I’m on my knees, bent forward, face pressed against the floor, my wrists bound behind my back. “The Other Guy’s” cock pounds my arsehole, and it feels so good to be being used so roughly by him.
It’s been a couple of months since we last saw and fucked each other. Life gets in the way sometimes. We are making up for lost time.
I’ve already sucked him off; taking a deliciously large load of cum in my mouth; savouring it before swallowing it down. He repaid the compliment by eating me to a series of shuddering orgasms; each one more intense and more draining than the last.
We’ve already fucked twice, the first with him on top, pounding my cunt, hitting me hard, pinning me to the bed with each thrust. Taking me. Using me. Fucking me. The second time was more leisurely; with me on top this time; riding his cock with carefree abandon, impaling myself on those wonderfully thick, hard inches. Him, content to let me do all the work. Me, happy to just let him lie back while I use his cock for my enjoyment.
I cam both times; both as the rider and the ridden; both times savouring the feeling of my cunt tightening and contracting around his cock – those oh so familiar inches of him inside me that feel so different from those of Master C.
The first time, he pulled out and came all over my boobs, then proceeded to rub his cum into their skin as he licked my cunt until he elicited yet another shuddering climax. The second time, I slid off and took him in my mouth, savouring the taste of my cunt in his shaft as I sucked him to a climax.
We rested, cuddled together, using the time to refamiliarise ourselves with each others bodies. Hands exploring, stroking, caressing. Lips kissing; bodies responding.
And now, here I was, being taken again. There was none of the tenderness we’d shared earlier; this time it was raw, it was rough. It had a different kind of urgency to our earlier sexual collisions. Those had been driven from the need to be with each other, the need to feel each other, the need to use and be used by each other. This time it was driven by the need to make the most out of our remaining time. Soon, I would return home to Master C, to tell Him what I had done, to receive whatever punishment it was determined was appropriate for my actions, to pay the price and then to perform whatever acts of contrition I felt would atone for what I was doing now and had already done.
That was still in the future, however; in the now, “The Other Guy” was fucking my firmly and relentlessly in the arse; having declared he needed the extra tightness if he was going to be able to come once more.
As his cock pounded my back passage, I urged him on. “Fuck my arse!” I cried, “Use it! Fuck it! Fuck it hard!”
He grabbed the restraints around my wrists and pulled sharply, lifting my head and upper body from the floor.
“Filthy slut!” he groaned. “Dirty slut who loves getting her arse fucked hard!”
“Yes!” I moaned. “I’m a filthy slut! I love the way you fuck my arse!”
He released my wrists and let me fall forward to the floor again. Grabbing my hips, he pounded harder, his balls slapping against my cunt with every stroke.
“I’m going to come on your arse! I’m going to paint your arse cheeks with my cum!”
“Oh yes, please! I love that!”
The relentless pounding continued and then, suddenly, he was gone. I experienced a wrenching momentary sensation of emptiness and then the sticky warmth of his load as it landed on my skin.
My afternoon with “The Other Guy” was over. My evening atoning for it with Master C was still to come. I was ready to face whatever penalty was required of me. An afternoon spent with “The Other Guy” had, as it so often did, started the process of restoring a certain equilibrium within me, and now it was time for me to return to Master C to complete the process.