Reprimand

Enterlude:

The generosity of the Mystery Writer strikes again. I had a dream about him last weekend that left me aching from my lips to my pussy for sweet, sweet release… and if I had dreamt it on any day but a Sunday, I might have gotten it. Despite getting gypped there, the dream was no less fever-inducing, and I wrote it out for him the way I saw it. It’s his wish that you get to see it, as well. For your viewing pleasure and without further ado…

~*~

Last Sunday was a peculiar one. I was facing some unusual side effects that ranged from immobilizing pains to extreme exhaustion that I assumed came from my birth control and my impending period, and I reached a point around 11 pm when I just had to sleep. I almost never nap on weekends, especially not when I need to be studying desperately, but there was no avoiding it this time. I just couldn’t force myself to stay conscious any longer, and I passed out in bed, completely spent.

It wasn’t long into this sleep session when I started dreaming that I was asleep on this very Sunday night around 11 pm. Totally creative, right? LOL But, because of this transition, I didn’t know that I was just dreaming about real life because it felt real on its own, and when you found your way into my bedroom, it was no different.

Without turning my bedroom light on or rousing me from my sleep, you manage to enclose us in here, remove your clothes, and sit on top of me, straddling over my legs. As usual, I’m fast asleep on my tummy, so with you sitting on the backs of my thighs, I’m pretty firmly held in place. But I don’t know that yet.

Contemplating your options for a minute, you smooth out the blankets covering my skin, knowing I sleep naked and all that separates us is the fluff of a comforter and a barely-there bedsheet concealed underneath it. You could have removed the barrier before and almost wish that you had now… but it would have woken me up, and you don’t want to wake me up that way.

No. That doesn’t fit into your plans at all.

The blankets will just have to stay put for now.

Drawing your hands across my lower back and around to my ass, you settle on a course of action and begin your work almost immediately. In preparation for my rude awakening, you take one hand and place it with some of your body weight on the top of my back, and with the other hand, you start beating away on my blanket-covered ass. Mere seconds pass before I’m wide awake, though dazed by sleepiness and confusion, and I soon realize that I can’t move away from the disturbance, and, more so, that someone is on top of me.

Through a veil of bewilderment and a flicker of worry, I look back to see who has decided to spank me awake, and when I do, you stop the beating, though you don’t remove the weight on my upper back, ensuring that I can’t get up until you want me to do so. I can barely make out your face in the dark, but when I do, the recent events come back to the front lines of thought, and where I once wondered if I had pissed you off with the email I sent you a few days before, I almost certainly know it now.

You look livid.

Once this registers in my brain, I don’t have much time to think about what could happen next. You wait the few seconds for the recognition of who you are to dawn on my face before continuing on with your plans for the night. Climbing off of my legs and standing up next to where I lay on the bed, you drag me up out of my blanketed position by my shoulders, and when I find a steady position on my knees in front of you, you release my shoulders and wrap a hand in my hair. Unsure of what to do, I try standing up, too, and quickly change my mind when you tighten your grip and threaten to throw me off the bed by my hair if I move another inch without you telling me to do so.

Fair enough.

You keep the tightened grip on my hair and wait in silence for a little while, gauging the effect of your words and waiting for a moment of mutiny. If I’m going to fight you, it’ll happen soon, and you’re ready for it. But I have every reason to believe you really will toss me off the bed and have no intentions of winding up on the floor that way, though I don’t mind having the extra moments to watch your erection throb dangerously a few centimeters from my face. I fight an urge to snake out my tongue and lick it, deciding that your no-moving rule applies even when I don’t plan on challenging you, and wait for your next move.

When you’re certain that I’m not lulling you into a false sense of authority, you slightly loosen your grip on my hair and start explaining why you’re there. It occurred to me the last time I wrote you that something I said might piss you off, but I then thought that I was being overly sensitive and left it in the email anyway. As you told me about your hasty departure from your home over 1,000 miles away, though, I realized I had made a big mistake. You were in the middle of a masturbation session when you found that email, and, deciding to augment your playtime with whatever goodies I laced in it, you didn’t hesitate to read it before cumming.

All was well at first, but then you reached the line I originally wanted to remove, and it pissed you off to the extent that you never did cum. It was a wasted masturbatory effort, and it was entirely preventable, and, more to the point, it was my fault. You lost what was promising to be an excellent orgasm because of me.

And you want it back.

Where is your glass dildo?

I’m unsure if you actually want me to speak at this point, having already received a threat of being tossed off the bed, so I settle for removing my stare from your still raging erection and looking at the top drawer of the nightstand across the room, where it lays nestled with my panties, as it always does when I’m not using it. Apparently I chose a satisfactory form of response, and you get the hint just fine. Before climbing off of the bed to retrieve the toy, you strengthen your grip once more and shake me by my hair just fractionally, as if to remind me that you can still throw me to the ground, should I decide to get up when your back turns.

Don’t move.

I don’t. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t even turn my head to watch you search out the toy, though I assume from your leisurely return that you spent some of the time pilfering through my panties purely for your own enjoyment, stockpiling a few pairs away to take with you later. You soon return to your standing position on the bed, however, and regain a hold on my hair with your free hand, erasing the previous thoughts about my soon to be lost panties when you tilt my head back slightly.

Open your mouth.

I know what’s coming before you finish the demand, and it gives me a fraction of a second to make sure you don’t bump my teeth when you force the glass dildo into my mouth, ball end first. Afraid of chipping my teeth, there’s no room for noncompliance when you start pumping it in and out of my mouth, telling me to suck on it. You watch me for a second without speaking, and then get back to your original train of thought, thinking it’s almost time to reveal the entirety of your plans for me. Slowly, you explain that, because I stole your orgasm, I owe you one back, and I’m not allowed to orgasm or even be fucked until you get it. I’m having trouble concentrating on what you’re saying while also making sure you don’t do lasting damage to my teeth with the glass dildo, and I’m glad you’re taking your time with both pursuits. As the explanation goes on, you begin forcing the glass dildo deeper and deeper into my mouth, and I’m surprised to find that my gag reflex no longer exists, an attribute I can only be grateful for when you follow up your reasoning about denying me until you get off with the long-awaited revelation of your plans.

I’m going to fuck your throat.

But not just yet.

Deliberately continuing to pump the glass dildo in and out of my mouth at a slow pace instead of replacing it with your cock, you tack on the final portion of your plans, which explains why you wanted to bring out the glass dildo earlier and why it’s forcing its way down my throat now.

It’s not as fun for you, you explain, if I’m not allowed to orgasm until you do when I’m not in a position to orgasm anyway. You want me to be actively fighting stimulation so I have to work to keep from cumming, so that you can see that I’m following your will, and that’s what the glass dildo is for. Once you remove the glass dildo from my mouth and replace it with your cock, you want me to masturbate with it and match your strokes as I do so. I’m not allowed to change the pace unless you do, so I also can’t stop if I feel an orgasm building, and if I can’t fight it off and actually orgasm before you do, then we’ll return to the spanking and start the process all over again.

Oh my.

I can’t help but think that this is a little unfair, as it’s almost guaranteed that I’ll orgasm before you without a way of stopping the stimulation, but you’re standing over me, thrusting glass into my mouth and keeping a hand wrapped tightly in my hair.

Clearly, you’re calling the shots.

When you’re sure of my continued compliance with your little game, you remove the glass dildo from my mouth and drop it into my hand before wrapping your newly free hand in my hair and lining my mouth up with your cock. I need both hands for my own masturbation, if I’m supposed to be fighting off orgasms, so it’s up to you to control every aspect of the cock sucking, though, ever the willing participant, I do open my mouth for your entry, a move that you meet with much eagerness. You do me a favor by starting off slowly before randomly deciding to switch pace. Faster. Deeper. Harder. Making sure all the way that I’m keeping pace with your strokes down below. There’s no chance of you cumming before me, and I know it even before the first illegal orgasm takes me over. Since I can’t detach my mouth from your cock with your hands holding my head in place, and since I also can’t orgasm without making noise, you receive an unexpected, full-blast hum job… except that I can’t keep sucking through it, and I notice that you stop thrusting, too, though a moan from above assures me that I’m not about to get tossed off the bed.

When I regain enough control to start sucking on your cock again, it occurs to me that you probably didn’t consider that the vibrations from such illegal orgasms would encourage you to put the spankings off until later. It’s not long before a second illegal orgasm travels through me in a similar manner, and when it subsides you confirm my suspicion by looking down at me and saying through a hint of a grin that you’ll just keep a running count of those and take care of the spankings later.

Fine by me.

You’re very close to cumming at this point, and one or two more sessions of orgasm-induced vibrations will be enough to take you over the edge, but you haven’t actually fucked my throat yet. The kneeling/standing position we’re in doesn’t allow for it, and you don’t want to wait until it’s too late to reposition. You still want to cum that way, like you originally intended, so you pull me off of your cock and tell me to lie down on my back with my head resting over the side of the bed. You then climb down to the floor so you can stand by the edge of the bed where my head will soon be, putting us in a position that will most certainly allow for throat fucking and a much better view of my masturbation, mirroring your pace. With a continuation of our thrusting from opposite ends in this new position, illegal orgasm number three quickly follows…

…except that it was a real orgasm, and it woke me up at 11:30 pm, when I still wasn’t allowed to masturbate.

Fucking Sundays LOL.