Tap, tap, tapping with the crop. I try to think. The crop distracts me, kissing my skin, asserting its access, pinning me down. And you are there, driving everything. This will go exactly as you want it to go. You, your choice, your hands. Bare for you in every way, I savor this anticipation more than I should, its intoxicating mix of fear and desire. The familiar thought flashes through my mind before I can block it: *Addict.*
You haven’t asked a question, so I keep quiet. Focusing on my position, I square my shoulders to support me, my hands flat on the seat of the chair. I press my ass out for you, and check that my feet, in these heels you like, are slightly more than shoulder-width apart to expose the holes, to open the cunt. I keep my back straight and strong, except a small sway at my waist. Offering myself to you, as always, and trying to be pleasing to your eyes, and your cock — worthy property.
I had felt cold at first, my skin and lips open to the air, but I never remain so. You want to see me pink and red. Nice and warm for you.
“When you’re a slut, two minutes is a long time to wait. To have your ass used,” you say. Tap, tap, tapping my ass. Every fourth or fifth tap is a sting — harder than a tap. You want to remind me that taps are play. And you don’t play, much.
“Isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
WHACK.
“Say it.”
I whimper and then beg, silently, for you to move on to the other cheek.
“Sir, two minutes is a long time to wait to have my ass used.”
“Your slutty ass…. Say it.”
“Two minutes is a long time to wait to have my slutty ass used, Sir.”
“Do pretty girls think so? Do pretty, classy girls have a hard time waiting two fucking minutes to be stuffed,” you ask, centering the crop now over my asshole and intensifying the strikes.
“No, Sir,” I manage.
Why do I always allow myself to think I’m equal when you let me dress up? Why do I never, ever learn?
“No, Sir, *what*?”
You commence beating my asshole now, in a steady, controlled barrage. The strong little ring of muscle answers the crop: tense and release, tense and release. My cunt, too, listens and obeys the crop like a twisted little slave.
“No, Sir…” Think, THINK… “NO, Sir, they… the pretty girls don’t think those things.”
You stop and chuckle. I feel your hand, your fingers running smoothly over my cheeks, over that burning opening.
“Are you having trouble with your words, cunt?” you ask calmly, clinically, like a scientist, who is noting, “*A good cropping on the asshole makes the slut more… stupid*.”
“I’ll do better, Sir,” I offer, fighting for my focus, looking straight ahead.
I feel my cunt grabbing, grabbing for your cock. I want your cock. Breathe.
“I didn’t ask you what you’ll do, slut.”
You come around in front of me and lay the crop across the seat of the chair, by my hands. You also lay your phone on the seat, so I can see a timer. 1:17, 1:16, 1:15… You lean into my ear, “That was less than a minute, punishing that filthy little asshole that belongs to me.”
You touch the phone screen and it changes, displaying now a static 2:00.
“I’ll do the math for you: two minutes is… *longer*.”
I am eying the bulge in your pants, thinking back on your text, on my mistake.
“Open wide and don’t close.”
I obey.
“Wider,” you demand, unzipping your fly and lazily jerking your cock.
I stretch for you.
“Wide, you fucking cunt… That’s it. Just like that. Stick your tongue out. Don’t close. Got it?” You sigh. “Nod your head, whore, and start the timer.”
I nod, and tap the green circle on the phone. 1:59, 1:58… My neck and jaw tense as you slide your cock, thick and hard, deep into my waiting mouth. I let out a muffled moan in gratitude for it, and for the taste your precum on my tongue. Nothing feels more right in my mouth and throat than your beautiful cock, Sir. But in the next instant, you’ve pulled out. I yelp when you slap my face hard, causing me to flinch, to close, to swallow, to falter on my heels. You are not chuckling as I scramble to regain my posture.
“Bad dog. Tongue out, I said, and keep it out.”
Hooking the fingers of one hand inside my lower teeth, and the fingers of your other hand around my upper teeth, you pry my jaws apart, wider than I feel they can go.
“Be a hole. Just be a nice, wide, wet, sloppy, disgusting fucking hole. For two minutes.”
You reset the timer: 2:00. I hold still, tongue out. Drooling now, my hamstrings twitching a little, I tap the green button and delight in feeling your cock in me again, giving me purpose. I don’t deserve to suck. I don’t deserve to suck. I don’t deserve… I deserve only to be a hole.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/bntk6y/two_minutes_part_2_bdsm_mdom_fsub_humiliation
Thank you
Add my name to the list of those looking forward to part three.