MasukI shouldn't be here. My ex is marrying a woman he started dating three weeks after dumping me, and I'm at table fourteen – the table they put you at when they don't want you but couldn't not invite you – in a red dress that cost more than the gift I brought, three glasses of champagne deep, watching Ethan dip his bride while the DJ plays Ed Sheeran.That's when I see him.Groomsman. Leaning against a pillar near the bar with a whiskey and a look that says he'd rather be anywhere else. Tall. Broad shoulders the suit jacket can't contain. Dark blond hair pushed back, a little too long. Strong jaw. Arms that strain the fabric when he lifts his glass.He catches me looking. I don't look away.He raises his glass. I raise mine. Game on.We orbit each other for an hour – dancing with other people, catching eyes across the room. Every time I look up, he's watching me. My dress. My mouth. The curve of my neck. Cataloguing me for later.The cake cutting happens. I skip it – go to the bar inst
Every nerve ending in my punished skin fires simultaneously when his hips meet my cheeks. The sting reignites. The bruises throb. His cock stretches my swollen, oversensitive pussy and the fullness combines with the pain into something I don't have a word for except more."Thank me," he says, driving deep. His pelvis slapping my crimson ass."Thank you – fuck – thank you for punishing me –"He pulls back and slams forward. The impact on my welted ass makes me scream."Thank you for what?""Thank you for spanking me – for paddling me – fuck – for making me count –"Another brutal thrust. His hips crack against my bruised cheeks."Thank you for eating my ass – for fingering me – for making me cum when I didn't deserve it –""Good girl." He grabs my hair. Pulls my head back until my spine curves. His other hand grips my hip – directly on a bruise from the paddle &nd
His tongue drags through my folds – collecting every drop of arousal, pushing inside me, curling against my front wall from behind.Then he drags his tongue higher. Over my perineum. Circling my asshole with the tip."Oh fuck –"He rims me while my ass burns. The contrast is staggering – his soft, wet tongue circling my most sensitive hole while the skin surrounding it is hot and welted and stinging from twenty strikes. He alternates – slow circles, then fast flutters, then pressing flat and dragging across the rim with the full width of his tongue. Each pass sends shockwaves through my already overloaded nerves.He pushes his tongue inside my ass. Just the tip, then deeper – his tongue stiffening and pushing past the tight ring of muscle while his thumbs hold my welted cheeks spread. I cry out and grab the couch cushions and shove my face into the fabric and push my ass back against his mouth because the sensation of being rimmed on punished skin is driving me out of my mind."You do
He pulls my thong aside. His finger drags through my bare folds – collecting the wetness, coating his fingertip – and brings it to his mouth. Sucks it clean. "You taste like a girl who's been thinking about this all week."His hand lifts.Crack. Harder than before. I yelp and jerk and my count stutters."Eleven – fuck – eleven –""Wrong. That was ten. You miscounted." His voice is cold. "We start this set over.""No – please – I –"Crack. "Count.""One – god –"He starts the set again. Harder this time. Each spank landing with more force, the sound sharper, the sting deeper. He targets the sit-spots – the crease where my ass meets my thighs – and the pain in that tender area makes my legs kick involuntarily. He pins my ankles with his leg, trapping me across his lap, and keeps going."Two – three – ah fuck – four –"His hand comes down on the same spot twice in a row and I scream. The pain stacks – sharp on top of sharp, my skin burning so hot I can feel my heartbeat in my ass cheeks.
I broke his rule on purpose.The rule was simple: when he texts tonight, I respond within ten minutes. Not twenty. Not an hour. Not whenever I feel like it. Ten minutes. That's the agreement. That's the dynamic we built over six months of negotiations and safe words and the slow, delicious process of learning exactly how much control I want to hand over and exactly how firmly he wants to hold it.Tonight he texted at 7:14 PM. I read it at 7:15. I put my phone face-down on the counter and made dinner. Ate slowly. Washed the dishes. Dried them. Put them away.I responded at 8:47.Sorry, was busy.Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.Come over. Now.I took my time getting ready. Showered. Shaved. Chose the underwear carefully – black lace, the set he bought me, the thong that barely qualifies as fabric. Put on a sundress with nothing underneath but the lace because I want him to discover it himself. Drove to his place
I hear his zipper. The rustle of fabric. Then the hot, blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance from behind – bare, oiled, thick enough that even with everything he's done to open me up, the stretch makes me gasp.He pushes in. Slow. His oiled cock sliding into my oiled pussy in one long, devastating stroke. The sensation is – fuck – everything is so slippery, so warm, so frictionless that he glides in effortlessly, bottoming out with his pelvis against my ass, and I feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him inside me."God," he groans. "You feel – the oil – fuck – you're so slick I can barely –"He starts to move. Long strokes – pulling almost entirely out, then gliding back in – his oiled cock sliding through my oiled pussy with a wet, obscene sound. There's almost no friction – just warm, slippery fullness, his cock gliding in and out like he's been designed to fit inside me.He pumps more oil. Directly onto his cock as he fucks me – I feel the warm liquid running







