The Anal Rapist had given me some “homework” to do – basically, to memorise Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, which I was to recite while tied to the door while he caressed my neck with his lips and my pussy with his fingers.
“One mistake or hesitation and you will be thrashed”, he had told me. “But ‎if you get 10 out of 10 you will not be thrashed but tied helpless to the bed with your legs splayed wide apart. I will pleasure you with my tongue but there is a “but”……. the “but” is you are not allowed to cum until I give permission, you will have to beg to be allowed to cum. If you disobey and cum without permission you will immediately be put on your knees and be fucked up the arse while being whipped until the tears well up in your eyes…”
Sounded fantastic, obviously, not to mention the fact that I’m well-versed in Yeats – I’ve attended seminars on his life and works. But still somehow I found myself nervously muttering the lines under my breath as I hurried to our tryst on a cool, clear Sunday morning. I’d been having such a stressful and terrible time of things lately, I just couldn’t wait for a bit of anal rape.
“You OK to be licked or should I proceed with caution,” he messaged me, aware of my accident-prone status.
“Should be OK but things were a bit tricky this morning so need to use your bathroom to change into stockings,” I texted back. “No stray hairs this time – I promise!”
I got there and he welcomed me into his den of sin and showed me into the bathroom.
“Could you put those cuffs on your wrists and ankles, while you’re at it?” he asked.
I gaped at them in disbelief and began to get changed. Then all of a sudden I heard him call to me from the other room. I entered to find him staring glumly at his computer screen, where a small blue dot could be seen inching its way across a map of Golder’s Green. The window was entitled “M’s iPhone”.
“She’s on her way here,” he explained to me, dismally. “She will be here in 20 minutes.”
“What?!” I screeched, grabbing my things. “I need to get out of here!!”
“No, wait a minute,” he said, unbuckling his belt.
“Oh, shall I give you a quick blow-job while you monitor her approach?”
“Would you mind?”
“No. But I can’t believe you’re stalking her to the point where you’re literally tracking her iPhone!”
He looked a bit guilty. Then he dragged me into the bedroom. The bed was covered with a vast array of bondage and chastisement equipment. I hurriedly began to go down on him as he sat on the edge of the bed. Realising that there was a big mirror behind me, I cunningly hiked up my skirt so he could see my bare bottom. He instantly hurled me onto the bed and began to fuck me from behind, on all fours. This is just foreplay for him, though, and normally lasts only a few seconds before he moves on to the activity which earned him his monikor. But not this time! As I began to moan and squirm with pleasure, he grabbed my hips and began to thrust into me harder and harder, until I just knew he would come. And he did.
And then, when he pulled out – goddamnit! – I saw there’d been a tiny accident. Nothing too bad, but still, the damn sponge must have been dislodged. I was mortified but mostly panic-stricken at the thought of my upcoming Appointment with the Edge.
I got dressed in the living room, where I saw a variety of interesting implements of torture laid out on the table. I was most interested in the riding crop, which I picked up and flicked at him gently.
“How come you never introduced me to this before?” I asked.
“Didn’t think you could take it,” he said.
He forgot to pay me again, but gave me instead a rather silly-looking book which he had ordered online for me.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise it had pictures,” he explained sheepishly. “It looks like a child’s book, but it isn’t, really, it’s brilliant.” (I read it on the Tube on my way home – it is definitely a child’s book.) He had also bought me a butt plug. How many butt plugs does a girl need??
He apologised profusely to me for the inconvenience, but  I was in high spirits as I left, singing a merry tune as I trotted down the street. I love quickies. I pretend that it’s because they’re so naughty. But really, I think it’s because they allow me to re-insinuate myself into someone’s consciousness with minimal time and effort.
OK, and also because they’re so naughty.

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