It’s 11:24 in the evening, and we’ve already had a phenomenal time. A card, a cute gift, cake even. A devastating fuck that was as playful as it was brutal, which ended in him thoroughly draining his balls nice and deep in my cunt. Off the back of a week when I’ve been showered with kind words and birthday wishes from friends and family, I can’t remember the last time I felt this lucky and calm. Happy, sated and loved. And there are 36 minutes of my birthday still to go, so I ask him: “will you do exactly as I ask until it ends?” Yes, he will. Of course he will. Even though he quite rudely specifies ‘within reason’. As if I’d be anything other than reasonable in my requests…
“Come sit behind me on the sofa,” I tell him first. “I want you to play with my tits while we’re watching telly.”
“Incredibly reasonable,” he concludes, and does exactly as I’ve asked.
We’re lightly high, and soft and cosy. I’m wearing his pyjamas over my underwear, he’s in pants and a t-shirt. It’s very easy for me to lie back onto his chest and squirm with pleasure as I breathe in the scent of him, as it’s very easy for him to slip both his hands inside my bra and gently cup my tits.
I pretty much always want my tits touched. Not in public, of course, unless it’s a quick, cheeky squeeze at the back of the cinema or a gig when no one is looking. But in private, during quiet time, even if we’re just cuddled up watching old clips from comedy panel shows, I’d really like to have my tits held firmly in somebody’s hands. I’d like them to pull down the cups of my bra to expose my nipples to the chill of the air. Casually pinch and tug them upwards. Alternate between doing this and running soft fingertips over the curve of my breasts, which I’ll probably be deliberately pushing into the soft cups of your palms – breathing deeper and arching my back so I can get even more contact between your flesh and my own.
He plays with my tits, and it’s glorious. It doesn’t take long for me to start squirming in my seat on the sofa. Shifting position so I can see whether he’s getting hard, and then shifting a little more till I can glance at the clock that sits beneath the TV screen.
23:34 – there are now only twenty six minutes of my birthday left.
Better make the most of it.
I shuffle up so my head is now resting on his shoulder rather than his chest. Turn slightly so I can kiss the side of his neck and get the perfect angle to whisper into his ear:
“Are you still up for doing things for my birthday?”
“Yes. Within reason.”
I was joking at the beginning. His ‘within reason’ isn’t really a guard against me making ludicrous requests like ‘give me all of your money’ or ‘put your shoes on and go to the shop, I fancy a Toffee Crisp’. It’s nearly midnight, and I’m a reasonable soul. The ‘within reason’, I think, is his way of warning me that he probably can’t fulfil anything too intensely sexual. He’s already come once this evening and is almost certainly too tired to produce a second load. If I turn round and demand that he cover my tits in his spunk, I’ll be one disappointed birthday girl.
But it’s OK, that is not what I want.
“Take me to the bedroom and fuck me till I come,” I tell him. Emphasis on ‘I’. To show not only that we’re doing this purely for my pleasure, but also that there’ll be no expectations beyond what I’ve expressly stated. Fuck me till I come, not you. And I come pretty easily.
He hesitates, still, so I offer the decisive blow:
“I’ll suck you hard.”
“Deal!”
When we get into the bedroom, I request some music: sucking someone off is always, always better if there is music. And there are still twenty two minutes of my birthday left, so even though it takes a bit of faff to get the speakers working, we both decide it’s worth it for the atmosphere. For the fact that the first song on our ‘fuck songs’ playlist is now so Pavlovian in its efficacy that we’re both usually hard before it gets past the first few bars.
I promised to suck him hard, but when he lies me down on the bed and starts kissing my tits, I’m so sucked in by the sheer pleasure of having my nipples toyed with that my promise falls briefly by the wayside. I grip his cock in my hand and stroke it lazily, but otherwise lie back with my eyes closed, enjoying the shivery hotness of him gently biting each of my nipples in turn.
He takes off my knickers. Kneels up over me so now his dick – semi-hard, engorged but not yet ready to fuck, tempting tempting tempting – sits right in front of my mouth. At this point, it’s less about the promise than about the desire: there are still 20 minutes of my birthday left, and I want to wrap my wet lips round this and enjoy the feeling of blood pulsing to the head and the shaft. Run my tongue around it as it fills up taut and hard, so that’s what I do.
He fingers me while I do that, and I look up at him, watching his mesmerised gaze as he slowly runs his fingertips around the gushing wetness of my cunt, plunging them in and out as I squirm and moan through a mouthful of rapidly-stiffening dick.
Happy fucking birthday to me, I would think, if I had any brain cells spare to dedicate to thinking.
When he’s teased me with his fingers for long enough that I’m dripping on the sheets, and his cock is so hard I am at full jaw-stretch just to keep it in my mouth, I let the head of it fall out with a pop and murmur:
“Fuck me now please.”
“OK,” he says, and as he spreads my legs and kneels between them, a wolfish grin starts to break across his face.
“You know,” he murmurs, teasing the head of his solid prick against the entrance to my cunt, “someone told me recently that if we swapped bodies, the one thing I’d learn would be how much they liked being teased before they got fucked.”
Shit. Yeah. OK. I did say that, didn’t I?
I make a little whining noise in the back of my throat, and grab his hips with my hands. Pulling my thighs back so I’m folded in half – just the way I know he likes to fuck me – I hold his body and fuck mine upwards, trying to take his dick inside even as he smiles and bucks away.
“Wrist,” he commands, holding on to one of the velcro cuffs that’s neatly placed on the headboard for this exact situation. I put my left hand above my head, and he secures it to the frame. “Next one,” he says – playful but firm – and I surrender my right hand to him as well. Now I cannot pull him towards me, and I’m limited in how much I can fuck up to try and push him to enter me quicker.
I pout, but obviously I’m pleased. The second he mentioned teasing my cunt clenched in anticipation. The torture of being toyed with is an exquisite joy, and every second of it heightens the pleasurable relief when he finally slams his dick home. It’s not incremental, either, it’s exponential. For every few seconds he spends teasing the head of his cock around the entrance to my cunt, maybe slightly dipping it in but never quite going full-depth, the eventual satisfaction when he does is doubled.
So he runs it up and down my slit: doubled.
Then pushes it ever-so-slightly in: doubled again.
I’m still whining, and it’s getting more high-pitched. Urgent. Irritating. Like a squeaky door, surely he must want to fix this by now? Come on, fix me! Fuck me! Just put it the fuck in!
He teases me more. Clearly starting to enjoy the havoc that this delay is having on my brain function. Anticipation doubled again. Whines louder and even more nonsensical.
I’ve talked before about being ‘fuckdrunk‘ – that state you get into where you’re so hungry for getting railed that you start to lose track of what exactly it is you’re saying. And I’ve been teased before by partners about the specific phrases I end up repeating when I’m wholly and utterly focused on the sex. Most notably, an old fuckbuddy and I were chatting over pints one day and I made some silly brag about how good I was at dirty talk. He gave me my kudos, but then added: “not always. Sometimes you forget every single word except one.” I had no idea what he was talking about, until he leaned forward and whispered into my ear: “PleasePleasePleasePleasePlease.”
He was right. That’s where I end up most of the time. Just that one single word repeated over and over. If I’m hot enough for you I’ll forget everything in the whole world except for my manners. Please. PleasePleasePlease.
By the time he’s finally ready to put it in me, I have begged him with every phrase in my arsenal: get it in, give it to me, please, just fuck me, please fuck me, it’s still my fucking birthday. I’m babbling and enraged and abject and miserable and squirming and happy and wretched with need.
Then he slides it all the way in and oh god.
Oh. God. Yes please.
That’s what I babble, as he fucks it home over and over again: yes please yes please yes please. A ‘yes’ on every in-stroke, in time with the rhythm. It’s like I’ve spent my entire life thirsty and someone’s just given me a pint of cold, clear water. Yes please yes please yes please.
Then he stops. Pulls out.
And I howl.
Ever attuned to my distress, he puts it back in again (YES please).
But that’s not quite right either because nothing is quite right when my brain is blue-screening so I break out of the fuckdrunk haze for a brief moment – like a visibly inebriated person who needs to hold it together for ten seconds to get past security into the club – and I look him in the eye and say: “No. Do not stop teasing me. Ignore the begging. Make me hurt for it.”
His eyes light up, and he slams in one stroke – just one – hard and vicious to the back of my clutching cunt, and the fuckdrunkenness descends once more.
Oh please yes that’s it more like that just a few please just a few I’m gonna come so hard I promise I will come harder round your cock than you’ve ever felt in your life just please a few more strokes like that.
He gives me two more, just enough for me to feel like I’m on the edge of coming, then he pulls back out so it’s just the tip inside and I am shuddering with horror at how empty I feel when I desperately need to be full. I whimper again. Whine. Try to claw my way out of the velcro cuffs and fuck upwards towards him. My face must be a picture of rage and pain and misery, and my voice is a soup of squeals and squeaks and pleading. Every now and then he’ll fuck me properly – deep, hard, slow strokes that set my cunt off again down the path that must, this time, surely, end in me coming. And every time, just as he feels the waves begin to course through those slick internal parts of me he pulls out a little or slows his pace and I am once again rendered insensible at the horror and joy of it all.
Remember when I said earlier that every second of anticipation doubles the eventual relief? I’m not joking. By the time he finally acquiesces to my insensate begging and gives me maybe ten good solid strokes in a row, at a pace I can come round, I have been so thoroughly built up that the crash of the first wave of orgasm causes me to temporarily lose my sight. The black spots start crowding in at the edges of my vision and my entire body goes kitten-limp and starts trembling. My cunt, already squeezed as tight as I thought it could go – all the better to feel every inch of his cock as he ploughs it in – somehow finds an extra row of muscles that start to spasm even more intensely. Gripping him so firmly that a worry flashes in the back of my mind that I might be causing him injury.
My mouth does some stuff I have no control over, more ‘Yes please yes please yes please’s that I’m sure I’d regret if there were anyone watching who would judge me. My body starts to pulse with waves of sensation that are equal parts pleasure and relief. And my cunt does that thing it does when I come, but even more so: this is definitely the hardest I have ever come on anyone’s dick.
I ride the waves as he fucks me, allowing my inner good girl to take over, turning ‘yes please’s into ‘thank you’s as I try to catch my breath. But he isn’t done with me yet, and those ‘thank you’s are soon railed back into ‘pleases’ as he builds me back up for another go. I can’t tell if I’ve finished coming and this is round two or if this is just the second-wave of the tsunami of the first time I came, but either way I’m very very grateful.
I have no doubt that he knows it.
There are perhaps four minutes of my birthday left by the final time I come, and this one’s even better than the first. Not just because it’s more intense, though my body deserves credit for the fact that it is: how’s it possible for this wretched meat sack to provide me with so much pure joy? It gets better at it each and every year and I’m so grateful. But the reason this orgasm is the best is because by now he’s decided that not only is he done with teasing me, he’s also pretty keen to come himself.
The early caution of his ‘within reason’ has flown out of the window, I suspect because my cunt is now milking his cock with a level of energy he has never felt before (and maybe won’t ever since). But now the strokes are coming hard and fast and bear very little relation to what I’m begging for. It’s no longer about my pleas, it’s about him.
He wants to come, it’s thrumming out from every atom of his being – that urge to just release and let go and allow himself to pour one more helping of spunk nice and deep and hard into my desperate, twitching cunt.
I’m more than happy to let him give me this gift. There’s still one minute left of my birthday, after all.
If you’d like to hear this as audio way before it’s available on site, check out the preview I read to Patreons last week.