It’s lovely waking up on Saturdays, a slow and natural awakening, no screaming alarm suddenly and violently jerking me from dreams. The grey light of early morning creeps in the windows of our bedroom, slowly rousing me. My legs are tangled with his, and I can hear his steady breathing. He’s still asleep. I lay there dozing until he wakes and pulls me in close, my naked ass pressed tightly to his groin, a typical morning snuggle. I can feel him, his morning hardness, grow between us and I want him. I want to be filled more than I want release. I want to feel him enter me, stretch my sleeping cunt, and bring it to life.
I hump against him, eager, my intentions obvious, but he swats my ass and rolls over. First things first. I blindly reach my hand behind me and grasp his cock in my hand, pumping the hardened muscle lazily as he grips one of my nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching hard enough to make me squirm. No words are spoken, no eye contact. I know what is expected of me and I perform. Hand job then blow job, drawing out the pleasure for him, delaying what I desire.
We each have a need, a common goal, to fuck and be fucked. He turns back over and wraps his arms around me, pressing his cock against my entrance and pushing in. Roughly, desperately, hungrily, we fuck until he comes inside me. I feel sated, filled and used. I lay in his arms, our breathing slowing together, and feel him slip out of me. I think that he is done with me, but he has other plans.
He gets out of the bed, his cock glistening with our juices, and points to the floor. Once more, I know what is expected of me, and I stand obediently as he secures my wrists to the ceiling. I can hear him searching through our toys, but I can’t see what he chooses. I wait, breathing, his come sliding down the inside of my thigh, my skin prickling with anticipation. The silent morning is broken by the crack of the flogger on my sleep warmed thighs and the sound of my breath hitching in my throat. Regular as a metronome, he keeps a steady rhythm as he splashes my backside with the leather falls. Swish, crack, cry and repeat. I sink into myself, floating in a sea of sensation.
He releases my arms from the ceiling and pushes me towards the end of the bed, holding me down with one large hand as the other leaves pink hand prints on my already striped cheeks. His hands are solid and rough, they feel like a wooden paddle as they decorate my skin. I wriggle underneath his grip, but his mass holds me in place. Are you ready for more? He growls into my ear and I nod. He knows I want to be pushed, that I want to ride the edge of pain and pleasure. I’m going to give you some marks. I nod again, and brace myself for the pain. The taps of the cane are soft and comforting at first. I sink into the mattress, relaxing into the feelings swirling through me. I know they are coming. The blows that will burn through me, searing like a hot branding iron, leaving their unique marks on my skin. I don’t know when they will come, and I try to guess, listen for the telltale whir, watch the movement of his shadow, but I am unsuccessful. They surprise me. When the first one lands, I arch and hiss. He holds me down, his hand rubs my face through my matted hair, and I am ready for more. More and more.
When he is finally finished, I roll over, giggling, my cheeks red and streaked with leaked tears. I can’t find words yet, just laughter. I stretch my arms towards him, and he smiles down at me, laughing. Aww. You need a snuggle? He teases, before sinking down into my arms, nuzzling his beard against my face as he holds me tight. It’s Saturday morning, and I am awakened.