Cento...and counting

Here I am on yet another airplane…heading the wrong direction from my Master. With instructions from him to journal my fantasies, I’m grateful to be in first class where the seats are wider and I have more room to shift my laptop to be unreadable to the passenger beside me. The prospect of enduring another week without his touch has my mind conjuring another vision. And causing me to blush. My pussy to dampen.


Finding myself naked before you, my pulse quickens. I am excited and slightly apprehensive. What will you have in store for me? You gently place my collar around my throat. The first moment of it on always has me feeling that it is too tight. I know it is not and trust.

Your dark voice comes close from behind me. ‘You’ve disobeyed me. How shall I correct you?’ Blushing fiercely, I am momentarily at a loss. I finally respond, ‘In whatever way pleases you, sir.’

‘Good answer. Now, over my knee.’

I move quickly to drape myself over you and feel your hardness. I know, hope, that if I please you now, you will reward me. Filling me with your cock. And maybe even letting me come for you.

Your hand stroking my ass brings me back from my reverie. I will pay first.

‘Count. In Italian.’

Gulping hard, I panic. The last time we did this I got stuck on 15, quindici. I lost count about the tenth time we started over. Now I know this word, I’ll never forget it. Will I forget another one?

Smack! The sound ringing in my ears. ‘Uno, Sir.’ ‘Due, Sir’ And on we move through the numbers.

Sometime after dici, you move your hand to my thighs. The place that at first is tolerable but quickly becomes almost more than I can take. We approach the number and a smack is quickly followed by, ‘Quindici, Sir.’

Without pausing, you continue. I rush to find the correct words, knowing that my pronunciation is slipping.

Throughout sessanta-cinque you vary the location of the assault. I feel myself leaking, dripping onto your legs. Now you are focusing on my upper, outer thighs. My watering eyes blur my view of my blonde hair blushing the floor.

Novanta. Thinking ahead, I panic anew. What is the word for 100? I find myself searching for my safe word while simultaneously searching for….cento! There it is!

The heat from my ass is unbelievable. I can barely get the words out. Finally, we are there. And I succeed in getting it out. Only just.

But, you don’t stop. You continue and I work to get out the next. And the next. We continue.

I start to falter at cento-venti-quattro. The words are coming more slowly as I fight to focus. Focus on anything other than the urgent need between my legs.

At cento-trenta-sei, I can’t get the words out. You and my desire devour me.

Quickly you pull me up, push me down on the bed and enter me easily in one quick thrust. Your dark eyes see me and my defeat. I don’t want to disappoint you but I am too close to resist my orgasm. Barely.

Our need is great and you consume me. The orgasm is close and as I feel its beginnings, you give me my command.

‘Come. Come now.’

Release. Complete and utter surrender. You surge into me and your moans roar in my ears. I am destroyed. And renewed.
Possessed. Loved.

Owned.
By you.
Sir.