BDSM Forum

liplolley · Posted: Sat Feb 13, 2010 6:45 am Post subject: Two minutes of forever

I sit listening to the car make its cooling-down plinks and ticks and try to breathe. The hotel is just a half block away -- I got lucky finding parking. Now all I have to do is get there without my legs giving out. I stare numbly at the doormen I have to walk past and try to feel something -- anything. I'm not excited, I'm not scared ... finally I decide I am resigned. What is going to happen is going to happen, and it is out of my control. Glad to have assigned some sort of label to my entire lack of emotion, I open the door and start the miles-long half-block walk.

"You know you need this," he had said. I didn't know any such thing -- that was his fantasy. But, he should be allowed to have it. So, "yes," I had said. It wasn't a need, for me -- at least not the way he thought. He wanted me to need the pain, the control -- even the orgasms. What I needed was the connection. To be naked with someone who knew and understood my kinks and didn't judge me for them. And to give my heart the way I only can when a man is being so vulnerable with me as to trust me not to judge him for his. Nothing is as endearing as that -- the man who doesn't let most of the world know his cock gets hard when he sees his handprint on my ass and hears me whimper. But I know. I get to know him the way few others do. And I can't help but love him for letting me see him that way. Little-l love. I have learned not to let myself invest more in these men. They are broken. But so am I, really -- why else would I need to seek out experiences like this just to feel that rush of tenderness, that soft-hearted feeling for a man that reminds me I am alive?

I smile and thank the doorman as he welcomes me inside. I walk into hotels all the time when it's not to fuck a stranger. I can't look any different this time. But I feel sure he knows. I sigh a little, inside. Fine. This is who I am today. Gossip if you need to.

The elevator takes forever to come -- the small-talk with the tourist family from Muncie is excruciating. The hallway twists and turns like a labyrinth of sterile elegance. Behind the doors, I imagine, tired families argue, couples watch TV in silence, a man clips his toenails and brushes the clippings under the bed with his foot. Maybe, behind some of them, other naked women are allowing strangers to beat them. Finally, his door is in front of me, and suddenly I wish the hallway were even longer. I pause, regulate my breath, force my pulse to stop pounding in my ears ... and knock.

Why do people exchange heights and weights and hair color as if this tells you anything about them? The man in front of me, in real-live 3D, may look the same as the paper-doll version of him I had in my head, but apart from that, there is no resemblance. I feel the heat of his skin and the energy coming off of him in waves. It takes a minute to adjust.

I take the minute to step inside the door, make a stupid funny comment, laugh a nervous laugh. I look around the room. He is here for one night, but he has unpacked his suitcase. I never do that, even when I stay for a week. It's kind of cute. He needs this one room for one night to feel like home. I latch onto that fact, turning this stranger into a person in my head, so I can get where I need to be, to be with him. Before I can get there, his hand is in my hair, his lips are on my mouth. Strange lips. I am still too much inside myself for this. I worry about my breath, whether there is stubble on my lip, whether I am a good kisser. I go through the motions, sucking at his tongue, letting my head fall back when he pulls my hair ... but I am not there yet. He slaps my breast, through my clothes, and I worry that my bra -- reinforced to achieve the right level of heft and perkiness -- does not feel good under his hand.

Finally, the kiss is over, and his mouth goes to my ear. "Strip and get on the bed," he says. He steps away, crosses his arms, to watch. I am grateful for the distance. I can breathe again. I am glad to get out of my clothes, so I can stop feeling self-conscious about them and get on with the more important business of being self-conscious about my body. I remove my clothes quickly at first -- then I remember. The man's fantasy is that this moment is humiliating and awkward. He wants to see that. I slow down, try to focus on the fact that I am getting naked for a man for the first time. But I can't un-numb myself. I look into his eyes, trying to give him what he needs. The corner of his mouth twitches a little, like he started to smile, and caught himself. It is enough, that hidden smile. I know a secret about him. He is a nice guy, playing a mean-guy role. I relax.

On the bed, on all fours, spreading my knees wider apart to expose myself more for him at his command, I have only a moment to hope my feet don't smell, the backs of my thighs are shaved OK, there are no stray bits of toilet paper clinging anywhere, before SMACK! It begins. I shudder, feeling the sting course through my body, making my nipples and my clit swell, a little moan escaping. His hand caresses the mark it just made, then slides between my lips. The touch is a shock, pulling me back into myself, where I don't want to be. "You are wet, slut." he says. I grit my teeth. I know I am not that wet, not yet. I know I am not a slut, not really. His fingers feel cold and dry, strange. He fumbles for my clit, finds it, slips past it. "This is what you need, isn't it, whore." he says. "No, you stupid fuck, I need to get out of myself and let go, I need to see you, to know who you are, to love you," I think. But, "Yes sir," I say. I decide to grind myself down on his hand, as punctuation. "Good girl," he says. If he only knew.

But the 'good girl' gets me a little, like it always does, and I melt a little bit, into him. I want to be a good girl for him. I want him to have a good experience, to look back on it and have a bounce in his step. SMACK! comes his hand again, too hard, not the sexy kind of pain. I cry out. "Tell me you need it," he says. "I need you to beat my ass, sir" I choke out. My voice sounds like a whimper, and I didn't have to fake it. His hand comes down, three times, quickly, hard, on the same spot. I writhe, struggling not to pull away from him. My breath is coming in loud, ragged gasps. "What do you say, slut?" "Get the fuck away from me?" I think. "Thank you, sir," I say, through gritted, angry teeth.

I hear the whisper of his belt coming out of its loops. Ah, geez. I brace myself, and he lets the moment last, letting my tension build. Then CRACK! it comes down. I can't help it, I collapse on the bed with a cry. CRACK! again, two more times, fast. I feel panic rising in my throat. "You like being my little whore, don't you cunt?" he asks. I fight for breath. "Notsomuch, so far," I think. "Not so hard, please, you don't want me to freak out on you." I say, person to person rather than sub to dom. Luckily, he hears me. "I'm sorry," he says, reaching down to stroke my hair. It's a moment that will buy him so much, from me, later. My heart swells with gratitude towards this man, the real man, underneath the act. I know he is in there. But it's the dom who says "Get back up. Now."

I pull myself back on all fours again, and wait. His hands trace the marks from his belt. "How does it look?" I ask, the real me. The real him answers, "It looks really nice. You are going to feel that for a few days." He chuckles a little, and so do I, wriggling my ass under his hand for him. We are connected now, by that small moment of genuineness. We are lovers. The rest might be easy, fun, sensual even. "Can you take more?" my lover asks. "Yes please," I say, and mean it. "Spread your legs wider," commands the dom, and "Yes sir," answers the sub, quickly complying, trembling, afraid again now.

The belt comes down again, still hard, but bearable now. He can tell, and sends the next stroke grazing against my exposed cunt. I wail! But I do not collapse, I don't have to. I can take it, for him, because there is a real man in there who needs it, and I like him.

His next stroke hits the mark, and my cunt explodes! I jump a good two inches and struggle to stay in place and keep my legs apart. My nipples are so erect they feel like they may burst, and my cunt burns and aches. This time, his fingers are welcome there, as he slides them over the soreness. This time, I really am wet, and I grind onto his hand without thinking about it, coating him with my slickness. This time, I really am his slut, humping myself on his hand and asking him not to stop, please.

He pulls his hand away, and I whimper, pleadingly. "Not yet, slut," he says, and crawls onto the bed, next to me, offering his fingers to my mouth. I suck at them, for him, looking into his eyes -- at the man I know is in there, the man who needs this, and right now is getting his needs met by me. I smile at him. He smiles back. That does it. Right now, I would bear anything for him. He wipes the back of his hand on my cheek, and I pull away. He grabs my hair to hold my head still, and keeps wiping. "Don't rub it off," he whispers, gently, and I know it is a request. "Yes sir," I say, and suddenly the cold damp on my cheek is something I am proud to bear, for him. His fist loosens and he strokes my hair, and kisses my cunt-dampened cheek. "Good girl," he whispers, deeply, throatily, against my skin. I turn my face a little, to see if he will let me kiss him. He does, and this time I suck hungrily against his tongue and lips, trying to pull him into myself, make him mine. He relaxes into the kiss, and for just a moment, he might be kissing a date rather than a whore. I swoon. Then he collects himself, breaks the kiss, tightens his hand on my hair into a fist again, and pulls my head back. "Roll over," he commands.

I do. My body is warm and relaxed from the kiss, tingling, so very aroused. I spread my legs without having to be asked, slide my hands under the pillow above my head, exposing myself, needing it as much as he does.

He plays with my breasts, testing my responses to caresses, squeezes, pinches and pulls on the nipples. I am in heaven, and every touch sends a zing straight to my clit. I close my eyes and float somewhere above the bed. "Look at me," he says. I don't want to come out of my reverie, but I do, and focus on him, on his eyes, on the lips that I have kissed. Energy crackles between us, both of us suspended in a moment that is magically intimate in a weird way. It melts me completely. SLAP comes his hand on my breast, and it is all I can do to stay still and take it. My hand moves ever so slightly down to protect myself before I catch it. His eyes are still holding me captive, and I see his arousal at my reaction. "You can take it," he says, and SLAP! SLAP! he comes down again, harder. I roll onto my side, towards him, i can't help it, my hand has found its way there, to cradle my hot, sore breast.

He makes a scolding, tch-ing sound, and his eyes tell me what I have to do. Fighting every instinct, I roll back where I was, slide my hand back under the pillow, and try to keep breathing. He strokes the red marks, and I wince, but his touch is sweet. "They need to be beaten," he whispers, and I nod, shaking. He kisses me again -- oh, the heaven of it! And whispers "You want to be a good girl for me, don't you?" into my mouth. I can't form words. I am too far gone, but I breathe a little girl's "uh huh" against his lips, shaking.

He slaps again, and again, and I hold my place, kicking my legs because the pain has to go somewhere. If it were only the sting I could take it, but the heat! My breast is on fire, and my nipple burns terribly. He brings his hand down two last times, then lets it rest on my red, swollen breast, feeling the heat that is torturing me. I am panting, and he strokes gently and reminds me to breathe, and I try. He smiles into my eyes and brushes the hair away from my forehead, melting me with another "Good girl." Then he breaks that delicious eye contact, and lowers his mouth to my nipple.

"Oh nooo ... OK ... OK ... " I say, in spite of myself, voicing out loud my internal struggle to give in and let my lover have what he needs. His tongue comforts me, and I let it, even though I know he is just softening me up for -- ow! There. His teeth.

I writhe! This is a different pain, sharper, inescapable, and it courses through my whole body. I make strangling, gurgling noises as I hold my hands where they are as long as I can before trying to push him away. He captures my hands in his and holds them to the bed, sliding over me to get a more comfortable position as he bites and chews, licks and pulls at my tortured nipple. I am struggling in earnest now, and he is holding me down with his whole body. The heat of him comes through the wool of his sweater and calms me, just as his eyes did before. His legs straddle mine, pushing them together and keeping me from releasing the pain through them. I feel his cock, hard and hot, and I maneuver so that it hits me between the legs. I focus on humping against it -- it is a way of enduring the pain but also a desperate distraction ploy -- if I can get him to fuck me, the pain will stop.

But it won't. It crashes through me, and with my legs and hands pinned, I have nowhere to release it but out of my mouth. I let go with loud, whimpery, pleading sobs, riding the waves of pain, bucking against the body of the man who is both my lover and my abuser, and who right now owns me completely. I scream! I don't care. I don't exist. Nothing exists but the teeth, and the tongue, and the pain, and my body humping desperately against his.

Finally, with one loud, sucking pop, it is over, for now, and I mewl like a grateful kitten. His hands shift so that he is holding mine rather than pinning them down, and the warmth of them touches me deeply, soothing all the places inside that were panicked with pain a moment before. He is looking at me again, but I can't look back. I can't see, my eyes are swimming with unshed tears and my nose has dribbled onto my upper lip. The woman I was when I walked in the room would be able to think of nothing else but how disgusting she must look, dripping snot, gasping for air, face flushed, eyes red and swollen. She would be horrified. But now, nothing matters to me but him, and serving him, and being a good girl for him, and being his.

He slides himself down the length of my body and between my legs, pushing them apart again. I can feel his breath on my thighs and it feels cool against my wet cunt. With an almost audible 'whoosh' I am back inside my body and very uncomfortable. I don't want his mouth there. We have talked about that. But right now I can sense he wants to continue on my clit what he started on my nipple. I feel my loose, warm, relaxed body tense up. I don't want to have to say no to him, not now. He may be my right-now lover, but he hasn't earned that. Everything I have given him so far goes only so many layers deep in me. I can't give him the complete surrender of having a man bury his face in my cunt. It demands too much from me -- more of my heart than I am willing to give. More than I would be able to safely take back when I leave the room.

There's a long pause, a silent conversation between his body and mine. He is saying, please, I need this. I am saying, don't make me say no to you. Not unless you are the man who is going to call me to say goodnight even when you aren't horny. He says, I will, just let me. I say, you won't. You know it. Don't go there. The moment stretches, then with a sigh, he gives in and pulls back. But he will make me pay for it. Two fingers are where his mouth wanted to be, and he is penetrating me, hard. My legs want to curl up but he keeps his weight on top of them, pinning me down. With each thrust, his remaining folded fingers grind against my lips. I can't take it, this deep punishing violation, and I pull a pillow over my face and bite down on my scream. He doesn't stop. I am not his good girl right now, I am a fucktoy, a bitch, a cunt for him to use. I feel like I am being bruised inside and out and my body tenses in spite of itself for an orgasm I don't really want and can't really enjoy. He knows that is what's coming, and if anything, he ups the intensity, pounding his fingertips against my g-spot and grinding his knuckles against my tender cunt. I tense ... I freeze ... I go silent ... I can't breathe ... and then I SCREAM as if the orgasm is being torn forcibly from my throat. My body shakes with it ... my legs kick apart and he can't hold them. He keeps his fingers in me to the hilt as I convulse all over them, each spasm bringing another uncontrollable, sobbing moan.

My breast is on fire again, and the strokes on my ass feel like he has just delivered them. All the pain that had been held at bay by my arousal comes crashing in, and I turn a little on my side, clamping my legs on his hand, trying to bear it all, still cumming.

Finally, he slowly pulls out his fingers. I am weak. I feel battered all over my body. He brings his hand up to my face again and wipes it across both cheeks, my nose, my eyelids. I don't try to stop him. I can't.

"On all fours," he says. He is all dom, now. I can barely make myself move, but I do as I am told, and he positions himself on his knees behind me. I hear him unzip, hear the condom package tear open. Not now, oh please, my cunt is so sore, I think ... but the thought is far away. I can barely hear it. All I can do is shudder and wait.

Then his cock is sliding the length of my slit. It slides against the welt left by his belt, and I feel it get harder, remembering. It slips between my outer lips and slides against my sore and swollen pussy. There is nothing I can do but accept what he wants, and take whatever he needs his cock to give me. I clutch at the pillow. He nudges me open, then slides inside.

The fullness is a shock. It is hard to describe what being entered for the first time by a new cock is like. There is nothing else like it. A cock is alive, it is hungry. Fingers obey what the brain tells them to do, but the cock has a mind and a personality of its own. No two feel the same, and feeling one for the first time is like meeting a stranger.

This cock slides in, stays deep inside for a moment and pulses a little, stretching me open wider than the fingers did, but more gently. I hear the man inside my dom moan a little bit as he grabs my hips. I press my ass back against him in a slow, gentle rhythm. He responds with a groan, pulls off his sweater and collapses on top of me, embracing me as we sway against each other, and for a moment, we are making love and my heart melts for him again. The sore places inside and outside my cunt are soothed, comforted, caressed by his cock. I sigh gratefully and press and wriggle against him, wanting as much of my skin as possible to be touching his, needing that touch and that heavenly skin-against-skin warmth even on the sorest parts of my ass.

Then, too soon, he grabs my hair and gets back up on his knees. He starts thrusting into me. I am already so sore and sensitive, but a cock feels different from fingers, and my cunt doesn't mind at all. His fingers felt sharp, and the pain exploded yellow-white in my head ... his cock hurts with a round, delicious orange-red that makes me gush and flood him with wetness, and whimper incoherent pleadings and prayers to gods I don't believe in. I slam back against him, matching his rhythm, for as long as I can, and then I just stop and hold still and let myself be fucked, letting out with a steady stream of ogods and yeses and nnngs.

He slaps into me noisily, and I am about to cum again, but enjoy it this time, when he slows down, changing his grip on my hair, running the fingers of his other hand along the welts on my ass. I know he is watching his cock enter me now, and I wish I could see that. How hot it must look, coated with my slipperiness, opening me up and pushing my inner lips in a little, then pulling them back, sliding them along the length of his cock. I picture it, and moan into my pillow, thrusting my ass and arching my back to give him a better view. He slaps my ass in appreciation, and the sharp sting barely registers at this point, above the steady waves of o-god-yes-more-good-good-jesus-good sensation his cock is sending through me.

His pace quickens again, and it's different now. He is fucking me with the desperate abandon of a man who is about to cum, and he is praying loudly now, too. I love hearing him, knowing that he has gotten to that out-of-body place he kept me in for so long. If God existed, no prayers to Him would be as loud and as heartfelt as those that escape the lips of couples rutting like animals who are about to cum. Our prayers turn to shouts and he tenses and twitches inside me. I am so aroused knowing he is about to cum that I cum too, and my spasms all over his cock send him over the edge. He lets go with a loud gutteral grunt that turns into a stream of obscenities -- I am a fucking cunt again, and I am taking his load, bitch. He pulls back even harder on my hair, my whole scalp aches, but I want it. I want him to have this. I want to give him this. I want to be his good girl.

At last he collapses on top of me, his sweat mixing with mine. We roll against each other the way lovers somehow know to do, until he is on his back and I am nestled under his arm. He is sweaty and he smells, but I don't mind -- I breathe in the scent of him and try to memorize it, so I can call it back when I am lonely in bed at night.

This is the cuddle. This is what it's all about, what makes it all worth it. I have been a good girl, and he is grateful, and he holds me close and tries to get his breath back. I soak in every bit of it -- the feel of his arm around me, the rise and fall of his chest against my cheek, the stubble on his face, in close-up. Right now, for the next two minutes, I am so in love with this man I can hardly breathe. I am alive with love, it tingles in my toes and in my fingers, and I feel like my chest may just burst with it. I feel. And it feels good.

Then, the two minutes are up. He needs to get the condom off, and he wants to jump in the shower. I can stay, we can order room service if I want, maybe put on a movie. But that's OK, I really should get home. Where I can relax and not have to be anything for anyone. Where I can go safely numb again.

He lets me use the bathroom first; I hurry, imagining a cold wet sticky condom must not feel very nice. Then I dress. There's a hug, there's a kiss, there's even a nuzzle, but I am already back into myself, I know it doesn't mean anything. He won't call. I pack up my things and the pieces of my heart I let him borrow for the past couple of hours, and say goodbye.

The doormen smile knowingly at each other as I leave the hotel. Fine. That's who I am today. Gossip if you need to.

I drive home.