Subject: "The Couch" - (M/F, cons spanking, yummy sex)
From: Michele <bookbabe@bigfoot.com>
Date: 1998/09/06

The Couch

"The Couch." copyright Bookbabe 1997.

Let me tell you a story.

We are in a room together, alone. It has very white, unadorned walls and a pine floor. Even though there are now indows, nor visible sources of light, the room is very bright. The room is also empty, except for a couch. This couch is backless, but on either end there are wide arms that rise, sweeping upward. The couch is upholstered with a plum coloured fabric shot through with strands of gold, green and purple. We are alone in this room, you and I, with this couch.

You stand, dressed in black jeans and a white t-shirt, your hips resting against one of the arms of the couch, beckoning to me. Obediently I approach, until I am standing in front of you, our bodies not quite touching. You reach out, grab me by my waist, and pull me closer, so that I am trapped in between your legs. I hear your voice.

"Clasp your hands behind your head," you command, and taking a slow, deep breath I comply, thrusting my breasts out toward you. I find that I can't meet your gaze, so I look past the breadth of your right shoulder, my eyes fixed on the couch.

Your hands slide up from my waist to the collar of my blouse, and slowly you free the first four buttons. I feel warm air caress the nape of my neck, then my breasts, as slowly you spread the fabric wide on my chest. You don't unbutton the blouse entirely, however; instead your hands reach inside the shirt to cup my breasts and gently you pull them from the confines of my clothing, sliding the edges of the shirt further outward, so that my breasts now jut from the cloth, paradoxically both confined by and free of clothing. Your hands cup my breasts as If weighing them, and I find myself hoping that you are pleased by their firmness and texture, their softness and shape. You take the necklace I am wearing and stroke my breasts with the smoothness of the beads, then your fingers rise to my nipples, squeezing them erect. I keep my hands clasped behind my neck and continue to gaze at the couch.

I sense your tongue on each of my nipples in turn, and I arch towards your mouth, greedy for the slow glide of your tongue round the swelling circumference of the aureoles. Now I enjoy the more demanding sensation of your teeth, tugging insistently. Your saliva dries and cools on a turgid nipple. Briefly I close my eyes, and I can hear the wet sound of your lips, tongue and teeth suckling me. I open my eyes once again to stare at the couch, wondering if my taut wet nipples have darkened to a colour matching its fabric.

Your hands return to my waist and firmly push me backwards two steps, so that you can rise from the arm of the couch and move behind me. I can feel the pressure of your prick against my ass and in my imagination suddenly I see myself, hands clasped behind my head, breasts projecting shiny and wet from my blouse, and you behind me.

One of your hands pulls my blouse free of the waistband of my skirt, and I feel your hands, through ,the thinness of the fabric, squeezing the cheeks of my ass. I hear your voice.

"Bend over the arm of the couch."

Momentarily my body goes rigid, resistant to your command, and sensing my hesitation you slip a hand under the hem of my skirt, your clever fingers sliding up between my shaking thighs and unerringly finding slippery proof of my arousal. I feel your fingers gently squeeze my clit, rhythmically, lightly, coaxing it from its hood. You remove your hand from the confines of my skirt and slide it under the back of my blouse. Your index finger caresses the hollow of my back, leaving a sticky , trail. Again I hear your voice, low and firm. Confident.

"I can feel how wet you are, Michele. Bend over."

An aroused sob escapes my lips, and the muscles in my back and neck relax. Slowly I drape myself over the couch, my ass arched over the arm. I feel anxious, unsettled; the position is awkward and uncomfortable. Again I close my eyes. I sense you move away from me, and now you are in front of me, taking my hands, still linked behind my neck, and pulling them forward so that my elbows rest against the seat of the couch, bearing my weight.

Again I sense you move away and for a moment I simply concentrate on the sensations I experience, bent over the couch. My breasts, still projecting from the confines of my blouse, are compressed against the seat of the couch, my nipples irritated and excited by the rough texture of the fabric and the beads of my necklace, caught between my breasts and the couch. The arm of the sofa keeps my ass arched, and I feel the muscles in my thighs straining to hold this position. I wait for you, anticipation coursing sweetly through me.

Now you stand behind me again, and your hands unzip my skirt, letting it drop to my feet. Next your hands grasp the waistband of my panties,sliding the silken fabric over the high arch of my backside. Again I hear your voice, relentless and persuasive.

"Spread your legs for me, Michele."

Slowly I comply, my feet edging apart.

"Wider sweetheart, so that your pussy is open to me."

I groan your name pleadingly and acquiesce to your order, my hands clenching desperately at the sides of the couch as my legs sprawl further apart. I hear your low, approving murmur at my obedience and I wait for your touch, Jess, wait for you to touch me, spank me, fuck me, make me cum.

I feel both of your hands, warm and firm, on the cheeks of my ass, squeezing, rubbing, stroking. One finger slides down the cleft, gently tracing the divide, circling my hungry pink anus tantalizingly. Slowly your hand drops to my pussy, and I arch pleadingly, frantically towards you, seeking your cock.

"What do you want, babe?" you ask me. "You have to tell me what you want."

This is always the most difficult part, having the courage and honesty to ask for what I need from you. "Please, oh please, Jess," I murmur incoherently. I don't want to admit my desires so blatantly to you-desires that you comprehend all too clearly- every time we are together the struggle is the same; I resist surrendering to you and to my needs.

"Tell me, baby." Your voice is patient. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to touch you."

I know that you will leave me here, unsated, unless I submit, yet I am so aroused, both by your words and your touch, so near to losing control, that I can do little more than groan beseechingly.

And then something shifts and breaks in me; the wall of my resistance crumbles and I whisper, "please . . . please spank me."

I feel your hand on the small of my back, pressing firmly, so that my ass arches higher. A little thrill of shame and excitement shoots through me as I picture how exposed the ripe fig of my sex is in this position. You begin caressing my backside, your hand stroking, squeezing rubbing, your fingers tracing the contours of my cheeks. These tender touches turn into gentle pats, your palm lightly striking my skin, and I arch into your touch. I feel very relaxed and my hips rise and fall to meet your hand, and my breasts rub against the couch.

I can never quite identify the moment when the flavour of a spanking changes, when those light, teasing caresses become painful. Your hand peppers my ass steadily and thoroughly and to be honest it feels so goddamn good-the heat spreading from my asscheeks to my sex- that I forget to anticipate the pain and I forget to think and I just let you take care of me and give me what I need.

But that moment arrives when the sensation transforms and I feel myself struggling against the spanking. Your hand seems to be moving impossibly quickly and striking very hard and I have no time to absorb one blow before another lands. Your palm covers every centimetre of my ass, from the top of my cheeks, across the cleft and down to my thighs, demanding and inescapable. My legs begin to twist I breathe more and more quickly, as if I am trying to outpace my spanking. I'm aware of my hands scrabbling against the couch and the rapid rise and fall of my breasts.

This is the moment that I fear the most, when I have to give up my self-control. I feel impossibly torn, bifurcated; one part of me wants to surrender to the pain and let you re-weave it into pleasure, while another part rebels and struggles. With my eyes closed I visualize myself sprawled over the couch, dignity abandoned as I buck and squall and pant. It's not the pain that I struggle against as much as the sudden recognition of my vulnerability before you. It is difficult to get past this moment, to stop thinking and questioning and give into the pleasure you are offering, but you are there to help me past this point.

"Tell me how to touch you." This is our invocation of pleasure, uttered even as you continue to spank me.

I groan wordlessly and present my ass and sex to you, my plea silent.

Your hand strikes again and again. You can be frustratingly patient.

"Tell me baby," you whisper. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to touch you."

You cease spanking me for a moment, and your hand is gentle on my burning ass. One finger enters the wet silken tunnel of my pussy, pressing firmly against my pubic bone. "Here?" you ask teasingly.

I'm still stubbornly mute.

Gently you pull your finger out and then you reach around me until your hand is in front of my face. Your finger, wet from my cunt, traces my lips. I open my mouth, lips slack with desire, and your finger slides in, rubbbing my tongue so that I can taste my salt and tang. You stroke my face tenderly, and then I feel your hand on my backside again, index finger sliding smoothly down the cleft.

"Or here?" Your finger circles my anus, seeking entrance, and I open to you, taking it deep inside my ass.

Still I cannot summon the courage to ask for my pleasure.

"Tell me, Michele. We can play games like this for hours," you promise. Your finger thrusts slowly in and out of my ass, teasing and taunting my vulnerable entrance.

"Or both?" And now your fingers have invaded both my pussy and ass, thrusting insistently, demanding an answer, and I surrender. I clutch frantically at the couch, fingers pulling at the fabric.

"Both," I urge, greedy for sensation, hungry for pleasure.

Your fingers still buried in my sex and ass, you begin to spank me again, the blows exquisitely painful and blessedly pleasurable as I buck against the hands that fuck me and punish me. And now I welcome the spanking; I present my ass for it, my hips arching to seek the twin gifts of pleasure and pain that you offer so lovingly.

And all too quickly I am climaxing, writhing against your hand, rubbing my breasts against the brocade of the couch, calling out to you, making deep grunting noises, my desire for you inelegant, elemental.

Now you pull your fingers from my clenching sex and ass. I hear you unzip your jeans and in one smooth thrust you are inside my pussy to the hilt, shafting me deeply and powerfully, your thickness stretching me wide. Your hands slide up and down my back,caress my shoulders, then grip the arm of the couch so that you can thrust even more vigorously.

"What about your ass, Michele. What can I fill you with there?" you muse. Your hands slip up my back again, over my blouse, to fondle my neck, sliding through my hair and massaging my scalp. You find my necklace, strung with smooth, round beads, and nimbly you undo the clasp and slide the necklace from me, enfolding it in your palm. I gasp and shudder, knowing now what is coming, my ass cheeks clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

After a final, forceful thrust you pull your dick, slick and shiny with my juices, from my pussy. Knowing fingers separate the cheeks of my ass and I feel a smooth seductive pressure at my anus; slowly you ease one of the beads of the necklace up into my ass, then another, and yet another. As more of the baubles slide into me, I begin to feel a deep throbbing fullness and heat; my body jerks,suddenly panicky. I feel too full-invaded.

"Too much, Jess, too much," I plead, one of my hands moving backwards to stroke yours. "I can't take anymore."

I feel the gentle, soothing stroke of your hand in my hair, on my back, calming and reassuring me. Promising me.

"Ssshh, sweetheart. It's okay. Relax, Michele. You can take it. I know you can. Open yourself up for me. That's it. Yes. Trust me. It will feel so good, baby. I promise. Let yourself go loose."

And carefully but insistently you twist the final beads into my asshole, my backside arching toward you in surrender.

Now you begin fucking me again, my cunt hot and tight around your prick. You groan as you thrust, feeling the beads rubbing against you on the other side of the thin divide separating my pussy and rectum. Slickly you shaft me; my wetness trickles down my thighs as I thrust back to meet you. My eyes are closed and I envision us fucking; me, bent over the couch, breasts still partly imprisoned by the blouse, ass arched high in the air as you fill me. I see the cheeks of your butt clenching and unclenching as you drive into me, your right hand grasping the clasp of my necklace.

Again there is your voice, commanding me.

"Rub your tits against the couch, Michele. Keep your nipples hard."

I gasp and obey, my nipples made erect by the rough texture of the fabric.

Now as you fuck me you start spanking me again, your left hand chastising my burning ass. With each blow, a hot blossom of pain flowers on my reddened cheeks. Deliberately you spank me across my stretched, filled anus, sending waves of pleasure to my cunt. My movements against you grow erratic, desperate, as my orgasm nears, and sensing how close I am, you begin to pull, deliciously slowly, on the clasp of the necklace even as your left hand continues to belabour my rear. I feel the first beads slip from the greedy mouth of my asshole, and now I'm cumming, the contractions growing more intense with each bead that is pulled from my ass, my anus spasming as powerfully as my pussy. The final bead is pulled from my rectum as you give my backside one last sharp spank.

Then, with a sharp cry you pull your cock from me, and I feel the warmth of your semen shooting across my ass, coating my ass and my anus. I feel your hips jerk against me as each pulsation tears through you. Slowly, in unison, our breathing calms and slows. Your left hand pulls my blouse up, exposing my back and shoulders and I feel your gentle kisses, soft on my skin. Your right hand rises, clutching the necklace, to rub the beads into your cum, still sticky and warm on my ass.

Slowly you pull me upward and turn me toward you, cradling me in your arms. Contentedly I rest my head against your chest, rubbing my cheek against yoursweat-matted t-shirt. Your left hand grasps my chin, pulling my face upwards so that at last I can look into your eyes again. You kiss me, gently and sweetly. Then your right hand, still clasping the necklace, slides up my waist, past breast and shoulder, until I can feel the beads, sticky and warm with your semen, caressing my face. Still looking at you, I open my mouth and you slip the beads of the necklace past my lips; slowly and thoroughly I suck your cum from the beads, savouring your sea-sweet taste.