Sep 292015
 

b2554February 2015: Cold Water

A play partner had wrapped me again, this time leaving my nipples exposed. Then he turned me over to my husband, who had already tortured my nipples in clamps during a suspension. Sure enough, back on when the clamps and I found myself laying down. He ordered me to cum after moving the wraps aside enough to thrust a vibrator in, and I silently did – in a quiet corner of a dungeon with him holding and blocking the view from others. It was so hot by the time I came, my face was damp with perspiration and the rest of me sweltered in the wraps. He removed the clamps and pulled the wrapped opening around my nipples as much as he could from the skin, taking a cold water that my play partner had grabbed (for my aftercare) and dribbled a bit of the shocking cold liquid into the wraps.

I heard the dungeon-owner comment that while it may not look torturous, it was to me. I am almost always cold and it takes me a long time to warm up. I avoid cold temperatures if I can.

I couldn’t avoid it, I gasped as the artic water slipped into my hot wraps, slid against my heated flesh, ran where it could and pooled where it couldn’t. He pulled the other side and carefully poured a small amount in. I protested, and though I was bound tightly, I bent my knees and kicked out with my feet, managing to turn myself over onto my stomach so that he couldn’t get into the wraps again.

I heard a few comments about how determined I must’ve been – I was tightly bound from neck to ankle in wrappings, after all.

Gosh, I hate being cold. And to be so hot from inside a wrapping that has now been invaded by cold liquid was so shocking to my skin.

b2561

Being held after the cold water hit me, black lights affected the picture without the camera’s flash on

My husband was having none of it, and rolled me back around, adding more wrap to my feet and knees so that I couldn’t even manage the brief amount it took to roll over.

I heard my play partner laugh and thought that it was his fault I was in this predicament – after all, he left my nipples exposed and open to the possibility.

 

 

 

April 2015: Anal Orgasm: Gosh I suck at not immediately writing about it but I still feel the need to share. I don’t normally like anal penetration of anything. I don’t like plugs and only rarely feel in the mood for a finger up my ass. And yet, somehow he got me so sensitive from orgasms that when he inserted a finger in my ass, it increased my own orgasms to the point where he pulled away from all other sensations but kept the finger, I continued to orgasm. He told me before I came that he wanted me to be fully aware that I was about to climax strictly from anal stimulation.

Somehow I feel this deserves something awesome like a high-five, a pat on the back, or a trophy. It feels like a victory of sorts that needs to be congratulated.

April 2015: Rope Around: he grabbed a long piece of rope and doubled it, placed it underneath my breasts and around my chest, then up the back and around to my mouth, pressed the rope into my mouth to serve as gag. Then back around to use the rest of the rope to tie my wrists behind me. Now I was gagged and wrists bound. He fingered me to several orgasms, licked around my lips where the rope prevented me from kissing his soft lips and taunting tongue, and stroked himself above my face, sliding his hard cock against the rope in my mouth. I could smell his scent that was uniquely his own. My mouth watered but I couldn’t taste him.

As he had sex with me, he flipped me sideways and moved the gag to around my neck, gently pulling it taunt, enough that I could feel the pressure around my delicate neck. He watched me carefully in this position, the side angle giving him the view of my neck and half my face. I orgasmed.

He flipped me onto my stomach, his hand replaced the rope and squeezed a bit more as he ordered me to tighten and make him cum, his breath harsh in my ear as his body rocked against my thighs, butt, and back. We both orgasmed.

*Wicked Wednesday is the prompt: revisiting. Here are some moments that I have written but not published.Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 2:17 pm
Sep 282015
 

My hand started drifting down his body and at the last minute it stopped. I’m not allowed to touch one area without permission – something that’s been a hard lesson for me.

“May I?” I asked, my voice squeaked barely above a whisper since an illness swept over me this week, leaving me practically voiceless.

“May you what?” he asked, raised an eyebrow and a revealed a smile that clearly was up to mischief. “What do you want to touch?”

“You.” I whined.

“What part of me?” he pushed.

*Disclaimer: while I am writing some words for male and female genitalia (and even then I take a deep breath and then hold it while I quickly type them), thirteen years of Catholic School are still at force and I won’t read them out loud, nor can I say word connotations with any sort of ease. I’ll come up with other words that simply describe or avoid it altogether. It’s amazing how I don’t embarrass easily, how I will delve into most things sexual without fear, and yet cringe over semantics.

So that was his game…I actually debated calling surrender and giving up sex for the night when he refused to let me go around saying a word – I’m sure quite a few words would have been acceptable to him – but I wasn’t using any of them.

He gripped my hair and kissed the side of my neck, pressed his body down against me. That was nice, it was a cocoon around my sudden shyness and he wasn’t staring at me fumbling and refusing with his mouth on my neck. “Say ‘I want to touch'”.

“I want to touch,” I squeaked out, winced at my tiny voice, yet taking comfort that even if I was coerced to say something, it wouldn’t be loud.

“‘your large-‘”

I giggled. “Why do I have to lie?” I teased.

He laughed, confident in the fact that it was quite large, and I was just giving him a hard time. He also wasn’t letting me distract his intent, “‘your large”.

His teeth grazed my neck and I felt goosebumps appear down the side of my body. “Your large,” I breathed out.

“penis.”

Well, at least he didn’t want me to use one of the more (considered) vulgar words – though truthfully no words bothered me reading them – I just couldn’t say them out loud.

I faltered, despite his warm body on me, despite him not looking at me, and encouraging me slowly. “Why do I have to say it? You know what I mean.” I whined.

“Because I said so,” he insisted firmly and then he walked through the statement again.

I squirmed after the word large, hesitated, and then whispered the word “penis”. Unfortunately, a whisper with no voice is just air.

“I didn’t hear you,” he said, “here, my ear is right beside your mouth. Start over.”

“I said it!” I whined.

“Didn’t hear it.”

I started again, took a deep breath, and then said the word “penis” again.

He leaned up, a triumphant smile on his face, and granted me permission to touch, adding, “you dirty little wife.” Somehow those words made it more bearable – his pride in that statement, his love and approval, and calling me “dirty” – something he really hasn’t done before. I did feel dirty in saying the statement, but him using that word and turning it into something so positive and yet naughty really helped. I beamed, enjoyed the victorious feel of him in my hand.

He leaned down and kissed me, his whole mouth crashed on me and his tongue was assertive against my own. After a few seconds, we both realized I couldn’t breathe through my nose; I was, after all, still sick. I let go of him to use both hands to push against his chest. He pressed even more firmly against my mouth for another second, and then let up.

“You can’t breathe through your nose,” he said, surprised.

I was still gulping in air. “Nope,” I affirmed.

He positioned himself at my entrance and entered me roughly, then gripped my hair and pushed for another kiss. I was surprised, and within a few moments I was panicked because I couldn’t breathe – his obvious intent. He let me push against him a few times before relenting. “Mmm, breath play without choking. How nice,” as he thrusted in and out of me, he pressed for another kiss, and I welcomed it, loved the feel of his mouth taking as much possession of me as him being inside of me did, felt the pleasure build, struggled to breathe, trusted him, and felt the beginnings of an orgasm. My nails dug into his shoulders and yet he still denied me breath, his hand so firm in my hair that I couldn’t move my mouth to the side.

There may have been other ways for me to breathe, but I wasn’t thinking of any. When he allowed me to gasp in a breath I was clenched so tightly around him in the throes of orgasm, and yet he didn’t give me any time to do other than one breath before he was stifling another.

It terrified me…it excited me.

I had two really strong orgasms that way before he allowed me to take a few calming breaths. I was exhausted in the short amount of time. My panic and struggle to breathe combined with the pleasure and tension of my orgasms, not to mention still feeling weak from being sick, left me no energy. I laid there limply, gasped for breath, barely aware of his pleased smile – yet enough to try to smile back.

But he hadn’t found his own orgasm yet. He leaned back and stroked in and out of my body at a different angle, his mouth far away from my own so I could breathe through a slower orgasm, my body tightening to bring his own to pleasure.

Afterwards, my body a heaving and exhausted mess safely tucked in his arms, I whispered how I appreciated him calling me dirty so proudly, and his cleverness for using breath play and working (against?) with my sickness.

 Posted by at 5:20 am
Sep 272015
 

I’m in rope, suspended, sweat is gathering about my skin like a futile shield, my eyes are shut.

Sadist: “Turn her around, I want to see her face. Have you ever just watched her face?”

Husband: “Sometimes. I can tell by her body language and her noises how much she’s going through.”

 Posted by at 8:28 am
Sep 252015
 

Questions found from Insatiable Desire:

Day 2: List your kinks.

Mind: tell me what I can and can’t do, order me to do something, tease and tempt my mind. My thoughts, your ability to lead and manipulate them, are by far my favorite kink. This is the dessert of power dynamics, communicating, and/or intelligent lovers. Put me in the right head space to find subspace.

Impact: I’m a lightweight, but: floggers, spankings, paddles, slapping, anything with a thud. I hate sting, but will endure some whipping from rope, misery stick, etc..

Control: breath play, choking, orgasm control: both ordered to come and not to come, orgasm denial, edging, held down, forced down, thrown down; oh please take control so I know it’s safe for me to let go of it!

Sensation: knife, wax, cold, blindfold, things that increase one sensation (especially touch) is such a win. I view this as more sensual play.

Bondage: rope is my absolute love; but cuffs, ribbons, torn clothing, pant legs, anything that binds me is erotic and signals that I can do nothing else other than enjoy myself.

 Posted by at 5:25 am
Sep 232015
 

“Remember, I was the vanilla one. I look at it like I’m along for the ride on this Sim’s (game) roller coaster. Hanging on for the twists and turns, the ups and downs, with you right beside me, but you’re also the one in the control panel.” – My husband

We had a talk last night, after he read “Hurtful Scene“. He feels as though he is portrayed negatively, though acknowledging that of course people only see my view because I can only write from my view. Fortunately, there’s been some distance since that posted conversation – it was written awhile ago and waited to be posted until after the conflict was (somewhat) resolved.

We snuggled as we talked in the middle of the night, me still sleepy from being woken but knowing he needed to sort through and discuss his feelings on the matter.

“I hope you can fall back asleep,” he said by way of apology for waking me, us both knowing that I probably wouldn’t, that I would drag through a long day at work as a consequence. “How about I give you sex?”

He doesn’t initiate all that often, I am the partner pushing for sex. Of course I said yes.

He chuckled, “how often do people have a serious conversation, hurt feelings, and still come together for sex?” He fingers softly caressed me. “We aren’t perfect-”

“I don’t want to be. I want us to be us, to explore, and be crazy, and make mistakes and learn, and love each other. That’s pretty close to perfect to me,” I interrupted, stroking him.

We came together in the quiet hours before the new day.

 Posted by at 5:51 am
Sep 222015
 

“He kicked you?!” while not quite a yell, I certainly flinched as though it was. “I thought you would never like that.”

“Me neither. But it wasn’t so bad, not as bad as it looks or sounds. I was in the right head space. He also stood on me,” as the ropes suspended my legs up into the air and my chest was pressed tightly in the ground, a man stood on the ropes and added his own weight to my already painful legs.

My husband was unhappy I had scened with another (read here), but couldn’t articulate the whys. I had asked him months ago if I could scene with others and was told yes, I had told him an hour before I actually did scene that the gentleman offered and I accepted, and then I told him I was waiting to see when we were going to scene moments before I did scene. My lover must’ve thought that it would be much later in the night and went to another part of the event, believing my “I’ll join you if I’m not playing until later” as I will be definitely be with him in moments and the scene wouldn’t be until late.

The gentleman gestured me over a few minutes later and our awesome, much-needed, much appreciated scene began. He did things that I had not experienced, we connected in a way that I was surprised with. Yep, it was awesome.

And while I was still floating on the spacey tranquility that the scene offered, my partner and I went home and as soon as we got in the car, he started with his concerns about scening with someone else.

His concerns came across as angry at first. To make a list of his concerns and my thoughts on the matter:

I didn’t negotiate kicking, knife play, or being stood on – I knew the man would probably do a few of these things after watching many of his scenes, I told him I was a light impact person, and I could always tell him no if he did something I didn’t want. Simply put: I didn’t want to know the play-by-play.

My lover wasn’t present, and he wanted to watch (something he didn’t express), and also be there just in case I needed him – he is a tad too protective (which is even directed at himself, so he doesn’t push or explore my limits much); I don’t believe he would have interrupted a scene, or even addressed his concerns to the gentleman, but it would have made him feel better to just be present, just in case. My own thoughts on the matter: perhaps it’s a good thing he wasn’t there. When I had originally asked months ago if I could scene with others it was because we often went to events separately due to babysitting issues, so he wouldn’t be there anyhow under those circumstances.

He felt that he was easily replaced; he had told me much earlier in the day that he was exhausted and sore from the day’s work and didn’t want to scene at all that night, and I had just found someone else. – It had been months since we had even scened, and I was also sore and exhausted, stressed from the week, and really needing the escape. I had no idea he would feel this way. I had discussed my scening with someone else and he gave me the go-ahead.  Personally, the scene I had was with an amazing gentleman and I’m so grateful that I experienced it with him. That doesn’t make my lover replaceable, for crying out loud he’s the person I’ve chosen to spend every day of my life with. We had discussed scening with others before and he never brought up the concern that he would feel negatively about it, though perhaps he didn’t know until after the fact. While I didn’t state any one person that I wanted to play with, prior to this night I was negotiating with a female for a knife scene, and perhaps a female was more non threatening, but she was not there that night and we hadn’t made any concrete plans on the timing.  Maybe it wasn’t gender, but the type of play – rope was something we did together. But even an hour in advance, he knew it was a male that would tie me and did not express any concerns beforehand.

It was an actual scene that included aftercare and not just someone indifferently tying me up as he assumed it would be – I have no idea how he came to this assumption besides the gentleman is a rigger, but I certainly didn’t indicate that it would be anything other than a scene. I expressed the need to find subspace, and I don’t get that just by being in ropes.

He considered me a hypocrite, as I teased him and made him guilty about tying up other people – I actually do find myself a tad jealous of this, unreasonably worried that he will connect to another when we barely connect to each other in ropes. Months ago, however, I came to the conclusion he does not connect well with rope, he’s far too technical and not trusting his own skill to be in the moment with another, myself included, which helped me not take it personally. Perhaps I needed to share this conclusion with him so he knew that I no longer had the insecure fear factor. I also pointed out that every person he tied (with the exception of one night that I wasn’t present) I encouraged and negotiated for him to tie. He stated that that was his point: he didn’t tie without me being present (except the one night) and only was a service top putting people in ropes, not doing a whole scene. I told him that I would no longer tease him, that my intention was not to make him guilty but to express a rare emotion (jealousy) and to be open and honest in my dealings with said emotion. While I don’t see myself as a hypocrite, I’m going to agree to his statement because I’ve not been jealous before and probably did handle it badly.

 

 

I have bruises where the rope, hitting, and kicking have connected to the my thighs. They’re lovely. He’s taken to poking, pushing, and hitting them, stating that he didn’t mark me so he’s going to zone in on them. It’s childish, angry, territorial, unnecessary, uncalled for, and shows an ugly side of him. To cause pain when I am in the right head space or to add to pleasure is something I consent quite willingly to, but to hurt me because he is emotionally hurt is abusive. After bringing it to his attention a couple of times, for the few days that he did so, he apologized and acknowledged the behavior as inappropriate, stopping it.

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 5:00 am
Sep 202015
 

We laid in bed and played a cooperative game together on our phones. He reached over and pinched a nipple, hard, tugged it to the point that my pussy clenched and tightened from the pleasurable pain and I climaxed.

But first, let’s get up to this point – where an orgasm is this simple to achieve. Rewind to hot foreplay where he demonstrated he most certainly was in control, for a good hour. Toys came out, he had to sit on me while torturing me with a vibrator after all that, and then a wand. Sex in so many positions, orgasms denied and forced. Ended upright on knees against the headboard, I gripped the top tightly for balance, he gripped my hair and my throat and pounded into me from behind until we both screamed.

Sweetly, tenderly, he administered aftercare as I shuddered and tried to be coherent. I got up after a long while and cleaned up. Laid back down and snuggled.

After some time, we found ourselves playing a game together on our phones; I simply wasn’t ready to get up and face the real world yet and he loves it when I can just do nothing. But my body was so sensitive, and a touch on my bare nipple and a moan demonstrated just how much I was still feeling pleasure. In between a few turns, it became a habit to tug on my nipples, or suck and bite. Then a hand around my throat to hold me still as he fingered me. And fingered me. And oh-my-fucking-god-how-I-squirted fingered me.

I lay breathless, panted, beside him, but after giving me one orgasm, he would calmly turn over and play another few rounds. My muscles tensed, clenched, in anticipation of when he would touch me to orgasm again. I couldn’t concentrate on the game. I felt his body heat touching the side of my body, smelled his skin, found myself listening to his breath for a clue of when he was going to move towards me.

And he did frequently, his fingers brought me to orgasm with either nipple or sex, then a short intermission.

My nipples were stinging constantly with the consistently tugging, and I liked it. I liked being constantly aware of them, an almost thrumming went from each tip to my sex and made me throb.

“I think you should take the whippy thingy to my breasts,” I panted after another orgasm. I couldn’t remember what the hell it was called, and I didn’t care, I only wanted to know if I would like that type of stinging pain on my already raw nipples. It was a small whip with rubbery-type thin strands.

He laughed, rolled off the side of the bed, and grabbed it. And cupped a breast, making the hardened nipple stand out even more. Soft at first, then he began rhythmically whipping across my breast, my nipple hurt so badly at first, and then the thrumming became stronger and pooled between my thighs. When he moved to the other nipple, I still could feel the one he left. Again, it hurt instantly, but the rhythm drew my body to welcome it, my core tensed in preparation of an orgasm.

And then the strands hit hard between my lips, the tips curled up and stung my ass. I groaned and asked for more.

More? What was I thinking? I wasn’t, I realized when the strands constantly grazed my wet lips, nipped my clit, my lips engorged as if welcoming the tenderness. I came, I yelled.

He threw. The black implement disappeared over the side of the bed and he was in between my legs, positioning himself to slide inside of me. His head parted my lips and I came just from that. Then he thrusted deeply, and the orgasm intensified. He waited for me to finish, then pulled out. I whined.

“Stop. You’ll like this,” he stated, folded over a pillow and positioned it under my hips. Once again he was inside of me, and the angle positioned the tip of his head up towards my g-spot. I clenched my core so much from the force of sensation there that my head and shoulders raised up level to my hips. I tightened so much that his grunts were heard mingled with my scream as we orgasmed together.

 Posted by at 8:20 am
Sep 192015
 

blog1“It’s not very kinky,” a friend said while watching.

“No, perhaps not, though it’s still hot wax and knives at work. What I get out of it is the attention and focus on me, the warmth, and of course the pictures.”

Sinful Sunday
Sep 182015
 

He didn’t know her, not really. It was their first time playing together. He had rope and the ring attached to the hard point, ready. His bag and the rest of his rope laid organized on the ground in easy reach.

He gestured her over and she eagerly went.

“What do you want me in?” she gestured her clothes.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” and he named some ties he was planning on doing, as well as the pace.

He assumed she knew the positions – she didn’t know them all but she’d been tied many times before – and trusted her body. He discussed her endurance level and ability from past observations, asked her for her concerns or limitations.

She had watched him scene many times, had faith in his abilities. She stripped down to just her panties, kneeled with her back to him as he directed, and anxiously waited.

He was the first person she had scened with other than her own partner.

His hands touched her where shoulder meets neck. They felt warm, large, covering her tense shoulders. Fully cupping the curved skin, moving slowly and softly from neck down the curve of her shoulders, down her arms and wrists, she focused in on his assured hands. She took calming breaths, tried to ease the tension she was sure he could feel beneath the skin. His hands gripped her wrists and positioned them behind her back, criss-crossing them at the small of her back.

“Are you okay for long periods in this? You seem to be.”

“I am,” she said confidently, though pondered what long periods meant.

Her wrists were tied and pulled higher into her back. His fingertips grazed across her skin from upper arm, across the chest skimming just below the collarbone, to the other arm. The touch accustomed her skin to touch before the rope was laid along the same path; his fingertips once again traversed the trail right before laying the rope. His arm was securely across her, his breath next to her ear and she focused on the warmth from both.

As he tied the chest harness, his hands never left her, his fingertips smoothly glided, his arms wrapped. He would lean forward and pulled her back at times so his own chest supported her, connected their two bodies.

“Choking?”

“Yes.”

And his arm as it traveled around leading the rope wound around her neck and applied subtle pressure – not enough to alarm or even choke, but the presence of his strength where she was vulnerable evident.

By the time he finished the chest, she was tuned into his breathing, his calm and assured pace relaxing her body.

He directed her to sit with legs in front and criss-crossed them, tying the legs together at the junction. The rope wrapped around her body before he did; he held her in his arms for a silent, relaxing moment, whispered to take a deep breath, inhaled with her, told her to exhale and with a hand in the center of her back, pushed her slowly down with the exhalation. The rope tightened her into a rolled position. Again, inhale, exhale, and her face became more acquainted with the floor.

He stroked her back, her skin. He became more commanding and pressed his body against her rolled form, forced the stretch even further, his breath in her ear, his chest tight against hers. His hands again turned caressing when his body heat was removed.

When he unraveled her form slowly…inhale, exhale up, he ordered her to lie on her stomach and assisted her, gently rotated and lowered her body. His hands never left her. He bent her legs, tied ankles to thighs. Her legs were tired and tense from the day’s activities, resistant to a position that would normally be easy, he expressed concern and she assured insistence; his patience and the demand of the rope accomplished the feat.

His touch was introduced to her skin before the rope around ankles and thighs. The rope became more commanding, tighter. She was still aware of his body, his touch, but the rope was a more dominating sensation.

She was tied by her bound legs – ankles to thighs, to the ring above them. He lifted her up a little and the rope dug into her thighs. Her back arched, the chest more firmly in the floor. Up.

There was softness in his touch as his fingertips explored the skin around the ropes, stroked up and down on the outside of thighs. Then he smacked, hard, where moments before he had caressed, over parts of rope that dug further into thigh muscles and exposed skin.

Caress, smack. She moaned into the pain – not overwhelming but so prominent it was all she could focus on.

Coconut rope, such a rough and scratchy material, wound its way across newly awakened red skin, found the exposed areas of legs.

He played her sensitive skin, pulled taut here and there, listened to her noises, watched the colors and muscles that became her.

Slap. She cried out as his hands solidly connected to her thighs wrapped in the tight and abrasive rope.

Smack, her noises beat in time to his hands drumming against her thighs. For a different tune, his fingers tugged or pulled the ropes.

He stood up and his foot firmly collided with her thigh. A louder cry, a fading moan. Again he kicked her, a few more times, her noises escaped into the room.

He lowered her legs to the ground, reached for her hands still tied behind her back, and asked her to squeeze his fingers, concerned. He had to repeat the softly spoken request. She was a mass of nerve endings and silent mind. Once the request penetrated through her haze, she looked back at him, his calm and steady gaze, and squeezed.

His hands followed a path up her body, fingertips searched up her neck, under her hair to the base of her head. They broke eye contact when he pulled her hair back and she sighed.

He tied her hair back, tied the chest harness to the fixed point above them, and this time arched her back with her chest above the ground and  her hips firmly planted down. Arched her more, the hair was secured back, forced her head up to continue the arch.

Ropes lowered down. Fingers massaged the base of her head and released the tie. Her legs were unwound, the scratchy rope caused her to alternatively groan and sigh with the slightest movement. The rest of the rope around her lower body dissolved as she sunk into the firm floor.

His hands soothed over the red hot areas – her body so aware of the slightest sensation. A knife traced its way across her curves from foot to thigh, her moans sounded entirely different. The other leg, unhurriedly, the knife so pale and cold against the crimson skin backdrop.

He positioned her to sit and held her as he removed the rest of the rope, leaving a length along her chest and positioned it so slowly across her neck, applied slight tension against her throat. Her head sighed back against his shoulder.

Once untied, he embraced her, his arms fully surrounded her, tuned into her relaxed but sore form, and her body leaned against his supportive chest. Her hands came up and touched his strong arms, encouraged the embrace, breathed in tune to the rise and fall of his chest.

For them being new to each other, the connection was incredible.

 Posted by at 5:27 am