I wonder if it is true, what Master says, that exercising before sex makes it better. My small statistical sample of two seems to be proving his statement true. I would say premise or theory, but somehow when Master says something is, it just is.
So early birly Saturday morning, before breakfast, before the normal Saturday morning shower sex, he says to me... "Get dressed." And I know he must mean we are going for a ride.
It was a beautiful morning, bright blue clear skies, early enough that the air was cool. We rode through the back streets and to a nice local paved trail that leads though a beautiful forested little green space that runs along a creek, then through a city park where a ton of people playing Frisbee golf. I get a lot of curious looks and smiles pedaling along on my newfangled contraption.
We rode for about an hour and a half, heading back through a different neighborhood. Funny how riding that bike does not wear me out. I am never huffing or puffing, just the nice long slow burn in my thighs as I push up the hills.
And once home, I am energized. I ask him, "...and what is next for our morning?" And he pushed me down against the counter in the kitchen and begins to spank me with his bare hand... and the sensation is amazing... I arch my back and thrust my ass out at him, begging for more and he so wonderfully answers that need. Even when he pulls out the heavy spatula, it feels soooo goooood. Funny how when it feels just exactly perfect, I just hum and purr with the waves of pain... if you can call it pain. In the end he says to me to "strip naked and get your ass into the shower."
Ahhhh yes, back on track. Sex on Saturday. My Master is nothing if not predictable. As he stands naked at the sink, I press my face to the bare skin of his back and inhale. The scent of his skin, oh so familiar and yet oh so powerful. I open my mouth and taste the salt of his flesh and purr, pressing my bare breasts against his back. It is tempting to stay there, to continue this reveling in his person but I know I am required to follow the routine, to brush my teeth and be ready for his direction to enter the shower.
He swats me a few times as I brush my teeth and I once again thrust my ass out only wanting more.
The activities in the shower are as usual predictable. The washing, the shampoo, the conditioner, the razor and the shaving and the moisturizers... for the longest time I was always mortified when he would bend me over and wash my asshole. I would protest that I had already washed it, angry and embarrassed that he somehow was implying that I was inept in my cleaning... but I know now that it is part of the routine. And I strongly suspect he gets off on the act... it has a larger meaning for him. And god knows I love ass play.
Soon I am on knees, worshiping his cock, urging to to grow and harden and as it does he growls low and grips my hair and takes over the pace, pushing deeper. He seems to like the sounds of my gagging. It continues as predictable, soon I am up on my toes, bent over sharply staring at my feet carefully place between his as I strain to meet and match his thrusts. I gasp and moan when he pushes his thumb deep into my rectum. It feels so good, so intense, so fucking intimate and it forces the most primal sounds from between my clenched teeth.
He shoves me down lower and I fall to my knees, pressing my cheek and ear against the smooth white porcelain, my shoulder somehow pressing against my other ear, shutting out all the sound but the rush of water. It feels like I am miles deep under the water. He keeps fucking me and now with both hands pries me open wider and as he tries to force both thumbs in, opposed and invasive, spreading me and as the pain shoots up my spine, the sounds I was making went from primal to completely bizarre. I think I must have sounded like a drowning parrot. I don't know for how long he held me there, drowning me, fucking me, ripping me open. It seemed to last an eternity.
As usual he finished me in his room on his bed. I remember lying there under him, my knees pinned somewhere up around my ears, looking up at him as his lips twitched and snarled, his brow low... his expression as he gets closer to coming would look angry to any but me. It is pure aggression, ownership, relishing the sensation of my cunt on his cock, reveling in the knowledge that he can take what ever he wants and it will be willingly surrendered.
He let me lie for many minutes, drifting in that wonderful middle place between sleep and waking, floating, savoring the aches and tingles left behind by his use of my body. I feel warm and loose, like a puddle of molasses...
And the rest of the day, my body moves with a wonderful slow grace. And perhaps it is true, that it does make things better to ride the bikes first... something has been making it better.
The Road to Recovery is Slow
2 hours ago