Sunday, I woke up a while before Mr. D woke up. I laid in bed next to him enjoying the early morning quiet. I smiled thinking about our antics with the chili peppers the night before and promised myself I would not be the one to start anything today. I sighed inwardly knowing that I really needed to leave him alone sexually so he could heal. Damn but it’s hard keeping my hands off the man. If we were going to be bad, I was determined it wasn’t going to be me starting things. I can’t deny him but I wouldn’t start anything. There, my mind was made. I could be strong. Then he woke up.
“Get over here woman.” I beamed a happy morning smile and snuggled up to him. He woke up and we talked while we snuggled. My hands were on him as they always are. I just have to touch him. He’s got the most amazing fur. Light-colored, soft fur over his manly hardness….pure addiction. Excuse me while I obsess a moment…okay, I’m done, lol.
I kept my hands to generally non-sexual areas. We kissed and talked. I asked him how he was feeling. I said, “I’m being good. I’m not touching you or provoking you in any way to start something.” I was trying really hard. Fuck, I wanted him. I’m a horrible person. I tried to keep it to myself. He kissed me again. This time I returned the passion in his kiss twofold. I could feel the heat coming off of him. We were in so much trouble.
“Daddy, I’m trying really hard to be good. I don’t want to make things worse.” More kissing and now I’m hiding against his side. I’m desperate to grind into him but I restrain myself. His fingers curl into my hair pulling me up and forcing my eyes to his.
“What I love…” his molten blue eyes locked fiercely on mine, “is how little control we have over this.” His kiss burned through me then. “Baby, touch Daddy’s cock.” Then I knew it was all over. I’m at once resigned that I’ve failed him and over the top ecstatic that he’s going to fuck me. The friction between us, both trying to resist the inevitable, has kicked us beyond normal levels and into another realm of kinetic passion entirely.
We were wild in our connection. Daddy was deep into his Dominance. I felt like a shark rolling in chum. I wanted the scent of his Dominant spirit all over me. When he thrust into me I cried out with the need of him. His hand was on my throat, choking me, my head thrown back in invitation. He slapped my breasts hard. The pain was shocking, his Dominance riotous.
I wanted everything. His control of me and our passion on the edge of control together. His voice filled my whole essence. The more he talked of his capture of me the wetter I became. The more pain he inflicted the wetter I got. When he told me how wet I was I noticed the slick moisture sliding between us from belly to thigh. How does that happen? I have no control over it, he has all the control.
I cry and whimper and I want the pain to stop but he is learning my triggers. “I am figuring you out baby girl. You have this look of torture on your face but I can see you get all squirrelly in here,” his finger taps my forehead, “and then I feel a flood down there.” He grinds his cock deeper into me. “You can’t lie to me.” And with his words comes another flood.
I understand it and I don’t. I do want to run from the pain. Breast torture is more pain than I thought it would be or thought I could handle but the results…I can’t deny them. I can’t deny him. I’m a hopeless addict and he’s the fix. His dominance and his voice inside my head send me to some other place, a place I want to be all the time now.