The Plan

There was just to much vanilla in her life. To, too much. She wondered from time to time if she even was kinky anymore. He was busy, she was busy; between the jobs, the kids, the house, how could there be time for kink anymore.

Maybe it had been a phase?

Where there was a moment she could call her own–in the bathroom at work–she’d spend a second daydreaming about scenes. They ranged from a spanking as he held her head in the toilet, to being tied immobile and his taking her fiercely. Ah, the difference between the fantasy and the reality, she mused later when she got home, unpacking groceries as the kids chased one another through the house yelling like rabid heathens. Yup, she thought, this was sure one sexual paradise right here. She was pulled away from any further fantasies as her youngest tried wedging himself between her thighs and the counter, ‘hiding’ from his sister.


It had been one of the longest weeks on record, she thought as she packed up her stuff to go home. Thankfully she remembered the salad she’d not had time to eat, and dashed into the break room to grab it from the refrigerator. On the table was Ben’s birthday cake–she’d not gotten a piece of that, either. Grabbing a paper plate, she cut a generous slice of the thick sheet cake, wrapping it in plastic wrap.  At least she wouldn’t have to cook supper tonight. Her husband had said not to worry, that he’d take care of the kids.

The house was silent when she unlocked the back door. She cocked her head, listening for the usual sounds of family. She peered back over her shoulder–yes, there was his car–so where the fuck was everyone? Tucking the salad into her fridge, and leaving the cake on the counter with her work bag, she went in search.

She found him in the television room. What caught her attention, however, was the array of things carefully set out on the coffee table. Things that she had thought had been left to gather dust on the topmost shelf of their bedroom closet. She looked at him, looked at the toys, looked back at him.

Her mouth opened but he lifted his hand to forestall her words.


Goldfish would have applauded, her mouth opened and closed so perfectly.


There it was–that indefinable tone in his voice. The one that made her toes curl, and her pussy wet, and her clit throb, and her nipples crinkle. How long had it been since she’d last heard that?

A sudden sharp click had her glancing back at him. He rose in a swift, smooth movement, the sharp gleam of silver in his hand. In the span of a heartbeat he crossed to her, grabbed her blouse, and slit the front with the knife. Another click returned the blade to the handle. Sliding the knife into his back pocket, he jerked her blouse open and down until it pooled at her wrists.

All had happened in a breath. Incapable of movement from the shock, she was unsteady, shocked. His hand lifted and slapped her cheek, hard.

“When I say ‘strip’….I mean get your fucking ass naked now.”

He didn’t yell. The sibilant whisper was all the more intimidating for it. Her fingers shook as she unzipped her slacks, loosened the button. Tugging her hands out of her ruined blouse as she kicked the pants from her ankles, she cried out as his hand found a hank of hair, and tugged it.

“Faster, slut.”

Her heart was beating a rapid pulse in her chest, her breath came in shallow gasps–and her cunt was wetter than it had been in years. One second–five seconds–eight seconds–she stood in her bra and panties, freed from her work clothing.

The dreaded snick came again. A low whimper squeezed up her throat at the cold blade slid between her tits.

He tugged her closer to him by her hair, growled into her ear.

“Not fast enough, slut.”

In a moment he’d cut through the bra, then across the straps. A sharp pull tugged the ragged remains from her, and landed on the floor beside her shirt.

“Open your legs. Wider.”

He dropped to his knees, slapping her thighs. His finger hooked in the crotch of her panties, but it was the cold slip of the blade against her inner leg that made her tremble. A quick tug separated the fabric. She was left, for a moment, with a band of silk around her hips, before that too was felled by his wicked knife.

He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, once more taking her by her hair. A sharp tug pulled her across the room. Pushing her over the arm of the couch, his hand pressed against the back of her neck.


A trail of liquid seeped down her inner thigh from her overheated pussy. Her face was buried in the cushion of the couch.  So turned on. So alive. She’d forgotten what it felt like, this euphoric feeling. The sharp slap of his belt across her raised bottom made her yelp, but her lips curved into a smile against the cushion.

He beat her hard, until that secret smile was a memory, until tears soaked the couch under her cheek, until her ass was throbbing, red hot fire, and felt like shattered ruins. It fucking hurt. His hand moved tenderly over the hot flesh. She whined at the coolness of that touch.

“Your cunt is so hot and swollen. I’m guessing you need a good fucking?”

She nodded her head, flushing at his chuckle of satisfaction.

“You’re such a slut. Whip your ass, and you turn into a sodden wet hole for me, don’t you?”

The flush of embarrassment was accompanied by a sudden rush of liquid from her pussy. His hands gripped her hips as his swollen cock slid easily inside her. She should have been embarrassed by the liquid squelching sounds as his cock slammed into her, but she wasn’t. Too consumed by the heavy-handed fucking, there was only room for satisfaction. His hand reached for her hair, yanking her head back until her back arched and her hips curled in invitation to take her deeper, harder. He held her, using her hair as reins while he  rode her.  Her body shook from the force of his body slamming hers. This was not a vanilla fuck, not by a longshot. This was her Master, fucking his whore. His cries grew more guttural, culminating in a roar as he came; she swore she could feel each pulse as his cock pumped his sex juice into her belly.

Rather than pulling out, he reached under, finding her tits, pulling her up until she was standing, back to him, his cock still buried in her cunt.  He turned, sitting on the arm of the couch, and pushed her hips away, releasing his cock. A moment later he pulled her back, impaling her.

“Fuck yourself.”

His hands rested at her waist, but she was doing the work now, her thighs trembling. How was he still hard, she wondered. She came as she worked, her cunt drooling, lubricating his cock with every rise and fall of her hips.

“I felt that,” He said, his tone menacing. “I don’t recall you asking for permission.”

“s-sor-ry s-ir” she spoke in gasps, fucking harder, faster, sliding up and down his rigid pole.

“Not good enough.”

He pushed her away. She staggered a step, catching herself before she fell. He grabbed her; they wrangled a bit, before he took her arms, holding them with one hand. Pushing her to the couch, he slapped her hip with his free hand. It only took him seconds to tie her wrists, damn them man!

The paddle was extremely painful on her already aching ass. That he’d used the one with the holes in it did not gladden her heart-that one hurt like holy fuck! Yelping and wriggling and pleading did nothing to lessen his blows. Her knees gave out, and the couch accepted both screams and tears as he beat down her thighs and to that tender place where ass and thighs met. The clatter of the paddle hitting the table didn’t stop her tears.

“I’m so fucking hard!”

His hands gripped her cheeks, pushing them apart. Her moan–was it no or resignation? The head of his cock swiped down and up and around her soaked slit, lubricating himself with her juices, before pressing firmly into her rectum. Nestled deeply in her ass, He let his fingers pinch along her sides. Giggles and squeals came from the couch cushion. So fucking ticklish–and yet it hurt too. She was pinned by his legs against hers, his cock in her bum, as his fingers tormented her.

Sliding hands to hips, he withdrew from her ass, poised for a moment on the brink of nearly being out, before slamming back into her.

“I’m taking your ass. Taking it. You’re not ‘giving’ it to me, I’m taking it.  I’m gonna fuck it hard and deep and blow a bucket of jizz into you.  You’ll have beans for dinner later–I want to watch you squirming tomorrow when you have to take a shit…”

She squealed.

“PLEASE may I cum, Master… PLEASEEEE!!”

Hands slapping her hips before gripping tightly, he growled “CUM” moments before his cock began to release his own orgasm. Panting, they rolled onto the floor together, and slept.


3:12 a.m.

The clock on the television set glowed, the only light in the room. Down the hallway was the glow from the kitchen light that she hadn’t turned off.  She ached everywhere. She was horny as a bitch in heat. And..she shook her head. Where was he? And where were the kids?

She rolled to her knees, groaning. Yup, everything still worked. She rose to her feet, moaning as her skin stretched. She smelled awful, hurt everyplace, but her body hummed too. She felt so fucking good!

Padding to the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway. He sat at the island, cup of coffee in his hand. He glanced over to her.

“You look like hell.”

“You did it.”

“I know, I do good work.”

He smiled, then curled his finger at her. Obediently she paced over to him, wincing as he grabbed one nipple and tugged her fully against him.

“Wait. Where are the kids?”

“My mom took them.”

“She did?”

He paused, kissing her mouth deeply. The bite on her bottom lip was a sharp pain that sent a bolt of lust straight to her clit. His finger continued to pinch her nipple.

“Where’d the cake come from?”

She explained.

“Ah. Good. I have plans for it. Later.”

“Hey! That’s my cake, bucco,” she said, slipping back into vanilla playful mode.

“You’ll get some of it, too, slut.” His tone admonished her, as well as the sudden sharp rolling of her nipple. She rose to her toes with a yelp.


“You’ll get some. In your cunt. I’m going to stuff it up there and take my time eating it out.”

“But the kids,” she said, her tone worried, but her knees going weak at his words.

“Didn’t I say Mom took them?”


“For the weekend.”

He grabbed her tits and pushed her across the room until she barked up against the fridge. He kissed her. Or ransacked her mouth. His fingers buried themselves in her pussy, nearly lifting her to her toes as he finger fucked her to a fast orgasm.

He held her there, then slid those fingers from her cunt.

“And…” he paused, rubbing the sweetly scented digits down her nose and over her lips before sliding them into her mouth, “she’s decided that she wants to take them every three weeks from now on. She wants to visit with them more. She also said that we’re both working too hard and that she thinks we need to have some alone time. Because she is looking for another grand-baby.”

He paused, sliding his fingers out of her mouth, then bending to bite her lip, twirling her tongue with his, tasting her in his mouth.

“I’m thinking that this is a goal to work toward…and this certainly is one way to get that done, don’t you think, slut?”

Her pussy quivered as she caught a glimpse of the plastic wrapped cake sitting on the counter. She could see it there behind him, over the curve of his arm as he pinned her to the fridge. How devious of him to mention that cake that way. How exciting to think that they would have this special playtime every few weeks. How sore and used she would be. Her whole being was smiling. She smelled herself on his fingers as he traced her lips over and over.

“Time to get to work then, Master. Can’t disappoint your mom now, can we?” Her voice was husky with lust, the smell of her hot pussy perfuming the air between them.

She sucked his fingers into her mouth. And bit.