he [f]inally slaps [m]y pussy again.

It’s been years since he made me squirt and cum all over myself for hours tied to my kitchen chair. Blindfolded, bound, hot wax dripping down my tits. Blacking out for hours of pleasure, under his control – his light caress on my clit, sharp slaps of my ass and pussy, bites on my nipple.

In the years since, we have both had partners and significant others. But despite that, cannot seem to break the undeniable connection between us. The memories of control and submission are too vivid to move past. We talk about doing it again, but someone always loses their nerve. Usually it was me, scared of being vulnerable and needing his touch as badly as I did before.

For some reason on this day, when we were supposed to be meeting for lunch, I felt it clear as day. I needed it. I wanted him and I didn’t care. He casually mentioned it as an option but I shot him down. I didn’t want him to think it was a given – in case I lost my nerve again. But I knew I wouldn’t. As I got dressed when he was on his way, I slipped on a black lace bikini and see through black lace bra under my jeans and low cut tank top. Already wet at the thought of his reaction to them, knowing hours before I knew it was a foregone conclusion.

Lunch was normal. Our usual place. We were always good at the friendship. Trust and mutual care has never not existed between us. He goes to drop me off at my apartment, pulls up to the door – “Park the car and come up.” I say, and he’s surprised, he didn’t think our conversation about it before was serious- or more accurately, he didn’t think I was serious. I wonder what’s going through his head as I buzz with anticipation.

We enter the apartment, still in casual conversation. Sit on the couch and chat for a while before he finally reaches over, pulls my tit out of my tank top and bra and twists my nipple. I moan in a combination of shock, light pain and pleasure. He continues to rub and caress my tit, occasionally making me writhe in pain from a sudden twist of my sensitive nipple. He knows I can cum from this, and he pulls me up onto his lap. Straddling him, my tits out of my black tank top he says, “You’re so fucking sexy.” as he pulls my lips onto his. We kiss softly, and it’s sexy and hot and familiar and sweet all at the same time. He breaks from kissing me to suck on my tits. Looking up at me while he licks and sucks and watches me squirm on top of him.

“Do you want to cum from this?” He asks.

I moan in response.

“I believe I asked you a question.”

There it is, the aspect of control we’ve always had. I almost cum from the sound of his voice, raspy and low, challenging me.

“Yes.” I manage. “Yes, please.”

Still displeased he gives me a look I know and recognize well. After all, I omitted it on purpose to see his response. To see if we are still where we always were back then….

“Yes, sir, please make me cum like this.”

That’s better, he responds as he continues his assault on my tits. I can tell my pussy is dripping under my jeans as his licking and sucking and biting gets me closer and closer until I am grinding onto his hard cock and cumming.

He moves out from under me, so I am kneeling on the couch, facing the wall, my hands on the back of the couch, my ass out. He unbuttons my jeans and pulls them down. He mutters something about my ass as he caresses it and rubs it. Then he spanks me, hard. I cry out. He asks whose slut I am today. I whimper in agreement. He spanks again. That wasn’t an answer. “Yours, sir.”

He continues to touch and rub and slap me, I am on display for him kneeling on the couch. Then he tells me he knows what I really want. And I know he does. From the sexting and the phone sex – he knows the one thing he does for me that no other man ever has. He issues an order. I stand up, bend over in front of him and peel off my jeans and black lace underwear. I hesitate at my toes so I am bent over, exposed to him. He throws me onto the couch. Positions himself to my right, pinning my right leg open with his, he leans over me and runs his hand ever so lightly over my dripping wet pussy. I literally spasm from his touch, and because I long so desperately for what’s coming next.

He asks what I have done to earn this. I am rusty, it is hard for me to answer his questions while I am overcome with pleasure and focusing on his touch. I think and respond that I sent him a sexy picture of my cleavage the other day when I was going on a date with another man. He moans, remembering the picture he told me he got off to later that day. Then he tells me,
you better count them.

And then he slaps my pussy. I gasp and almost cum. He tells me I better not cum yet. Yes sir, I stammer. “How many slaps have you earned, slut?” After I struggle to answer; we agree on ten. He’s already given me two. He keeps rubbing my clit in between the slaps,
keeping me right on the edge of orgasm but stopping to slap, and then fingering me more…
stopping to slap…

On the fifth slap, I squirt everywhere. My couch is soaked, cum runs down my thighs and he tells me I am a good slut. I continue to thank him, Sir for every slap as my pussy tingles and convulses and I try desperately not to fully orgasm until he gives me permission.

Six, seven, eight. Then he says, you’re going to cum on the tenth slap. I whimper; Yes Sir and he asks if I am ready, I am not, he gives me a moment, rubbing my clit, I am so tense,
full of pleasure, dying to cum…. he asks again. This time, I beg for his final slaps. He slaps that wet soaking pussy twice in a row, and I arch my back and cry out, as he rubs my clit I cum hard, as he coaxes it out of me with his fingers and that hot voice in my ear, “Cum for me, slut.”

I lie there for a moment, recovering from my earth shattering orgasm, reveling in his control and ability to make me cum like that still, after so much time. He leans over, lips close to mine, and says “remember, no one has ever done that to you like that but me.”

And he’s right. We both know it.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8c8cmj/he_finally_slaps_my_pussy_again