The Last Time

I know tonight is goodbye. I didn’t let myself think about it as I drove over here this morning, or I knew I would crumble and compromise on my needs just to keep the relationship afloat for a little longer. We have given it a damn good go, me and him, but we have come to the end of the road. This road we have been walking together has forked, and we have to go in different directions.

I didn’t plan to end up in bed with him after all the hours of talking. After the conclusion that there really is no way forward. At best, I expected a bittersweet hug and a tearful farewell. At worst, I envisioned slamming doors, screamed grievances, scorched earth. There’s none of any of that. Just the wistful sadness that comes with an inevitability you’ve both been putting off for far too long.

The disentangling will begin in earnest tomorrow. Tonight, though, we will say goodbye in the only way we know how. People talk a lot about first time sex. First time ever, first time with a new person. First time with a person of a particular gender, or trying a particular act. We don’t talk anywhere near as much about last times. But that’s what this is.

I don’t want him to be gentle with me. This isn’t a tearful what-could-have-been, but a last hurrah. We both understand the urgency without needing to say it. He reaches for me, and I for him, and we devour each other as though we are each trying to imprint ourselves forever on the other’s memory. His three-days-unshaven face is scratchy against my cheek when we kiss, and his fingernails claw at my skin as he pulls my jeans and then my panties off.

He wraps his arms around my legs and pulls me to him, burying his face in my vulva and inhaling the scent of me. His tongue finds my clit, circling and flicking at it in exactly the way that makes my toes curl and my eyes roll back in my head. There’s nothing like sex with someone who has known you, your body, and all its quirks for years.

He slides a finger, and then two fingers, inside me, curling them to push against my G-spot. I hear myself make a sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl.

I reach for him. “Fuck me,” I plead. “Just fuck me.” I need to feel him inside me. One more time. He reaches for a condom from the nightstand and hands it to me. I tear it open and unroll it over his hard cock the same way I’ve done thousands of times before. Then his hands are on mine, pinning me beneath him, and his cock is sliding into my cunt. I squeeze my muscles around him, relishing his moans and the way his eyes flash with desire. We hold each other’s gaze and his hand slips into mine.

“Rub your clit,” he commands, bending to kiss me. My hand slips down between our bodies and a gasp escapes my lips as my fingers find the right spot. For a short, blissful time – maybe a minute, maybe five, I don’t know – there is nothing but sensation, nothing but him and me and this moment.

The memories unspool like a roll of film. The first time he went down on me. That time we decided to try swinging, but quickly realised it wasn’t really our scene. The mutual discovery of how much we both loved it when he spanked me. Our experimentations with pegging and double penetration and fisting. All the years of experiences and experiments, of love and lust and laughter, all come down to this. This last time.

In the moment before I orgasm, I remember the way he cupped my face in his hands the first time he kissed me. My climax tips him over the edge, too, and I feel his heartbeat pulsing through his cock as he comes inside me. Neither of us says anything. What use are more words now?

I let myself cuddle with him just long enough for our hearts to steady, then extricate myself from his arms and his bed and his life.

I do not let the tears fall until I am driving down the motorway at 70 miles per hour, the breakup playlist I preemptively made blasting at full volume.

This strange little piece of smutty-ish fiction was written as part of Smutathon 2021! You can check out all our work and learn more about the challenge on the Smutathon website. Please consider donating to this year’s charities, Gendered Intelligence and Trans Lifeline.

Masturbation Monday: “Words Words Words”

There aren’t many rules in our dynamic. My Sir is pretty laid back and isn’t really interested in micromanaging me or placing so many restrictions upon me that I’m bound to trip over one or another. One of the rules I do have to follow, though, is this: I’m not allowed to talk negatively about myself.

I’m so sick of this fucking thesis. I’ve been battling it for weeks and every time I think I’ve beaten it into some form of shape, I find something else wrong with it that needs fixing. I sigh and shut my laptop with a click. Put my head in my hands on the desk. Across the room, Sir spins around in his chair to look at me

A woman's breast just out of the water in a bubble bath with erotic words written on it.

“You okay, Kitten?”

“I can’t do this!” I blurt out. “Just… I can’t. I’m too fucking stupid to do this. Why did I think I could?” Fuck. It takes me a second to realise I’ve broken the rule.

“Kitten…” his voice has a note of warning in it. I almost no longer care.

“What? It’s true”.

He pushes back from the desk and stands. “Come upstairs with me. Now”. Shit. I follow him meekly. In the bedroom, he tells me to take off my clothes and lie face up on the bed. My mind starts to race as I strip off. What’s he going to do? I was expecting possibly a spanking, but he clearly has something else in mind. That’s when I notice he’s got his favourite fountain pen in his hand.

He straddles me on the bed, his knees either side of my thighs. He’s still fully dressed. He pops the cap off the pen.

“Keep still,” he tells me.

“Sir?”

“I’m sick of you putting yourself down. Obviously punishing you hasn’t worked, so we’re going to try something else. Don’t move. If you squirm and make me mess up, I will punish you”.

The pen makes contact with my stomach first, just below my belly button. It tickles. I squeak but manage not to move. He’s writing something. I can’t tell what. Higher up my stomach, he writes something else. Then he leans over and adorns each of my breasts with yet more words. Down both my arms, along my collarbone, along the tops of my thighs.

He shifts position and uses one of his legs to make me spread mine. I resist the temptation to grind my cunt into his knee. His hand so close to my cunt that it brushes against the outer lips, I can feel myself growing wet. He writes something on my inner thigh. And just like that, this tiny bit of non-stimulation is all I get and he’s pushed my legs back together and is writing something on my lower abdomen. The whole thing probably takes less than five minutes, though it feels like much longer. He sits back and replaces the pen cap.

“Now go and look in the mirror”.

I hop up and cross over to the full-length mirror in the wardrobe door. For the first time, I see the words he’s written all over my body in his beautiful handwriting.

Beautiful. Capable and competent. Imperfect perfection. Talented. Kind. Funny. Sexy. Cute. Gorgeous. Smart. I feel tears starting to prickle in my eyes.

I part my legs to see what he wrote on my inner thigh, close to my cunt. The word is backwards in the reflection but there is no mistaking what it says, his favourite of all the words he uses about me: MINE. The first tear spills over.

He comes over and brushes the tear from my cheek. “Don’t cry, Kitten. You’re going to stand there for fifteen minutes and feast your eyes upon your gorgeous body with the way I see you written all over it. Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you while you read them all back to me”.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week. Featured image is the utterly gorgeous Livvy and was first published as “Erotica“.

Bluebells

When I kiss him in just that way, he knows what I want.

He manoeuvres me, lips still locked to mine, until my back is against the tree. The woods, carpeted in early May bluebells, are quiet; we haven’t seen another soul all afternoon. Pressing his body close to mine, he kisses me harder as his hands go to my breasts, fingers manipulating my hard nipples.

He unbuttons my jeans, fingers slipping inside and into my knickers. When they reach my pubic hair, I gasp and part my legs further. When they touch my cunt, I am already dripping. He pushes a finger inside, then two.

“Take your jeans down.”
“But…”
“I said take them down.”

I glace around me, paranoid suddenly that we could be being watched, and do as he says. Jeans and knickers around my ankles, he pushes another finger into my willing cunt and fucks me hard with his three digits. I try to keep my noise to a minimum, but I cannot suppress my cry of pleasure as I feel the first orgasm building, building…

“I’m cumming…” I gasp as I explode on his hand. He responds by pounding my cunt harder and harder with his fingers, forcing a second and third orgasm from me so quickly that my legs buckle. I grab a branch to help keep me on my feet.

A clearning in a wood with a tree and carpeted with bluebells

He withdraws his hand. “Turn around and bend over,” he says.
“But someone could see…”
“There’s no-one here. Turn around. Bend over.”

I obey, bracing myself against the tree as I offer my ass and cunt to him. He adjusts me until I’m at the right angle, and his cock slips easily inside. Fingering me, watching me cum, always gets him so hard.

“You’d like it if someone was watching, wouldn’t you?” he asks. In response, my cunt clenches, tightening around his cock as I start to cumagain. “Did I just feel you cum? Are you such a slut that the thought of someone watching you get pounded in the woods makes you cum?”

He knows damn well I am exactly that much of a slut. I respond by pushing back onto his cock, asking him to fuck me harder. God, I love his cock. The thought pushes me over into another orgasm.

He pulls out of me. ‘Turn around and get on your knees,” he says. “Clean your mess off my cock.”

I kneel, feeling the soft forest floor on my bare legs, and take his full length into my mouth at once. He’s still hard as I lick and suck my juices from his cock, tasting my own excitement and the several orgasms he’s given me in the last few minutes.

“You know,” he murmurs as I stand to kiss him, “I think there is someone watching us over there…”

Note: There was emphatically NOT anyone watching. We were completely alone in a secluded area. Imposing displays of sexuality on people who haven’t consented isn’t cool.