Baking Class

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. She started to move, grinding the softest part of her body against the hardest part of mine, which was currently pumped so full of blood, it hurt. Her hands came between us and rubbed over my chest, then my stomach, before she rubbed the bulge formed in the crotch of my jeans.I groaned, already sensitized, wanting her touch on my bare skin. Her kisses played over my cheek before dancing down my neck, my head having gone back, eyelids fluttering as sheer pleasure overwhelmed every other sense. Her hand, quickly and surely, dove straight into my jeans and briefs, fingers encircling the long, hardened muscle that was my cock. I thrust at her hand and let out a long breath, hissing between my teeth as her fingers teased along me, sparks shooting before my vision.“Ashley,” I groaned, “st…stop. Let me in first.”“Now, why would I do that?” she whispered in my ear, the tables now turned in her favor.“Because; you and I both know your hand isn’t where you want that particular muscle,” I.
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