The Last Time

The sun's shining (or beating) down on my shoulders as I walk back up the stone drive. I check the carrots and parsley, both cleaned of weeds, and make a mental note to begin hoeing the potato beds next. It doesn't look like rain soon, but hopefully we can wait until tomorrow to lay irrigation pipe.

The thought of rain and sprinklers reminds me of water, and I quicken my pace- a cool cup of water might be worth dying for right now.

I duck into the shop and run a wet paper towel over my face and arms, wiping away most of the black dirt. I'm always so unbearably dirty. I'm reaching for the column of paper cups next to the water cooler when I freeze.

There's a red pickup in the parking lot, next to my own car. An F-150, late 90s to early 2000s, but well loved, and pimped as it didn't deserve to be. A bullbar and halos, but my gaze goes through the windshield to the passenger seat. I've been there before, oh yes.

Then I notice the lean, dark figure slipping out of the driver's side. Fuck.

I rush outside, praying for my coworkers to milk the entirety of their break time.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You smirk, and shrug. Fuck. "I wanted a last time."

"I told you I didn't want a last time, Cole."

"And you know that I want what I can't have."

"Oh, so you want me now?"

Your eyes roll up in exasperation. "I always have, just not precisely the way you wanted me to."

My eyes fall. "I know." I look up again, but not at you. I look at the clouds behind your head. "That's why I don't want a last time."

"But I do, and I can't think of the last time you denied me something I wanted. Especially when it's something you need."

A defiant rebuttal rises to my lips and dies just as quickly. You're right. I know you are. You know I know you are. And so you have me cornered, checkmated, yours one last time.

My eyes return to the ground in my defeat. "Follow this road to the first stoplight, and turn right. You'll see a little Mexican restaurant, and a 40-bucks-a-night inn behind it. You have a debit card with you?"

You nod, all business now. My shame has passed and I make eye contact again while delivering instructions. "Go find something to eat or whatever, a CVS is right across the street for whatever flavor of condoms you want. Text me a room number; I'll be there at 6."

You leave, driving north and I return to work. My mind's a fucking mess now. Should I have done that? Why did I? I should have gotten my supervisor to ask you to leave, never even looked at your face, it was your face that would get me in the end, that motherfucking smirk.

It doesn't matter now- what's done is done, and my excitement is undeniable.

4:30 rolls around, and I average 70 on the way home. I can't slow down, because if I do I might stop, or God forbid, think too much.

Upon arriving home I quickly feed dogs, cats, poultry and cattle. Then I rush around, eating little light food, grabbing body wash and a new four-blade razor, hopping in the shower.

Here I force myself to slow down, trying to force you out of my immediate mind, though you're ever-present in the background- I have to be perfect for you. I wash every inch of my body, and shave my legs, underarms, and pussy, pulling my skin tight- no nicks will do tonight.

After washing and conditioning my hair, I step out. I run deodorant over the insides of my thighs- prevents razor burn, didn't you know? I glance at the clock, and it's already 5:30. I wrap the towel around my head, and put on a new lacy white bra and underwear- what goes on over those is irrelevant, but I make it the green t-shirt from our second year.

I will not risk being late and causing a cliche-Literotica-style-punishment scene, so I grab the handcuffs and butt plug from the box under my bed and a Kickstart from my refrigerator and jog back out the door.

It's 5:55 when I pull into the inn. Each room is on the ground floor, doors opening to the outside world. Charming, especially considering the almost concerning price. I walk to #4, my toys in my hand- perhaps it will please you to know that I'll let anyone see what a dirty whore I am, plugging my ass and playing with handcuffs.

You open the door, look down and up, and smirk. I believe I might have been right.

Your lube sits on a table with a small pile of condoms. I toss my own effects next to these, turn to look at you, and strip.

You haven't asked me to, but you haven't yet disciplined me for overachieving. I have nothing on but white lace, unpadded- my hard nipples are already clearly standing out.

You're leaning against the bed, and your eyes widen almost imperceptibly as I drop to my knees and crawl to you on all fours until my head's between your knees.

I arch my back and lean forward, kissing the bulge of your cock over you jeans, licking it, worshipping it- you haven't told me to stop yet.

In fact, you haven't said anything, so I lean back and sit on my heels, knees open and back arched just a little, daring to look up at you.

Wordlessly, you get up, and walk away from me, toward the bathroom. You don't instruct me to follow, and I've already taken plenty of liberties, so I remain on my knees. I hear the shower turn on and am confused and annoyed- couldn't you have showered during the last hour you were alone?

Then you call for me, and a look of realization and excitement passes over my face. I scramble to my feet and come to the bathroom, and find you already naked, as beautiful as the day I first saw you like this.

It takes every fiber in my being not to drop to my knees and start deep-throating that beautiful cock, but you don't ask me to. You reach a hand behind me, and release the clasps on my bra, and I let it fall.

Your mouth goes to my right nipple, sucking and biting, already finding the line between pain and pleasure and toeing it. I simply submit, tilting my head back, running my fingers through your hair, pulling you closer to me. You switch to the other nipple, teasing me with your tongue, then your teeth, and I remember the time I tried to tell you not to do this.

Seems I've been telling you no a lot lately.

That's been working great.

Your hand slides down my stomach, into my underwear. Your finger slips between my lips, down to my anus, back up to my clit, and I moan as you slide it inside me and latch onto my nipple. You pull your finger out and put it to my lips. It isn't near as wet as you wanted, you say. You'll have to fix that.

You drop my panties down to the floor, and I step out of them into the shower with you. You grab the hair at the back of my head to hold me still while you kiss me, breaking the rule we never had.

In that moment, we're everything we're meant to be- you, dominant, strong, commanding, me, soft, yielding, obedient. It's all I ever really want, this right here.

You break away, and spin me around. Deja vu takes its hold as you push down on my back until I'm effectively bent over, bracing against the shower wall. Your lips press my neck, my shoulder blade, down in a line to the small of my back, and you crouch between my legs.

Then your tongue's inside me, tasting me, claiming me, and it draws back out so your hands can play on my clit. Two of your fingers rub circles over it, as I start to moan. You slip two fingers into my now-wet pussy- "Much better," you murmur. Your wet fingers move up, pushing first one, then the other into my ass. I moan, no words, but my tone begs. You start pulling your fingers in and out, and it's starting to feel really good. You start moving faster, deeper, and I almost wish it was your cock instead of your hand, but I'm too worked up to ask for it. You're fucking my ass with two fingers when I start begging you to cum, to make me, to let me. Your mouth returns between my legs, and when you start sucking on my clit, I scream. "Oh, ohhmygodd... fuckfuckfuckfuck Cole! Please!"

And you stop. You pull your fingers out and your face away, and stand up. "What did you call me?" You ask, and I turn to look at you.

For a moment I'm confused. Then I understand. "Cole."

"What's my name?"

"Cole." I cock an eyebrow and a hip.

You slap me across the face.

I reel for a moment, and you shove me to my knees.

"What is my name?" You demand quietly.

I look up at you, and repeat your full name, first middle and last. It's still not the answer you want.

You shove two fingers into my mouth, into my throat, cutting off my airway. "I am your Master. You are my bitch, my whore, my toy, a fucking object. Do you understand?" Your fingers push deeper into my throat. "This hole is mine. Every hole on you, bitch, is mine. I control your orgasms. I control your fucking breath."

You pull your hand out and I gasp for air. I can't make eye contact now, but I can't bring myself to say it, either. So when you ask, one more time: "Now what's my name?"

I smile and say, "Jackass."

You backhand me to the ground, grab a fistful of hair, and drag me out. You're pulling me to the bed as I desperately try to crawl and keep pace with you. You toss me onto the bed like I weigh nothing, and slap my face once more. "On your knees. Hands behind your back. Face in the pillow."

I comply. I have no problem following orders. My ass goes high in the air, with my knees and face on the bed, my hands holding my elbows behind my back.

I'm sure you're going to fuck me in the ass, and I'm almost excited. I haven't gotten to really touch your huge cock yet, and I had a little prep in the bathroom, so I can take it.

I'm wrong, though.

I don't even hear you take off your belt. I don't know it's off until there's a line of white-hot pain across both cheeks of my ass. Another snap on my right, another on the left, on the top, on the underside. You spread my knees and slap my inner thighs. You brush the leather against my pussy, and laugh when it comes away wet. You make me lick it off, and laugh again when I cringe as you drag it across my cheek, my neck, shoulders and back. Then you're back to my ass, and slap me once, harder than you have yet. I squeal, but I've held back the sobs.

Then there's one more, harder than any of them, across both ass cheeks and my wet pussy. I scream and bite the sheets in front of me, but I don't let you hear me cry.

You climb on the bed, your body- when did you strip?- hot, enveloping mine as you wrap yourself around me. "What's my name?" You whisper in my ear.

I don't answer.

You take the tip of your cock, allow the precum to dribble over my striped ass. You tap it over me, and rub the tip over my sensitive clit to my soaked opening. I don't speak, but I'm begging. My back is arched, my pussy presented at the best possible angle for you, all I truly need is to be claimed by that dick again, please.

Your voice is barely a decibel above silence. "What is my name?"

"Master."

Your cock drives into my hot wet pussy, ramming the beginning of my cervix, hips slapping my already-abused ass and making me cry out.

I feel your hand creep back into the hair on the back of my head as you prepare to fuck the shit out of me.

"And that's never going to change."