Learning to Appreciate

Lisa was stunned. This was only half of it? She lost track of time, but it felt to her like hours had already passed. She hoped Miguel would stop now. She didn't think she could take another goal being scored against their team.

"Wait," she thought, "our team? Since when do I give a shit about soccer?" Lisa let loose a sigh. "Since I'm bound and gagged, helplessly watching the team play while my husband torments me," was her own answer.

"You know what happens at halftime, darling," said Miguel, snapping her out of introspection. She looked up at his grinning face, her eyes wide with fear as she shook her head no. "The players have a quick wash and dry and change their kits."

She saw now that he had a washcloth and fluffy towel draped over a shoulder. He set a big bowl down on the coffee table and proceeded to dip the washcloth into the lukewarm water. He wrung it out and started to gently soak up the sweat from her skin.

Lisa was helpless in his lap as he washed her. Her inner slut reveled in it and her inner prim and proper girl reverted back into a child-like identity that could enjoy a sponge bath from a father figure. She was Miguel's girl. Miguel's dirty little girl that needed to be cleaned.

Her thought gave way to a new arousal, one that shook her to the very core of her being. Miguel toweled her dry, very gently, but the abrasions on her skin were still overly sensitive and dirty little Lisa nearly came from the stimulation. She felt so warm in his lap.

Miguel yanked her head towards the screen and Lisa focused on it just as the second half began. Adrenaline rushed through her veins anew as she hoped their team would score another goal.

The sides of the field were reversed, but Miguel's procedure was not. Every good move by his team was accompanied by sexual stimulation, and every good move by the other team was rewarded with spankings that sent her deeper into the throes of utter submission to him.

Her eyes were glued to the screen as she began rooting for the team in earnest. Soon they scored a goal. Miguel's fingers plunged in and out of her pussy with wild abandon and Lisa moaned continuously as she watched the players congratulate the one that scored.

The floodgates broke as Miguel flicked her clit and she came hard. She shook and twisted like she was carried by a wave breaking against the shore. She saw herself, in her mind's eye as glowing with a golden radiance. She felt her cunt squirt all over Miguel's palm and she felt a white hot burning sensation shooting up her spine and settling across her face and chest.

She was caught up in a maelstrom of emotions and sensations. She was overwhelmed by the joy she felt. The physical sensations were exquisite torture. She felt so happy that Miguel made his girl squirt as proof of her love and devotion for him. At that moment it made no matter to her she was that girl herself. Her identity was no longer relevant in any way, except, perhaps, in relation to Miguel. She felt happy for Miguel that his team scored.

Her tits were mashed against the couch cushion, the fabric suddenly rough against her nipples. The marks across her rear sent hot, pleasurable pulses to her brain. Her clit was overloaded with direct stimulation, so it retreated under its hood, but it also transmitted every twitch of her internal muscles as explosions of golden pleasure. Miguel's hand smeared her own juices over her buttocks and the humiliation of it sent her over the edge a second time.

Her back arched into Miguel's touch. Her tired body spasmed with a renewed intensity and it felt to Lisa that she would never be able to catch her breath. She was a writhing mass of pure pleasure.

Play resumed and her eyes stared at the screen unseeing. She rejoiced at each spank and touch Miguel placed upon her body. "Ah," cried Miguel, "a penalty kick!"

Lisa's brow furrowed in fright and her eyes darted over the screen for a few tense moments, until she saw it was a penalty for their team. Miguel pinned her ass down and renewed his assault against her cunnie. The pressure mounted inside her as she watched the players gather around the referee to argue.

Miguel's deft touch brought her inexorably towards the peak, despite how tired and abused she felt. He kept her there and made sure she was watching the TV. She needed to cum so bad, but his arms prevented her from moving and rubbing herself against his magic fingers. He teased and teased, his fingers swirling around the beginning of her cunnie as their player set the ball on the dot.

As the player on the screen moved back to take a running start at the ball, Miguel's touch became firmer, the pressure on her sticky, velvet walls more insistent. She felt like she was holding back a biblical flood with nothing but a sheet of wet paper. All she needed was the slightest of touches right on her button. She mewled in frustration, she didn't know if she was mewling at the guy on the TV, or at Miguel.

"You better pray he doesn't miss," said Miguel. "You might find that disappointing, my darling girl."

The phrase "my darling girl" sent a wave of submission to her brain and her whole world centered on the man on the screen. She chanted, both in her mind and out loud, for him to score. As he ran to the ball, Miguel's fingers accelerated to a squishing frenzy in and out of her. She was so close.

The ball was kicked and it seemed to Lisa it was flying across the screen for all eternity. An eternity of wanting for an orgasm just out of reach. The ball went in the goal undisturbed by the goalkeeper and Miguel pressed her clitty hard.

The dam inside of Lisa broke and she saw stars. Her body convulsed and shook in pleasure. White hot sand spilled all over her skin, like a million pricks of pleasure. Her juices again rushed out of her cunnie to the hand that owns her. "Yes," she thought, "I'm owned by my beloved Miguel. He is the master of my body." The admission sent new shivers through her womb and a fresh squirt into the palm of his hand.

Miguel wiped his hand on her ass again and she shuddered in pleasure. In her mind, her master wiped his hand of her filthy juices in disgust. It was humiliating and arousing at the same time. She fantasized that he was thinking up of fitting punishments for her for soiling him like that. "God," she thought, "this better become a permanent arrangement between us. I can't go back to the old stuff."

Lisa lay in his lap for ages, enjoying his easy touch and occasional spank. The game seemed to be winding down. She had found her place in the universe. It was right there, in Miguel's lap. She was to be his dirty little girl, to be taught, disciplined and trained by his hand. She sighed sleepily. She was wiped out and some sleep would be appreciated.

The Referee signaled the end of the game and collected the ball. "Well, my dear girl," said Miguel, "the game is over and my team won.

"Do you know what that means," he asked her. She looked up at him with tired eyes and shook her head no. "That means I get to celebrate," he continued, "and do you know how I'm going to celebrate?" His tone was patronizing and instructive, it felt to Lisa like he was trying to teach a child and she loved it. She gazed up at him in wide eyed adoration and again shook her head no.

"I'll show you," he said and turned off the TV. The silence was almost deafening. Lisa could hear her own heart picking up the pace again. She was still aroused.

Miguel lowered her next to him on the couch and stood up, taking his belt off. Lisa shuddered at the thought of him whipping her with it. As he set it down on the coffee table, she felt a pang of regret. As horrible as a belting would be, a big part of her wanted it from Miguel. The depth of her perverse submission made her feel ashamed, and the shame made her aroused in submission. Her mind was locked in a cycle that built towards her becoming a bitch in permanent heat.

Miguel lowered his pants and briefs, setting his erection free. She craned her neck to gaze at it adoringly. Miguel's fuck stick was going to plow her silly and she creamed at the thought of it.

Miguel knelt behind her and placed his cock against her cunnie. He took a hold of her hips and hilted himself in one go. Lisa squealed as she was simultaneously touched all over the abused parts of her cunnie and deep inside, where his fingers did not yet reach tonight.

She had no time to dwell on the contradictory sensations, as he picked up his pace and began ramming her in earnest. He was riding her with wild abandon, and she wanted it. She wanted to feel claimed by him, she wanted his seed to fill her womb up. She willed her tired muscles to give him pleasure.

She clenched him on every stroke and made tight the slick, velvet vice of her cunnie. His shaft plunged in and out, making squishing noises. Her pussy was filling up with molten lava and her throat let out moans in concert with the rapid thrusts. Colored sparks shot across her vision.

With a final, hard thrust, Miguel came inside her. His hot semen coating her womb pushed her over the wall and triggered her own orgasm. Her senses failed her, and she found herself in a place devoid of touch, light and sound for just a moment, before a bolt of lightning shot throughout her being. The tape over her mouth barely muffled her scream of ecstasy. Hot, liquid silk shot out to cover his groin. At that moment, Lisa knew she was his. He owned her, just as he owned the tide that flooded out of her in waves. Her body kept convulsing in ecstasy, even as Miguel's softening cock slipped out of her.

When she came down from her high, all her muscles hurt, but it was a pleasurable pain. Miguel removed the tape from her body and her aching joints protested. Miguel petted her hair and smoothed it away from her face.

They looked into the other's eyes for a long time, a silent understanding between them.

"Have you learned you lesson," he asked.

"When," she croaked and swallowed some saliva. "When is the next game?"