Many times on Friday Belle dropped hints that we were going to have sex that night. Pretty much the only thing she didn’t say was, “We’re going to have sex later.” According to her established pattern, this would be expected on the second day following my release from a prolonged period of denial. Unsurprisingly, we did have sex.
With candles lit, I started to get undressed at the foot of the bed. As soon as my underwear dropped to the floor, she said, “Who said you could do that?” Oh, it was going to be like that, was it?
I sheepishly stammered some half-formed thoughts and pulled my underwear back on.
“Can I get naked, Belle Fille?”
Pause for effect. “Yes, then get into bed.”
I finished stripping and got into the bed, on all fours, burrowing my head into her side and the bed. That’s my “sorry, mistress” position.
“We’re going to have sex now. Get started,” she said (or something to that effect). It was to be another session where I was primarily there to pleasure her where very little energy would be expended tending to mine. My heart sank a little at this as I’ve developed a hunger for her attention, in spite of my otherwise subservient position. She assumed a posture of repose, expecting and requiring my services. I got to work.
After a few minutes, she may have noticed that my initial erection had flagged a bit because she grabbed the cock roughly and said, “Get this ready because I’m going to fuck it pretty soon,” followed by a severe tug on the meat. I felt the blood surge back into the cock. She was in a mood.
However, the ministrations of my fingers over her clit proved a compelling distraction. She teetered on the verge of letting me bring her to climax manually. I felt the stiffness of the meat she had manhandled earlier start to waver and whispered, “Your cock is ready,” to let her know as subtly as possible that she needed to make a decision.
“OK, I’m going to fuck you now,” she replied. She’s going to fuck me. I guess, since she’s the only one of the two of us who currently owns a cock, that’s the correct way to say it. A thrill ran down my spine.
Even so, she continued to linger on my fingertips for a few extended moments before indicating it was time for me to get on my back (another symbol – those fucking are on top, those being fucked are on the bottom – the last four times I’ve penetrated her have been from underneath). She positioned herself so only the outer lips of her pussy made contact with the hard cock. I reached under a few times to try to get it lined up for penetration, but it never seemed to make its way in. I tried a couple of other maneuvers with my hips with no success. I could feel the head of the cock rub against her clit and if I could only move up a few inches, I’d get inside her. I so badly wanted to get inside her.
Finally, she asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to get it inside you.”
“Well, knock it off. It’s good just where it is.”
OK, I thought. I’ll get it in there as soon as she’s done. Yes, at this point, I fully assumed I was going to get to come again. It’s usually the case that she lets me come several times after a prolonged denial and I expected I’d get to do so again very shortly (and was quite looking forward to it since my last orgasm was unsatisfactory). As she worked her clit over the swollen member, I projected myself forward to a moment in the not-so-distant future where I’d feel it slip inside her, slide in and out, and eventually erupt in a torrent of mind-blowing passion. Jesus, I wanted to fuck her so bad. I could already feel it happening.
She came and collapsed onto me. (It’s almost time!) She basked, breathing heavily as the waves of post-orgasmic pleasure washed over her. (Just a little longer – let her do the afterglow thing.) She laid there, sighing in total satisfaction. (Patience!) She…continued to lay there. (Um…hello?)
“Thank you, Thumper,” she finally said. It wasn’t what she said, but the way she said it. That was it. We were done. Impossibly, it was over.
Fuck! Goddamn it! FUCK FUCK FUCK! AAARRGGHHHH!!!!
“Thank you, Belle Fille,” I replied in the only way I could, doing my best to stifle a whimper.
She eventually got off and I pressed desperately into her, still hard. I ground into her more than would be usually permissible. Despite my best effort, several whimpers did escape me.
“Relax, Thumper,” she said firmly. Translation: knock it the fuck off, rabbit boy.
Eventually, I did relax. I felt the crest of my anticipation and frustration and desire slowly seep away, and with it, the erection which had insistently refused to depart. I slept.
The next morning, we both awoke at about the same time. I snuggled into her, kissed her, slipped my hand under her shirt.
“You tricked me last night,” I said, “It’s not nice to trick people.”
“I did not trick you,” she retorted, “Who said you were going to get to come? Sounds like you need to keep working on when to expect things you have no control over, huh?”
“I guess so.”