If He Was Into Birthdays

If He Was into Birthdays

© kate7891

From the Author: Though hardcore it's not, I want to give this story a chance in the BDSM category. The power dynamic and interactions between these characters I think justifies it. It focuses primarily on orgasm control and command, exhibitionism, voyeurism, funishments, ravishingly rough sex, and romance.

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If he was into birthdays, she'd surprise him with a weekend getaway. Somewhere off the grid; somewhere green and lush, quiet and still. She'd be sure to select accommodation that blended well into their surroundings, their privacy a priority.

She imagined that when he arrived home from work, tired, a little distracted, she'd greet him with a kiss. A coy smile. The one that gave away her hoarding of a secret. Then he'd kiss her in turn, pulling her into his body in a way that made her core throb. Made her moan excitement onto his tongue.

"What are you up to?" he asked. It was the weekend of his birthday and she'd defied him by arranging something after they'd agreed a quiet staycation at home would suffice. But birthdays were a Big Deal.

She sucked his bottom lip, pulling it gently, teeth scraping, before whispering, "Just go pack an overnight bag, okay? Two nights. Pack as if we were just having a quiet weekend at home. Nothing fancy." She rubbed her tingling lips over his before pulling back. "Trust me."

His look of feigned suspicion made her laugh all the way to the kitchen, from where she made numerous trips to the car, packing away their food and drink for the weekend. In the loungeroom, she checked over her own personal packing, blushing a little and recalled tucking various toys away beneath her clothes.

She blushed harder wondering what he would pack. She did defy him, after all.

They laughed the entire drive to their cabin. A nervous energy, a tension, rising between them. Every now and then, a song played, one from their playlist, and he'd stroke a hand up her thigh, down again to rest upon her knee. Nothing more than that. But each time he did it, need coiled in her gut.

Fuck. Her want for him was not dissipating.

If he was into birthdays, she'd walk him, blindfolded by her hands, along a narrow garden path to a deck overlooking a lake. She'd peak around his shoulder to guide him to the timber wood-framed spa tub. Beautiful and steamy across the clear glass surface of the lake.

She dropped her hands away, gripping now just above his elbows, her fingertips cool against the smooth warmth of his skin there. She felt him suck in a breath, his back expanding, before slowly exhaling.

"Happy birthday," she whispered against his arm, suddenly feeling shy. She knew what he was remembering. It made her throb in anticipation, a heavy pendulum swinging between nostalgia and excitement. A beat lost in her own memory of That Night.

She stepped around him, looked him in the eye as she lifted the hem of his shirt, her fingernails tickling through the fabric. She tipped to her toes and pressed her lips to his chin, before falling back to the balls of her feet.

With her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth, she looked up at him as she unsnapped his pants, pushing the waistband down over his thighs. Obligatorily, he stepped out of them, eyes never leaving hers. His breathing was shallow and sharp.

"What next?" he whispered, knowing. His mind lost in the dream of That Night.

A smile bloomed beneath the hold of her teeth, her bottom lip set slowly free. She took half a step back, pulled her own shirt up and off, exposing her naked breasts to the twilight sky. Wearing just a denim skirt, she pulled her hair back, twisting it around on itself before securing it with a band. In doing so, her chest thrust forward, her nipples alert and straining, her eyes just as clear and direct as his.

Before wriggling out of her skirt, she tapped the face of her phone, connecting to the cabin's sound system. Her eyes flickered up to his, to the phone, then back to his as R.E.M's 'Nightswimming' caressed them from the speakers.

He ran his hands down her arms, linking fingers, the contact making each of them shiver.

They eased into the warm water, sighing in sheer bliss, sharing a joint and barely a word. She was acutely aware of his proximity, though, of his arm brushing against hers, of the water tickling between them. Of his hip and thigh, plastered to hers, heat radiating from his skin.

After a long drag, weed wriggling wonderfully through his brain, he breathed smoke and asked, "Remember that night?"

She laughed, let her head extend back over the edge, and counted stars as they flickered into being. "How could I forget?"

He shook his head in wonder. "You initiated an orgy. What a woman."

She splashed water at him, grateful for his playful tone. "It wasn't like that. You know it wasn't."

In truth, they'd knowingly attended a sex party. Both driven by some incomprehensible need to publicly claim the other. To solder this connection between them. Throughout the party -- hosted at the rolling farmhouse of a friend of a friend -- they'd danced, made out, touched each other openly. Edging. The intensity of their rising need was felt by those around them. Other partygoers, new acquaintances, silently begged them to fuck, to share their obvious need.

"I remember," he said, bringing her back to the present. "I remember the night ending much like this one is beginning. Us sharing a joint in the water."

She took the blunt he passed her, holding a hot lungful of smoke for nine seconds, ten, before slowly exhaling. Her heartrate trebled in her chest despite the softness of him, the gentle probing of his voice.

"I remember being relieved to find so few people outside," she countered, ever the introvert seeking solace.

Laughter rumbled in his throat, rippled out on a plume of smoke. "Your idea of 'so few' was quite expansive, m'darlin'."

A blush bloomed under supressed laughter the moment before she giggled a sound of relief. "Maybe it was the space, then. It didn't seem so crowded."

He nodded, conceding her point. This nod extended along with Michael Sharp lamenting quiet nights, and he found them apt.

"And it was like, four in the morning. Four thirty. The party was over." She accepted the proffered joint, took a firm drag. Held the heat, spoke over it. "Most people were asleep, anyway," she managed, before exhaling.

He nodded along, letting her ramble. Her tongue loosening the higher she became.

"I remember my ears were ringing. The sudden quiet of the outdoors deafening me." She paused, listening to the growing night sounds, breathing in the change of air. Then, taking a final drag before following instinct, she twisted in the water, turning to straddle him, thighs split across his lap, her pussy pressed against his lower abdomen.

She smiled when his hands cupped her ass, fingers flexing in a caressive squeeze.

"I remember wanting you so badly," she began, rolling her hips, smoky words a whisper along his lips. He breathed her in, sucking her bottom lip as she continued her story. "I remember sitting on your lap, facing out, so we could talk to others." Tongues touching, light and tentative. "Watch others. But we could feel it, couldn't we?" She looped her arms behind his neck, giving herself some leverage, readjusting herself, her sex slippery and slick against the underside of his shaft.

"We could," he agreed. His cock strained against her folds, his hands flexing on her hips, stilling her, angling her so he could rub the velvety bellend of his penis against her aching core. He felt her flex, felt her breath flutter across his cheek as the lyrics "not sure all these people understand" flowed from the speakers. His head floated between then and now. This made his fingers dig in, made him move her, tormenting them both with slippery underwater outercourse.

His eyes lazily journeyed from her lips, down her chin, to the rapid beat pulsing her throat. He licked his lips before leaning down to take her nipple in his mouth, offering her suckled tugs as his tongue traced her areola. She shuddered above him, all the way to her ears it seemed, and she closed her eyes, allowed her head to loll back, released a low groan. His hands continued to roam her ass and back, holding her against him, relishing in the feel of her sex against him.

"I remember tugging your nipples while we talked. Feeling people's eyes on you. Feeling you respond to that." Here, he switched nipples, whispering between the valley of her breasts. "It was like you had forgotten where we were." More of the same exquisite torture, her nipples glowing beacons under his lips. His hands emerged from the water, up her sides to cup her breasts, massaging her flesh, pushing them together, rubbing both nipples over his rough chin.

"Oh fuck," she sighed, eyes crinkling tight through a promising tremor, her core aching over his shaft, gipping at nothing. Wanting everything. The sensations sizzling between his lips and her bloodbeat set her sex aflame.

"And I remember you wriggling," he continued, kissing up between her breasts to her throat, pinching her asscheeks, "your hands underwater adjusting me to the right angle to take you from behind. So they could watch. A shared secret with those around us."

She bit her bottom lip and settled her knees on the spa step either side of his hips. She arched up and he guided the tip of his penis to her aching core. Nodding, she pulled at her pelvic floor, stealing a firm grip on him, and closed her eyes. Trembled with the effort not to sink down on his length.

In her imagination, she recalled the knowing looks, the smirks, the blushing smiles. She remembered her reaction to watching a woman -- Lucille, her name was -- pleasure her lover from behind. Embarrassed, she'd averted her gaze, found and bore into those of an older man -- Shaw -- whose thrusts into a blonde woman on all fours seemed to match the pulse of the jetstream on her pussy.

She'd held this man's eyes, seeing his thrusts whilst receiving her own. She's grown taut with need; she heard moans, climactic cries. She remembered echoes of pleasure rising to a crescendo, remembered the thrill in knowing each moan had been inspired by her and him against the jetspray.

She was snapped back to the present when her lover whispered, "I can feel you remembering," before thrusting himself all the way to the hilt, the base of his cock flexing hard against the quivering opening of her cunt. His eyes rolled as her heat enveloped him, the sensation rushing to his brain.

"It feels like it did that night," he went on, his cock lengthening inside her, pulsing within her canal. He withdrew half way then again filled her completely, gritting his teeth when he felt her insides flutter.

"Hold me," she begged, the muscles in her arms and thighs rippling with tension. She sighed in relief when his hands went back to her hips, holding her still, giving her a brief reprieve.

"Shhh," he soothed, slowly withdrawing, inch by torturous inch, kissing along her jaw, chin; suckling her bottom lip. "I've got you. It's okay."

She nodded, her body a livewire of nerve endings, her achy hole holding a spongy grip on the tip of his penis.

"I remember," she whispered, her words catching on quivering lips, "aching for you. Wanting so desperately for you to fuck me senseless in front of them. To show them I'm yours." On that final word -- "yours" -- she crushed her mouth to his, her tongue aggressive, seeking. She rolled her hips, groaning in frustration when she felt his hands flex, holding her still, not giving her any more than his pulsing tip.

But fuck, it took every ounce of effort not to slam her down, pierce her with his mounting need.

"I remember the jet spray," he managed, changing the angle of the kiss. His tongue gloried in the roof of her mouth, the sensitive ridges, the way she salivated for the taste of him. Unable to deny either of them any longer, he slowly guided her down a third of his dick, gritting his teeth as he flexed there. She pulled for more, but he held her at bay, initiating a torturous shallow fuck instead. She heaved a groan, the corner of her lip quirking, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

He maintained this shallow fucking, slow and shaky, for the entire length of the song. Their breath grew hot, shook like their bodies, their eyes locked as though in a trance.

"And this song." He groaned. "Fuck, this song." His hands dug into her ass cheeks, splitting them, pushing her up to grip the tip of his dick, plucked tight by the strumming pulse there.

She sucked in a breath a moment before her mouth closed around his, hot and wet, tingling and swollen. Her lips suckled his tongue, an echoing rhythm from her cunt, and he groaned, cock twitching, need rising. She pulled in her pelvic floor, gripping him hard, her opening stinging with the sweetness of it. Her nails dug into the back of his neck; her thighs shook with the effort to remain still.

"Fuuuck," he moaned, and she took the opportunity to sink another inch lower onto him.

"You whispered such nasty things to me that night," she said, her words moist, featherlight across his lips. "You knew how much I loved being watched. How I loved you taking me like that in front of them."

He pulled her head back so he could look into her eyes. Nodded.

"I remember you holding your dick deep and hard inside me, feeling my cunt grip and squeeze as you aimed the spray's pressure to my clit." She winced, amber dots dancing behind her eyelids, the contours of her face flash freezing with the pang of memory. "I remember it feeling just like this," she finished, crying out as she finally impaled herself on his dick.

Water, glossy and slick, rippled the moonlight as she engulfed him completely, the root of his shaft tight and hot. They held each other there, suspended in a moment, savouring, before she began to move. A jerky rocking at first, breath shallow, lips parted.

Needy.

His hands roamed her back, thumbs pressing into the sides of her breasts, fingertips splayed across her back ribs. Her heartbeat frantic there, a stark contrast to the slippery rhythm she'd found there beneath the surface, his dick prickling hot between the grip of her cunt and the caress of the water. Her skin rippled at his touch, and he tugged her bottom lip, a small growl of effort escaping as he did so.

"Mine," he said, sliding her up his erection, relishing in her defiant grip, holding her there a moment before he pulled her down, his hips thrusting up, impaling her again. And again. And again. Together they moved, each hard with need, their minds caught between then and now, fucking like nymphomaniacs. The way they'd yearned to that night.

Over and over she stabbed herself onto him, desperate for him to ease the ache gripping her core. She sobbed against his mouth, tasted salt, felt hair sticking to her cheek, her neck, his shoulders. Her head then fell back, lost, pure sensation. He bit her neck, nipple, leaving marks, making her squeal.

Her pussy was fire, searing the water, heat radiating from down below. The pull was growing sharper, more acute. She needed all of him, more of him. She loved knowing he'd be sore tomorrow. Loved knowing he craved her clench. She felt hottest where they joined, a slick mixture of liquid sex, her nipples screaming in the contrasted cool evening air.

"I can't, I ca--" she panted, colours shifting behind her closed eyes, pops of gold and burnt umber, flashes of white. She was growing delirious with pleasure, with the high of imminent release.

"You can," he growled, hands raking down to her hips, gripping hard there, hard enough to bruise, and pulled her onto him, stabbing himself into her, leveraging his back against the edge of the tub, lifting her. Despite the ache in his gut, the almost painful tension in his balls, he demanded, "Go higher," his voice gruff, lost somewhere in her mouth. "Go now."

She cried out, an almost pinching sound, one that reverberated at the base of his dick. And with that sensation, that pressure, they finally let go. His dick flooded by her immediate response, her cunt contracting molten lava, absorbing him as he came. The fire at the base of his spine burned her insides, made her cry out in triumph. He held her firmly, hands spread across her ass cheeks, capturing each and every quiver from her cunt. Her womb clenched and the pull made his head swim. He buried his face in her neck, lips, teeth and tongue torturing her sensitised skin as their sex continued to pulse and palpitate.

He relished in her aftershocks, her satin grip, her limp limbs, her heaving breath. Gradually, she collapsed upon him, her pussy the only strength left in her, and when he felt a heightened ache, he slowly withdrew, making her moan, her lips and internal muscles pulling in the opposite direction.

"I can't," she slurred, making him smile.

"You can," he replied, kissing her ever so softly as he calmed her down. Her sheath was tingling, rippling heatwaves, but she sighed when he withdrew, rubbed his cock against her hot and sensitive folds.

Thrusting gently to love the hurt away.

If he was into birthdays, she'd have led him, naked and dripping, through the house, to the spacious luxury bathroom, one that invited the outdoors in.

Under the hot spray, she lathered his skin, kissing the inside of his wrist, his elbow, his collarbone. Circling around him, lips and fingertips always making contact. With his shoulder bade. His midback. Water tickled her lips where it gathered at their touch; she felt his flavour slide down her throat.

Her arms encircled his hips, hands moving down to cleanse his inner thighs, pelvis and cock. Stroking him gentle, easing his fatigue, giving him the love and aftercare she glowed to provide. When he allowed it. It appeared her small rebellion was well-received.

After towelling off, softening her skin in lotion, she re-entered the bedroom, finding him sat on a cushioned chair he'd moved to the base of the bed.

She gulped and her hand instinctively went to her throat.

"Come," he gestured, sensing her nerves, her excitement. His want for her was heavy in his throat, an obstacle he couldn't dislodge. "On the bed. Up against the pillows there."

She eyed him wearily as he cocked an ankle to knee, watching her patiently. With a small huff, she pushed the robe from her shoulders and did as instructed. She wrapped her arms around her knees, rested her chin upon them, and watched him as he watched her.

"You defied me," he eventually said, his words punctuated by the candlelight. He saw her muscles brace as she sucked in a breath, knew her heart skidded with excitement, with vulnerability. With need. "You're to be punished."

"But." A sigh, peppered with frustration. "Your birthday."

"You," he repeated, "defied me."

Slowly, she nodded, her pussy still aching pink from their recent coupling.

"Open your legs." The sudden and firm detachment of his voice forced her to meet his gaze, her mouth open in protest. He rubbed a fingertip along his bottom lip as he considered her. "We'd agreed. No birthdays." He couldn't help but smile at her guilty flush. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

"Open your legs," he said again. "Don't make me ask a third time."

Despite her penchant for exhibitionism, she squirmed when he was her only audience. Therefore, one on one performances was his favourite, most ironic form of punishment. When with him in public, she was surrounded by people she'd rarely -- if ever -- see again. There was a comfort with that. A certain anonymity she so valued. But alone in the muted light with him? It made her shiver in nervous anticipation. What other secrets in her would he discover? How much more could she find to give him?