When He Holds My Hair …
I love it when he holds my hair. Well, when he touches it really. It can be a heavy-handed action, fistfuls of it grabbed during a heated moment of action. It can be a light-handed motion too, like when he lightly glides his fingers down the length of it when it’s freshly washed and super-soft. Perhaps it’s the fact that it can be both hot and heavy, and light and soft, all at the same time that makes it so special? I don’t know what it is, but I do know that I love it. I love it when he holds my hair.
He was holding my hair right now, but it wasn’t a light and soft motion this time. It was definitely hot and heavy, using his grip to force my head up and down on his cock, forcing it as far into the back of my throat as he could. He loves it when I gag. He loves it when my eyes bulge a little, and the repetitive pushing motion right into the back of my mouth makes them water a little too. That mussed-up mascara look … He loves that the most. If my makeup isn’t smudged halfway around my face when he’s done with me, he just hasn’t done hard enough a job. That’s what he thinks, anyway.
He was working hard on me right now, lying back on the white leather couch, but also leaning just enough forward to grip hold of my hair tight. The veins in his hands and arms were popping right out of his skin, his grip was so tight, but I wanted it tighter still. I wanted it so that I wouldn’t be able to move unless his hands gave me permission to do so. I really do love it when I’m entirely under his control, when no words are exchanged between us, everything said in a series of actions. He lays back on the couch and beckons me to move towards him. I position myself bent over so that I can reach his cock. He does the rest, holding my head and hair in exactly the right position so he can give my mouth the fucking it really craves.
He doesn’t do it for long though, and that’s what fucks me up the most. Just when I get into a rhythm, when I learn how to breathe in between his forceful and violent fucking motions, he switches things up and moves me around. It always leaves me a little disorientated and I think that’s just what adds to the fire. And it always is fiery too. Each time he comes to town, we explore the same burning heat, never wondering whether or not it’s something more. We’re fuck buddies, nothing more, nothing less. He fucks me in that way I want to be fucked; in a way that no man ever could fuck me; in a way I would never be brave enough to request. He just understands me. Well, my body, anyway.
Still with his tight grip on my hair, he moves me so that I’m no longer face to face with his terrifyingly hard cock. He pulls me towards him, making me crawl across the couch so that I’m now face-to-face with him, and he uses his chance to playfully bite my bottom lip. Just enough to make me wince a little with the pain, but not enough to draw blood. He’s smarter than that. The only wounds he’d be leaving tonight would be his handprint on my ass, and even then we might not even make it that far. It has been some time since we saw each other last, and there was an urgency to things this time around that I hadn’t felt before.
We were both naked. Well, with the exception of the black leather collar I had around my neck. He’d bought that for me on one of our earlier afternoons together, back when we were first learning a little more about each other. Who’d have known when we bumped into each other at that school reunion two years ago that we’d end up here? In his living room, naked, sprawled across his white leather couch. He was sprawled, I was now precariously awaiting his permission to impale myself on his rock-hard dick. I could feel it against my wet cunt, desperate to feel it inside me. After feeling the full force of it against the back of my throat for a while, I’d give anything to be fucked. Really fucked hard. I knew that’s what he wanted too. I could feel him pulsating against my sticky flesh, trying to hold back but not really wanting to, all at the same time. With his teeth bared, he wrapped his hand one more time around my long dark brown hair, yanking my head back and revealing my throat.
“It’s a damn shame you’re wearing that collar today, little one. I have the overwhelming urge to bite your neck.”
Less of a sentence, more of a snarling grumble, the tone in his voice was almost menacing. This was something very different from the dominant and controlling man I was used to sharing a bed with. Or a couch. Things were different this time. The passion was still there, but some of it had disappeared. In its place was something else. Anger, perhaps? Aggression, but not just of a sexual nature. There was an intimidating air in the room. It was making my hair stand on end.
“Where do you want me?” I barely whispered, unsure of what to do. My usual playful and disobedient nature had long-since whimpered off when I realised my punishment this time might actually not be as playful as it usually would be.
He didn’t even bother responding, just lifting me up and slamming me right back down onto his cock instead. I cried out, half in pain and half in pure delight, my trepidation replaced with excitement. An almost-scared excitement admittedly, but still a sensation that made me tingle. Excitement was something I haven’t felt in a little while.
Harder and harder, he used his arm around my waist to lift me up and then smash me down again. Each time my cries getting louder and louder. It was hurting by now, and my moans were definitely verging more into pain than they were pleasure. As much as it hurt, it was also entirely liberating to be his toy for a brief moment in time. His fuck-toy – something or someone he could do whatever he wanted to. It should have felt seedy. It possibly should have felt a little cheap. I should have felt used. But I didn’t. It didn’t feel any of those things. It never did. With each thrust – each time he slammed his dick deep inside me – I could feel my climax edging closer. I wanted to reach down and help things along a little, but I didn’t dare break from his grasp. It was becoming very clear that he needed to do his thing, and I didn’t want to shatter his stride. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t want to be his bad girl. I wanted to be his good girl.
His grunts getting progressively louder, I knew his furious fucking wouldn’t last for much longer. I also knew I wouldn’t cum if we kept going at the rate we were. I got the impression he was punishing me for something, but denying me my orgasm was something we had both worked out didn’t work for me. That was just cruel. My concerns were quashed, however, when he released his left arm from his tight grip around my waist and reached down for my pussy.
“Lean back,” he commanded, an order barked between gritted teeth. I immediately did as I’d been told. I wanted my reward for being such a good girl during his assault on my body — and rewarded I was. He used his now-wet fingers to flick from side-to-side directly across my clit, in a motion that was almost too much to bear. If I hadn’t been close to orgasm already it would have been too much, but I was close. Too close. It took just a moment to finish me off, my release quite literally gushing out across his groin. Seconds later, his release followed, a seed I actually felt being released inside me as he pulled me close into his chest. I could feel the burst of breath against my cheek and ear at the exact moment he came, and for just a minute we lay there together, letting our ragged breathing subside.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
It took me a few moments to find the courage to speak after such a furious display. In the two years that we had been sleeping together, he had never fucked me like that. It had never been so frenzied, or so painful. I didn’t mind pain, but I felt I deserved an explanation.
ARTWORK BY BEAR
