I mentioned that I dyed my hair purple, and that my husband and I were on and off again. Here is a time we were gloriously together in a purple dungeon room, which went fantastically with my hair.
Garrett tied Tanya’s wrists to the sides of the head board, stretched one side too far where the shoulder wasn’t down. This would be his second time trying to tie her for sex, their first couple of months exploring kink. Experience from last time taught her that shoulders would fatigue if they weren’t down, so she requested he loosen the rope a bit so her shoulders rested comfortably down, adding that her wrists up were fine. Feedback, people kept telling them, was important.
He used the same type of tie around her ankles, stringing it down to the opposite sides of the footboard to spread her legs, using the extra rope to retie into the extra rope on bed posts that restrained her wrists. She thought that was very clever, how he was already modifying from last time and now if she attempted to move either the lower limbs or upper limbs they would pull. Tanya recalled people called this predicament.
She was now spread open naked, a position that made her shiver in anticipation and felt vulnerable in an appreciated way as it assisted the mind set Garrett wanted to achieve.
Before they played with rope, they already learned that a blindfold always helped that mindset as well, so Garrett slipped one on. Then he saw the bits of the rope along the bed and had an idea to alternate whipping her thighs with them. He smiled at her surprised jerk and yelp, finding so much entertainment in the action that he did both thighs a few more times. He caressed her thighs where he had just marked her, tracing the slightly pink imprints and thinking that they should work up to red welts to one day mark her gorgeous skin. Of course, his hands couldn’t resist her magnificent breasts, his hands fully cupping her soft, small globes. He liked her sounds of impact, he decided, and whipped where his hands just left, cautiously at first. She sighed into the sensations of softness and gasped at the sting of the tips.
He teased with kisses and caresses, fingertips trailing paths across her skin, occasionally pinching a nipple or slapping at the inside of a tied thigh.
Then, he gently slapped her vulva. She took a quick intake of breath. “Oh, you like that,” he sounded delighted. He gently slapped a few more times and she jerked in response.
“Who said you can move?” For someone that was new to this, he wanted to make damn sure she knew who was in control. He gripped the outsides of the leg rope and pulled taut to spread her further, the strands of rope dug into her skin in a painful way that for some reason she really liked. He adjusted the rope slightly so that she was stuck in that position; making a mental note for next time they did this.
She felt something like a cold water bottle press against her wet lips that were still stinging, at least that’s what she guessed based on seeing him carry one into the bedroom prior to playing. She wanted to escape the cold sensation and yet it felt so good against how hot he made her there.
Garrett’s fingers warmed up where the bottle was, his thumb circling her clit to madness before fingertips traced ever so slightly, barely felt but for the brushing of Tanya’s short pubic hair. Suddenly he thrusted two fingers in and quickly created so much pleasure, but withdrew them right before an orgasm.
Ugh, had she actually suggested this idea was hot? In the moment, orgasm denial was hard for her to deal with, though afterwards she would smile in remembrance. She whined her disappointment.
Fingers again became aggressive inside, this time he allowed a full orgasm to slam into her body, watched her body tense, listened to her breathing and moans in satisfaction, felt her clench upon his fingers and fluid coat them. She was so beautiful in this moment it almost took his own breath away.
But he had a job to do, so quickly slapped at her inner thighs with his other hand when he believed that she was at the crest, hard. He had never heard that noise come from her before, would have to ask afterwards how she felt.
He slid his hips between her thighs and slowly entered her. She wanted to wrap her legs around him to increase his pace but couldn’t – an odd feeling. He leaned down and close to her face, rained down soft kisses and loving praises against her lips as he slowly increased the tempo of moving in and out of her.
Within minutes, to the surprise of them both, they found their pleasure together.
So The Wanderer and I were in a suite that became a gigantic playground, full of possibilities. There was the wall that was a window overlooking large crowds of people. A purple couch that I immediately fell in love with. Gorgeous colored paintings. More couches and chairs – seriously, there were three couches in this place.
I was bent over two of them for our first scene, after the windowed spectators below us terrified me while my bottom became pinkened, after a few orgasms that began to rise in volume and increase in intensity, he sat down and pulled me over his knees.
An over the knee spanking (and all three that I’ve ever had have only been with him), is unique. He says it may be because of my size, that I have absolutely no purchase on the ground so that I am completely at his mercy, but I feel very vulnerable. I love that feeling even if it’s unsettling. My toes barely touched the ground, my fingertips only grazed, I relied on his grip on my hip and his lap to keep me stable. He started playfully (he claims he kept it there, but I disagree…mostly because I’m a wimp), and I saw only his feet and ankles. That in itself is a bit of a mind game.
And as his hand came down harder and the sting settled into muscles, one of my hands gripped his closest thigh. I don’t know whether I wanted to caress him or hurt him, my touch was somewhere in between or a bit of both.
He stood me up and pulled my arms behind my back in a hug, told me to keep my arms there. Pinched my nipples and watched me gasp and squirm standing and not stopping him – controlled by mental bondage. Positioned me in front of a painting and took a picture. Spun me around and held me against his chest, my arms instinctively wrapping around him.
“Did I tell you to move your arms?” he questioned, a sadistic sparkle in his eye.
Ugh. “No,” I replied honestly, opting to not be the brat at that moment.
“I think you need to learn a lesson,” he told me as he pulled my arms back and propelled me towards the next room with another couch. When we were against the back of the couch in the middle of the room, he told me to take off his belt.
A first, well kind of. David, a friend of mine, had once taken a belt and demonstrated one smack with his play partner and she encouraged me to feel the impact of one smack.
So yes, a first in my mind. I took off his belt – hesitantly though I was hoping that wasn’t conveyed and it just seemed slowly, and I’m sure he touched me, whether it was pinching my nipples or softly brushing my hair back from my face, I can’t honestly say.
Do I present it?
Hell no, that would seem eager, and I was nervous…and a bit intimidated. I wadded it up and brought my fist up so he could take it. He walked me around the couch unhurriedly, and standing bent me over the couch cushions.
Whack. Oh gosh a belt stings! I didn’t like it, yelped and whimpered. Whack. Why couldn’t I settle into stinging sensations? Such an utter wimp with impact.
“How many is that?”
He couldn’t be serious?! He didn’t tell me to keep track.
“So many!” I exclaimed, hoping the point was coming across that it hurt.
…though I didn’t try to stop him, it was a pain I could handle.
“Seven,” or maybe he said eight, and I wondered what number he was going to. “One more,” after a couple more, and this time the belt smacked at the line between cheeks and thighs and this time it felt good.
Hmm, maybe I could like a belt? Only if it felt like that single solitary slap.
He pulled me up to standing by my hair and ordered my arms back. I assumed the position. He tweaked my nipples a bit and then ordered me to bring him rope and the crop.
I was excited about the rope, nervous about the crop.
First thing first: I dyed my hair purple and fucking loved it for two months until I had to fully transition in my life and be professional again.
I went skinny dipping a lot…
…On a related note: I’m getting sun burned on parts of me I never have before. I make very sure to put sunblock on my nipples, but have completely forgotten my bottom – and that hurts when I’m trying to sleep, sitting down, or getting spanked (which this summer has happened surprisingly frequently).
Having pool sex…
…Actually, I rock at pool sex. I straddled Mr. Texas‘ hips, gripped my heels around his upper thighs, my hands at his shoulders for balance and rode, grinding against him until he came deep inside of me with a groan, the water splashing around our bodies.
With no children around, he and I had sex with me bent over the kitchen counter, then he swooped me up in his arms and laid me down on the cold hard tile as he slipped between my thighs.
He slipped my skirt up and pushed me over the end of the couch, pushed himself into me.
I went cherry picking, the cherries tart and sweet in my mouth as my teeth puncture the tight skin and the juice trickling down my throat. In the dirt brown backdrop, the red a sharp contrast.
I visited quite a bit with The Wanderer, who seems to be a calm shelter amid my tempest summer.
I went to Las Vegas twice: once with The Wanderer, and once with a friend who turned out to be an asshole – he expected sex because we were sharing a hotel room, even though I stated that I wasn’t interested. I ended up completely disgusted by the pressure and asked to be brought home early.
I visited some local dungeons and have made some great friends and new experiences.
I met some old friends and made some new ones from Twitter.
I hooked up with my husband, a lot. He has broken up with me and my heart three times in the last month alone, still as wishy-washy as ever. He goes back and forth between his girlfriend and me, playing us in his quest to not be lonely (my perspective). He and I still continue to talk about our future and love…and I truly do believe that despite everything he loves me. Fear keeps us apart, I believe, and a fucked up past neither of us know how to overcome. He also has no clue who he is outside of the military, and I don’t know who I am outside of him, so we both are suffering an identity crisis that is shaping our stupid decisions. He didn’t want our make up to be a secret anymore, so if we try it, dammit we’re both being very public about it.
I love the fuck out of that man, I can’t stress that enough. He fulfills me in a way that I have never felt before, fits into my life like a puzzle piece meant to be there. Honestly, I want to be fully monogamous with him and live as happily ever after as possible in a real society where we have to work hard to keep our love alive – a thing I still believe in.
I committed myself to him for life, and if nothing else, I believe in that commitment to him still. We could make it. But I don’t have faith anymore that he would allow it, and even though each and every time trying to be back together again is his suggestion and persuasion – by this point I’m terrified of hoping we’ll make it only for him to break us up again within a week.
*This is the fourth post in a series of seven that ties in with a co-topping scene. I have included all previous posts with links in italics where relevant in the story.
**I am trying to get more comfortable with at least hearing dirty talk, as most people truly have no idea how uncomfortable it makes me and it is my issue to work through. (I’ve included links to the past where applicable.) My ex husband would buffer and help me in this, but I’ve had to truly push further and faster now that I’ve been single – and it isn’t with loving patience that he showed me.
Earlier in the day, I had sex with Tech Talk, where I introduced some kink – and without asking how I felt about it – he talked dirty to me while fucking me. Maybe he thought I would enjoy it, but it definitely took me out of my orgasmic head space. He said things like: “You like my cock deep inside of you,” and, “God you have a tight pussy.” It wasn’t shocking, my ex husband used to whisper things to me, mostly to get me to blush or because it made me uncomfortable, but it was odd to me for our very first time. Perhaps I am old fashioned, after all, a lot of the random hookups talked dirty to me so maybe it’s just the thing to do nowadays (I was out of the dating scene for 16 years, after all).
It probably is the thing to do nowadays, as I was a bit taken aback later in the day: I had mentioned in a previous post that I was called slut during a scene in which I was co-topped, so for the second time that day that I heard words that normally makes me slightly uncomfortable or blushing. He spun me around and told me to spread my legs, gripped my hair tightly in his fingers, “good girl,” he whispered against my ear.
Normally, that would break my head space (not that I was in one yet) and/or I would say that I don’t like the “girl”, but I had just read a post titled: I’m a Good Girl and that echoed in my head instead. Being called that in the moment oddly didn’t change my head space – didn’t affect me positively or negatively, so I said nothing. I still don’t want to be called that upon later reflection, but with the post just read that day, it was okay.
“Look at how eager the little slut is,” from the female top as I jumped up on the table when ordered to. I blushed (which gratefully I don’t think they saw as I was faced away at the time) and felt the need to defend the jumping action as I had to because I was too short to just climb up on the table – I didn’t say anything however, as to be honest: I was eager playing with these two.
“What a good girl,” he praised me several times throughout the scene, as I orgasmed again and again, or after he forced me to, or when I took a particularly hard impact without fighting against it; again the post I read echoed in my head and made the words okay – I was a good girl deserving of praise in those moments (though again that was in the moment, even writing about it weeks afterwards I felt nauseous writing this sentence so I’m clearly over the moment).
“Such a slut to spread your legs,” he admonished when I did spread my legs to give him or her better access when they would slap between my thighs. It made me very aware that I was instinctively doing the action, made me want to slam my legs shut modestly; I fought to keep them open anyhow. I felt the same when he said: “look at how she raises her cunt so I can get the perfect angle,” when he was caning between and on the inside of my thighs.
Sometimes compliments can even make me blush. Afterwards, when we were sitting in the kitchen, talking to others, he casually tossed in: “I loved hearing you cum. You have amazing sounds.” I felt flushed from embarrassment that he said something so publicly, and yet happy that he complimented my sounds, as I truly don’t want to hear myself (I’m sure I sound awful).”Your orgasms really sound fantastic,” he assured me (perhaps after seeing me blush?) that I should be on their podcast with my orgasms. Then he mentioned being spanked by the female again on their podcast, as the noises I made with impact would work well in that format. “You’re very reactionary – that really works for me,” he again reassured me, when I mentioned how I felt I wasn’t up to the level of impact that I’ve observed him engage in.
After a short break, the man wanted to hear my sounds again. As we headed towards a different room (very dungeon themed), he joked that he was going to “do rape-y things,” followed with, “rape you in a very consensual manner.***” Mm, just those words made me anticipate so much. I was naked and on the table very quickly, as he commanded, and this scene was crafted so beautifully as I felt that he was penetrating me in such a variety of ways with just his words. He began by telling a story of what he was doing to me, “if only you would allow penetration…” he would say from time to time…
as the hitachi buzzed against me he fucked me to multiple orgasms
…”I would tease against your tight little asshole before I rammed into you,” as I was on hands and knees and his fingers swept between my cheeks before his fist made rhythmic contact between my holes. It felt like he was penetrating me without penetrating me.****
Dirty talk is sometimes a lot of fun, I’m learning.
***I have a whole other post on this coming up.
****To hear how he does this, he describes this here in their podcast (45:15 to 46 minutes).
Mr. Texas and I were relaxing by the pool and I started going into why I was sore – I had done two rope scenes the previous night and both men had tied me in a way that exhausted my injured hip.
That was all I said.
He gave me that look, and I knew where it was going. “I know you love this, and I wouldn’t change it or you for the world, but I don’t like to hear about other men touching you. I’m still getting accustomed to it.”
“Don’t get me wrong, if you feel like you need to tell me or talk to me about it, I can hear it, I just don’t like to. I’m glad you told me that you had two great scenes with men last night, but that’s about as far as I want to know – that you had fun and that you played the way you wanted to.”
“And I thank you for that, it’s the only way we can be together, but still…it’s something that I love and experience and don’t share with you.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, “still, I completely understand and respect your position. You know what you’re comfortable with, and I’ve no wish to push that.”
It makes me a bit sad that I can’t share everything with him, but at least he says he is comfortable (in a manner of speaking, I don’t think he truly is) with me exploring and dating others (just not sexual intercourse, which I am not engaging in).
**A current reflection since this was written months ago for #F4TF: I don’t think one gender is more promiscuous naturally than another, though society and history has certainly tried to teach otherwise (men are seen as more promiscuous). I do, however, feel that I am more promiscuous than my partners. It was a problem in my marriage, it can seen in this post with Mr. Texas, and I hesitated to broach the subject of polyamory with Tech Talk because my own history has taught me that I will be judged or shut down in my desire to be with more than one person (though to what degree I’ve learned I can compromise on).
So in my own relationships I am more promiscuous it seems, though I have no idea why this is. Perhaps I pursue other relationships more? Perhaps I don’t have a dedicated local play partner so I play with a few? Perhaps I am unconsciously attracted to men who want to be monogamous (though not all the men are, so maybe not every man)? Some things I would like to settle more on, others I wouldn’t, and it would be situational and based on people involved.
Photo courtesy of A to sub-Bee
Welcome to Elust #84 –
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I had my first orgasm at noon; I had my last orgasm at midnight. There was only perhaps a couple of hours broken up in between all of that. For those that know how easily and how hard I orgasm, that’s quite a day of a lot of orgasms.
Far, far too many orgasms. It was ridiculously easy to get me to orgasm as the night went on.
In the day, I met a man (Tech Talk) that I went out on a few dates with. It was our first time kissing, so why not move it to our first time fucking as well? He is a very sweet man who is interested and incredibly open minded about kink. We had discussed boundaries and limits dates prior to this and the path was laid out on which directions I could go.
So, I gave him some small tastes of kink. I began by giving him different sensations. My fingers swept softly, my nails raked angry red trails down his body. My mouth kissed gently, sucked, nibbled a lot, and then once I realized he had a high pain threshold – bit roughly everywhere; he had already shared that he liked to be bit. Silk fabric caressed up and down parts of his body before blindfolding him. I took a Wartenberg Wheel to him, tiny little pinpricks of marks across his skin which he handled so well that I pressed deeply into his skin and blazed intermittent dotted pieces like those in the center of a road showing the trail I traveled for days across his skin.
He kept complimenting me, saying how rare and unusual I was, how exciting, how he scored himself a hot woman, how lucky he was. He complimented my body, my touch, my mouth. He claimed that I was absolutely amazing at giving head.
And then it was his turn to do things to me. He went down on me for so long that I orgasmed, then he fingered me to a few more orgasms. He stretched on a condom and entered me, missionary for just a moment and then around to hands and knees behind me, then laying down completely on my back. He complimented how I felt while pushing for orgasm after orgasm (which was ridiculously easy after going down on me for so long).
We became a sweaty mess who both claimed that we needed a nap after we were finally done. But I had places to go, so I cleaned up and left him…
…Onto the dungeon.
Where after a negotiation, I had two people co top me, with no genital touching (breasts were fine), no penetration, no marks, no blood or needle play, but name calling and lighter impact were fine…unless I orgasm. That last part was from an off hand comment that I can take more from an orgasm. (Honestly, I didn’t think I would orgasm while there because of the no penetration rule – I didn’t take into account how my body was already sensitive from the orgasms before I arrived at the dungeon.)
As the man came in with his toy bag, she threw in that piece of information, and he asked if I wanted a hitachi. I said maybe, and that I would think on it. So when the man slapped at my vulva and got the rhythm that I could orgasm even without penetration, it was because I was already primed for pleasure from earlier in the day. He was downright gleeful when he denied me an orgasm that way and I so badly wanted it that I was ready to cry for one. The day had made my body so ridiculously ready to climax.
I ended up agreeing to a hitachi. He placed the wand against my wet fabric and the loud buzzing was no match for my moans as the toy so quickly overwhelmed my body and granted me the orgasm that I wanted. He discovered that I could multiple, with one orgasm crashing in on another. The vibrations of a wand are the closest I ever get to coloring, and yet I either arch to press myself further against or squirm to get away from it – he was having none of shifting away and the toy throbbed all the more harder against my lips. I became very loud in volume when orgasm after orgasm was forced on me, with some impact occasionally thrown in, which provided a short but painful break to breathe but not lessening my volume as I groaned when contact was made. There could have been a room full of people, and so caught up in receiving either pleasure or pain, I could’ve cared less.
It was during this point that he ordered me to look at her and thank her for my next orgasm, and even she offered a protest that she didn’t think I could do it. I did try but ended up looking at her right when it finished, thanking her at the same time.
Afterwards, we all stayed where we were for a bit while I drifted back to reality and got dressed. Then we went into the kitchen area and visited with other people. He looked across the table from me after some time passed and said that he wanted to play again.
So off we went, with the Hitachi and his hands and his words, where I orgasmed until the dungeon closed. Fortunately, he is the one who closes up so I didn’t feel pressured to run out the door – he even walked me to my vehicle.
Twelve hours of orgasms, where one moment set the pace and the path for so many more to be enjoyed over and over again in different ways. I never would have believed my body was so capable of sustaining that many in one day.
To read the negotiation and beginning play, click here.
To read about more details during orgasming with these awesome two, click here.
*Continued from here…
“I don’t care if she’s ready, I only care if you are,” he told the woman who was co topping me. He had discussed his plan to hit my thighs with a flexible bamboo stick and she would slap at my lips to a rhythm. I felt the ready question he asked previously was directed at me and I offered no protest, so when she agreed she was, they began.
It was a bit of humor in the scene, but I found myself intensely aware of the rhythms across one thigh, the slap in between my legs, and then the accompanying stings across the other thigh. He beat once, she slapped once, he echoed in with once again. He beat twice, she slapped twice, twice on the other thigh. This pattern was maddeningly to me, it was also very centering at I was not aware of my noises, any potential audience, my breathing, the impact – no, only the rhythm. It was becoming very aware of my present in such an odd way.
Eventually, he questioned the use of a Hitachi and I consented; I so badly wanted an orgasm after being denied one already.
When he placed the wand against my thin lace fabric, I squirmed- rather it was into or away from the sensation I can’t say.
The woman held my wrists and her soft lips grazed my nipple, her mouth gently sucked. Again, I felt grateful to be playing with both of these individuals and thought it was so fucking sexy.
I became very loud in volume when orgasm after orgasm was forced on me, with some impact occasionally thrown in – giving me a break to breathe but not cutting down any of my moans.
At one point he ordered me to look at her and thank her for my next orgasm, and even she offered a protest that she didn’t think I could do it. She stood behind my head and gripped my now sweaty hands in both of hers, I arched back a bit to look up into her face as she looked down, her hair cascading down either side. A further awareness that I was playing with a female – a rarity, and also that I would try to look at her while I was orgasming.
He placed the wand against my wet fabric and the buzzing so quickly overwhelmed my body. I shut my eyes, snapped them open, looked into her lovely eyes, shut, open, tried to keep them open, shut them, shuddered against the wand as I groaned through the build up and looked at her right when it finished, thanking her at the same time.
She praised me for trying so hard, stroked my sweaty hair as he stopped the wand and put it to the side. She offered to go get me water and he moved alongside where I laid, caressed my reddened thighs softly. He expressed that I wasn’t the wimp that I think I am.
They talked about everyday things as I sat comfortably listening and drinking my water, unhurried to get dressed or move. They welcomed anything that I had to say and listened respectful – I didn’t feel like an outsider even though I didn’t know them and they were already good friends.
Overall, it was an incredible experience and one that I would eagerly do again.
**There are five more concepts to this scene overall, as this was just a focus on the orgasm portion of it, although the next one is 12 hours of orgasms, maybe I should have had that be Masturbation Monday material.