“Sense and Sensuality, or Jane Austen’s Tears”
1 To say “It started innocently enough” would be wrong. There was nothing innocent about what we were planning, what we were doing. The texts with just a hint of double-entendre. The links to pictures and essays on Fetlife we sent to each other.
No, it wasn’t innocent. We knew what we were doing, and we liked it. We liked the sneaking around (even though our partners knew full well the gist of what we were doing). We liked the excitement of knowing that someone wanted to this, that, or that other thing to us. Or that they were thinking of us in that way when they were by themselves or even with their partner. It was… a nice change from the usual. Well, for me, anyways.
Our texts were never overt, never crude, never trite. No “What are you wearing?” or “What would you do to me if I was there right now?” It was assumed that if and when it happened, it would happen. We’d hint at things. We’d call each other to remember past dalliances and then play those memories in our mind, a smile on our lips and an extra beat in our hearts.
It was all quite sensible. Jane Austen would be proud.
We tried to keep that sensibility during our dinner, with less success. We tried to ignore what we both knew we wanted, but we couldn’t. Small talk devolved into gazes, grins, and blushing. Nervous, clammy hands rested against each others and began to warm up. A foot caressed a calf. A finger caressed a wrist, maybe digging a nail into the skin, following by a biting of a lower lip. Our bodies trembled ever so slightly at each other’s touch, anticipating more, wanting more, wanting to throw off this pretense and take each other right there, on the table, in public, and to hell with anyone who saw and their reactions.
We tried. We really tried.
The teasing continued in the ride to the hotel, arms being scratched, hands on thighs then between them. An earlobe is nibbled on at a stoplight. A trembling sigh leaving a throat. Speeding through a red light and not giving a damn, we just need to get into the room and actually touch each other, really touch each other and explore each other once again, find what was home to our fingers and mouths and other body parts we’re not willing to say or touch because we’re trying so hard to be sensible even though God knows it’s a lost cause at this point.
We arrive at the hotel and check in. We grab the key card from the front desk clerk before he gets a chance to put it in that little while envelope and walk brusquely to the elevator. We stand before the metal doors, two sets of eyes on the lighted display, watching the numbers change from five, to four, to oh my GOD WHY WE SHOULD JUST TAKE THE STAIRS to G, then grinning slightly as the doors finally open. About bloody time.
Jane Austen would be rolling her eyes at us now.
Our hands find each others as we wait inside the small metal box. Clammy and warming up. It’s going to happen. It’s finally going to happen again. I squeeze your hand, you squeeze back, hard. I feel electricity shoot through my body. You want this so much. I’ve wanted this for so long, but to actually feel your urgency makes me feel my feet leave the ground.
The doors open and we search for our room. You fumble with the key just a little before I take your hand and slowly guide the plastic card into the slot. We pull it out and hear the satisfying ‘click’ of the lock disengaging. The key disappears inside your pocket and we enter the room.
Finally. Just the two of us. Alone. Sweet, blessed privacy.
As the door closes our hands reach for each other, pull each other close and kiss. You tilt your head to the side and grab my face, eager to taste my lips. Yours are as I remember them, as is your tongue. Once timid and unsure, it seeks mine out and assaults it with surprising fervor. I sink into your embrace running my hands through your hair.
We take turns with our hunger, biting each other’s lips or tongue, clutching at the other’s clothes, skin or hair. We gasp as lips or teeth press against a neck, as hands pull hair, as throats rumble with growls. We stumble blindly towards the bed, fall upon it, and continue our lustful attacks on each other.
By this time, Jane would be shaking her head.
Briefly, we stop kissing to catch our breath.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
You grin, and look down at my pants, the outline of my erection showing through. You stroke the length of it and look up at me, biting your lip. “I want to hurt you.” You say, and then squeeze me, shaft and all. I jump, not expecting this—you were never like this when we were together. “And I want to hurt this.”
You see my eyes widen and you chuckle. “Frightened?” you say.
I catch my breath, my heart thudding loudly in my head and throat. “A.. a little. I’ve never let you… or anyone do anything to that before.”
You smile gently and rub my cock gently. “If you’re good, then you can fuck me.”
“I thought that was a given.” I say, a bit taken aback.
Your smile widens. “Oh please, Andy. You should know by now that I have standards when it comes to this sort of thing. Besides,” you move your lips to my neck, “I have complete faith in your ability to please me.” Then a bite, and you chuckle against my skin as you feel my cock stiffen against your hand.
As I gasp, I pull your hair, trying to get you to release your grip on my skin. It takes a while (and you do make a couple of delightful sounds as I tug again and again on your hair) but eventually you do relent. You look at me and lick your lips, going in for another kiss.
“Wait.” I say, pressing my finger against your lips. Your mouth swallows my finger and begins to suck on it. Your eyes taunt me, saying “What? What is it you want, little man?”
“Ngh. Fine, but if I get to fuck you, I get to fuck you the way I want to fuck you.”
You slide my finger out of your mouth. “And how’s that, then?”
Again, I reach for your hair and pull it back, hard. Now it’s my turn to grin at your gasp. I drag my nails down your exposed neck, pressing in against your throat. The palm of my hand presses against your trachea, softly, slowly. Not enough to actually choke you, just enough to alarm you and make it difficult for you to breathe.
“When I fuck you, I get to hurt you, too. So much that you cry out.” I lean in, tug on your hair and smile at your grimace. “I’ve only heard you gasp. Never heard you cry out. I’m going to enjoy making that happen. I’m going to enjoy hearing how much you’ve changed.”
I release your neck. Kiss you passionately and feel you return the passion immediately. Jane Austen weeps.
“Well then,” you say. “Let’s get started.”
2
Being naked, tied to a bed spread-eagle before you has always been a dream of mine. Being completely at your mercy, discovering how devilish and deviant you are with your favourite tools, seeing your eyes widen at my reactions, hearing your breath go shallow and deep as you hear me cry out. I’d imagine myself getting off at your pleasure, at being your canvas, stretched out before you. I’d imagine it would be wonderful.
In the abstract, in the imagination, it is. In reality, it’s terrifying. It’s been said to never say “I’m up for anything” with a sadist, because what they think is fun might not be your idea of fun. I’ve just remembered that now.
You lay beside me, fully clothed. So not fair. Your nails gently trace along my chest sending shivers down my spine and making me arch my back. You smile, and bite your bottom lip as you let your fingers move precariously to my shaved pubic area. “I’m going to have so much fun with this.” You say. You curl your fingers around my fully erect cock and stroke it, nails sliding up and down the shaft. I grunt in surpise at the sensation, struggle feebly against my bonds, and then you slap it. Hard. No warning.
As I cry out I wonder if you think I’m a wuss for not being able to take the pain, that I should have just screamed inside my head instead of letting out a sharp bark of pain. I’m comparing myself to others, and that’s never good. I should stop.
“You okay?” you ask, stroking me softly, trading in the pain you gave me for a brief respite of pleasure. I respond with something like “Nnnnguh-huh.”
“Good. Now, don’t move. Moving will make things worse, and I don’t think you want me to make things worse.” You bring your fingers together and slowly slide them down to the base of the shaft, and then even more slowly, digging them into my cock’s flesh, slide them up my skin.
The pain is horribly intense, more than anything I’ve ever experienced. I reflexively pull against my bonds, but do not move my hips. I don’t know how, but I don’t move away. My yell is more than a bark, though. It’s a full growl that ends with me panting, gasping for air.
“Impressive,” you chuckle, gently rubbing the skin, easing the pain out. I barely hear you over my heartbeat. “Let’s try that again.” This time you really dig your nails in, drawing up lines of fire. I can’t stop myself. I yell out, not bothering to try to silence it. I feel your mouth on mine, partially silencing my scream as it passes to your mouth. You move slightly and then bite down on my bottom lip, eliciting another scream. My cock stiffens at this combined assault—both hands and lips—and I know you’re loving this. Knowing this, my cock throbs in your hand, glad to be pleasing you. So glad I’m so good.
You release your twin grip and lick my lips, gasping for air. Oh god I taste blood. You bit my lip so hard that you broke the skin. I look up at you and see you licking your redder than normal lips, that evil grin on your face.
“Oh, you’re fun.” You say. “You make all the nice noises.” You draw out the word ‘nice’ in a deep throaty voice. Nnniiiiiiiice. You crawl overtop of me, looking down at me as you lower your crotch against mine. I feel the wetness of your pants on my dick. You grind against me, shuddering. “I wonder how those noises would sound with my pussy on your lips.
I don’t know what to say. What do you say to something like that. “Hey, I want to hurt your cock till you scream into my pussy?” “Um. ‘kay?”
I manage a breathless “Nugh. Mm. Yes.”
My eyes are still closed. My mind is still reeling from everything that has been happening. You hurt me and I took it. You were aroused by my pain, and are giving me a chance to give you direct pleasure. I did good. I did good.
I hear the rustle of you removing your pants. The gentle clink of the belt buckle. Then I feel the blood rush back into my arms as you untie and gently massage them. “Now,” you say, giving my arm a gentle kiss. “I’ve released your arms to make this easier for you. I want your hands on my body at all times. Failure to do so will upset me,” and you swat at my cock, making me jump. “And we don’t want that, do we?”
“N… no.”
You slap the underside of my dick, catching my balls with them. My cry is louder, filled with pain, and tears escape my eyes. My chest rises and falls quickly, recovering from the attack.
“Call me Mistress.” You say, stroking my balls. “Just this once.”
Your fingers are soothing, and the pain is soon forgotten. Not for long, I know, but for now, it’s a blessed dull throb. “No, Mistress.” I say.
You turn around and place yourselves on all fours, presenting your shaven self to me. The heady smell of you fills my nostrils and I’m in heaven because I know I’ve pleased you enough to make you wet. Obediently, remembering your instructions, I place my hands on your asscheeks and hold them there.
“Now,” you say. “Do your duty. Eat your Mistress’ pussy and scream for me.”
Eagerly I spread your lips and sink my tongue in deep, pressing my face against you. Immediately my face is slick with your wetness. You gasp, and then I feel wetness around my cock. Sweet, holy wetness as you begin to suck it. Slowly. Teasingly. Your tongue swirls about my head, making me shudder and clench every part of my body, but I never stop caressing inside you with my tongue.
My tongue curls, the tip inside you, tasting you. I spread your cheeks wide and press in deeper, intoxicated by your scent. This bliss is wonderful. Being inside you on both ends. This is not what I expected. I expected
Pain. No longer are your lips pressed against my shaft, but your teeth. Biting as you slide up, I grunt inside you, digging my fingertips—not my nails, that would be bad—into your skin. You thankfully stop before you reach the head, instead going back down to the shaft and beginning again, harder this time.
I want to grip the bed, to steady myself, but that would be… that would be much worse than this. I don’t know how. I don’t think I could deal with CBT toys, I’m already in rough shape.
So again my fingertips dig in and I release a growl into your cunt. I work through it. Ignore it, I tell myself. Give her what she wants. Flatten your tongue and
As my tongue leaves you it caresses your clit and I hear you “Mph.” against me. With a loud slurp and pop you take my dick out of your mouth. “No fair,” you say. “I’m not supposed to cry out yet.”
“Didn’t hear anything, Mistress.” I say, straightening my tongue so I may resume fucking you with it.
More pain as you take my cock in your mouth and bite down at the base of the shaft. Your hand, once caressing my balls, now begin to squeeze them tightly. It’s more than I can bear. The passion, the anger, the lust of your actions make me cry out, my lips against yours, in an inarticulate yell.
You shudder at that and buck your pussy against me. Another bite. Dragging it up. I growl a “Ggggrraaaah!” against you and you press yourself against my face.
The pain is too much. I need to do something. I don’t know if I can go
You squeeze my balls so hard I see starbursts in front of my eyes. “HHaaaaah!” I say, my mouth leaving you.
I need to do something. I need to stop you. I’m sorry.
I brush my tongue against your clit again, and you grunt around my dick. You release it and are about to say something—admonish me, no doubt—but before you say anything I flick my tongue across your sensitive bud and you shiver. Again, and you press yourself against me and again I’m enveloped in your scent and you’re probably mad at me but I don’t care I can only hope this distracts you enough to save my poor little cock from your evil mouth.
I rub the flatness of my tongue against you and feel your face on my leg. Panting, trying to say something, but only being able to get out “G..h. W…h”. I continue to lap at your clit and you bite the inside of my leg. That’s fine. I can take that. Just stay away from my dick for now. Let it heal.
I’m holding you steady because you’re shaking at every caress now, my arm pressing down on the small of your back. Fluid runs into my face and I don’t care if I drown in it. I alternate between sucking on your clit and licking it and you alternate from biting my leg and biting harder on my leg. Now I feel nails. It’s as if you’re trying to refuse the pleasure I’m giving you, transferring it as pain onto me.
We continue this for god know how long. We both know that it feels awesome. You grip my penis with your hand and begin to stroke it, still biting into my leg. I slide a finger inside you, cover it with your juices and slowly ease it into your ass. Gods, how warm and tight it is in there. I slowly begin to fuck your ass with my finger, and you move in rhythm with it, eagerly meeting it with every stroke.
I continue my assault on your clit, spinning my tongue around it, flicking it, licking it while fucking your ass. My dick leaves your mouth and I feel your whole body start to shudder and then I feel a warm rush of fluid on my face as you come. You still don’t cry out. Just gasp and grunt and clench your cunt as you do so.
You collapse atop of me, still shaking. You grab my shaft again and start to masturbate me but I ask you, “Please, no.”
You move yourself away from my mouth and now lay beside me, half undressed. So still not fair. You stop actively jerking me off and gently stroke it instead. You kiss my calf. “Why not?”
“Because,” I say, still gathering my breath from the intensity of the past half hour. “I still get to fuck you, remember.”
You give my calf a little nibble and begin untying my legs from the bedframe. “I remember.” You say. “But you won’t get me to cry out.”
I smile and pull you towards me. I kiss you deeply. I can taste my cock on your tongue, and you can taste your juice on mine. “I think I will.” I say.
I get up from beside you and roll you over until you’re on your belly. I reach under your shirt and drag my nails down your skin, making you hiss through your teeth. I then kiss the red lines I drew, licking your delicious skin as I do so. Again, another set of scratches and another hiss followed by a happy “hmmmm.” You nestle into the bed, a pleased expression on your face.
I slide my hands around, cup your breasts and give your nipples a small and playful pinch. Another gasp, another happy sigh. I smile creeps upon my lips. This is nothing. This isn’t even foreplay.
I kiss the back of your neck with a small nip and then roll you back over to take off your shirt.
Finally. Naked and glorious before me.
I lean in and lick your nipple, circling around it like I did your clit a few minutes ago. I grab the other one and pinch it hard with my fingers. Your gasp is louder this time, and your body shakes, but again comes that satisfied sigh.
I gently bite down on your breast, taking the whole nipple—areola and all—in my mouth. I press the tip to the roof of my mouth with my tongue, stroke it with it’s slick roughness. You grunt and grab my head, digging your nails into my scalp, trying to pull me away. I fight back, and wrapping my arm around your waist, holding your squirming body close as you fight to break free.
Knowing that I need to distract you, my other hand reaches between your legs, which you reflexively clamp shut. Not taking no for an answer, I force my hand between them and find you still wet. A pinch on your inner thigh is all it takes for me to get full access to your lovely cunt. Two fingers begin to slide in and out of you rapidly. I curl my fingers so that as they slide inside you they pinch and slide along your clit, and your struggles abide as waves of pleasure fill your body.
This is the you I remember, the gasping for air, the shuddering, the loudly whispered “Oh god” making it’s way through other unintelligible utterances. This is the you from before. From when we were together. When we would fuck in my basement, when we fucked at the Briars. I remember this.
But I want more. I manipulate your clit, slap your cunt and make you come again with my fingers and mouth. The sounds you make are wonderful, but not enough. It’s not enough that I make you come, but that I make you cry out for me. That I hear the lovely beast within release herself at my rough touch.
Without giving you a chance to recover, I flip you over and pull your hips towards me so that your pussy swallows my cock.
We both sigh as I enter you.
I slide my hands up and down your back, loving the warmth and feel of your skin beneath me, loving the fact that I’m inside you once again, and you press against me, eager to feel myself inside you.
We begin to fuck, slowly at first, enjoying the sensation of slowly easing into you and pulling out, into you, then pulling out. You breathe in every time I pull out, and then breathe out when I re-enter. Over and over again, filling you, then voiding you, teasing you. Every time I enter I thrust hard against you, every time I leave it’s slow, sweet and leaves you feeling empty.
“Please,” you whisper. “Fuck me. Please.”
I smile. That’s close. I don’t think I’ve had you ask to be fucked before. It’s a start.
“Not quite yet.” I say, pulling out one last time.
Another sigh, this one sadder than the others. “Please.” You say again, right before I smack your ass with my hand.
You jump, and then slump your shoulders, immediately assuming the position. Head down, ass up. Such a lovely ass. I tell you that. You say nothing.
I smack it again, harder. And again. And for good measure, I slap your pussy. You groan in ecstacy.
“I told you you had a lovely ass.” I say, slapping between your legs. “What do you say?”
“Th.. thank you.” You say quietly. Too quietly for my taste. Another slap between your legs—did you move them further apart? Hm.
“Louder.”
“Thank you.” You say, obeying me. I realize that’s a nice statement—obeying me. I decide to push my luck. Another slap, wet, and hard. I feel you jump.
“Thank you, what?”
You turn your head slowly towards me. Very slowly. Through heavy lidded eyes and a devilish smile you say “Thank you, Sir.”
I shrug. That’ll have to do. Baby steps.
I continue to alternate between spanking your ass and pussy and each time you jump, squirm, and gasp. But not once do you cry out. Fine. You want to be difficult. I can be difficult.
I leave the bed and go to my toybag. As I rummage through it I look up and see you looking at me. “Eyes front, girl!” I yell. Instead of whipping your face back like I said, you smile and slowly retrun to starting at the headboard.
So that’s how it’s going to be.
I find what I was looking for and come back to you, putting it on. I reach forward and grab your hair. “What was that you just did?” I growl into your ear.
You shiver at my growl, but your voice remains steady. “I did as you said, Sir.” Your eyes never leave the headboard. “Eyes front.”
In response to your not-quite-insubordination I bite your neck. “GOD!” you gasp. “NNGH.”
“You’re being a bit of a smartass, girl.” I say, tugging your hair back. “Not fun.”
My other hand goes to your throat and you feel gentle stroking, accompanied with… pricks of pain? You try to look and see what’s going on but I have your head held fast. My hand slides up and down your throat, and little lines of pain explode all over your skin.
“I bought a nice new toy, girl.” I say. “Here.” I remove my hand from your neck and show it to you. A simple leather glove on one side, but the other has rows of tiny sharp spikes running down each finger, and a pentragram of spikes in the palm. Your eyes widen at this.
“You’ve probably seen these before. Hell, you’ve probably used them. They’re nice for sensation play.” I stroke your cheek with a finger, being ever so careful not to mark your skin. “They can also be used for spanking.” And I show you. A nice, swift slap on your ass and you grunt with the new pain caused by the spikes. I let go of your hair and look at the five fingered print on your ass. “Niiiiice.”
“But I’ve also discovered,” I say while putting the other glove on, “Is that they’re also good for fucking. You see,” I kneel behind you again, carefully take my throbbing, eager cock in my hand, and slide it up and down your slick slit. “I need to hold onto you somehow.” I slide myself inside you, and slap my hands onto your shoulders.
As I do so I’m rewarded with a loud grunt and some panting breaths.
“Are you ready, girl?” I curl my fingers around your neck. “Because this is going to hurt.”
I begin to fuck you. Not slowly this time, but hard. Every thrust I pull back on your neck, digging the spikes in. Each thrust brings the spikes in deeper and deeper. My dick is sopping wet from your desire, and that just urges me on. You meet my thrusts despite knowing that each one will hurt you more and more.
I slide my hands down your chest, making you arch your back. My fingers slide down your breasts, to your nipples and two fingers pinch each one, side by side. Not using the spikes, not yet. I take the time to enjoy your movements. You slide along my dick so easily, so eagerly. When we were younger it didn’t feel like this, there wasn’t this much… urgency, this much passion when we fucked. I was treating it more like a romantic thing. I can’t speak for you.
But now this, this is just fucking. This is pain and passion nd pleasure all rolling together into one. This is two people taking and giving at the same time and it’s wonderful, if wicked.
I move my fingers slightly, and little pins pierce your nipples. I grab them hard as you ride me and as I fuck you.
Your moans and gasps grow in length and loudness as we slam against each other. Slick, wet, sweaty flesh slapping over and over in a faster and faster rhythm. Never have we felt something like this, relishing in each other’s pain, relishing in the pain given.
I keep one hand on your nipple, squeezing, twisting. The other goes to your hair, pulls you back even more. Your back must hurt. I don’t know how much, but right now I don’t care. I just want one thing.
“Come for me, my girl.” I say. And you do.
As I twist your nipple you let out another “GOD!” I release it, and continue to pump your pussy. I hold onto your hair with both hands, fucking you frantically, my balls slapping against your clit with every thrust.
“DAMMIT!” you say, and shudder. Your arms buckle and I let your hair go. You bury your face into the bed and I hear a muffled “FUCK ME!”
My pin encrusted hands grab your hips and pull you harder and harder. You scream at the pain of my hands on your hips, scratching back and forth. “GOD, FUCK ME, ANDY!”
That does it. That’s all I need. I pull out, let go of your hips and shoot over the small of your back with a loud, triumphant yell. My body feels warm, my feet and fingers tingle. Starbursts behind my eyelids.
I manage to move up to you, to collapse beside you, to curl up next to you as we both recover from the experience. We spoon, you grab my arm and wrap it around you, and we both lay there, shivering.
We say nothing as we drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.
END.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/427jgj/sense_and_sensuality_or_jane_austens_tears_mf