Mar 302016
 

A post about the last three months choosing my favorite or most revealing photos and posts and giving some background information; also listing accomplishments. I’m also going to be showcasing a blogger that I absolute adore each month with a favorite posting of mine.

*I write these as the month progresses, hence my tone towards my husband in January is very different than in February or March

January:

Revealing Post:

“I only stirred about halfway up, realized how badly the clamps were now pulling at my nipples.

“Clever,” I whispered, parted my legs.

He chuckled. “Now to get some movement from you,” he said, and slapped between my lips.” –Spread Legs and Open Mouth

While separated from my husband, I’ve had to rely quite a bit on drafts. The beauty of these drafts is that I also remember the moment again, and it makes me feel closer to him. What’s not to love about this post? It starts with confessions of love – his to reassure it’ll suck but out of love, one in case I change my mind. Then it has predicament bondage – one of my absolute favorites. Orgasm control, pride in my ability, sex, and his release in my mouth all top off this experience to be something spectacular.

Favorite Photo: f9Part of why I like this photo is the unique experience it provided. I was wrapped in plastic wrap to a board and suspended upside down and face down. It took the help of my husband and several of our friends. It also takes a Sinful Sunday photo and edits it in a new way to help me have more pictures since I don’t have my husband around to help me with this.

Accomplishments: Cock Piercing Army in Wicked Wednesday’s weekly roundup.

Chopstick Past in Sinful Sunday’s weekly roundup

Featured blog: A Dissolute Life Means

She writes honestly, and often raw. She exposes her more vulnerable self and is often unapologetic about who she is and what she needs. She often writes about seeing multiple men, one of my favorites is when she poetically uses a carousel analogy. I love how beautifully she writes, how being with these men doesn’t diminish her want of something more permanent but she is accepting of the fun as it comes along. I also share how she is hopeful and jaded in imagining a future with every lover she encounters. Another of her posts that I love is how she leads with her sexuality and that it is okay for her to do so, something that took me a long time to recognize in myself. Even when she writes about Casual Sex Rules, she beautifully weaves a story. A fantastic writer.

February:

Revealing Post:

“He is beyond body, he is my heart, my lifeline, my future, my soul, my dreams. What he has is special, and rare. It is irreplaceable, reverent, sacred.

I keep offering to end it – that it is simply not worth the constant arguing, though I don’t want to especially while we are separated, but he keeps insisting it’ll get better with time, that once he finds someone everything will be fine, that we continue on.” – I am Reduced to a Body

It was this month that we discovered that it would get worse when he found someone (I feel that he didn’t know how to handle emotions for two different partners), and that it would not get better with time. This is a mistake that we made – the assumption that our love and future dreams would be enough to carry us through.

What we had was beautiful – I do not for a moment want to downplay our past, but he does not trust my heart or our future any more. This post really does break my heart, because what was done to my body is the only thing that mattered to him – not my heart nor my soul.

Favorite Photo: 20151221_205612-2Here is why this is such a favorite to me – it’s of a woman I love more than words can express. It shows her joy, and her triumph over fear. If you haven’t read her story yet: read why this was such a triumph (click here trigger warnings); her observations at her first kink event (click here); and her being tied up and overcoming such a longstanding fear (click here). She’s a strong, beautiful woman whose bravery is beyond my comprehension. It’s a magnificent story she told.

Accomplishments: Completing the February Photo Fest, despite moving and my husband asking for a divorce.

Over Me in Sinful Sunday’s weekly roundup

Bent Over in Sinful Sunday’s weekly roundup

Featured blog: Molly’s Daily Kiss

She writes most often about a D/s life, the sex blogging community, and observations about sexuality and outlooks. She makes me think often, one such was about tools you need to be a Dom, with the things listed were not I first thought of – they’re far more important. But it is often her writing erotica or fantasies that get me so much, for example a scene based on location; wherein her husband also writes with his own musings. The entire thing turned me on so much, as well as this scene describing a slow build up of anticipation; it is moments like this which fuel my desire far more than touching. She is also the most influential sex blogger that I can think of.

March:

Revealing Post:

“’I never know what you’re going to say,’ he laughed. I knew he would never do something like that, I knew that my statement surprised him.

With his arms around me, my mind drifted to someone else. Someone a month ago, who as a parting gift, gave me my fantasy of consensual non consent. He appears in my thoughts unbidden, being held in the arms of another man.” – A Tale of Two Men

March I was dating, and it primarily a man who is so vanilla that he believes oral sex is kinky. He is wonderful but not at all what I was looking for. Still, I really like him, and if I’m not scaring him away and he’s open minded, then I’m willing to move slowly and teach him my desires in kink.

But my heart is still breaking this month, and my thoughts are often with experiences between my husband and myself. I hate when my mind drifts in this way, but I need to forgive myself as it’s still all such a new gaping hole in my life. For years I only thought of him, it will take me awhile to stop.

Favorite Photo: Cammies on the Floor 1This month featured a lot of penis in it, showcasing two of my ex lovers. So my favorite, since this month has been so heavy with the past, is a photo that more reflects my current mood of dark and an overwhelming outpouring of emotion.

Accomplishments: There have no accomplishments for the blog. Outside of the blog, there are a few things worth celebrating this month.

Featured Blog: Rebel’s Notes

Another seriously influential sex blogger, she hosts memes like Wicked Wednesday, Sexy Searching, The Menopause Diaries, and the Oral Sex Project. She is my number one supporter and commenter – I don’t know if I would continue to pursue different ways of writing if it wasn’t for her. She is bold with her photos, brave in her Scavenger Hunt photos. She writes of her D/s journey and is honest in her own faults. She has a relationship that I am envious of. Her erotic fiction is pretty hot as well. Speaking of her kick ass nature, happy 200 prompts for Wicked Wednesday!!

Wicked Wednesday

 

Wicked Wednesday is celebrating 200 prompts! We’ve participated in 131 of them, and so happy to be so involved in such a great meme.

 Posted by at 8:39 am
Mar 292016
 

I did a 4 transition suspension that ended in a single leg futomomo. It was at practice, but it felt like a scene. The first part is the more technical aspect – not terribly interested in rope? Perhaps go down to the next star where he is tied, or the third star when I try it again.

*

There were two riggers and two bottoms. At first it started with my husband tying me. The other couple: a female rigger and tall man. We had all practiced rope together for a long time, but never with doing a suspension transition series together. Our bodies were tied differently: my husband forgot to tie into the hip harness and the male had a bit different chest harness.

Up for the first, and a face down just always hurts, but it’s bearable. Suddenly I am through the ropes and sitting with one leg straight and the other tied tightly in a futomomo (ankle to thigh and rope all around the thigh/calf keeping it there). As soon as I sat up, the pressure moved to my wrists, an odd thing and one that I cannot sustained. Down and sideways, and once my torso was sideways in the air I felt much better, had relief from most of the areas that pained me. My husband went over to the other couple and helped where he could – but the male needed to come down.

I understood that – it was strenuous. Once he was down, I came down.

He gets tied by husband and I watch with the female rigger (I also joke with some other people in the room and get all sorts of involved in their practice – because friends).

The female suggested we try it again, only swapping partners since I handled it better – perhaps it was the way that she was tying. So my husband begins to tie the male bottom. It would allow us bottoms to verbalize on the differences (we verbalize at practice on everything, it’s how the riggers learn so much I believe and have faith that they can try something new, though we’re both a bit bratty in our boredom of practicing, so there’s a joke always about needing gags for us).

The male’s body is already rubbed raw in some places from the rope, and the rope will be laid along those same reddened trails. I wince with him at parts.

He has a great sense of humor and comments that it’s unusual to have someone put rope over his shoulder, how he doesn’t need to bend down to assist a shorter partner. They are both above average in height.

As soon as he was up, it was obvious it was barely tolerable. They tried the three transitions, working quickly, getting feedback from him, discussing solutions from the rigger perspective, and he was down. They both took the rope off of him, discussed a few more things, and she took care of her bottom.

* It’s my turn back up.

I have a slight advantage of not having my body handle the first attempt as badly as the male’s did, the rope marks pink but not glaring red against my skin; I am not as in as much pain and I have also rested while they tried it again on him. I had the utmost respect for my male friend, his tolerance, stamina, and motivation far exceeds what I believe my own to be.

She ties me in jute, a rope I really don’t like but consent to because it’s what she is most comfortable with. She jokes how wonderful it is to tie someone that’s a normal height, reaches around and touches my breasts, cracking jokes about how rare that is, comments that I have hair and people in front of us playfully warn me she has that gleam in her eyes that bodes sadistic plans in the future. She asks my husband for a few pieces of advice.

I ask my husband afterwards to tie up a female who showed up and hasn’t been tied up yet. I know she wants to, and I wanted her to feel included in this practice. He offers and they move close to us just in case we need a spotter.

I am now off the ground and face down, my chest remembering this position and believing it was a bit soon. I breathe in and out.

“You got quiet all the sudden. Are you okay?” she asked. I had stopped joking pretty abruptly.

“Yes, I would tell you otherwise.”

“She gets quiet when the pain starts,” the male bottom added. We have been tied so many times now together in the room, and I believe that I understand his most of body language in ropes as well.

“She’ll tell you when something is not right,” my husband confirmed.

I felt proud that these people had faith that I would verbalize when needed, it is wanted in rope bottoms while practicing to verbalize what’s wrong. Even the female rigger knew this about me, but I think the sudden switch in my personality caused a quick concern.

She transitioned me to sitting with one leg bent (ankle to thigh) and one leg out straight. The stress on my wrists weren’t quite as bad, but I was shifting to one side, and that began to hurt my arm. She adjusted me a few times to no avail. Then she hurriedly worked towards the next transition.

As she strung rope between rope and upper arm, it pinched. She apologized as she could see the pinching and worked to correct it. My entire upper arm radiated such heat and pain – I began to sweat from the exertion and closed my eyes and breathed steadily, focusing my thoughts on my breath. “I’m fine,” I’d reassure her in-between groans of discomfort.

Then I was sideways and my arm slowly cooled down to a normal, if somewhat achy, feeling.

“Much better,” I told her gratefully. She spun me around a few times, asking some questions, and then asked how long I could go for still. “I’m okay, I can stay. I’ll give you a couple minute warning,” I told her. “But it depends on what you do on, how long you have.”

So she told me I was about to hate her and raised my legs. I cried out as the rope cut into one thigh that was tied so tight. “Don’t worry, you’ll be down in thirty seconds,” she comforted as all the support rope let go and all that was left was the single futomomo/painful thigh.

here is a futomomo, though at the time I was upside down dangling on leg from this position

Here is a futomomo (not taken the day that this written but for picture reference), though at the time I was upside down dangling from one leg from this position

“It’s the fourth transition,” the male said almost at the same time and I recalled that so far we had only done three.

Breathe. Breathe. Oh holy hell, breathe : My inward chant. My eyes were shut, I channeled my entire being into just breathing.

My husband’s voice somewhere in the background, “she’s fine. She will absolutely tell you if she can’t do it, trust me.”

He was right. I could handle it, even though it was excruciating. It was pushing my boundaries of being in pain in rope in ways that I am seldom tested in, and I was pretty proud of how I was handling it.

I began to be lowered, and ended up on the floor with my back against the woman’s chest. She held me as I trembled from the pain spikes, tipped my water bottle into my mouth for a drink.

Aftercare isn’t that common for practicing rope, but my body went through something pretty strenuous and reacted as such. I was grateful that I wasn’t placed on the ground, untied, and left to my own devices. I needed to come back to reality gently and with support, needed the patience to unravel both my body and mind’s reactions at the slow place that she unraveled the rope. I also had faith that she would take care of me as she felt needed; she was an experienced top. As she untied my legs, she used her partner’s legs as my pillow. She smoothed her hands over the reddened areas, softly soothing, and when I was sitting in front of her and fully untied, she gently scratched my back.

Yay for nails, they felt so good!

I was grateful, as I often am, for these people in the rope community. At times it feels like a close-knit family that is supportive, offers advice, pushes each other to go further, and takes care of each other.

 Posted by at 8:08 am
Mar 272016
 

*Written two years ago and posted unedited. 

He tied my wrists to my shoulders (elbows bent), my heels to my thighs (knees bent). On my stomach, he rolled up a pillow and placed it under my hips, raising ass up. I wasn’t exposed and tied down enough apparently, as he also connected rope from knees to the sides of the headboard, effectively spreading my legs and keeping them open.

“Oh I love this,” he stated gleefully, softly petting my exposed lips before he slid a finger inside. He murmured from time to time how marvelous it was that I was so open for him to do as he wanted as he fingered me, before I felt his tongue part my lips. His mouth wasn’t active for long, however, as right when I began moaning with pleasure, he stopped. I felt cold glass slip between my wet entrance and enter me, willed my body to relax and let the chilly hard dildo push fully into my heat. He eased it in slowly and withdrew a few times before he fucked me in earnest with the glass. Right when I began to feel the tension build up and spread with pleasure, he stopped again.

I must’ve protested, as he said: “shh, it’s fine. You’ll like this more.”

I liked that fine enough if he wouldn’t have stopped, I thought, but didn’t say anything; he only torments me if I complain.

I heard the wand before I felt it, buzzing at my clit as the dildo eased back inside of me. He was thrusting it in hard and fast while pushing the vibrating wand firmly against my clit, and my legs immediately tried to kick out, felt the bite of the rope wrapped around calves and thighs. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t escape, I couldn’t close my legs nor even move them the slightest amount; I couldn’t crawl away as bound as I was.

I could just lay there and feel my aching hole being pummeled while my clit was tormented with sensitivity. In and out he moved the hard instrument, the wand reverberated at my hardened nub, and I pulsed between my exposed thighs. I bit down into the sheet, pressed my face into the mattress to try to tamper the volume, and screamed unbidden at the pleasure. It didn’t stop, he didn’t even slow, as I came down from one orgasm and crested another.

I soared, felt disconnected from the world, only felt the pleasure and thought of nothing else. When he finally let me down, I mumbled,”I think that’s the hardest I’ve ever cum.” I meant it, as I truly was aware of nothing but the long cresting orgasms. My body felt limp, but I’m unsure if it truly was that relaxed as I was still bound in strange ways, so I wouldn’t moved even if I let go of every muscles I had.

“Good, then you’re going to love this,” and I felt cold lube at my anus, and a finger gently easing in. He placed the wand between my legs again, put in on high, and carefully worked his finger in and out of my ass a few times. Then the glass dildo was back, and one hand roughly pounded it in and out at the same time as a finger thrusted in and out and the wand quivered strongly.

I screamed again, felt breathless and tried to remember to breathe through the pleasure, felt overwhelmed at the sensations building, and went back to that mindless nothing of gratifying senses. When I heard his voice mention how hard I was orgasming, I briefly heard my juices squeaking around the dildo, but was incapable of holding onto hearing before my pleasure overrode everything else again.

I don’t know how long he kept me up on climatic waves, I don’t remember him stopping, but I do remember a brief respite when he was beside my body untying me. He must’ve been rough, as he asked how I was feeling and mentioned I was bleeding. But once the rope came off, he was inside of me, just as rough as the glass dildo that probably hurt me.

His hand went around my throat and his fingers pressed into the sides. I felt panicked suddenly at the lack of air. “You don’t need to breathe,” he whispered harshly into my ear as he continued his sexual onsluaght, “you need to cum.”

Instantly I was calmed as I realized that he’s right, I need an orgasm more than breath, how did he know?! That moment of clarity was so vivid amidst the orgasms that overtook me yet again. He released my throat as I came, but I’ve no idea if I gulped in air or even was grateful for the opportunity. My body was taking over again and I couldn’t have thought much through anymore.

When he found his own pleasure and collapsed on top of me, before moving us onto our sides and my body firmly in his arms, I realized his own breath was ragged. Cuddled, he kept checking in with me, stroked my body softly, made sure I was fine with what he had done to me. “It was cool,” I muttered. He laughed and I realized I sounded lame, but there were no words coming to my head, it was still empty and relaxed and meditative in simmering pleasure.Masturbation Monday badge - small

And it wasn’t for another hour that I would fully comprehend myself, my thoughts and my sore but happy body.

 Posted by at 8:59 am
Mar 242016
 

“I can do what I want,” you whisper to me many nights.

It’s the words that get me far more than anything else; I love words – they hold the true power.

Even when my vision grows dim and my thoughts hazy with a hand around my neck, even through impact or orgasm,

dulled, exposed, aroused, sensitive sensations do not captivate me like your words.

They connect to my ear and send shivers down my neck, make my stomach flip-flop, make me tighten and tense.

Your words caress me at how beautiful I am, how I make you proud.

Your words push into me about your plans for me, hurting me, fucking me, making me completely yours to use at your will.

Your words penetrate me even in the silent recesses of my mind, the pain or pleasure noises of my body, and while my brain does not acknowledge the syllables that drip from your tongue, my body instantly obeys the crystal clear commands.

click to read more

When it comes to truly enjoying sex, how important is it for your mind to be stimulated as well as your body? What are the ways in which you enjoy you partner (or yourself) stimulating your mind?

 

 Posted by at 8:22 am
Mar 232016
 

A search term the past month:

Search Views
i want throat fucked tied

Sexy Searching

 

 

Writing fiction ideas of what would be hot, and since I kept all drafts, I thought I would share it here:

My notes:

He lowered me to my knees and wrists kept together, pulled me down hands and knees, only hands gripped his erection.
Pulled up and my fingers missed the texture of his skin and my mouth watered to taste it.
Down with touch, Up
Down further, a hand guidance to mouth, head and a pulling up and laying on back.

First person denial:

 He pulled me down to hands and knees, wrists still tied together now touched the floor. I felt the edge of his pant alongside my pinky. Was I in between his legs, was he sitting so close to my face, was he hard? I was so depraved, craved so desperately to know. My hands wanted to feel the texture of his skin, my mouth watered from a tongue that wanted to taste and lips that wanted to wrap around a desire I hoped that he shared.

His hand gripped the back of my head and he guided me down. Yes, I thought far too joyously, perhaps he was granting me permission to have him inside my mouth, to finally feel him. Far too quickly, I was brought up again, away from the focus of my fixation and pulled even further back, being rotated onto my back. I almost whined from the frustration, my mouth empty and just as wanton as my cunt.

 

Because I hate denial…to an extent, and needed to change it from first person point of view – third person limited (and something I fell in love with):

He untied the ropes above her, slowly rotated her still tied wrists down, her shoulders feeling the ache from being up for so long. His foot gently nudged the back of her knee, and she kneeled down on the floor. He pulled the rope down, guided her wrists also to the floor. Would he go behind of her in this position of hands and knees and finally have sex with her? He was obviously in front of her by the way the rope pulled, probably on the ground in front of her. Was she in between his legs, was he sitting close to her face, was he hard? She felt so depraved, craved so desperately to know firsthand. Her hands wanted to feel the unknown texture of his erection, her mouth watered from a tongue that wanted to taste and lips that wanted to wrap around a desire she hoped that he shared.

He either knew her really well or he wanted the same thing. He pulled the rope and guided her hands to the fabric of his pants, slowly slid them lightly over a hard bulge and moved them as unhurriedly away and back onto the floor. She groaned in frustration. He waited a moment, and then again pulled the rope towards his lap. Her fingers stretched out to welcome touch, and this time she felt the smooth skin of the head, the rope slackened a bit and her hands slid along his stiff shaft, relishing the feel of him in her hands.

He pulled at the rope and she cried out in frustration. She had no idea why he would deny himself the touch…she so badly wanted to touch him! He roughly pulled her hands to the floor, almost as punishment for her verbal outcry, and his hand forcefully gripped the back of her hair. He pulled her head up and she wished she could see his face, see what he was thinking or feeling.

But once again, the unknown was so deliciously hot.

After a moment, he guided her head towards him and down, her arms rotating to accommodate the movement, her ass raised up in the air a bit with the position and the cool air brushed on her sensitive exposed bits. Yes, she thought joyously, perhaps he was granting permission to have him inside her greedy mouth, to finally taste him. She had dreamed of this for years, never knew why they hadn’t yet. She opened her mouth in anticipation, her lips felt the velvet texture of his tip, her tongue lapped the small amount it could, further exploring the rounded top, the center that just a teasing taste of his desire. It was intoxicating to her. Unhurriedly, he pushed her farther down and her mouth welcomed the slow invasion of his arousal, the tongue laid flat against the hardened shaft and felt the ridges as it slowly pushed further inside. Her lips wrapped around him tightly when he stopped moving her down, he was gently at the back of her throat but not uncomfortably so. He held her there for a moment and her tongue delighted in dancing up and down, she sucked softly and he pulsed a bit against her tongue. Just as slowly, he pulled her up, her lips and suction rebelling at letting go completely but the tension of his fingers wrapped around her hair was a more dominating sensation.

Far too quickly, she was brought up again, away from the focus of her fixation and pulled even further back, being rotated onto her back. She almost whined from the frustration, her mouth empty and just as wanton as her cunt.

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 8:57 am
Mar 222016
 

1. If you died tomorrow, to whom would you leave all your worldly possessions?
My eldest child because they would ensure fairness and would take care of what’s important. 

2. What did you like to play as a child?

I liked to boss around my younger siblings, does that count? We played all sorts of things – I can’t pick a favorite. 

3. Have you ever gone on a rampant sex spree while depressed?

Yes, my sister calls this “slutfest”. I wrote a post that will discuss this in detail coming out next month. 

I was seriously depressed, there were pro and cons to coping this way. Now I’m just on a rampant sex spree with my guy…the usual sex all the time. 

4. Do you mind if your partner wants to have porn videos playing while the two of you are having sex?

I don’t mind as long as I’m not being replaced with it. My ex would have me watch it while he went down on me, for some reason I found that incredibly arousing. But it wasn’t replacing anybody. 

5. What is the sexiest thing you did last week?

Hot tub sex? Throw him on the bed and have my way with him? He might say wear a skirt and bend over in front of him (one of his favorites) or walk around all day by the pool in a bikini (something he loved). 

One thing I’m certain of is that he finds me attractive.

Bonus: You have to give your lover a report card about your last sexual encounter.

– What would they score? A B C D F?

A – of course I was mostly on top last encounter, so isn’t this like giving myself an A?

– What could he/she improve upon?

Fingering – he just simply hasn’t but he does so many other glorious things. 

– For what would your lover be reprimanded for doing during sex?

Being so ticklish – I never know where to touch him. 

 

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link totmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

 Posted by at 8:36 am
Mar 212016
 

*Trigger warning of rape play

Mr Texas, my new guy, is ridiculously sweet and old fashioned…and a tad clingy. He knows he needs to tread carefully in that aspect of his personality, as it really clashes with mine.

He is a great father and has a few kids. He drives this massive suburban, black, with the windows tinted.

We kissed goodnight in the dark as I walked him to his car. “I should just throw you in the car and take you with me,” he whispered into the darkness as he pulled away from the kiss.

I gripped him harder and said against his chest, “yes, you should tie me tightly, throw me in the back, kidnap me and fuck me hard.”

I peered up into his face and the moonlight showed shocked. He hugged me to him. “I never know what you’re going to say,” he laughed. I knew he would never do something like that, I knew that my statement surprised him.

With his arms around me, my mind drifted to someone else. Someone a month ago, who as a parting gift, gave me my fantasy of consensual non consent. He appears in my thoughts unbidden, being held in the arms of another man.

…His arm whipped around my neck and I was thrown back onto the bed.

The force of this made my jaw hurt for weeks afterwards. Also, my legs were very bruised as they are my biggest asset in fighting back, and I did. That was the point.

…At one point, I kicked against him and kicked myself right off the bed. His long arm reached down and dragged me up by the hair. “Go the fuck to sleep,” he growled with a hand around my throat as my nails dug in for all of a second before I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was in the center of the bed and there was a pressure between my legs as he ripped his favorite pair of lace panties.

The beautiful lace panties – his favorite pair – being torn to shreds, seemed incredibly symbolic to me. “Hope you don’t want these anymore,” he said as he ripped. Those panties would have served as a reminder of how he desired me every time I put them on. No, I probably didn’t want that reminder anymore. After our session, I threw the tattered lace in the trash and never saw them again.

…He forced my thighs apart and held down my body, both of our harsh and ragged breathing the only sound.

But we stopped at that point, he didn’t have an erection in trying to force me. Whether from exhaustion of the actual struggle we both seriously engaged in or the concept being so foreign to his nature, he simply couldn’t get hard. We were both out of breath and just held each other amid the gasping.

“You were holding back,” he accused me once he could talk again. I looked at him, at his fat lip and bruises, and nodded. How could I truly hurt a man that I loved so deeply and desperately?

Though I could give him some bumps and bruises along the way; it was bound to happen as part of the journey.

 Posted by at 1:21 pm
Mar 202016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallMimir unraveled rope slowly, slid it up to my neck, gently applied pressure and pulled me onto my back. We were both on our knees, and my hips and ass nestled against the seams of his jeans.

I was naked except for lace panties. He was fully clothed. It was a common (and for me unnerving) state for us to start in. His arm went around me as he removed the rope and replaced the pressure against my throat. I could feel his muscles bunch up against my neck, a hand instinctively went on top but I stopped myself before my nails dug in to his flesh in defense.

The rope wound itself around me, tighter than usual, his every move pushed or pulled my body with little indicated care of my balance. His arms would take turns choking me briefly as he traveled around, my wrists were tied behind my back. It was an intentional discomfort, a consistent physically dominating.

It was fucking hot.

Within moments, I found that quiet space.

At one point, I was pushed forward more than my balance could handle and he gripped the rope tied at my back and yanked me up. My head snapped up with the force.

Can I even begin to describe how my body reacted to the force he created? How I clenched in excitement, in concern – not for my safety, never that, but for the unaccustomed roughness. My heart pounded in my chest and my breathing quickened.

Could he tell how I was reacting? I believe so, he seems to instinctively know what I want, how I respond, what I need to find the calm inside the storm.

He gripped the rope after he was done tying my chest and arms, grabbed between my legs, picked me up and and placed me stomach down on the floor. He moved between my legs, and so softly – the merest gossamer of touches, slid a finger against the delicate lace of my underwear. If I had not been so fixated on his every move, if I had breathed too deeply, I might have missed the touch. It was a sharp contrast to the earlier dominance, this soft caress at my lips.

My body cried out for his touch. My mouth remained silent, not wanting to break the spell with demands that would go unheeded simply because they were uttered. He is not a man to be rushed. He tied my ankles to my thighs, far tighter than he’s ever done before, pressing my body to fold further into itself. He tied tight legs to a suspension point above him, my back arched and chest pressed further into the ground. My underwear was yanked down to mid thigh as far as the rope would allow. He fingered me to an orgasm, then pressed his knee against my upper back and grounded my upper body into the floor while he fingered me again.

The pain of the arched angle made further by his body weight, the bite of the ropes around my thighs, built and gathered and stormed with my orgasm, completely clouded my mind and kept it foggy even when he moved to kick at my bindings, to stand upon my legs and apply his body weight against the digging and pressure of the ropes holding me above the ground and not letting me go.

He sat beside me, the wartenberg wheel pricked at my skin as it traversed the exposed areas, shedded light in my haze to the smaller sections and bringing them into focus. His hand was around my throat and my moans of pain ceased.

Lowered fully to the ground, he smacked against the outside of my sore thighs, the sting of his hands felt all the way through them. He gripped at my hips and forced them upwards, pressed against me where half of me was exposed and the other half only shielded by lace barely felt.

Released, a paddle began to rein down upon my ass, the sting overrode the thump after awhile, and surprisingly (considering the head space) I yellowed. His hands soothed and caressed the reddened skin, and then gripped hard and I raised my hips to relieve some of the pressure.

2016 39

A picture of where he bit me on the inside of my arm during the height of an orgasm (the darker bruise my own carelessness)

There were so many moments in this scene that folded upon one another as I was less aware of what he was doing and more aware of what he was creating. I know I fought against the ropes while he played them to his advantage, I know he never lost contact with my skin regardless of how he moved us or what he grabbed. A sensitive little place on the inside of my arm that was vulnerable and exposed tied above my head, he bit into at the height of an orgasm.

The whole time he was in control and he would forcefully remind me of that, not that I was allowed to even have a moment’s lapse in being aware. My body was so heightened and aroused by his actions.

He played a beautiful balance of pain and pleasure until I was a gooey trembling mess, then he held me gently in his arms and brushed the sweaty, tangled hair from my face as I drifted.

 Posted by at 10:16 am