Sally turned Pt. 01

"A most desirable package. I hope you're pleased with yourself, Sally -- that you appreciate the lovely form you've been given. You dress it rather nicely, so I conclude that you probably do. You're so clearly made for fucking. If we're lucky, you'll do some of it with us."

If I hadn't been putty in his hands already, this speech would have done it -- I was melting, and when he tilted my chin up I lifted my head to his almost needily, opened my lips to his, and kissed him as if he were a long awaited lover.

And indeed, I hadn't kissed anyone like that for almost nine months -- not since Gary. Scumbag Gary. And it turned out I was hungry; needy, eager -- and that rush of feeling, I realised, weird as it might seem, was gratitude.

He was a good kisser, too -- in a way that matched his personality perfectly; steady, strong, gentle but utterly insistent, softly irresistible, and I moulded myself to him, my chest heaving more and more as waves of emotion coursed through me, feeling myself pushing my breasts onto him, working my hips, shameless.

Then a voice in my head started up; Was this it? Was I to become a whore? Was this kiss me saying yes to blowing Mr N under his desk, to licking Ms F's pussy out all night in some conference hotel?

Hot tears came to my eyes, and I broke away, pulling back.

He loosened his hold without letting go -- giving me space without removing his embrace.

Somehow he knew what was in my mind. Calm, unhurried, he looked at me, paying real attention - such attention as I was unused to receiving, and soon overwhelming, so that I began to tremble, blush;

"Nothing that happens tonight will be anything more than it is, pretty -- no decisions, no assumptions will be made. You should feel entirely free, without concern for anything but the moment. When I said you would know your answer, I was serious, but that knowledge is for you, not me - for you to do with as exactly as you will."

He waited, and I did too -- was I going to find the strength, the will, the capacity to lift myself off his lap; deny my sex the craving it was expressing?

It seemed not, and when he pulled me in a little, I went to him, back into the kiss, more openly than before, grinding my hips now.

He broke away again, softly, but decisively.

"Well now, let's see about these panties, shall we?"

And he lifts me -- seemingly without effort, with one arm at my back; smoothly slips the other hand up inside my skirt, and without any fuss at all, my panties are below my knees, slipping down toward my ankles, and then my skirt is rucked up around my hips and my legs are parted, his huge hand cupping my sex, the skin rough and hard, with callouses (I know he sails, carves stone and wood), and the bony knuckles are very, very real.

I'm gasping, but I'm spreading my thighs for him as he kisses me again, chest rising and falling with mingled emotion and rising sexual excitement.

And then he hits me -- right on my sex -- slaps me. Not hard, not hard at all, but very definitely a hit -- and I jerk in shock, break the kiss. He's looking at me, calm, interested, and after a beat or two, speaks;

"You haven't closed your legs. Good, don't. Kiss me again now; straight away."

And I do, wanting to, leaning in to him eagerly.

He hits me again.

It doesn't hurt. Well it does, but not really. But it means something. It very definitely means something -- only I'm not quite sure what. And this time I can't act surprised, or resentful. Because I had known that he would, had kept my legs open for him to do it. Wanted it. Wanted to feel it again, that shock -- that a man has hit me, intimately, hurt me -- there, meant to hurt me, meant me to know that he intended it, that he is interested in my reaction.

Has left me no place to hide.

I break the kiss again, and again he looks at me. This time he doesn't speak, or smile, just waits, watching.

I don't close my legs. What I do is lean in to kiss him again -- and be hit again. This time I don't break the kiss, and after a while, there's another hard-skin hand slap on my sex; and soon another, and another.

Suddenly its getting to me -- driving me wild, and I'm opening my thighs wider, offering myself, and it gets a little harder, and I kiss a little harder. I'm holding onto him as to a lifebelt in a stormy sea, making silly noises in my throat as he hits my tender sex with his big hard hand, until my hips are bucking wildly, and I pull back and say, breathless, laughing, amazed;

"Please, please, put it in me, fuck me, please!"

He grins slowly at me;

"Little slut. Get your soft little titties out, then -- I want to see them jiggle."

And I laugh to hear this big serious man use words like 'titties' and 'jiggle', and he grins at me, enjoying this with me, and I wonder if I'm going to fall in love with him, and scrabble to pull my blouse open, free my breasts, belly tight.

"Hit me again, there. Harder," I hear myself say, and he does.

"Ah!" There are real tears in my eyes, and I'm laughing too, and my belly is twitching and jerking;

"Fuck. Fuck."

I'm at his trousers now, working to free him, and then I'm on my knees, kissing his cock. It's very hard, not smooth at all but almost craggy, like him. Then he's lifting me;

"That can wait. Do you want it in you?"

"Yes, Yes!"

And he lifts more, then lowers me slowly onto his cock, and I'm crooning at the feeling -- longer than nine months since I had this, too, and he's filling me so so nicely, and I'm working my hips, panting as it invades me.

"You do the work, pretty -- please yourself -- do what feels good. Don't concern yourself with me -- I can last."

I'd never had someone talk so directly during sex, be so clear, tell me what to do, but I was more than happy to comply -- to have a man let me use him for my pleasures would be a first, and my body certainly knew what it wanted, sitting on his lap, facing him, rising and rocking and thrusting, jamming my pussy into his hard pelvis -- as bony as the rest of him. The slapping had left my whole mons desperately tender, and every thrust was like another slap, but I welcomed it, jerked and bucked against him just as my hips chose, driven by the taut urgency in my belly, feeling my breasts move, knowing I was exaggerating that for him, wanting him to enjoy me;

"Can .. can you hold on? I .. I want to make this .. last."

I was more breathless than before, but he seemed to have understood me;

"Do .. what you need to do, pretty"

The catch in his voice, telling me that he, too, was in the grip of sexual intensity, was a new aphrodisiac -- I had taken this strong, calm, majestic man to the brink of losing control -- and this knowledge drove me over the edge and I ground myself into him as if I wanted to get inside his skin, writhing and making small needy noises as my whole body seemed to spasm, in an orgasm like no previous one, ripping through me, owning me, reducing me to jelly, bringing me to tears, spasms alternately holding me rigid, then jerking me like a rag doll. And now my poor punished sex became unbearably sensitive: I pushed myself onto him and attempted to keep perfectly still, electric sensation flooding me.

"Oh no you don't, little one, it's my turn now."

And he stood, carrying me without effort, deposited my backside on the edge of his desk, and started to fuck me, hard and slow. It was almost agony, this deep, relentless pistoning into the post-orgasmic sensitivity of my whole groin, never mind my clit and sex lips, and I tried, tried hard to fight him off, push him out, close my legs, making mulish little grunts too.

As well try to hold back a juggernaut -- he did exactly as he pleased with me, no matter how I pushed and wriggled, and I wailed, moaned and jerked, unable to bear it, until suddenly I was hot again, then feverish, then moving for him, with him again, feeling another orgasm building, even less in control than before, unsure if this was pain or pleasure, but utterly in its grip, gasping and bucking like some animal, and then he was jerking into me as well and I was sobbing and laughing at the same time, brokenly, overwhelmed, somewhere else.

He stood there as he softened inside me, holding me as I gradually calmed, moaning and twitching a little, legs weak and jittery, glad of his strength, laughing a little now, in disbelief, really, at how the last two days had gone, to end up like this.

And at the knowledge, certain in me now, like a fierce and joyful secret, enormous, exhilarating, frightening, glorious; I'm going to be a whore.

And like it.