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| Cinnamon_Tart |
on Mon 9 May 11, 2:26 PM to Cinnamon_Tart's blog.
She hasn't seen him for five days. Five days with no eye contact, no touch, no scent. No sex, no touch, no control. No taking, no using, no…enjoyment of her.
And now she is waiting. He is to arrive in an hour or so. She is in the kitchen, pottering, doing, feeding the children, tidying. Anticipatory smile as she plans her jobs so as to have time to shower, to be fresh and ready for him.
And then, unexpectedly early, he walks into the room, startling her. Her first thought is a surprisingly feminine and submissive one of, “Oh, I'm not clean and ready for him”. They hug, and kiss, and she admires him, suited from the meeting. She makes him coffee, and then says, “I need to go shower; you're early. I wasn't expecting you yet!”
“Okay, so go shower.” She leaves him with his coffee, goes upstairs, happy, anticipating, knowing he'll be inside her this evening, taking her, enjoying her. And because it's been five days, she knows too that he will barely be in her, and the desire to orgasm will overwhelm her.
She's just finished emptying her bladder when the bathroom door opens, and in he walks. Even as she says, “We can't…the children,” in a half question, half statement, she can feel her heart beat that tiny bit faster, feel heat flood her face and cunt, realising there will be no waiting till this evening. She can read the need on his face. “The children are fine, out in the garden. So, you need a shower? Don't you need your clothes off for that?” And as she steps from the skirt, peels the shirt over her head, he has simply unzipped his trousers, freed his cock. This in itself is arousing. Normally, they would both be naked. It seems very important to both, to be naked, skin on skin, flesh pressed to flesh. But this is somehow better, just now, in this situation. Her, the at-home frazzled housewife; him, arriving from a meeting, all smart in a suit in which she has rarely seen him, a shirt and tie. And now a surprisingly erect cock, held loosely in his hand, inviting her.
Mouth. Naked, she sinks to her knees, groans slightly as she takes him into her. So welcome. The taste and scent of him, the warm velvety texture of the skin of his cock sliding back and forth, the growing slick of her saliva as she works his cock. And this won't be a case of simply blowing him; she can feel the coiled desire in him. His need to have her; the knowledge makes her feel oh so small, tiny, giving, yielding. The knowledge also makes her cunt wet.
His hand twines in her long hair, forcing her head away from him, twisting her body away and up, till she's standing leaning against the sink, her back to him. She mews at the sharp pain in her scalp, at the cold of the porcelain. Her legs are automatically spread for him in invitation, her hips and arse positioned just so, to give him easy access. She can feel the head of his cock poised at her cunt. The heat and pressure. In the mirror directly in front of her, she can see her flushed face, pupils wide, her arousal evident, and she can see his face. His face, half smiling, but with that determined and deliberate set to his features. The look that captivates her, the intensity and non-negotiability of it, the way it dissolves her, knowing they are beyond the teasing and flirting, beyond the chat and banter, beyond those little snippets that punctuate more general intercourse, those little giggles, ouches, comments and rearrangements. Her eyes close in anticipation. “Look at me,” he says, staring at her face in the mirror as he twists his hand in her hair. She watches his face, waits.
Cunt. He thrusts his cock into her. She feels her face flood with heat as the sensation overwhelms her. Heat and fullness, pressure, friction. She is wet, but those first strokes have yet to coat his cock fully, lubricate the length of him, and her labia. He grinds into her, rotating his hips; she can feel the pressure and movement on her cervix. He fucks her, long deep strokes, and then shorter more stabbing and vicious pumping, which has her clutching at the sink for support. His hand has now left her head, and he is bracing himself on her hips, holding her firmly, squeezing his fingers into her flesh. She looks to the mirror again, thrills at the look on his face. Lust, need, desire, and something else. Appreciation perhaps, as he slows his movements, alternating between watching his cock as it enters and leaves her, and watching her face in the mirror. Watching him, as she's feeling him inside her, suddenly accelerates the sensations in her cunt. She can feel her climax building. But she wants to hold onto the delicious itch and burn of it. The heat and swell and flush of it. He meets her eyes in the mirror. “Your cunt's already telling me you want to cum, so ask for it.” She moans. His drawing attention to her body betraying her always raises the arousal, exacerbates her need. Even when she doesn't want to orgasm, not just yet. “Ask. It's my cunt. My orgasm. For me. Ask, cockwhore.”
“Oh fuck,” she manages. His comments make her orgasm imminent. She can't control it, stop it. Especially as he knows…just…how…to…move…within…her… to build the feeling further. “Please can I cum, please can I cum for you, please let me cum…” she manages to whimper, beg of him.
Making eye contact in the mirror, he leans into her, his mouth close to her ear, and counts her down. Not slowly this time. He can ever read her, her body, and knows when to fuck with the timing, knows when to not. This orgasm has had days to build, and she won't be able to exercise tight self control. He knows this. The countdown is rapid, hard and deep thrusts accompany each number, and she feels her cunt grip ever tighter, sensations inside her cresting. “Cum now, cum for me now. For me. Always for me. My cunt.” She stifles a scream, her fingers clawing at the cold white ceramic in front of her as her cunt and body convulse, as she collapses back onto his cock, cunt juice gushing from her, dribbling down her legs.
“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers. “Thank you.”
He pulls out of her, twists her body back to face him, pushes her to her knees. She takes him in her mouth, savours the taste of herself glistening the length of him. She works his cock, anticipating him orgasming in her mouth. No, not just yet.
Arse. He pulls her from him, turns her body, positioning her on her hands and knees. She feels the warm gob of spit hit her anus, and groans. There is always always something so humiliating about him spitting on her, to lubricate her. His cock presses against her. Her arse is tight, not been used for days. She knows this will hurt, and she knows he's in the mood to enjoy that pain, her endurance and suffering for him. He enters her quickly, one swift movement, and there is a chuckle, and then appreciative moans from him as he feels her body tighten and flex against the sharp sharp pain. She screams into the balled towel near her face, writhing against him, against the pain. And then, just as suddenly, the pain is gone. And she can feel nothing but pressure and fullness, tightness. And pleasure. Waves of pleasure again. He moves slowly in and out of her, but then stops. “You know, I've been sat in that car for a couple of hours, and I really need a piss.” She moans and thrusts back at him. This is theirs, and special, him pissing in her arse. It started playfully. He had pissed on her, pissed in her cunt, and a while ago began using her arse, quite regularly, to empty his bladder. It is somehow now especially theirs, and both enjoy it immensely, want it, crave it, and anticipate it. But now, he stops, withdraws.
He moves her to face him, on her knees. She thinks he wants blowing again, to prolong this…session. Does not quite realise yet what he intends. For this is something they have never done. He knows it is a limit. That she feels she cannot do it. Has no desire to do it. Would struggle with it. But here he is, about to do it. Realisation dawns as his cock swells further in her mouth, and he utters, “ You know, I really do need to piss.” Her eyes fly open as she looks up at him. She shakes her head no. “Don't you dare take your mouth off my cock.” Her whimpering and the pleading in her eyes grow more anguished. “Don't you dare. Don't you dare spit my cock out. I'm going to piss in you, and you're going to swallow me.” She still doesn't quite believe he will.
“Ah,” comes the satisfied vocalisation of a man just as his piss stream commences. Her mouth fills with his tangy, slightly bitter urine. She cannot believe he is doing this, that he would choose to do this, not right now. “Now swallow. Don't you dare spill a fucking drop on this suit.” She can't. She can't do this. Her tongue moves to block the end of his cock. Her cheeks are swelling. A tiny part of her brain wonders about pressures and pressure gradients, and the strength of the muscle walls of her cheeks versus gravity and the pressure of his bladder forcing his piss into her. She realises he won't stop. With a mewl of despair, she swallows, once, twice, and then the gag reflex kicks in. She falls away from him, spitting and retching the warm liquid onto the floor and mat. Hands and knees, urine spilling down her cheeks, tears in her eyes. Shock. He pulls her up from her hands and knees, shoves her into the shower, positioning her so she faces him.
And he pisses on her. Her tits, her face, her hair. Her lap. “Open your mouth,” is growled at her. She mewls and looks imploringly at him, but opens her mouth obediently. He pisses into her open and waiting mouth. She's even aware of the change in sound in the liquid, as the cavity fills. She is groaning, throat sealed. “Now swallow me, again.” And despite her groans, she manages to swallow him, once more, before turning her head and allowing the rest of the liquid to splash into the shower base. He empties his bladder over her.
“Now I think you can shower,” he smiles at her.
She smiles up at him, “You fucker. I can't believe you did that.”
“I know,” he responds. “Good, innit?”
She laughs and pulls herself shakily to her feet. As he leaves, and she puts the shower on, her smiles to herself grow increasingly wide. Mouth. Cunt, Arse. Pissed in. The world has righted itself. She feels taken, owned, enjoyed, claimed.
Reclaimed.
| 9 May 11, 2:42 PM Conan_The_Librarian UK(S), 3 yrs |
Utterly disgusting, depraved, base, immoral filth from the depths of Satan's privy! I liked it a lot. Augusti Ro Laren Futatrix. | |
| 9 May 11, 6:36 PM specialk_subbie UK(OL), 4 yrs   |
i'm all hot and bothered now, very horny indeed. Special K | |
| 9 May 11, 8:30 PM lizzymint UK(M), 5 yrs   |
that.is.hot.  Sweet dreams ... beautiful nightmares | |
| 9 May 11, 10:33 PM Dollface UK, 6 yrs  |
Absolutely beautiful, as always. Evocative, warm and engaging. Thank you for posting. xxx "When you're going through hell, keep going." | |
| 10 May 11, 7:13 AM wonderer UK, 5 yrs |
Vintage Cinnamon Tart filth. Wonderful stuff. Thank you for sharing with the IC world. "Wisdom begins in wonder” (Socrates) | |
| 10 May 11, 8:03 AM Dochka 4 yrs |
Great! Could almost smell it  | |
| 10 May 11, 4:45 PM Cinnamon_Tart UK(S), 8 yrs |
Yep, that about covers it I reckon. Depraved filth rocks. He gives good head too, which is a bonus...
Glad you liked it.
Pleasure: quantified by plunge pools, and waterfalls. | |
| 10 May 11, 4:46 PM Cinnamon_Tart UK(S), 8 yrs |
Yay! This is a good thing. Glad you enjoyed reading that. Pleasure: quantified by plunge pools, and waterfalls. | |
| 10 May 11, 4:47 PM Cinnamon_Tart UK(S), 8 yrs |
It was! Pleasure: quantified by plunge pools, and waterfalls. | |
| 10 May 11, 4:48 PM Cinnamon_Tart UK(S), 8 yrs |
Thank you. Been a while since I had the ooomph to put pen to paper. But the inspiration seems to be there.... Xxx Pleasure: quantified by plunge pools, and waterfalls. |
