The first time you told me, “I like it rough,” we were in our hotel room overlooking the Strip. You were just slightly tipsy on mini champagne bottles, the effervescence still popping on your lips while you nuzzled my neck. I’m surprised I didn’t lose it right there with the hair-raising goosebumps of possibility, leaving you to discover a warm pool of semen spreading across my dark denim.

Instead, I said quite matter-of-factly, “Oh yeah?” in the cool, comfortable baritone that I know makes you want to go off the pill. But, as I unhooked my belt, I pushed a little further, “You don’t even know what rough is.”

You bit your bottom lip, did that cute little nod, and then titled your head to the side. Of course it drives me wild when you play dumb. A vivacious nymph pretending to be a nun. Your hand–so small and cold and weak--grasped mine. You laced your short digits through my long ones and brought my palm to your neck. And you just barely whispered, ”It’s like this”. And it was the hottest thing you’ve ever done.

My palm slipped past and my forearm squeezed gently but firmly around your throat. You knew that you could trust me to be careful–firm, but sweet, just the way you like it. And then I was climbing on top of you, pushing you face-first into the plush white comforter familiar to any hotel guest. Your dress was already half-unzipped, the smooth slender arch of your back warmed beneath my hand.

ZIP

“Let’s get the rest of that outta the way,” I teased as my hand slipped beneath the spread hem to cup your ass. You curled up against me, encouraging me to fill my palm. Easily done with an ass like yours. And suddenly, all those memories of groping and lightly smacking it turned into fantasies of bending you over my knee and bruising you like a peach.

“This is mine,” I hissed in your ear. And to make it slightly unclear which part of you I was referring to, I lifted your cheek and threaded my middle finger between your thighs. But of course you knew. You knew it was all mine.

You managed to free yourself from a pile of pillows and made your voice quiver, “What are you going to do to me, Sir?” There it was–that word. You weren’t as green as I thought.

I considered my reply. My options seemed limitless. But this wasn’t some Fifty Shades bullshit. Consent is hot. Even more so when it takes the form of begging, groveling, whining, or moaning. You were going to come clean. You were going to submit and admit what you wanted me to do to you.

So I grasped your ass, your hips now wiggling out of your dress, “Tell me what you want me to do with this.” I ended the sentence with emphasis, my fingers digging the period into your firm flesh.

“I want you to hit it,” you replied, your teeth already chewing into Egyptian cotton.

“How hard? Like this.”

SMACK

The sound bounced between us and the high ceilings. I reached over, turned up the TV. Another CSI rerun.

“Mmphf. More.”

“More what? Be specific.” I was looming over you, my shadow making you look tiny. I leaned forward to whisper into your ear, “Your mouth is good for two things: sucking my cock and telling me how you want to be fucked.” God, what a word to use when I’m talking about you.

“Make it red.”

SMACK

You cried out before biting down to muffle the sound. Your hair was tousled now, falling in cascading waves across your blushing cheeks.

“Just red?” I dug my fingers into the sore spots.

“Maybe blue.”

SMACK

“Blue would look good on you.” And I didn’t realize it then, but I was growing into this burgeoning dynamic. All it took were those four words from you–I like it rough–and I was shifting comfortably into Dom space. The thought of leaving marks on you–bruises, welts, and more–had my erection demanding freedom.

I wanted to feel how wet you were–not with my hand, but while I was deep inside you. I wanted it to pour over me, to coat my cock as I stretched your cunt. So my belt was off and around your neck. And I took a break from smacking your ass to simply grope it for leverage.

How many times had we fucked before that night? And yet, it felt like the first. You were so remarkably tight. As soon as my cockhead was against your slit I knew it’d be a fight. But I let you squeeze my hand while I claimed you anew. You were running like a stream over me. Your juices pouring down my balls as I squished them against your lips.

Then–fuck–then I really started fucking you. I’ve never heard your ass clap that loudly against my thighs. Fuck I was bottoming out on every thrust. You were fucking screaming but you loved it. You kept bouncing your hips backwards, desperate to have me inside you even as I retracted. The room was filled with nothing but the hot slapping of my flesh against yours and I thought–just for a split-second–that maybe you really should go off the fucking pill.

But then my mind went blank as I moved a hand to the belt and pulled it backwards. You arched your back, let out a gasp, and your pussy clenched around my shaft like a fucking glove. I don’t think I could have pulled out if I wanted.

Tighter, tighter, tighter–the belt and your cunt.

I was panting and huffing and grunting and—-------fuck.

There it goes. Straight into your womb. My seed spilling out, filling you up, drenching your pretty pink pussy with white.

“Good girl,” a phrase that made you shudder around me. Followed by another hearty SMACK. Who knew I’d enjoy watching your ass jiggle so much. It wasn’t quite bruised, but it was sure looking red. A good start. I knew there was plenty of time ahead of us. But, for now, I told you to get dressed. We were going back out.

“No panties and no tissues.” Back out indeed. And you were going to let my sperm roll right down your legs while I kept one hand ‘round your waist. Because–now–you were mine.