Mischief Managed

I have a habit of falling over. Not real falling over, in this case. I'm not a graceful girl, but I can keep my footing.

No, this is something else. I get in a playful mood, especially on weekends when the day is lazy and young. A playful mood that likes hugs and kisses and all sorts more. That's when Crush will hear the playfully plaintive cry of "Oh, no, I've fallen over! Help!" and come in to find me strewn across the bed.

This weekend I was even more trouble than usual and in want of a good spanking. Our daily efforts fell apart a little while back and it had been too long. So I called for him, my body bent forward over our bunched up duvet and my bum wiggling in the air.

I kept my head facing down and away, another quirk I love for some unknown reason. I heard Crush enter, but he wasn't going for me. Not yet. I heard him rattling at the kinkier of our two drawers, which put my mind on instant alert. I felt a thrill run through me at him taking this so seriously. But I'd accidentally blocked the drawer up so he couldn't get in. I was almost as angry with myself as he pretended to be. I wanted to be hit with things.

I reminded him that our flogger still hung on the door handle, but he dismissed it straight away. Too soft, he said. He wanted something hard to use on me. I needed to be punished.

He climbed behind me and pulled down the tiny shorts I was wearing. It was the first warm afternoon since I'd bought my roller derby shorts and I'd been determined to flaunt them. My arse was now bared, no knickers to be seen, my shorts around my thighs. He began to spank me hard and harsh, putting his arm into each blow.

I snuggled my face into the pillows and luxuriated in the roughness. It really had been too long. I was still feeling too antsy just to lie there and take it, though. I wiggled and wriggled and occasionally tried to throw him off or escape altogether. Of course, he was as determined as I was cheeky, so all it did was make him pile his weight firmly on top of me and fix me still. And hit me harder. It was occasionally too rough, but only too rough just enough. Soon I was moaning my satisfaction into the bed and thrusting myself back and forth into his strikes.

I wanted more, I wanted as hard as he could give, but it was over too quickly. When it was, though, he pulled me over and leaned menacingly into my face.

"Tell me you're my dirty little slut," he hissed.

My cunt pulsed and my eyes widened. I fucking loved it. I smiled happily back at him as I replied. "I'm your dirty little slut."

We kissed and stroked each other before he pulled me on top of him and lay back, running his hands over my still-bare bum. I peppered his mouth with kisses. Even so, he hadn't quite dominated the mischief out of me. I snuck in a little nip at his lip and he turned stern.

"Don't think you're in charge just because I let you be on top." He warned and I smiled as innocently as I could manage.

It was all a lie, though. I wanted trouble. More than that, I wanted retribution. I wanted him to destroy the impudent little slut I was making of myself. I wanted a reaction. When I went to bite his lip a second time, I got one.

Quicker than I could process, his hand had clutched at my throat and he'd started to propel me backwards at speed. He was strong, oh, I'd forgotten how strong when he wants to be, and I was on my back at his mercy. I wasn't sure there was any mercy. The whole thing was forceful and fantastic. A hand on my throat was already a weakness of mine, but being pushed about like a ragdoll was more than I could dream of.

Still with my neck in his grasp, his free hand pulled off my short shorts entirely. When they were discarded, he whipped up my tshirt to expose my breasts and then pulled it over my face, letting go so that it covered my head. I'd seen football players do similar to celebrate a goal, but this had none of the roaring stupidity and was all shame and sex and submission. I could still see slightly through the thin fabric, but my head was tilted upwards and away from Crush and any movement would dislodge the tshirt, making me effectively bound like this. I liked not being able to see what he was doing. I wanted to be his thing.

He pulled my legs up and pushed himself inside me roughly, making me gasp in pleasure. He took my hands and placed them atop my breasts, using them to lean on, pushing his weight down on me and making me squeeze and massage myself as he pounded me. I was his toy, his slut and he was showing me what he could do, showing me punishment, using me for his pleasure. He was in control and I was his to fuck and abuse, his to thrust his cock into, to spill his seed into, to force to come.

I felt filled with a strange sort of energy and my body tingled with feeling as my mind reeled in submission. When we came together, it was only the icing on the cake.

Republished with permission from Being Blacksilk. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo courtesy of Sex and Submission.