Make Me… (aka, How I Spent Sunday Afternoon!)

I was feeling particularly wound up, irritable and agitated. I knew what lay beneath these feelings but had no inclination to work on the issue itself… it felt too hard, too daunting, too suffocating.

All I knew was I needed release. To forget for a while.

To switch off that fucking voice in my head and simply… be.

He could see I was in a foul mood and tried the softly, softly approach. Hugging me, kissing me, telling me he loved me.

I pouted back.

His eyes changed; a flash of something in them. His hand under my chin, firmly lifting my head up, “Look at me!”

I tried to turn away. He forced my face towards his, “Look at me!”

My eyes reluctantly met his, “You are going to cheer up, you hear me?”

I pouted again.

“That isn’t a request. It’s an order. Cheer the fuck up.”


We sat in the car after finishing the grocery shopping, waiting for the lights to change. I breathed out a loud, sulky sigh. His eyes flitted over in my direction, “Didn’t I tell you to cheer up?”

“It’s not that easy you know… It’s not a switch I can just flick!” I snapped back.

A low growl from the driver’s seat. The lights turned green and we moved.


Groceries unloaded and he looks over at me, checking on me.

“I’m going to take a shower, ” I say and abruptly leave the room.

Toweling off, I hear him downstairs, walking around, doing whatever he was doing.

I know what I need and I know exactly how to get it.

Pulling on my new black lace stockings and a black, translucent negligee, I quickly check my reflection and head downstairs.

His eyebrows rise in surprise as I walk into the kitchen. His eyes travel up and down my body, taking in the see-through wisp of fabric and everything underneath it.

“Is this a sign your mood has improved?”

I sullenly shake my head, mouth pouted and eyes narrowed like a belligerent child.

“I told you… get rid of that mood!”

“Make me!” I snarl.

Then his hand is around my throat and I am being propelled into the living room.

He bends me over the back of the sofa and pulls my slip up to reveal my bare ass.

“Stay! Do. Not. Move.” I hear his belt buckle being opened and the leather sliding through the rough denim belt loops, then the sound of it cracking the air before the exquisite sting hits my flesh.

I grin.

“Where are your heels? You present to me with no shoes?” he demands. I remain silent.

“Answer me!”  I reply a whispered, “Sorry”.

The leather strikes me again. Hard.

This is what I wanted, craved, needed.

He punishes my ass with his belt over and over. I refuse to cry out.

He leans down and whispers into my ear, “Does that hurt?”


“Too much?”


Another swipe of the belt. This time much, much harder. A gasp and cry escape my lips. I feel myself growing wetter and hotter. He follows up with more lashes until tears prick my eyes.

His hand circles around my throat, straightening me up, pressing my back against his chest. His other hand comes around to the front of my negligee and roughly yanks it down over one shoulder. His fingers grab my nipple and squeeze it hard, pinching it and pulling, stretching it. My cunt is dripping with desire, my head rolls back against him and I sag into him.

Forcing me back down over the sofa he once again raises my slip up over my hips and I feel his fingers thrust into me abruptly, pumping, fucking me hard and fast. Grinding down against his hand, helping his fingers find my sweet spot inside, gasping for breath as I feel the heat building inside me. His other hand slaps my ass cheek hard as he rams into me.

I feel it.

The rise of glowing heat through my body, emanating from where his fingers rub against my inside wall, spreading through my groin, belly, nipples, all the way to the roots of my hair in my scalp.

I cry out my release. Actually crying with gratitude.

His fingers leave me and I feel momentarily lost.

He rubs his tip against my wet, swollen lips before plunging fully into me and he fucks me like a rag doll over the sofa back, ramming into me relentlessly.

I hear him grunting behind me and realise animalistic noises are unconsciously coming from my throat too.

I lose myself in the feeling of being claimed, owned, broken.

At last I feel myself drift. Soar.

My head clears, empties of all thoughts.

I am purely my body. My sensations.

My muscles clenching tight around him as my second orgasm washes over me, I feel him explode inside me so I squeeze tighter, milking him.

His forehead resting on my back as he slides out of me, leaving his juices to run down my inner thighs, both of us breathing heavily, exhausted.

I slump to the floor and he catches me just before I hit the hard wood, lifts me up and carries me to lie across his lap as he sits down, stroking my hair.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much. Thank you Sir”.

Copyright, 2015,

All rights reserved.


32 thoughts on “Make Me… (aka, How I Spent Sunday Afternoon!)

      1. I can cut her, but I can also leave tons of scratches without drawing blood or drawing very little. I mean, we are dealing with blades, so there will be cuts from time to time. I’ve done both, but I usually prefer to do it without lots of cutting.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. I love reading about the different power dynamics in people’s relationships. Our needs and wants are so varied and beautiful. The fact that you knew what you wanted and how to get it shows your power, but of course his power is what you need. Very nice….

    Liked by 1 person

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