Sunday Sessions

Note: anal, oral, vaginal sex between consenting adults (though with elements of dominance, female-submissiveness), includes elements of voyeurism, cheating, interracial sex, spanking, and one instance of a woman letting her face be used as a urinal.

SUNDAY SESSIONS

She spread her cheeks for him. She knew she shouldn't. Of course she shouldn't. Marissa wasn't stupid. Even if she kept doing the same stupid thing every Sunday morning.

She'd finish her swim and think about how close she was to his house.

It had become routine.

His schedule meant he'd be home. The front door to his downstairs studio apartment wouldn't be locked. The steps from the door to his bedside were practically choreographed.

Removing her shoes and pulling the drapes closed so they had privacy. The three steps to the futon on he didn't bother folding back into a couch.

Today she'd been wearing a summer dress that had come down to the middle of her thighs. When the time came he'd pulled it up and over her head without a word. His eyebrows didn't even flick upwards in reaction to the absence of a bra for her upturned c-cups, he just smiled appreciatively at her over-sensitive nipples which were already hardening in the breeze of the overhead fan.

Marissa hadn't bothered with underwear either.

Drying off post-swim she'd had her weekly internal debate. The results were a foregone conclusion, but she still took herself through the well rehearsed inner dialogue. "Shouldn't she just go do her errands/call her sister/return that guy from the office's text about meeting for a drink/etc" versus "wouldn't it be nice to go get dicked down the way only he could?"

So why bother even sliding the thong up between her cheeks?

In ten minutes she'd be parked in his driveway. In five minutes the thong would just be around her ankles or somewhere in the detritus of his apartment's floor.

And she'd be kneeling on the futon just like every Sunday, breasts pancaked flat over her hardened nipples, breathing in his musk from the sheets, bent over like she was now, spreading the globes of her behind for him, while lewdly displaying the moistening folds of her labia and gently clenching and unclenching the muscles of her dark star.

Marissa had confessed to him once, in a post-coital haze, before she'd broken up with him, before she'd come to regret all the secrets she'd carelessly given up to him, naked and spooned together, looking up and back into his eyes, "I don't know why my butthole winks like that at you. It gets all soft when we're naked together". She'd admitted that other men might have made her pussy wet "but you're the only person my ass just automatically opens up for." He'd smirked at her, and gently flexed his sticky half-hard shaft between her thighs, his glans sliding over her taint. The involuntary wince of a moan she'd let out as his sex brushed her sensitive undercarriage had made her blush and roll forward to hide her face against the bed. And he'd rolled on top of her and let the bedclothes muffle Marissa's subsequent grunts and even louder moans.

And this was what made coming here every week so stupid. No one made her moan like he did, no one made her cum the way he did, no one made her want to wear thongs to turn him on, and then decide not to even bother since the time taking the thong off would just be a waste of time. And he wouldn't care anyways, if her pussy cream was already shining on her inner thighs when she knelt at his bedside, rather than staining the inside of her panties. He wouldn't even comment. Like her leaky gash wasn't even worth acknowledging. It was just his due. Like how her ass just opened up for him. Like how she just knelt and spread herself for him.

Marissa knew she'd hurt him when she told him she didn't want to date anymore. Didn't want to see him anymore. Didn't see a future with him. If he wasn't going to take his life more seriously. Try harder. Plan ahead. Think beyond the end of his dick.

She knew she'd hurt him because after a week of not texting him, of not calling, of not apologizing, and not being able to stop thinking about him, she'd come by after her swim on Sunday morning.

The internal debate had been fiercer that morning, but Marissa had known she'd needed to see him. Felt like there was still more to say.

But when she'd parked her car in his driveway and knocked on his door she'd felt cotton mouthed and it was like all the words she might have said had dried up like her saliva. Meanwhile she'd felt the folds of her labia sliding together in a maddeningly damp and creamy froth.

He'd opened the door and looked at her with guarded eyes.

She was caught between conflicting emotions, the tension of her doubts and desire pushing her almost to turn and run away without saying anything versus the temptation to step into his arms and beg his forgiveness and offer her apologies along with her dripping sex.

Somehow, simultaneously, Marissa had wondered if he could smell her arousal along with the faint tang of pool chlorine and her locker room shampoo.

In that moment of suspended inner conflict, his nostrils had flared and she felt her body tense. He had reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward into his apartment. They had tumbled the few steps to the futon and she found herself sprawled across his lap.

His hand was in the waistband of her workout shorts and had yanked them down to her mid thighs. She'd felt the movement of air from the fan across her rear end for just a moment before he brought his hand down against her upturned moons with a flat crack. Her body had bucked, but his other hand had found the back of her neck and his grasp there--along with the strong arm attached--was enough to keep her wrestled into place so that he could give each cheek several more whip cracking open palm slaps.

That was how Marissa had known she'd hurt him. Because he hurt her. Not badly. The blows stung, and made her crotch writhe futilely across his lap and the firm lump of the erection she felt brewing. But he let her feel it. The sting of her betrayal.

And then he'd plunged his third and middle fingers inside her. Wedged between the thighs trapped by her shorts. He fingered her in a rapidfire burst and then pressed his hand home with his pinky down below gliding forcefully across Marissa's throbbing clit. She began bucking up and down with his hand still clamped across the back of her neck and as her orgasm hit he thrust his pointer finger into her anus and began using his whole arm to grind her back and forth over the erection that was starting to escape the fly of his pajama pants.

Her orgasm felt like it was never going to stop as he fluttered his fingers back and forth in her rectum and vagina while his fifth finger mercilessly swiveled across her clit.

As her moans and gasps slowed he'd pulled his hand from her gaping cunt and ass. She was hardly aware of him reaching down and using the hand he'd just been violating her holes with to free the rubber thong sandal he used as a house slipper from his foot. But Marissa's whole body flexed in sudden pained awareness as he brought the sole of it down against her buttocks as a makeshift disciplinary paddle. She let out a series of shrieks that startled the neighbor's dogs and set them to barking. After a couple more quick blows she was suddenly released and he stood to unceremoniously tumble her onto the floor.

She held herself on all fours, knees trapped in her shorts, trying to catch her breath and regain her bearings. Her crotch was soaked, her buttocks were hot and pulsing with a stinging pain. She felt his feet gently step onto the back of her hands, trapping them against the floor.

His hand closed in a fist around her brunette ponytail and he pulled her head back so she was staring up into his bloated cock as he hunched forward and brought it towards her panting mouth. Marissa had unhesitatingly opened her lips and flattened her tongue to provide his shaft with ready access to the depths of her face. He steadily brought his crotch down and forward so that her nose was brushing his pubes and her throat was pulsing around his dick as she struggled to breathe and not to gag.

"You want me to think beyond the end of my dick?" He ground her face against his pubic bone and she could feel his ab muscles working against her forehead as he flexed the shaft of his cock across her uvula. "Well where's the end of my dick now? Who has to think about the end of my dick now?"

He shook his hips back and forth in a sudden burst and then she had gagged and he'd pulled her head back by her hair and yanked his cock back with thick strands of drool spiderwebbing between it and her swollen sputtering lips. Her hands were still pinned to the floor by his feet and he'd used his own free hand to jerk his dick back and forth in a couple of forceful strokes.

He used her hair to force her face into alignment with the ropes of jizz that erupted from his saliva drenched throat-raper. Globs of his baby slime splattered against her still spit and sweat soaked cheeks. Then he brought his glans back into her sputtering mouth and she drank the rest of his load without hesitation or resistance.

He still had a fistful of her hair and now the hand he'd used to jerk himself off onto her had come around to the back of her skull, trapping her face to his abs.

"When you were my girl-friend you wouldn't let me use you as a urinal." Marissa's eyes had widened in shock. She tried to pull back slightly but he still had her hands against the floor and used the strength of his larger upper body to trap her head around his softening sex organ. "But now, we're broken up, and it doesn't seem like you have much choice. And you know me, I can't think beyond the end of my dick, and the next thing that's coming out of that dick is some hot piss."

He was as good as his word. And Marissa had swallowed all she could before the hot liquid overflowed her lips and onto her shirt, so that the wet fabric clung hot and warm to the c-cups that rose in panting breaths to accompany her gasps for air.

He tucked himself back into his pajamas. She looked up at him, remembering how dry her mouth had been with nerves when she'd arrived, how she'd been worrying about what words would come out of her mouth, never imagining what might come into her mouth instead. What mix of fluids might be lubricating her oral cavity when he was done with her.

She suddenly realized that he hadn't even bothered to close his apartment door. If it hadn't been for her parked car the spanking, fingering, and then oral assault and use of face as his toilet would have been visible (instead of just highly audible) to any passerby on the street.

She looked up at him, cowed and wary, not sure what was coming next, not sure what she wanted next. He reached down to her with both hands and helped her to stand, wet and unsteady as a newborn fawn. He slid her shorts back up high in her crotch, practically giving her a wedgie, and now he used the waistband to hoist her around in the direction of the apartment door and guide her stumbling legs back out into the Sunday morning light. Marissa had barely heard the door close behind her.

She'd hurt him, and he'd hurt her, and that could have been the end of it.

But it wasn't.

She'd at least managed to resist coming over the next Sunday.

But that was only because she decided she couldn't go swimming with her ass and upper thighs still purple from the spanking he'd administered. Unfortunately, while coming to that decision, she'd spent a lot of time in the mirror evaluating the abstract purple paint job of burst blood vessels with which he'd authoritatively decorated her bottom.

She ogled herself and the cartographic record of his dominance of her the week prior. Spent time remembering how he'd overwhelmed and aroused her with his handling of her the week before. And then she'd spent time in her own bed with one hand working her vibrator against her clit while she'd alternated gagging herself with three of her fingers that she reached back past her uvula and then masturbating her ass with them, all the while thinking about the taste of his semen when she'd wiped it from her face in the front seat of her car the prior Sunday. Thinking about how she'd first planned to wipe it on some tissues, but then simply ate the congealing gobs of his spend instead. How satisfying that had been. Swallowing the load he'd glazed her with.

Three days after her arousing examination of her well beaten behind and the heated masturbation session that followed. Marissa had broken her "no-texting him" rule, and sent him a selfie from behind with a thong wedged high in her ass-crack and the fading bruise-map of his handiwork spread across her out-thrust buttcheeks for him to contemplate.

He had replied with two words: "Marked Property."

She didn't send him any argument in response.

And the following Sunday she had another less vigorous internal debate in the swimming pool locker room before she arrived at his front door wearing the same workout shorts from her last visit.

He had stripped her and had her kneel on his futon and then railed her like a "cock addicted little tramp" who "couldn't get enough of my being my fuck-piece."

That had been about 6 months ago.

And here she was, once again, spreading her cheeks for him. She knew she shouldn't. Of course she shouldn't. Marissa wasn't stupid. Even if she kept doing the same stupid thing every Sunday morning.

She should have known better from the beginning. Should have controlled herself better all along. Hindsight, obviously, but still.

He'd been a friend of a friend at a going away party at a bar. Well built and confident--eyeing her hungrily and thoroughly eye-fucking her as soon as they'd been introduced. Marissa had felt flirtatious and uninhibited with him, lightheaded even though she was the designated driver for the party that night and hadn't had a drop. They had danced a little, he was clearly tipsy, but was definitely aware of how receptively her smaller body was responding to the aggressive feels his big hands kept copping on her behind and out thrust chest.

She had driven everyone else home individually until he was the last passenger left in the front seat of her car. She'd daringly invited to give him a ride to her place instead of back to his house.

Then, after some longer and more forcefully copped feels as they made out at her front door, she had given him another ride. She had been very appreciative of his trim musculature at the bar and was even more appreciative of the thick circumcised cock that filled up both of her hands with some length to spare. It had been a while since she'd been naked and flat on her back in front of someone, but he had, seemingly sheepishly, admitted that he'd been with "several" women recently. She had a flutter of self-doubt, imagining how these other recent lovers might have performed when it was their opportunity to satisfy his angrily erect tool.

Even though she knew it was a perfectly reasonable request, Marissa was a little hesitant when it was time to ask "Do you mind using a condom?". But he was perfectly gentlemanly about it, and she plucked the long unused box of prophylactics from her nightstand and evicted the last inhabitant, before unrolling it down the ever-more appetizing length of his penis.

She lay back and after a couple of expert swipes of his tongue across her pussylips, he was laying himself down over her and even more expertly guiding the fat head of his latex wrapped sausage into her wet depths. Marissa had never cum from pure vaginal sex before, always requiring some stimulation to her clit to get even one orgasm wrung from her box. But there was something about the way he fit and filled her. About the way his stroke pulled at her and stretched her insides that quickly had her panting, then moaning, and then pressing her palm flat against his pecs and asking him to slow down because "I'm gonna cuuuuuuummmmm."

He slowed but didn't stop and she pulled her legs back to her chest to let him speed back up and start railing her quivering pussy even harder. One of his hands was playing with her breasts as they flopped wildly in time with her body's jerking responses to his steady thrusts. The other was grasping her from below one of her butt cheeks and as her second orgasm hit she felt him steadily probing her behind with a long forceful digit. She was panting too hard to warn him that she had a sensitive butthole, and he was leaning forward and giving her deep tonsil polishing tongue kisses to boot. She couldn't breathe and maybe that was why her third and fourth orgasms followed in such rapidly explosive succession, while his middle finger worked itself knuckle by knuckle into her rear aperture.

The sensation of his condom covered endowment and his finger playing back and forth across the tissue dividing her vaginal and rectal vaults was enough to coax a fifth shuddering orgasm out of her.

"Please, oh my god, oh please, oh, let me breathe" she pleaded. He backed off, his dick bobbing in front of him and with the condom pulled taut down over his darkly purple glans. She assumed he was just giving her a chance to recuperate but he caught her by the ankles and was rolling her facedown and pulling her up into a classic doggie-style position. One deep breath was all she managed before his hips pendulum forwarded and seated his dick back in her sloppy pussy hole.

Unfortunately it was but a few thrusts later when he pulled up short.

"Oh shit." He sounded shocked and dejected. "The condom busted."

Marissa had taken advantage of the respite to hunch forward, leaving her ass and pussy upthrust at him, and she looked back at his crotch and saw the wreckage of her last and only condom hanging around his still rampant and unsatisfied cock. She looked up and saw how hungrily he was still staring at her. Despite the ridiculous number of orgasms he'd brought her too, she still felt horny, sexy, and she definitely didn't want to leave him less than completely happy with their maiden fuck.

Nevertheless, she had to get a grip on herself "I don't think this is a safe time of the month for me." He nodded gently, still staring transfixed at the pussy and ass that she in turn was still pointing up at him.

"Plus, you said you'd been with some other girls recently, have you been tested?" Now an equally gentle head shake, his eyes still locked on her waggling and unguarded crotch, as though hypnotized by her sloppy gash and shiny wet starfish.

He was even starting to lean back over her, the ruptured condom unceremoniously deposited on her clean bedroom carpet and his cock pointed at her fuckholes like a quivering divining rod.

"I'm serious. I can't let you near my pussy with that thing." Marissa said, but without much conviction in her voice, and without changing the position of her upthrust thighs or un-arching her back.

"It doesn't seem like you can stop me though, does it?" His tone was mild, just stating a fact, and now he was leaning over her and he was dragging the tip of his slimy and maybe even STD-ridden dick up and down through her outer labia to her taint and her rubbery ass ring. Up and down it moved. She could feel how warm it was, so much more alive and dangerous than when it had been housed in the flimsy old rain jacket she'd futilely tried to dress it in. So dangerous.

"I can't stop you, it's true. But please" she was panting out the words and rubbing her groin back against the probing warm flesh of his naked fuck-organ, "please, my pussy isn't safe."

"So you want me to fuck you in the ass then?" He was all the way hunched over her now, the firm pressure of his cock head nudged against her butthole, the warm knuckle of his glans wet with the slime it had been scooping up as it had slid up and down her vulnerable labia.