To read about being brand new to this place and knowing no one, and the negotiations, click here.
He directed me to clean the play space that we entered in. I rather liked his authoritive tone. After I was done, I asked if there was anything further I could do.
So I started taking off my boots and thigh high stockings. I pulled off my dress and then stopped with it halfway up. We had negotiated to what level clothes were off, but not how they were coming off. “Is it okay if I strip or did you want to do that?”
He smiled. “You’re fine, go ahead and strip.” So I did, and then awkwardly stood where I was. Do I approach him? Do I go directly to the table? These little details of what I should do with a new play partner drive me crazy. He approached me and laid his hands on my shoulders, looking down into my eyes. He rubbed my upper arms a little and then told me to get on the table.
It looked a lot smaller from a distance, I had to hop and use my arms to pull first one leg and then another up to get on. He chuckled a bit at my effort and my grumbling.
I had requested a blindfold to help my head space, and to be less aware about a place full of new people looking at me, and he kindly took his time to be careful around my hair as he secured it. In sharp contrast, he then grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and lowered me from sitting to lying on the table.
I heard the electricity buzzing from the wand and thought how the sound intimidates me more than anything. Then the currents kissed my shoulder, my arm, back around to the upper swell of my breasts, to the other shoulder and arm. He was respectful of my ribs and stomach and simply ran his hand across to keep the connection before rousing the skin on my thighs, down my calves, even across the tops of my feet.
He very quickly revealed a love for zapping around my breasts and nipples. Even being blindfolded, I could tell that my response to the nipples being stimulated excited him.
The scene very much became incredibly nipple centered. He would pinch, twist (which I don’t care for much but he never did it to the extent that I yellowed), electrify, and run the Wartenberg wheel across them constantly.
The few times his hands were not on my breasts or nipples were when he would need both hands. At one point, he gripped my hair, pulled my head into his chest as he stood beside me, rolled my body to the side, and took the wheel to behind and hips. Another time, he climbed on top of the table, gripped both my upper thighs and forcibly spread them, gripped them tighter. He leaned forward and yanked at my hair, forced me to arch my back into his chest, his breath heavy and dominated my hearing while his other hand scratched its way up the inside of my thigh.
He continued staying between my legs, sat up and pulled me up by my arms before keeping me up sitting in front of him with a fistful of hair. My legs wrapped alongside his body for balance. He took the wheel to one nipple, which was already so painfully sensitive by that point. My arms reached and grabbed, my nails dug into his back as I tried to push myself into his chest for protection by leaving him no space to touch them.
We hadn’t negotiated my touching him, but at the moment as caught up as I was, I didn’t think to ask first and he didn’t make a move to stop me. As a matter of fact, he whispered at my downturned head, “oh yeah?” as if curious and surprised by my nipple sensitivity.
He yanked my head back enough to clear the space to take the tines of the wheel and flick back and forth at the tip of a nipple. I cried out, arched, and raised my hips, my legs and arms tightened around him.
He pulled me down to again lie on my back, his body over mine – not touching other than his hands, the violet wand, or the wheel. He gripped under my bottom and squeezed hard at the cheeks, I tensed and raised my hips, and my body began to ask for things. He pinched along the creases where the cheek meets thigh, his breath washing against my neck – almost intimately…but not quite, almost menacingly…but not quite.
He rested his weight on an elbow and still managed to grip my hair, the other hand going to a nipple.
I was moaning, uttering words of please.
“Do you want to cum?” he asked, and I did. Though a bit foggy in the sensations, I debated whether I wanted this strange man to touch me so publicly.
To an extent, I decided, and said “yes.”
His fingers moved over my lacy fabric and didn’t make any move to push it to the side or pull down. I was grateful, as I about to tell him over clothing. As fingertips brushed against the lace, I felt my own dampness. It almost felt as though the underwear was not there. Up and down my wet fabric slit, hair still gripped firmly so I was aware of his power, and I begged please.
“You may cum,” he whispered against my neck, and my brain processed that he misunderstood my please – this please meant please continue so that I can get there, but the fact that he thought I was asking permission to come was hot, so I tried for his sake.
The second please I was more aware of and his guess as to what it meant, so when he granted permission I came. It was odd to orgasm without penetration first. It was odd to orgasm in full sight of people (which blessedly I couldn’t see). It was odd to orgasm when I had no intention of even playing this night, and then certainly didn’t expect orgasm control – a favorite of mine but with a lover, never with just a pick up play partner.
He rolled me over, spanked my ass and thighs, took the wheel to the reddened areas, yanked me up to hands and knees, and played with my nipples from behind for so long that the “please” was issued from my lips. His fingers moved between my thighs, “I can come from my nipples,” I gasped and his fingers immediately went back to them. I orgasmed twice, the tension and release so strong that I was sitting up kneeling, leaning heavily against him and gripping his forearm.
I don’t think he had ever seen orgasms from nipples before, and I was wiped out, sweaty, overwhelmed from the tension created to achieve those orgasms. I begged us to stop as I was overly sensitive and he immediately put his arms around me, cradled me against him, his heart thudded in his chest, his hands soothed my hair down after pulling off the blindfold.
I gasped, shocked at how spectacular though totally unplanned the night turned out to be, tried to grasp and analyze why my body would orgasm under such circumstances, why I would consent to so much, why I moaned and screamed and orgasmed in front of an audience, and decided I didn’t want to over analyze – I wanted to just enjoy this moment with this man in my wonderful body that appreciated every second of it, and my silent brain thanked me.
That is, ultimately, one of the goals of attending these things.
Though the thought of behaving as I do with an orgasm, and so publicly, makes me blush in remembrance.
The topic for #WickedWednesday is “Audience”
I’m using Rebel’s topic of Breast Orgasm for my #SexySearching