"Scotch is your safety."

I simply nod in reply, body quivering. You're wearing the cologne that you know drives me crazy. You haven't shaven, and the thin, light stubble gracing your cheek scratches the skin on my neck as you whisper this into my ear.

I'm all ready naked and cold, but your body is warm and I feel almost disappointed as you pull back, running a hand down the skin of my back. I know I won't use the safety word you've reminded me of - It's more for you than for me.

I know you won't hurt me past the point that I need to use it, but it means you'll comply to my fantasies - Of course, you know more about this more than me, so I'll accept your need for the word. I never know, maybe I'll need it one day.

I've asked you to treat me like this, and you've agreed. You know I'm young, and only had sex with a few other men, far too close to my age to excite me. I like how firm you can be and how excited you make me with the rules you've prescribed and how I'm treated when I defy you (mostly on purpose because sex with you is always better when I'm being punished). I like how you're older and more experienced.  

That's why when you found me on my knees, finger fucking myself, I came the second our eyes met. I'm not allowed to touch myself, or climax without your permission. Two rules broken meant a punishment and that pushed me over the edge. And now I'm getting what I deserve.

I'm sure the first time I asked you to punish me I surprised you... You had probably thought me more prudish than that, but you rose to the task wonderfully and now I goad you almost as often as I think I can get away with it.

You sit on the bed, telling me to come to you. I straddle you eagerly, smiling, even though you're fully clothed.

"Turn around..." You muttered, eyes sweeping my form. "And wipe that grin off your face, before I do..." You pat me on the cheek, a little harder than we both know is needed, but I turn, and stop smiling, well almost.

Your hands run over my neck, my shoulders down my back and end up cupping my ass. You squeeze, just hard enough to hurt. Down the outside of my thighs, over my calves and to my ankles. One hand leaves to push me gently down, mid back and then returns pulling me closer. Your jeans burn the skin of my stomach and chest as I end up on your thighs, but as your hands sweep up the inside of my thighs and push them apart I find I don't care.

The chilled air hits my sex and as you part my lips carefully I moan quietly pushing back up against you, my body asking you for what I know I'll be denied if I vocalized my need.

I'm denied anyway, as your hands moved to my ass, rubbing my skin warming it up. You don't talk, you don't need to. I know I've broken two rules, but you're taking so long in beginning. I'm about to glance back when your hand lands on my left ass cheek. I gasp, then groan quietly, pushing against you again. Then my right ass cheek. Then left again. You repeat this pattern, so my ass doesn't grow sore too quickly.

"How many?" You ask, and then I realize I failed to count.

"Seven?" I guess and am met with both hands hitting my ass. I get three guesses, and then you tell me. You begin again and this time I count, when you ask this time I answer confidently. "Thirteen."

"Wrong..." You say and my ass receives both hands again.

"No-" I begin, but I am silenced by your hand, much harder than before. It was thirteen.

"Are you saying I'm lying?" I shake my head. "I think you are..." You shift slightly and then I feel something different smacking my ass.