New Year

We are lying in his bed. I have just told him I spent all evening wishing he was fucking me, dreaming about him bending me over the table and pulling my knickers to one side when his sister and the other guests were out of the room. In return he is whispering outrageous things in my ear. I have never met anyone with a way with words like his: he can describe scenarios which would leave me cold coming from anyone else and within minutes I will be rubbing myself against him like a cat and whimpering.

Tonight he is talking about filling me up with marbles and then making me walk around a stone- floored art gallery, videoing me from a distance as I walk around waiting for the sound of each glass globe to echo around as they fall from my freshly- fucked arsehole.

It is ridiculous, and we are laughing, but the thought of trying to keep those marbles inside me and the embarrassment I would feel when I inevitably failed makes me hoarse with arousal. I bury my face in his neck as he whispers in my ear, and moan and gasp against his skin. He is not even touching me, and I am undone. This is a regular occurrence. He has always been able to do this, from the very first time we fucked.

He brings the story to a natural conclusion, and I roll onto my back, lift my legs up to my chest, luxuriate in him pushing his cock into my arse. He fucks me slowly, looks into my eyes, and asks me what I am.

Your fucktoy, I reply.

What do you exist for, he asks.

Your pleasure, I say.

What was your arse made for, he asks.

It was made for your cock, I reply.

I may not have remembered this conversation exactly. We have had similar exchanges often, and I was coming very hard at the time, which will tend to impede my memory.


In the morning we are both a little wiped out, and sleep in until late. I have asked for a caning, but we get distracted by the need to deal with some poly- related complications, and we’ve already ‘wasted’ too much of a beautiful winter’s day dicking about in bed and trying to ameliorate the effects of staying up too late dicking around in bed. We need to get up and go out and do things.

I will in actuality never regret a single minute spent dicking around in bed with this man. As wastes of time go, it is one of my most absolute favouritest ever.

We drive to his bit of land. It’s the tail- end of the afternoon, and the sky is pale, the sun shining platinum- coloured over the horizon. He tends to his electric fences and I clip at thorny vegetation with secaturs. I am trimming hedges so that the thorns will not get caught in the horses’ manes when they eat. They lurk behind me, shifting from hoof to hoof; I am still not comfortable around their wall- like bulk, but occasionally one of them will nuzzle my shoulder or waist or the loop at the back of my boot, and I will feel a thrill of trepidation mixed with tentative fondness.

We finish our labours, and he remembers that earlier he promised to do despicable things to me. Walking towards the far end of the field, we stop for him to cut a long, thin green- grey willow withy with his knife. At the end of the field is a steel shipping container. He hauls the door open with an echoing clang, and we step inside. The air smells close and there is the smell of engine oil from two overturned plastic bottles on the floor. It is a good thing I have never been a hearts and flowers kind of girl.

He stands me in front of him and asks me to lift my shirt and vest, revealing my bra and the tops of my breasts. He strikes me with the willow whip, and I grip my hands tighter behind my back at the hot thin sting of it. With every few strokes he pulls me close and kisses me, then undoes my trousers and pulls them and my knickers down around my thighs. He rubs my clit and sticks his fingers inside me, pulling his hand out and giving it to me to taste. I enjoy the combination of rich, fine taste of myself and the breeze cool against my cunt. He undoes his zip and pulls out his cock, pushes me to my knees, thrusts it into my mouth. I laugh and gag and suck happily, inhaling the smell of his sweat mixed with engine oil.

Ten minutes later and my arse and thighs are burning from the willow. I have danced away from its stinging tip, and forced myself to stand still, and breathed hard and mindfully past the pain, enjoying at last the moment where internal protest becomes a silent, happy acquiescence. I am wearing a scarf, and he unloops it to tie my hands behind my back. I shuffle towards the wall with his hand at the small of my back, and he asks me to lift my arms behind me. There is a rope tied to the wall above my head, and he ties the rope to the scarf and tells me to bend over and stick out my arse.

He whips me several times, and I try and twist to avoid the pain, which is suddenly too much combined with the tightness in my shoulder muscles. I shout yellow, and he unropes me. I miss the sense of vulnerability and exposure, but the aching in my arms is too much to handle. He pushes me to another wall, bends me at the waist, tells me to open my legs as far as the constricting fabric of my jeans allows. I feel his cock pushing into me and bend further to rest my forehead against the cold steel wall.

He grips my wrists with one hand and pulls my head back with the other, kissing my neck and shoulders. He has told me I mustn’t make too much noise as there may be people in the other field, so I try not to yelp, or groan, or cry out too loud, but it is so hard, so hard. I want to shout how good he feels inside me. I feel my thighs begin to shake as I slam my hips back against his, wanting him as deep as he can go, deeper, so much deeper. I want to feel him come inside me, feel him seize inside the tight ring of muscle that welcomes him every time, welcomes him home, welcomes him to its refuge.

I am shaking in my unnatural stance and scared of losing my footing. He tells me it won’t be long, and I ground myself. He grabs my shoulders and slams into me. I laugh, and grit my teeth, and thank him. Sometimes the only thing I can say when he’s fucking me this hard is thank you. I am such a lucky little thing. He makes me laugh, and tells me I am capable of things, and calls me on my bullshit, and then he uses me like this, until I am nearly crying with happiness.

He comes, and we breathe for a while, me standing nearly on tiptoes, his weight resting against my arched back. He pulls out of me and I bend over to lick and suck him clean. When I am done we kiss, and he pulls my trousers up, and readjusts himself. We step out of the container and walk across the field, his arm across my shoulder, my hands still tied behind my back beneath the heavy wool drape of my coat. His stubby- legged terrier runs beside us towards the orangepink of the setting sun. As we walk I listen to our boots on the cold earth, the sound of seagulls flying over the hills, the neighing of distant horses.

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