• Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • BDSM
  • /
  • Quick & Dirty: Hard & Fast

Quick & Dirty: Hard & Fast

Quick & Dirty - F/f - D/s - S/M - slapping - kicking - whipping - fucking. Fantasy, not reality.

*****

The front door bumps open, is shouldered aside by an athlete. It's knocked closed carelessly by the heel of her shoe, and she leans against it briefly, as if to seal it.

Her body is glistening and flushed, her muscles tense and strong from the exertion of her run. She is breathing hard and fast enough for me to see, but not enough to do justice to the ten miles of road she has left in her wake.

I rise from the couch as though it doesn't exist, as though the glance she shoots my way is a fishing line, and the hook has caught in my breast. I tumble towards her, with all the self-possession of a giggling child rolling down a summer hill. By the time I'm standing in front of her I must be in control of myself; she must know that I am a willing participant in what comes next.

I fall into her orbit. I'm a frivolous confection of jiggling tits-and-ass, squeezed absurdly into too-small vest and shorts. I'm a nonsense of dark fluffy hair above a foolishly grinning face; I'm ten tiny naked toes yielding to the hard wooden floor; I'm breathless in a vacuum until I fall into her atmosphere and breathe the life-filled, wholesome scent of her honest sweat. I'm shivering until I'm warmed by the radiance of her muscles.

Even as I tumble into her, I can feel the emotions rush at me in anticipation of what we're about to do, what we always do when she's taut with energy and glistening and breathing hard and fast. Shame, confusion, helplessness... they barrel into me and become hopelessly tangled with the excitement and lust that are already gripping my flimsy, kittenish form. I'm sick of thinking about myself.

There's only room for her in my attention, as she tears the sweat-sticky vest over her head. Her long torso is a sculptural masterpiece. Elegant abdominals, obliques, anteriors... all those mesmerising shapes super-heroines are made of, and she...

Wait, I can't keep up. She has pulled off her running shoes and now she's tugging down her jogging pants, and kicking away her socks, and there she is. I can't describe her. Even if I had more time, I would never stop. She's lean and muscled and tall and rangy. And she's soft and curved and her skin looks so tough and feels like brushed cotton...

Everyone calls Hard & Fast, because that's what she is. In the ring with an opponent, on a track or in a pool, those long, clever muscles twitch and swing and dance and she's unstoppable. My woman. Hard & Fast rules.

And now in the hallway of our apartment, she is something more. Her blonde hair is plaited strictly in a rope which swings between her shoulder blades. A no-nonsense sport bra sculpts her chest and a little pair of briefs cling to her and stir something filthy inside me. I fetishize the trappings of her earnest endeavour. She is barefoot and she looks like she's thinking, hard and fast. She looks at me with eyes that are blue like denim. I know what she's thinking, and what she wants from me.

I'm her kitten. I'm her trailer-trash poet. I'm an aspiring waitress. I'm the dirty-cute foul-mouth. I'm the working-class girl with too many ideas and all of them above my station, and I know I'm not a tenth of the cock-sure little demon I pretend to be. I'm not a hundredth of the girl that deserves Hard & Fast.

She stands a foot taller than me, her limbs thicker and leaner. She radiates power with every subtle movement, and with her poised stillness. In the ring she wouldn't even raise a glove to me, it would be laughable, obscene. She could floor me with a shrug.

I stand so close that I have to tilt back my head to look in her beautiful eyes.

"Hey, Hard & Fast," I whisper, in my silly, taunting, girlish voice.

"Rosie," she murmurs. That's just my name, but you need to hear the way she says it. Her voice is dark and hungry, shivering with something out of control...

"Yes?" I say, breathlessly. "Say 'yes', Hard & Fast."

"Yes please," she whispers, and closes her eyes, making the room darker.

Strong enough to throw me like a ball, big enough to squash me like a bug, fast enough that I'd never touch her. I take a short step backwards, angle my shoulder, and slap her hard in the face.

A breath escapes her lips and it sounds soft. Her eyes open quickly to see my fascinated smile. I slap her again, harder this time. This time she makes a little moan. My stinging fingers brush her pink cheek. The skin is downy. Her cheekbone is firm. Her lips are trembling. She can't meet my gaze.

The other cheek. My other hand. Her head snaps a little to the side. I emit a hot little laugh from deep in my belly, where I am tingling, excited, ashamed and aroused. The laugh gets a response. She thinks it's cruel and full of contempt. It's not, honestly, but that's okay, I know what she wants. My hardest blow yet and a heavy breath escapes my lips, even as a breathless whine leaves hers.

Her powerful hands move falteringly to her artistic abs, and her softly square-tipped fingers trace her contours. As another blow stings her lips and makes her groan, those fingertips are teasing her nipples where their peaks yearn beneath the fabric of her bra.

I watch for a few seconds, then say: "No. Hands behind head."

She obeys and looks stronger and weaker than ever. Her quivering face is begging. She knots her fingers behind her head, urging herself to be helpless. She whispers my name, looking me in the eye. I'm silent. Oh, Hard & Fast. Oh God, what are you doing to me?

I take another short step back, angle my shoulder lower, and swing my hand in my fiercest stroke yet. I grunt with exertion, and she makes an animal sound. I flex my arms and then I unleash a flurry of blows, as harsh as my soft muscles will allow, left and right, looking deep into those blue eyes which sparkle with life.

I know her well enough to tell how much of her blush is soreness, how much is shock, how much is arousal. I love it all and it scares me. And her eyes are just about wet. Not crying, not even watering, just wet. Glistening. Enough for now.

I maintain a supercilious expression long enough to walk around behind her where I can hide. I take deep, silent breaths and try to calm down. Hopeless. I have to let this carry me along.

"Strip," I say simply. I continue to pace around her, casting sideways glances while her fingers fumble. I feel uncertain and shy, but she's unwilling to see that.

The bra is peeled away, leaving her golden hair a tiny bit disturbed, and leaving her breasts to make sweetly pointed domes on her proud chest. Those nipples strain and beg to be teased. She stoops and wriggles and the briefs slide to her ankles where she leaves them, resting on the tops of her feet, as she always does. I stand toe to toe with her. She can't meet my gaze, so she doesn't see me grin foolishly up at her. Her hands return to lock behind her head. There is a delicious perfume in the air between us.

"You owe me," I say, but I mean: I need something from you.

"I'm a perv," she whispers, electrifying me. "I'm sorry. Thank you for doing this. Thank you. I'm dirty. I'm a freak. I'm inferior."

She hisses these words hard and fast from deep in her throat, warm and wet with passion. Nobody has ever heard her make noises like this. I start to slap her breasts, building up pace and strength, warming up, getting crueller. She gasps, whimpers, cries out.

"Thank you! I love you! Please!"

The blows continue until my hands begin to feel sore. Then I stand at arms length and watch her shiver and moan with excitement. I tease a nipple with my fingernails. My nails are just long enough to trap that hard bud in a sharp grip. She gasps and twitches. While I torment her with my fingertips, my toe finds the moist tangle of fabric around her ankles. I tug gently and she hastily steps out of her knickers. I keep looking at her.

My hand leaps from her yearning nipple to her yearning face, gripping her hot, red cheek. She makes a sound in her throat as I crush her lips. I squeeze her face, and I shake her gently for emphasis.

"This," I say, tersely.

I take my hand away, snap my fingers, and point at the floor. She looks down and sees my naked toe tapping impatiently on her crumpled knickers.

"Here," I conclude.

She obeys. Her hands remain clasped to her head, but she drops to her knees with a thud. She throws her face down and buries it in the sultry, scented fabric, slurping her mighty breaths. I don't have to tell her to raise her butt, or part her knees, or expose her pussy. It's hot and open and glistening, and it wants me. And I am ready be what she wants.

I'm not an athlete. I'm not good at sports. But I played a little soccer because I like chasing around with sporty girls, and I look good in shorts and knee-socks. And I know how to aim a kick. Balance, swing the leg, strike with the upper part of the foot...

A sharp, wet smack. The surprising heat of her. A muffled howl as she twitches, naked and grovelling, on the floor. I watch her muscles as she wriggles and moans. The glorious anatomy in motion - even when she breathes - is captivating. I kick her some more, several times. Sometimes elegantly on her pussy, sometimes savagely on her ass, jabbing with my heel. She howls at each one and her body flexes, and I yearn to feel those rangy limbs around me.

"Speak," I command, barely able to do so myself.

"I'm pathetic!" she squeals, muffled. She makes her heartfelt speech and I punctuate it with kicks. Each impact is an exclamation mark which she pronounces as a sharp, helpless moan. "I'm wet for you! My knickers are wet for you!"

I kick her pussy so hard she jumps forward a few inches. I decide to start punting her down the hallway like this and I laugh at myself. Her cunt is firm, wide, hot, wet. I seem to have shaken off my poetic pretensions for now. Now I'm dirty and cruel. I'm what she needs me to be in this moment. She squirms and wails, muffled by those fragrant briefs. And I kick.

I love you, Hard & Fast. I repeat this in my mind as I slowly urge her towards the dark bedroom door. Too slow: I'm impatient. I stride past her. I leave her trembling on the floor and sway briskly through to the bedroom.

"Come on, Hard & Fast, keep up."

She crawls in my wake, hands on her neck, her face still snuffling into her knickers as she drives them across the wooden boards like a mop. I sit on the bed and wait for her to reach the bedroom door. My clothes are clinging to me.

"Stand up. Straight. Arms down."

She obeys and I get to look at her, erect in the doorway. She is pale and golden, and the close-cropped bush of hair between her hips is a dark mysterious delta, as if every inch of her weren't mine for the taking. She is shivering, trying to control herself.

"Baby," I say gently, "bring me something to use on you."

She tenses. She scuttles through the room to a bedside a drawer. I listen to a leathery, rattling sound, and I smile. She comes to stand in front of me, with my strap-on clutched in her hands. It has a smaller dildo on the inside of the harness, which is to nuzzle up inside me, and a much larger phallus on the front, to fill her up.

"This?" I simper. I take the tangle of straps and schlongs from her and dismissively toss it onto the bed. "Silly Hard & Fast. I don't want to fuck you." I really, really, want to fuck her. "Watch my lips: I Want To Hurt You."

"I'm sorry." She drops to her knees and begins to pepper my toes with kisses from her soft wet lips, continuing to whisper her apologies. "I'm sorry Rosie, I'm so disgusting. I'm sorry..."

I glance around. I lean back on the bed. If I stretch full length I can leave my feet close to her lips and just about reach under the pillow with my fingertips...

I grab the riding crop. A proper leather, brutal whip. I want to hurt you, Hard & Fast. I want to make you happy, make you smile, make you cum. I sit up again. She's still kissing, but her shining blue eyes dart up at me and my whip. I can feel her breath begging as it caresses my feet.

I don't ride horses or anything like that, but I know how to whip my beautiful animal. A lazy arc of my arm down her back, a backhand swipe. Carry the blow through her as though she weren't there. Warm her up, give her time to feel each one and dread the next. The sound is glorious. The whip has its harsh leathery crack, chop, smack. She howls. She is sorry. She loves me.

"I'm a slut!" she chokes, and her tongue fights desperately to fit between the carpet and the sole of my foot. "I'm your bitch! I'm filthy! Thank you!"

She's beautiful. She's glorious. I adore her. I've lost myself. She wriggles and sobs, but she takes it greedily. And her ass turns crimson and cherry.

I stop the barrage and stand up. She's still whimpering, kissing and thanking me. I walk away from her, and she continues to kiss and thank the carpet. I unfasten my shorts and let them fall. I have something absurdly skimpy underneath, but the important thing is that she is desperately naked and I am not. That seems to be important. I want to sound cruel and sadistic, but I can't quite hide the love behind my growl.

"Try bringing me my cock again."

I tap my whip against my naked thigh as she nods and murmurs and hauls herself up off the floor. On her knees, she clutches at the bed as she retrieves the harness and turns back to me with reverence, holding the absurd contraption like a holy offering. The buckles rattle as she shakes.

I try to laugh at her. I manage to smile and beckon her to me, and she shuffles over on her knees. Her face is wet, her eyes, nose and lips are pink. Her eyes are also wide and bright and blue. I sting the delicate inside of my knuckles by smacking her cheek. Her mouth gapes wide as she offers the harness. I manage a few more slaps, until I can't wait any longer, and I nod at her.

Sniffling and biting her lip, she puts the offering on me. My knickers are skimpy enough that I can take the small dildo inside me without undressing further and I make a little noise as it slides glossily against my ready cunt. She looks alarmed, as though she might have hurt me, as though that sound could be anything but a horny girl desperate for her lover's touch.

Straps, buckles, trembling fingers... She sits back on her knees, a shy smile playing in her big blue eyes. I stand with a proud plastic erection and she adores it. I stand close to her.

"Put this in your mouth."

It's one of life's joys. One of the simple, perfect pleasures. To watch my woman, my athlete, with her mouth full, and with her eyes turned up towards me in pure, peaceful adoration. Those eyes are like beautiful planets with endless oceans. And I own them. Her head bobs back and forth slowly, and I go deep inside her. I feel the dildo shudder inside me, as I poke the back of her throat.

I raise my knee and kick her away. She tumbles onto her back, legs splayed wantonly, a leash of drool hanging from her chin to the tip of my shaft. Her lips form a shape like she's going to speak, but I close on her swiftly and hammer my whip down on her pussy.

She makes an extraordinary animal noise and her hands move uselessly, not quite willing to defend herself.

"Into bed," I purr, as I swipe her again with an underarm blow. She moves with a blend of panic and excitement, stripped of every shred of dignity. She can't resist me. She wants whatever I have for her. She scrambles and crawls and gives me every opportunity to whip her cunt as she falls onto the bed. She's on her back, squealing and clutching at her skin, but letting the crop land its blows on the most helplessly delicate part of her.

"Rosie!" she squeaks, and my heart soars. And the crop makes its sound: crack, chop, smack.

Her explosively powerful muscles are limp and submissive as I bear down on her. She is spread wide and begging. I hop up onto the bed between her knees, surging with energy, and I plunge into her. I bury my cock hard and fast into that gaping, surrendered cunt and I'm accepted greedily. She barks and convulses, and I smile at the super-heroine physique which is helpless beneath me. Somehow, I don't tell her I love her. I bend my elbow, and twist my wrist, and my whip snaps against her clit.

She howls and squirms and I'm very pleased. It's a new technique and she seems to like it. My own juices are flowing shamelessly and I revel more than ever in the pain I can give her. I can twist and flick like I'm whisking an egg, almost effortless, and without fail the leather tip crushes her quivering flesh against the hard rubber of my cock. And all the while I fuck her mercilessly, and feel my own little penetration nuzzling and shuffling inside me and making me shiver with delight.

Whisk, whisk, whisk.

"I'm disgusting!" she cries, and she isn't. "I'm an animal!" Of course not. "I'm sorry!" You're magnificent. "Thank you!" You're welcome. "I love you!" I love you!

"I love you!" That was me, out loud. That's okay. I drop my whip and swipe my hand across her cheek, and admit again that I love her. She moans and presses her back into the mattress, raising her hips, undulating. She's cumming. Because I said I loved her, because I slapped her face, she's cumming. So I sting her other cheek.

I want to cum with her, so I buck and squirm feverishly, focused on moving the little cock inside me just perfectly to bring myself along, my fingers frantic on my clit, desperately chasing her.

I make it. While she's twisting and gaping in silent ecstasy, enjoying one of her majestic minute-long climaxes, I fall on her in the throes of a sharp, spasming orgasm. My voice is guttural in my throat but I'm not making words. I'm lost. My cute, marshmallow body, wet inside my clothes, lays shivering and weak on her sculpted nakedness.

Here's where I could ruin it all, when the afterglow swells and I feel nothing but love for her. The energy and confidence desert me and I can't hold it back. I'm skulking back to myself, shamefaced.

"I love you," I whisper. I lay my face on hers and feel the heat of her raw red cheek. We're still inside each other. What have I done to you, Hard & Fast? What have you done to me? I bite back my apology.

She's silent. Powerfully and inevitably, like a rising tide, her arms close around me. Then her legs, and they tighten like a knot. I breathe her scent as I bury my face in her neck. She says my name and holds me, hard and fast.

  • Index
  • /
  • Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • BDSM
  • /
  • Quick & Dirty: Hard & Fast

All contents © Copyright 1996-2023. Literotica is a registered trademark.

Desktop versionT.O.S.PrivacyReport a ProblemSupport

Version ⁨1.0.2+795cd7d.adb84bd⁩

We are testing a new version of this page. It was made in 184 milliseconds