of his orgasm.
He let go of me and I slumped forward on the cushion he’d put underneath me earlier. His cock, no longer hard, slipped out of me followed by a rush of hot semen running down my legs. I gasped for breath, once again feeling the pain he’d wrought as the pleasure subsided.
And suddenly I was swept, crying, into his arms as he carefully took me across his lap, regardless of the sticky, dripping mess. I cried out in pain as my buttocks came to rest across the top of his thighs and he pulled me into his most tender embrace. One hand pushed my sweaty fringe back from my forehead and then he kissed me, softly, tenderly and passionately on my lips.
Tears were still running down my cheeks, and he brushed them away with a gentle finger. I could smell my own juices still on his hand.
“Don’t cry, sweet girl,” he whispered, smiling at me with the softest eyes.
I sniffed loudly and burrowed my head against his shoulder.
“You feel better now, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“Say it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And you know it was all for your own good, don’t you?”
I kissed him timidly along his collarbone.
“Yes, Sir.”
“So you won’t put your naughty fingers into Merta’s sweet pussy again, will you?”
“No, Sir. I promise I won’t, Sir.”
“If you do, you know what will happen, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I sighed and he caressed my back. Then he gently pushed me down onto my front and applied more lotion to my pulsing, red cheeks. His hands slowly circled them with gentle, methodical movements. Despite the residual pain, the cool of the lotion and touch of his hands on my skin was blissful. Soon my belly tightened with desire once more and, as he heard my breathing come faster, he allowed a finger to slip into my cunt. He pushed it in deep until he found my G-spot and gently massaged it for a moment. It took little more than this to carry me off into that perfect dimension of overriding physical sensation. I came with a fierce cry and a spasm of arms and legs and back, and I heard him laugh at the pleasure he’d brought me.
This was my reward for taking my punishment and for promising not to transgress again.
But...if Sir really didn’t want me to touch Merta, why did he insist that she carry out her duties in the shortest little skirt, without panties?
BODY TEMPERATURE
Thomas S. Roche
I’m pleased—and lucky—that Aisha doesn’t see the cooler in the corner of the bedroom when I’m tying her up.
I don’t want to blindfold her until it’s done. I know she loves watching me do it. She gets off on the way I tie her. She stares with fascination and mounting arousal as I circle her body with rope, leaving certain parts exposed for my attention. I get her tits tied tight, but leave her nipples accessible.
I spread her legs and loop her lower thighs, securing them to the tie-downs at the base of the bed, but I leave her upper thighs—and her pussy, of course—nice and open.
Her temperature rises as she gets more turned on, and as I shroud her in rope. I’m not speaking metaphorically; our tiny bedroom was well over ninety degrees. We both were sweating our balls off. There, I’m speaking metaphorically...at least for one of us.
It had been more than a hundred all day, the tenth day in a nightmarish heat wave. Our tiny apartment doesn’t have air-conditioning. Our window unit broke at the start of the season; our thrift-store swamp cooler broke after running for seven days straight. I won’t go so far as to say we’d killed the goose that laid the golden egg, because a secondhand swamp cooler hardly craps out golden eggs. But if you believe in such things, you are welcome to say that our environmental carelessness met with grim retribution from Mother Earth.
I get Aisha tied to the bed; she’s red all over, dripping sweat. She looks both excited and angry; I can tell she’s annoyed. The ropes make her hot; everything makes her hot.
And when she’s hot, I’m hot. By the time this is over, she’ll either kiss me or kill me. And in this heat, I’m basically fine with either.
The opportunity to stash the cooler came when a bitchy Aisha announced that she was going to take a shower, and I knew what she’d say when she got out. I was right.
