tagBDSMThe Game

The Game

byDesmondDesmond©

This was the game. She knew that this was the moment they both looked forward to. His left hand on her neck pressing down and holding her in place. Crouched there on the edge of the bed, face forced into the mattress, legs folded under her, hands and arms stretched out in front of her. Her pussy aching to be touched.

The thin trickle of lube slipped down the cleft of her arse and a little crept its chill, slick way into her arsehole. Involuntarily she felt herself flutter there. Her boyfriend, poised over her, gave a shudder of held-in pleasure. His balls, she knew, would suddenly feel that bit heavier, their weight of spunk churning.

There would be no more lube. She knew that. This was their game. That fleeting touch of slickness was all she wanted.

This game was the one she alone could initiate. The need to be taken like this crept over her slowly and every once in a while he got a one word text that read 'shivering'. That made him hard wherever he was. In a meeting. At the football match. On a busy commuter train. His mouth would dry and his balls would feel like cold weights loaded with shot. He would reply with a time that he expected to be home.

She would be waiting. Not downstairs like usual with the TV on, curled on the sofa. But upstairs in this position; the room stinking of her sex. The toys discarded across the bed as she crouched there, sopping wet and shivering with anticipation. She would not look up. There would be no smile of welcome. Her hands would stretch out and her arse; so delicate, so supple, so beautifully full and round, would present itself.

Sometimes, he knew, she sneaked a look at him as he dropped his clothes to the floor. He didn't mind. It wasn't that sort of game after all.

She watched as he went to the toy box and recovered the lube bottle and the condoms. Watched out of the corner of her eye as he rolled one of the blunt ended sheaths over his pulsing cock (so very hard) and walked to her.

With one hand on her neck he squeezed out the one bead of silicone slipperiness she allowed herself for this from the pump dispenser bottle. Watched as it rolled down the cleft between her cheeks and moistened, no, kissed, her exposed, vulnerable ring.

The first time they'd played with this lube, her milking his cock, she'd used too much and he'd kept slipping away from her grasp. The session had lasted for what seemed like hours; them laughing as her hands flew across his cock unable to get a purchase; almost unable to get him off. His balls, also coated in a film of persistent slipperiness, had boiled by the time he came. The ache spent in a triumphant release that seemed to last an age.

Whether that was the moment when she decided a little went a long way, he couldn't say but soon after the rules of this game were explained to him in an email he still kept. An email that fuelled fantasies that sustained him through the nights spent in cheap hotels near motorway junctions.

She ached kneeling there. The ache hadn't been assuaged by the toys or the orgasms that she'd wrung from herself. She'd brought this on herself because she wanted it. His hand left her neck and her breath caught in her throat. He moved more squarely behind her, the better to enter her. To take her.

It was freely given but in this hard moment she felt truly taken. The blunt end of his cock wrapped in the condom nudged her. The modern material wasn't quite so warm as latex. It made him feel like a living rod of glass, a piece of statuary come to life, his marble prick ready to force her into obedience.

As his left hand slipped from her neck it ran down the line of the spine feeling the tension of her muscles. A little shiver made her hole twitch. She felt him use the flat of his palm to pull her cheeks that bit further apart. Stretching and opening her a little more. His right hand, she knew, was gripping his hard cockflesh. Trapping a little more stiffness inside.

Her self control always surprised and delighted him. A touch down her back normally brought her laughing and shivering to him but not in these moments. Her need held her poised and so he aimed his almost painfully turgid prick and began to lean into her, splaying her arsehole. Spearing it. She was tight. Almost impossibly tight.

Anal wasn't a regular thing. She was no porn star who could flex and wink her hole and deal with any cock she liked. This was her trial and her game. He'd suggested a buttplug but she'd turned him down. His hard flesh was all she wanted and only when she sent that text. Only when the need crept over her.

The first centimetre of his glans found room for itself. Her breath shuddered out of her and a moment of relaxation allowed him to force a little more of his aching flesh into her.

His balls were high and hard and tight. He'd come in her only last night but the game made it feel like he had a month of unshot spunk dragging his stones down.

This was the most desperate moment for her. The sudden dragging pain of his cock forcing itself inside sometimes made her wince and tighten, quite the worst thing. His right hand was on her bum. She felt him tense and then he smacked her purposefully on the backside. It stung and her muscles jumped. As they jumped her hole flinched open and more of his hot prick ran into her. For the first time she gasped loud enough to hear.

His cock pulsed as he twitched the muscles at its base. He'd smacked her hard enough to make his hand sting but the flash of pain had momentarily slacked the ring of muscle that held him. The angry red of the clearly defined handprint shone up at him from her delicate flesh. It was a mark that needed to be balanced.

She knew that, crouched there. She pictured his left hand leaving her flank and then descending to make contact. Could she hear a whistle as he sped his outstreached fingers into contact with the pale flesh? Perhaps. Whatever the truth she flinched hard as he made contact and another handprint blossomed across her taut skin.

There was a moment of stillness before the nerve ends caught fire, tingling beneath the surface of the skin and in that overwhelming moment he'd forced more of his cock into her arse.

She could feel the skin around her hole dragging itself back up his shaft after being buckled inwards by that stolen quarter stroke. How much was left? On any other night she'd slip a hand back to grasp the bottom of his cock and feel for herself. But that wasn't allowed tonight.

With a start she realised that she'd been holding her breath and let it out with a shuddering gasp. As it escaped her he gave her the last couple of inches of cock. His hip bones met her backside and she could suddenly feel his balls in their shaved bag of skin press against her cunt.

The hot dry heat of her arse contrasted with the warm wetness annointing his balls. Once or twice the tension of those final inches had felt unsurpassable. The friction almost unbearable even through the shiny, glossy material of the condom. He couldn't stay like that, buried in her, his balls ached with the need to discharge his load into her. Gripping her hips he used his palms to pull her buttocks apart a little and started to drag his cock out of her.

She shuddered as he slowly pulled his length out of her until the ridge behind his bloated cockhead caught on the inner ring of her arsehole. She imagined it making the flesh bulge around his shaft until he paused for an instant and then leaned into her again driving his stiff flesh back into her. For a moment all there was in the world was the sensation of that cock sliding into her and her hardened, aching nipples rubbing on the rough cotton sheet.

On the third stroke, when they were fully joined she widened and flattened her stance; pushing her knees apart as one of her hands disappeared between her legs. He waited until he felt her start to play with herself, the soft wet noises reminding him of the pussy he wouldn't be allowed to enjoy tonight. With a grunt he went back faster than he had before and she moaned underneath him. This time there was no pause at the top of the stroke. He reversed direction and plunged his cock back into her. She rocked forward as he bottomed out and groaned as he immediately began the cycle again.

The change in tempo made her work frantically at her clit, rubbing and pressing at herself. The feel of him changed from a series of single moments she could concentrate on; the moment her tight hole first buckled under his pressure, the sensation as his mushroom-like glans spread her wide, the first inches of his invasion, his hips on hers for the first time, the skin of his scrotum as he pressed the last inch into her, to one long 'now' of penetration. All there was was the sliding of his cock past her ring. All there was was the knowledge that he wanted to empty himself inside her and that she wanted to cum as he did it.

Sometimes fucking is like an art, sometimes like a science. Trying to gauge when the person under you wants her nipples bitten or her bottom smacked, trying maximise your joined pleasure. And sometimes she sends a text asking for her almost dry arse to be fucked and then lies there as you take your pleasure from her.

The groaning had stopped. As he thrust in and out she panted 'Oh!' into the mattress, hiding her face from him as he rocked her body back and forth. His balls became impossibly tight. The need to spend his seed was suddenly overwhelming and as he pushed his flaring cockhead into her for the last time he shot his load into the glassy jacket of the condom all the way down. The tension melted out of him as he crashed his hips against her buttocks and folded over her back, the last spurts of cum jumping out of him.

There was no other sensation like it for her. It was as if his cock tried to burst inside her. His whole body seemed to swell behind her and then empty itself through that flaring piece of iron-hard flesh. As he came inside her and fell against her back her orgasm arrived. She yelped into the mattress and felt sudden tears of relief spring from her eyes.

He roused himself from her and pulled his shrinking flesh out of her hole. She still crouched on the bed edge but now she had a slightly flattened look about her. The orgasm she'd given herself still had her flesh quaking and, for an instant, he toyed with the idea of using his belt on her before putting the idea aside. That was an activity for a different day.

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