Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

(A long overdue distraction.)

“Does it bother you,” I asked as I took off my clothes, “that I’m just using you for sex?”

“Not particularly,” he smirked, “although I rather think it’s more a matter of me using you.”

“Potato, potahto. ” I folded my clothes and put them on the chair by the bed, “Because for me it’s all about…”

He smacked me hard across the face, making me gasp and then grit my teeth to finish the sentence, “getting exactly what I want.”

I gathered myself together, looked him straight in the eye, and challenged him, “Do it again.”

“You’re in a mood today,” he told me, a glint in his eye, as he ran his fingers across my jaw line, the touch making me press my cheek against his hand.

“Me?” I quipped, “In a mood?”

He raised an eyebrow and smacked me again gently, fisting his other hand in my hair to keep my head still.

“Mmm.” I purred happily, holding his eyes with mine. “No, if I were in a _mood_ I’d say that you hit like a girl.”

“Really?” he asked tapping his fingers against my slowly reddening cheek, “That’s really what you’d say?”

He backed me up until I was against the bed, and then pushed me down onto it and climbed up so that he was kneeling above me.

“How about this, then,” I asked, feeling my eyes going dark and the space between my legs growing wet. “Do it again, please. Harder.”

“Well…” His eyes began to gleam, “if you’re going to ask so nicely,” and he smacked me again.

“That’s what I like about you,” I said, breathing harder. “You’re so obliging.”

He fisted his hands harder in my hair, pulling my head back and making me close my eyes and gasp.

“You say the nicest things,” he said, and as he his hands from my hair I heard the sound of a zipper opening and felt his weight leave me as he removed his pants. “Now let’s see what else you can do with that mouth of yours.”

It was an awkward angle for cock sucking, but you can do anything if you’re motivated, and I certainly was, both by my own desires and by his hands at the back of my head moving me into position or holding me still so that he could fuck my throat.

I love sucking cock. It’s so delightfully undignified, and I gasped and choked on my own saliva as he used my mouth the way he wanted to, moaning my own desire around him.

When he pulled out of my mouth I made a sad little sound of disappointment.

“What was that?” he asked, pushing me back down when I tried to sit up and follow him.

I whimpered up at him wordlessly, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be answering, but as usual having sex with him had turned me into a puddle of incoherent need.

“Disappointed, are you?” he asked, his hand traveling down by body to grab between my legs and make me simultaneously scream and moan. “You don’t want me to fuck you?”

I shook my head, hard, in negation, and said quietly, “Please.”

“Please what?” he said, his hand alternating between causing me pleasure and pain.

“Please fuck me,” I writhed under him.

“Beg,” he demanded as he positioned himself above me and waited.

“Please.” I whimpered, “Please fuck me. Please use me. I love the way you fuck me. Please. Please. I want you inside me, please,” and I gasped as he finally, slowly pushed himself in.

It felt incredible. It always feels incredible, and then he found the angle that pushes him deep against my cervix and makes me writhe in pain.

“Oh god,” I whimpered, as he did it again, simultaneously loving it and wanting to push him away, holding his arms as though I could somehow keep him from hurting me so deeply inside but at the same time not wanting him to stop.

“Yes,” I gasped.

I forced myself to open my eyes and give him both my pain and my desire. It was hard to keep from closing them, but I love the look in his eyes when he hurts me. The fact that it’s a turn on to him to make me ache, make me scream, is insanely erotic. I often feel somewhat selfish as a submissive, and a masochist, just wanting to be hurt and used, so to see in someone’s eyes that hurting me works for them is a powerful drug.

He put his hand over my nose and mouth and took away my air as he continued to push himself inside of me. As always, the action made me go completely still – a combination of fear and submission, my body’s way of saying “Yes. Anything. You have the power over me. Show me. Use me,” and the focus it gave me was incredible. For long seconds, my world was nothing but fear, sex, and the look in his eyes that said he knew exactly how much power he had over me and how much he wanted to use it, nothing but long moments of sensation and terror and wondering if I’d tap out or surrender to my desire to let him do whatever he wanted, even unto insanity.

I tapped out, and gasped for air as he continued to fuck me. It was still so good, but I wanted that look back, that feeling of utter and complete control. I wanted him to fuck me the way he wanted to, and not care about me as anything other than a vehicle for his pleasure, a toy to be used exactly the way he wished. I wanted to give him everything that he wanted and keep nothing for myself. I wanted to put my life in his hands*.

Finally, as I stopped gulping in oxygen as though it were water, I looked him in the eyes and in terror and acceptance told him, “Do it again,” and he came inside me just as I was reaching the point where I had to decide whether to give up or let go. He held his hand there for a few seconds more, reveling in the moment of pure power, before collapsing down on top of me and letting me breathe.

I lay underneath him and made happily burbling noises until my brain slowly began to function again.

“You were right.” I said, as he snuggled me closer.

“Hmm?” he replied.

“It should have been , ‘do you mind that I’m using you to use me for sex?’” I mumbled contentedly and then, after he stopped biting me as silent commentary, slowly drifted off to sleep.

–

_{* I must admit I creep myself out writing stuff like this, but there’s an edge there that is both terrifying and intoxicating. It’s the control, and the feeling that both of us wonder, just a little bit, about taking it too far. I have these fantasies about being fucked with a blade to my throat, by someone who’s as into knives as I am, and I think about walking that line. I think about what it would feel like if the control slipped, and then I have to slip off to my room to touch myself with cold steel and hot thoughts of blood, danger, and sex.}