I’m turning my #StoryIn12 tweets into 500(ish) word blog posts! Some will be sexy, some won’t, but all of them will feature my tweet in full and unbroken.
I watch Daisy pad barefoot across the lawn in my folks’ back garden, trying my best not to laugh. She’s moving so carefully, so stiffly, people are asking her if she’s alright. They get nods. A dismissive wave of a hand accompanied by mutters of ‘I’m fine.’ They get a string of lies because she isn’t fine at all.
My laugh simmers in the back of my throat when she tries to sit down. The garden chairs are wooden and hard, and I may or may not have swiped the cushion from hers before I cornered her on her way to the bathroom. She lowers herself down then rises again. Grips the armrests, sinks down again and winces when her summer dress does nothing to protect her fire red cheeks from the hard, knotty slats.
She looks at me, red-faced, out of breath. I love the way my kisses make her lips swell. The way her heavy lids narrow her eyes when she’s turned on, and the way sucking my dick leaves smudges of black beneath her lower lashes.
Still holding my gaze, she lifts her hand to her mouth and wipes an imaginary spot of spunk from her lower lip. I know there’s nothing there because I made absolutely sure that every drop I spilt went straight down the back of her throat.
But even though she’d just let me drag her into the garage so that I could beat her ass with a two by four, half suffocate her with clingfilm, fuck her with a condom covered wrench, then blow my load in her mouth, my cock is already hard again.
My mother unties the binds that keep the giant parasol at the table closed. I’m too far away to hear Daisy’s gasp but I know how it sounds. Her eyes widen for a second, her hand flutters around her throat. So she’s a rope bunny? Ah, the cherry atop a delicious sundae of submission. Never mind barbeques and burgers, I want my dessert now.
When she meets my eyes again I hold her gaze for a few beats, glance at the discarded rope, then back again. She doesn’t even hesitate. Her fingers snatch it up. She walks toward me, past me, into the house and up to the room that was once mine.
I don’t even speak when I join her. She hands me the rope, lifts her dress, and stares at my reflection in the mirror. I know we’ll have to leave after this, so I don’t hold back. The desk she’s leaning against rattles, pencil pots and my old dinosaur toys fall over and tumble to the carpet. I’m finding the end of her, fucking her so hard she’s begging and crying and moaning.
She’s getting too noisy now. Her loudest shriek turns to a strangled gargle. Her eyes bulge impossibly wide before her dilated pupils roll back and leave her looking possessed. It’s not until I twist the rope tighter around her neck and growl a command into her ear that I finally see her smile. That’s the first time I’ve let her have an orgasm in weeks. My cock pulses inside of her and I’m smiling, too. Now that we’ve come, it’s time to go.