Jan 122018
 

It began with laying in the middle of the bed, putting on a blindfold. The vast majority of our scenes begin with such a start.

I was caned on the thighs and butt for much longer than normal, rhythmic to the songs to help  lull a quiet mind as it is hypnotic. His fists were next; there is something about knuckles sinking deep into muscles that feels amazing even as it hurts. Punched primarily on thighs, my body jerked with the impact, pressed more fully into the bed. Next, he instructed me to roll over so he could cane nipples – not something that we’ve done much of. The front side of my body was warm from being against the mattress, my backside heated from sting and impact; perhaps it was the warmth that allowed my nipples to handle it much better than I would have imagined. The stinging rod came down and set the already sensitive nubs further alive, more responsive, created a triangle of sensation from nipple to tense low and make me wet.

Rope was sensually strung and rubbed over skin: the inside of my wrists, thighs parted to welcome the twisted fibers, between lips where those same fibers felt rougher amid such sensitivity, breasts and of course the overly receptive nipples. He was unhurried, deliberate in the trail that the rope would follow, created paths that awakened my entire body to touch – not just the more focused upon areas. As wrists were tied, he directed whichever attached hand to grip his cock, and wrapped the rope while receiving treatment from my palm and fingers. I felt his desire growing, a brief interruption as one hand was tied up before the other hand was guided to continue such explorations.

Legs were folded ankle to back of thigh, pressed painfully together tightly in rope, before pulled wide apart at the knees and tied where I felt exposed. The room fan more fully showcased how parted my lips were as the breeze in the room touched wet pink places. A Doxy wand was tied in and barred the breeze’s access between my thighs, pressed at my entrance, began on a low rumble. Eventually, he slowly increased speed as he played with my body with caressing fingertips and his gifted mouth.

“How many orgasms?”

I was unsure, took a guess of three.

“Not enough.” He pressed the wand even harder against my wetness, increased the vibrations until I felt far too overstimulated, thighs tensed and made the rope more painful around. He replaced the scream in my mouth with his cock, sound vibrations reverberated along his shaft through another orgasm before allowing me to breathe.

His mouth was attentive to my nipples, those torturous pinpoints of pleasure throughout my orgasmic torment of the wand.

I begged him to fuck me; he teased me that something else would be inside of me; used my mouth instead, again through another orgasm.

Mercilessly, the wand throbbed between my legs. I begged for it to stop, for him to be inside of me. Again, I received a substitute as he inserted an anal plug – the edge touching the wand and reverberating the vibrations throughout the plug.

Begged again. This time the wand was stopped and rope was casually removed between my thighs holding the toy as his hot mouth slanted down and tongue tasted my orgasms, his fingers occasionally joining in to brush against the sides of my wet lips or delving into my depths.

Already overworked with sensations, his mouth was divine torture. I tensed against his lips, would have grinded myself more fully into his face except he was still unhurriedly untying my thighs. A brief respite as the rope was removed far too quickly to give a true break in passion.

Still, I begged him to fuck me.  He denied me yet again, this time a vibrator was inserted deeply into my drenched depths, slammed in and out. I arched, having full access to my body again, almost came off the bed as I came in sharp waves of pleasure.

I didn’t know how much more I could take, begged he take me instead. He commented on all my begging, encouraged me to let him know how badly I wanted him. When he heard enough, my hands finally felt the purchase of his shoulders, his hips cushioned between my thighs, the head of his cock pressed through the initial resistance of my entrance before pushing down into my body.

Unlike his more slow teasing and taunting up to this point, he kept up a maddening quick pace with sex, rammed almost painfully against my walls, made me come all the more harder from the impact, changed the positions after every couple of orgasms he took from me. Once, when I was rolled over on all fours with knees on the edge of the bed, he grabbed the Doxy wand as he was thrusting in and out and pressed it against the anal plug; my body tensed with the additional sensation and pushed against him and the wand. As he rocked in and out, I felt the plug moving with his hips and cock. I clenched around him in my own orgasms, felt him finally find his own release.

Sweaty, panting, exhausted, I crumpled onto the mattress and he chuckled as he snuggled around my prone form.

Though that led to more caressing, more playing, as my responsiveness tempted him to continue. I asked for his fingers to be shoved in and stretch, wanted to feel more sore in my cunt, screamed through an orgasm that he granted. He lifted my legs, curled them up to gain access to the back of my thighs and bottom to punch, eventually getting tired and moved to his forearms making contact instead of fists, occasionally the impact touched my soaked lips and the plug, created further tension that eventually led to another orgasm.

Tempted by my reactions, again we had so much sex that this time I begged in and out of pleasurable waves of consciousness. Begged to stop, begged not to stop, screamed yes, screamed no. He pounded in and out of my confused pleas until he found his own orgasm.

Snuggled for the second time, his fingers lazily grazed against my skin, made their way between my legs. “You’re so swollen,” he murmured against my ear, which apparently meant I needed to be treated to my vibrator. An orgasm tore through my body and I was unaware of my reaction as I launched away from him, grabbed the vibrator out and threw it on the floor far away from me. He laughed at my unexpected defense instinct against overwhelming pleasure and called a truce.

Exhausted, prompted to clean myself up, he then tucked me in between the sheets and left me alone to pass out into a deep and well deserved sleep the rest of the night.

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Dec 212017
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI am very orgasm hungry, I think it rules my drive more than the wanting sex (unless I’m ovulating, that trumps anything).

I am incredibly lucky that I orgasm easily, it lends itself to how greedy, how needy I can be. The first orgasm is the longest work and hardest to maintain – it is also often the weakest. All it does is feed my craving for another. My body is tenser, tighter, wanting and willing to work towards the second orgasm – which is always just on the horizon, easy to view and not hard to slide into.

The catch, of course, is that the second orgasm makes it easier to come harder and faster. And the third makes me far more greedy than the first. On and on my body goes, wanting the next – it’s not always that the subsequent ones are harder nor even better, fireworks do not suddenly explode in orgasm splendor; but the more that I orgasm, the easier it is for me to reach another one. When every nerve is sensitive and feels pleasurable, it’s a challenge to not pursue that pleasure.

It’s also why I can orgasm in such a multiple of ways: after the first one through what almost always needs to be obtained by penetration, other avenues to orgasm open up. I have come from just rubbing between my lips, from anal stimulation (or sex), from nipples, from pain like spanking, or slapping, from fist thrumming against my butt or thighs, the knuckles sinking through muscles and hitting what feels like bone.

I have orgasmed from soft sensations like feathers or sheets, from cold sensations like fans or even cold porcelain, from heat like melted wax or a hot breath pressed just right against my hot skin and brushing its way past more sensitive zones.

Teeth, something I normally don’t appreciate on myself, feel amazing as they sink into my skin at the climax. I become rougher in my pursuit of pleasure, more aggressive, my hips thrust up, I squeeze the person involved, my nails or teeth dig in to the point of marking. I beg, I plead, I become desperate to hit the next wave that is always just a sensation away. I sweat, I moan, I grunt – there is nothing sexy or coy about me at this point, I looked wrecked, flushed red and blotchy in places since I am curse to be pale – even my skin tells the tale of my madness.

I can have a moment’s respite, a person can promise to not make me come anymore, but a glance of their fingertips, a breath washing across my skin, and I am primed and pumped for the smallest touch to make me melt and meld all over again. It’s why I can seem tireless one minute in the chase of an orgasm and asleep after a moment’s respite.

I can also have after quakes of orgasms, my muscles inside so clenched that they rub against themselves  and create the friction needed, or suddenly the tension releases and the relaxation of the muscles inside make me shiver in a tiny pleasurable way.

But here is why I think that I am more orgasm driven than sex driven – I don’t need sex to be in this condition. Fingers, a toy, a mouth will work just as well – and even that may just be for the first or second only as I need the penetration.

Also, I can go for months without sex or masturbation and not be bothered in the slightest, as shown during my time as a military spouse separated from my husband – it didn’t mean that I didn’t miss him or miss pleasure, but I didn’t need it, and if he wasn’t around, didn’t feel the urge to pursue an orgasm (only exception was again when I was ovulating strongly, then I masturbated for the day or two).

This works well if, in my relationship dynamic, a boundary is no sex – as was the case with Mimir and is with The Wanderer.

There is a negative to this, however; I am more vulnerable, more agreeable, less verbal, less rational and more easily manipulated after multiple orgasms. It’s why orgasm play – where the goal is multiple orgasms – tends to be something I won’t engage in unless I trust the person. I also appreciate how eventually my partner(s) stop – whether they are tired or they deem I am, as with more orgasms I am less likely to be aware that I need a break, that my body is sore or dehydrated.

Apr 172017
 

While my ex-husband and I were hitting the nail in the coffin of our marriage and making a messy muck of it, we would often use the term “now or never”.

I started it, I think. I started it on the drive out to him, where I told him it was his girlfriend or me. He had to make a decision immediately as I didn’t want to waste any more time driving. Perhaps it makes sense why I issued that ultimatum, but it was still a manipulation ploy.

I also used it when I was stuck in my hometown with nowhere else to go after that long drive. I used it under the context that kids would be in school, I would get a job because I had to, and I needed to know where to settle. “Make up your mind now, you have about two weeks, and then we’re stuck in this town,” I told him desperately. It was the truth, but the truth can still manipulate. I was hoping to press him to get what I wanted.

We reconciled a few times in the Spring, if reconciling meant fucking up each other’s minds and occasionally fucking. So many tears, so much confusion. We would lash out and hurt each other just to keep some distance, come back and apologize between sobs and blame. We didn’t see each other all that frequently, and the few times were in secret.

Clearly, while I spoke the truth, it wasn’t now or never, as I kept pushing back the timeline. Over the summer, surely I could change schools, find another job. Yes, it was even more complicated, but wasn’t it worth it? We really committed over the summer, broke up with our partners and attempted to work towards us. If committed meant throwing ultimatums, mostly from him this time: give up the blog, only write fiction, delete the past lovers, move to me, give me writing assignments, work on your issues – I don’t have any; now or never.

I tried to compromise the most I was ever willing to over the summer, being so heartbroken and lost in life by then that I didn’t know who I was anymore. I wasn’t willing to give up the blog but compromised what it looked like, catered to all the other whims. After just a short time, he changed his mind when I complained that I was only one changing. Summer didn’t see us together for more than a few days without changing our minds, but it was a few days scattered once a week for the duration of it.

We had sucked the vitality of our love in our attempt to keep our relationship together; we were dry and empty. We should’ve known better, but fall saw us trying again. Now or never, I again stated, but this time he was compromising location – after all, by this point I was settled into the school year and just couldn’t do that to my family. We still worked out the terms of our reconciliation, but we were shaky.

This reconciliation lasted the longest – a whole two weeks. He procrastinated finding a job, I was helping him. Now or never, I echoed that so much, so desperate for what I felt was the last time. He visited me for a weekend, I visited him for a weekend.

I think that last weekend was truly our now or never. I was visiting my daughter, making her a priority, and plans in trying to work around her social calendar kept interfering with my ex and myself. Or perhaps our daughters’ schedule weren’t working out the way we planned – but the passion was gone, the desperation – from both of us. I think we both felt it. We were well and truly tired.

As I drove away from visiting him, he called me and stated that he didn’t think he wanted to continue. It wasn’t a new statement by any means, the difference being that I also didn’t want to continue.  We wished each other the best, felt that we would support each other if needed but space was needed far more for the time being, and went our separate ways.

A month later, my baby sister died. I called him hysterical and he seemed amazingly sympathetic, but while I was out there dealing with her body and possessions he became callous and self-centered. I couldn’t understand how he could make demands and requests of me in my grief – though to be fair at any other time I would have responded at least neutrally on what he asked of me. But it wasn’t any other time, it was a tragic heart-ripping moment.

I needed him now far more than I ever had before and realized it would never happen – not even as a friend.

Oct 092016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallAfter so many orgasms and a pain/pleasure predicament, he told me nonchalantly, “go get the brush.” Apparently our new thing is I fetch what he wants me to. I groaned, turned around, probably rolled my eyes but was smart enough to turn away from him first, and went to get the brush like the obedient person I am…at least try to be…whatever, it’s a fleeting thing.

I handed him the brush and he pulled me over his knee where he sat on a bench at the end of the bed, my hands clenched the end of the mattress. The first few strokes were soft and I moaned more in pleasure at the contact, but they quickly became harder and I balked at the sting. I squirmed enough that my tiptoes hit the floor and I pushed off for all I was worth, instinctively trying to escape the sting.

Mentally I cringed at how wimpy I was at sting. Couldn’t handle even a little bit, I inwardly criticized, and tried to will my body to be still and take it – because I could.

Still, in a power dynamic of this nature: brain versus body, my body overrides.

“Oh no you don’t,” he insisted as he grabbed at my hip and wrapped a leg around my now futile legs.

Helpless again, and it was needed as I could handle the assault on my rear end, even though I cried out such nonsense as “ow” and “it hurts” – which it did, but I was being terribly dramatic.

Right when it began to feel good, it began to really sting again. He swatted constantly and consistently at a fast pace and somehow even with my legs rendered useless I managed to twist and turn around his body, wedging myself between him and the bed for protection.

He simply laughed at me and wrapped a solid arm around my waist, continuing his sting assault as he shifted his own body off of the the bench.

I clung to the bench as if it would save my overly dramatic life, pressed my breasts and belly and thighs into it, willing myself to meld into hiding.

He shifted tactics and used thuds – it was probably from his palms but it felt like his fists. My body tensed at the onslaught and I began to clench. More tension and suddenly my body released and surrendered at the pain, creating a pleasurable orgasm in the wake.

His fingers soon plundered into my wet depths and granted multiple orgasms; not kind in the pressure or hardness of movement, and another tensioned orgasm after orgasm happened.

I was sweaty and stuck to the bench but he positioned me up on hands and knees and swatted at my reddened cheeks, thighs, and vulva. I came from his drenched hand consistently making contact with my lips.

Another finger fucking and then I sank into the bench, hugging it for comfort and gasping for breath. He settled onto the end of the bed beside me and piled rope on my body.

In my confused, overwrought state if felt like a blanket at first, but a strand slipped between my thighs and rested between my lips teasingly.

As he slid and caressed with more rope around my reddened ass, I felt the strands so much more prominently. He unhurriedly coiled it, stretching out the tensioned reverberations and sliding of the rope on skin. 1IMG_2330

*As a special treat, if you want to read his perspective and to see who The Wanderer is, click here


Aug 042016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallMy husband and I are still separated by distance as we attempt to repair our relationship, but we see each other on weekends, with phone and video calls getting us through the rest of the week. I requested he make me a video of himself masturbating so I could watch it during horny or missing moments.

He gave me a live show from the shower, his body soapy and slick as he ran his hands up and down over his skin, and stroked himself. My fingers drifted to the passion his vision created; I made sure he could see exactly what he inspired. We masturbated together.

When we were done, I again reminded about wanting the video. He told me he would (and did later that night), but that I needed to also make him a video by the next day.

We are already getting right back into the power dynamics, apparently, as he knew that making a video would be a challenge for me, so warned that there was a consequence if I didn’t. Unfortunately, not because I hesitated but just because I was busy that following day – I forgot.

I thought it was just a live show I put on for him as punishment, I was wrong…

He told me to lay a few out of my sexier (what he considered sexy, not me, learning from last time) clothes, take a picture, and he would decide what I was wearing. This was my first clue that he would be completely in charge and I was to have no say. Next, I did the same of my lingerie including stockings, then of the Doxy wand’s attachments. When he received all the pictures, he gave me a detailed list of items to have readily available and what to wear: lingerie under clothes, stockings, vibrator, wand with attachment.

I already strongly disliked this punishment, already it was more effort than just sending a video would have been.

When he called me that night, he told me to pick out music and strip dance, but to keep on the lingerie. Ugh, I didn’t want to move to music while he watched live, I couldn’t hit delete if I looked like an idiot. I’m sure I looked like a deer in the headlights as I slowly peeled out of the outer clothes.

He wasn’t messing around with the whole punishment concept either, as the next order was to play with myself – already not an easy task with an audience. He was specific with giving him a teasing view of my breasts as I caressed them still wearing the silky lingerie, of lifting the bottom of the fabric with one hand as my other hand’s fingers teased and felt my wetness despite my embarrassment. “Insert one finger,” he would occasionally stroke himself so I was aware of his reaction to his show, “add another one.” I was a puppet, his to command. “Go deeper.” “Watch my fingers,” and he would curl and stroke the air the way he wanted my fingers to move deep in my own body. The man sure did know how I liked to be fingered, and I begged to cum, though he stopped me before I reached climax.

“Edge yourself with the wand,” I hesitated and he gave me a look that brook no argument. He wanted me to lay it on the bed and straddle it, in essence riding it. The attachment was already on and I slid my body on top of it. He wanted me to start on low and the vibrations felt so amazing to my already worked body. He told me to pinch at my nipples as I felt the pleasure between my thighs, and slowly he added another speed, eventually bringing the wand to high, commanding me to with hold from an orgasm – I pleaded with him to change his mind and give me some release. When I became far too overwhelmed and couldn’t resist, I jumped off of it, my chest heaving from the effort, beginning to sweat from the tension. He praised me, had me slowly and gently caress my body through the silky lingerie, and then edge myself again with the wand. I must’ve given him a look, because he followed through with a threat, and I begrudgingly straddled the toy again, immediately asking for an orgasm. Much quicker this time, I jumped off it, an orgasm threatening my overworked body.

My fingers would eventually be called on to bring me to an orgasm, again he set the tempo and the motion of how I was finger myself, promising that I would finally find my pleasure. I was to lay on the bed, my stocking legs spread to give him the best view, leaning up on one elbow so he could view my face. “Harder,” he would urge, “really fuck yourself,” and, “you can go deeper… you won’t be allowed to cum unless you really give it your best effort,” finally followed by the order, “cum”. Oh how my body and mind remember that word uttered from his mouth. The sound traveled across miles, from one receiver to another, and hit my body like thunder. I squirted, my fingers and wrist coated from the force, the bottom of my lingerie and the bed catching the drops of the tensioned storm.

Masturbation Monday Week 101I was gasping for breaths, great heaving intakes as if I had run the vast distance to him.

But this wasn’t the finale I thought it was, oh no! He had already pushed so many comfort zones in this punishment, already assured us both that I wouldn’t forget so easily next time, but he wasn’t done yet with me.

 

Jun 192016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI had Mr. Texas lie down in the center of the bed in a dim light. I told him I would do unsexy things for a bit, as I requested first one limb and then another to stretch in a certain direction while I adjusted some velcro and nylon cuffs. Once I felt like there was a certain amount of tension, I tied his ankles and wrists stretched to the four separate corners of the bed.

I didn’t blindfold him right away. Being tied alone was a huge step for him and I kept the mantra of baby steps in my head the entire night. I straddled his body, allowed my lower lips to nestle around his already hard cock, felt his hips try and fail to rise up to push himself against my warmth. I smiled down at his face. I leaned forward and kissed his lips on his mouth, softly, then traced the tip of my tongue against the frame of his lips as his own tongue tried in vain to follow suit. I leaned up and his tongue still sought mine, but he couldn’t lean up any further. I winked at his sigh of frustration.

He was beginning to get the point, understanding the limits of his bondage. I crawled further up and raised my nipple to his mouth, allowing the pink bud to slip into his mouth and he softly suckled before I pulled up out of his reach. I swayed the hardened nipple just out of his reach, let him watch how close he was to having what he so desired.

He groaned in frustration. If there is one thing Mr. Texas loves and does not stop touching, it’s my breasts.

Beside his body, I had a long length of silk fabric and I glided it slowly across his body, starting at his knee, up the inside of his thigh, threading it under his hard shaft, up his chest and across his nipple, and across the front of his neck. It was the soft, colder sensation that I was starting with. Baby steps.  

I gripped the fabric on either side of his neck and just left a bit of tension against his throat. I leaned forward to kiss him but hovered my lips just above his mouth. He leaned forward and increased the pressure against his throat to get his kiss.

Good, he didn’t mind a bit more pressure on his throat. I noted about how much he seemed comfortable with- was willing to do to himself, before rewarding him with a passionate kiss. I slid the fabric across his eyes, such a gentle caress to shut them with the silk.

“I’m going to blindfold you now. I’ll start the knot and adjust it to the side of your head and then re position it once we decide when it’s good,” I whispered down to him.

“Oh gosh,” he murmured when the fabric tightened around his eyes. I tied a knot, asked about the pressure, and then adjusted the knot more out of the way.

I gifted him with a nipple for handling the blindfold so well, letting my hardened bud settle against his lips so he could feel it before allowing his own sucking mouth to envelop around it. I let out a little sigh so he could hear my pleasure since he could no longer see it.

Then I began to kiss sporadic areas of his body so that he was surprised from one moment to the next where my mouth would be. I began with soft kisses but after a long while the kisses turned more into sucking nibbles. He would gasp from one moment to the next, strained to raise his hips every time my mouth would crash upon his erection.

I grabbed an ice cube from beside the nightstand and surprised his hot skin with the cold wet sensation. The next while was awakening his skin to the coldness or the contrast of an ice cube and a hot mouth when the ice cube melted before I went for another. His groans expressed how much he liked the sensation.

Baby steps.

I began scratching my nails into this skin, softly but then raked trails as my mouth alternated between hot and cold. I would only dig in when I was in a zone that he found pleasurable. “This pleasure with pain is completely new to me,” he muttered at one point, and I acknowledged that it was my intent to only hurt him when it also felt good.

Once I felt that my nails sufficiently warmed him, I straddled his hips and lowered so that just the tip entered me. I positioned myself in a squat position so that my body wouldn’t give away my intent and pulsed up and down on his tip for a few minutes, listened to his begging body cry out to be fully inside of me. I softly rolled the Wartenberg Wheel across his chest. He knew what it was already – I had shown him what was in my rope bag before tonight. I slammed my body down around his hardness while at the same time taking the wheel and letting the tines sink into his skin the same way my hips sank onto his own.

He arched as much as he could, his groan one of both satisfaction and pain. I raised myself up again and softly bounced up and down upon him, only going halfway down his shaft as the wheel explored parts of his skin with half the intensity as the one painful roll. When he began to buckle as much as he could to seek out more, I rode him, grinding myself down and around as the wheel began to leave red streaks across his chest and thighs.

I stopped before he found his release and his noise of protest made me laugh out loud. I wrapped my mouth around his cock and sucked my own taste off of his skin while I explored his thighs with the wheel more thoroughly. Occasionally I would drop the sharp wheel and softly caress the trails I left with gossamer fingertips.

“Are you okay with a bit more intense sensations?” I asked him.

“Sure.” He did hesitate for a moment, as if mulling it over, but he was enjoying himself so far as I could tell.

I made sure he heard the lighter and I heard his groan, yet he didn’t protest. I kissed his thighs as I hovered the candle above him and waited for the wax to melt. He jerked with the first splatter and complained, but didn’t ask me to stop. I let one more drop cover the inside of his thigh and after listening and watching to his reaction, I decided to move to the front and outside of his thigh.  He didn’t like it, though he didn’t ask me to stop. I blew out the candle and praised him for trying it; I understand not everyone enjoys everything.

I straddled his body and softly lowered myself so he sunk into my depth, leaned up for a kiss as I removed the blindfold. Again I ran the silk fabric across his body as I gently gripped him inside my own body. I wanted to end with the softness and his moans showed his appreciation.

I lifted off of him and kissed my way up to his arms and wrists, sucking his fingers as I slowly peeled the velcro away from each wrist. I let him touch me, see me, hold me as I rode him towards his own release.

Oct 082015
 

Written for an inspired competition from Sex Blog of Sorts.

*Contains violent acts and what could be considered consensual non consent

She came to me all dressed up, flawless hair and makeup, as if she knew that the destruction of such well kept looks would tempt me even further. Her lipstick matched her nail polish. Almost cocky, she said it was the color “O”, as if it was a demand that she would be getting.

My friend walked into the room at that moment and grabbed her arms, forcing them behind her. Coming from behind, her eyes widened in shock and her mouth made a little O as she cried out. I could smell her fear and hear her panicked breathing as I strode across the room. I thought perhaps she would cry out, but she seemed to revive herself and stared at me instead.

It was all the permission I needed. While my friend tied her wrists behind her, making her proud chest stand out, I took out my knife and made she that her wide eyes focused on it before pressing the blade to her throat, drawing it along her collarbone, and slashing down the center of her dress. She wore no bra, and steel traced the pale globes and trailed down her stomach.

I wondered if she breathed, as her body was as still and silent as the room.

My friend kneed her behind the knees and she kneeled down in front of me, her beautiful lipstick still perfectly in place. I handed my friend the knife so he could strip away her dress from off her arms and took the pad of my thumb and smeared the color across her face, into a grotesque clownish smile.

I went to take off my belt and she must’ve thought that my pants would follow, as she licked those stained lips, whether in anticipation or nervousness I could have cared less. I would have been happy with either reaction. I moved behind her, my friend moved in front, and it was his fly that came down. She turned her head, but he grabbed her chin and pressed into her jaw, telling her to open.

My belt came down upon her back. She jerked, her body instinctively moved away from the impact and her mouth came around my friend’s erection. I warned her to be good to him, as I eased the force of the belt upon her skin and kept a rhythm that would keep her warm but not struggling. When he pulled out of her mouth, I crisscrossed her creamy hue with harsh red shades. Her body tried to move away from me, her back arched and her knees crawled a few paces.

She still said nothing.

I yanked her hair, forced her back into her kneeling position, as he slapped her breasts and twisted her nipples painfully. She cried out, the cry sounding more like the “O” she wanted than a plea. His hands explored and pushed her against me, offering no solace for the direction that she had chosen.

I pulled her up and pulled the material out of my pocket, using it as a gag. I smiled at the picture of the colored lips on either side of the material. Once tied off, my hand went to her tied hands and she squeezed. It was all the encouragement I needed.

My friend kicked at her calves until she spread her legs and our hands took turns striking her pale supple flesh, his still on her breasts and mine on her thighs and ass. With her legs spread, I could smell her arousal; see the faint wet line through her fabric. I bit into her ass with need and she tensed under my teeth, her groan mingled with the slaps still being inflicted in front of her.

I moved around in front of her and he began untying her wrists, as if we both knew that she needed to lie down. I yanked down her undergarment, fully revealing her. As I straightened, I relished seeing the mascara trailed tears mingling with smeared lipstick and gag.

She was beautiful.

I reached down and propelled the palm of my hand to connect with her lower lips. She moaned and her eyes shut, and I smacked her again and again until my own hand stung in her juices.

She was so wet.

We moved her to the bed and her gaze was frantic with need, with fear of the unknown. Her body glistened with sweat and painted in reddened marks. My knees parted her thighs and I dragged my fingernails against her red welted lower lips, the color almost perfectly matching her lipstick and nails, pressed my fingers deep against her plump folds, pressed the pain deeper. She screamed and my friend untied her gag as if to hear the musical sound of it, bent down and kissed her salty stained tears.

I wondered if her mouth tasted delightful and alarmed; she smelled it.

My fingers slipped inside her depths as he fucked her face, our movements eventually synching into the same pattern, his relentless hips and guttural groan spurring my fingers on, my other hand raining down on her thigh. She drenched my fingers when she choked, whimpered and mewled.

As he left her, I flipped her over and entered her. She begged, pleaded, cried for her lipstick’s namesake. I pounded into her, bit into her side. He flogged her back as I tugged my mouth away. I ordered her to tighten, to come around me, and she obediently did as she was told.

As I pulled away and she crawled into my friend’s lap, I saw the beginnings of her bruises. I knew she would be pleased with the results, would marvel over them for days.

She had asked for this brutality and beast that I was, I was more than happy to give it to her.

Apr 172015
 

O is for orgasm denial, for the A-Z Challenge, something that seriously turns me all the while frustrating me at the same time.

**I haven’t had any of these experiences, these are four separate dreams or fantasies that I’ve had this last week.

I had a fantasy where I am suspended (face down) up in the air, my weight making the ropes painfully dig into my body, you put your cock right in front of my mouth, slowly eased it passed my eager lips and then pulled it just out of reach. I whined, I wanted so badly to pull it back into my mouth, to taste you, to slide my tongue against your hardness and feel your plump head against the back of my throat. I cannot move at all towards you suspended as I am. You ease it past my lips again and tell me if I want it bad enough then I had better suck to pull my body closer to you.

….I try.

The rope between my lips like this picture, not the standing position http://torturepussy.net/media/images/13-12/crotch-rope-is-ripping-her-pussy-apart.jpg

https://www.pinterest.com/ pin/466263367645252278/

On a bed, I am on my knees, legs parted and tied, with my wrists spread out bound to the headboard; a rope goes around my waist and pulls through my lips and on other side of my clit, you tug repeatedly on the rope. Sometimes as you pull you ask me lovingly to come closer to you, the painful pull of rope making my hips rise, though with my wrists and legs bound I can only arch like a rope marionette. It hurts.

…..You’re aware.

In the middle of a room, standing up on tip toes, you tied me with wrists high above my head  and asked demanded me to have sex with you. I’m so wet you could just glide right in. You don’t. You’re so big almost any position could be manageable, but instead you tease your tip right at my entrance and it doesn’t matter how much I strain against my wrists and rope, shuffle on tiptoes to try to position closer to you, bend my knees and legs to adjust, I simply cannot lower myself enough with the rope; I am not getting you any further in.

….You mock my attempts.

For some reason there is an audience of men sitting down on the floor in front of us as you suspend and tease my body. I am desperate to have you inside of me already. You tie and lower me with legs spread at cock level, face up, and since I am unhindered, my head drops back and sees the faces of the men watching us. You coax my body to come close to orgasm and then deny the sensation. My thighs and breasts are abused with impact and I am edged close to orgasm again. I beg you to take me, uncaring now that there are others present. My neck becomes strained with holding my head to not see them and to try to watch what you are doing. You take some silk and wrap it around my eyes for a blindfold, wrap again to support my head and tie the material to the suspension point so that I can relax my neck – almost more comfortable if it weren’t for the rope holding the rest of my body up in the air. I beg again for you fuck me, made even more keen once I can no longer see you. I hear your voice far off, you offer me…

…to the men watching.

 Posted by at 8:52 am
Mar 042015
 

It was in the middle of the night that he woke me up. He had just returned from an educational on biting, and a play party afterwards.

“Want me to show you what I learned?” he started into waking me, already rolling my body onto my back and nestled himself between my legs. I felt his breath on my neck.

“No,” I sleepily mumbled, “your lover doesn’t like biting.”

“You might,” I could hear the smile in his voice, and smiled in response, despite it being so dark in the room he couldn’t see. His lips gently pressed down on my skin, and I felt the hard enamel before the scrape of teeth on the side of my neck.

“No,” I pushed gently on his chest. Undaunted, he leaned up and kissed me, his fingers roamed and he inserted first one, and then two fingers inside of me. It wasn’t long before I was moaning, and thrusted my hips up to encourage an orgasm. I felt the tension build, started to gasp for breath, and…and he withdrew his fingers right when I clenched on them. “No!” I wailed, knowing full well he intentionally edged me, the timing was too perfect. I gripped his shoulders, kissed him, wrapped my legs around him and arched up, felt his hardness. “I’m trying not to hurt you,” I whispered, as normally I kick out when he denies me an orgasm, but I was trying to temper that urge. “Please let me cum,” I asked.

And his fingers dived back inside, only to tempt me to the peak and …and deny me again. “I want to see your face as I do this to you,” he said, turning on the bedside light to a low glow. The third time, he used his mouth and teeth roughly on my nipples as he fingered me, teased me verbally how he could feel my tension, how he wasn’t done toying with me and had no intention of giving me an orgasm. When he stopped before I could get pleased, I did kick out. He was already out of harm’s way. The fourth time, my foot connected to his thigh, but his large hands clamped down on my ankles and held me fast to the bed until I could reign in my frustration better.

Five seemed a ludricous number to me to deny me, to take me to the edge of pleasure and pull back. I thought he agreed with me, as he entered me, slowly eased his throbbing member in until fully embedded.

Apparently, he didn’t agree with me, as when he withdrew completely, he was already standing on the side of the bed before I had to chance to process my denial. He grabbed my ankles again, they were already sore from the first time he clamped down on them, and spread them out, again entering my body fully, and thrusted in a rhythm and angle that was one of my favorites.

“Don’t cum,” he warned me and I looked up into his mischievous expression and tried so hard to not cum. He rubbed in such delicious ways, and the warm glow of tension thickened and spread, but still I tried to relax and not orgasm. “Cum,” he ordered, thrusted once, and then withdrew.

HOW                  COULD                HE?!

I had clenched down on him, my brain accepted the pleasure, but my body was left barren!

“I can’t believe you just did that,” I cried. He seemed to fight the urge to laugh. It was so cruel, to tell me to deny myself by that point, and then allow me to orgasm, only to be a mind game and not physically be able to climax.

He entered me, and I must’ve looked disgruntled (really, how could I not?), because he stated softly: “Don’t cum until I tell you to, but I won’t leave you until you do.” It was slightly comforting, slightly terrifying because I don’t think my body could’ve taken denying something I so desperately needed by that point. He didn’t make me wait long, that man knows my limits far better than I do  at times.

When I finally, FINALLY got the order to cum, my body released so much tension at the crest that I had no idea I was that tense for so long, and yet I still didn’t fully relax until he took me to another peak.

By that point, he rolled me onto my side and pounded into me roughly, keeping me on a long, extended orgasm that left me breathless, refused to let me down until he also joined me in pleasure and release.

 Kink of the Week is on begging, and that is a topic I seem to do an awful lot of.

 Posted by at 8:07 am
Jan 262015
 

Laying in bed, I rolled over and positioned myself to give him a blow job – a sure signal that I was in the mood and we were having sex. He didn’t complain.

After some time, I traveled up his body, leaving a trail of kisses behind me. I playfully bit his neck, kissed and sucked his sensitive zones there, and shifted to his mouth.

He smiled and turned away. “What makes you think you warrant a kiss?”

I smiled back playfully, my hands gripped the side of his face and I attempted to force his head still for a kiss.

Thwap!

I was suddenly on my back, forcefully thrown off of him and pinned down by a hand around my throat. Okay, so maybe we weren’t being playful.

“Who is in charge?”

“You,” I couldn’t help smiling. That firm voice was one that gets me excited and anticipating what’s to come.

“That’s right. I have another idea for your mouth,” he leaned back briefly to grab some lube and then positioned his cock at my mouth. He slowly inserted it and withdrew, once, twice, and then pushed back to the resistance of my throat. I opened wider, exhaled, opened my throat to try to accommodate more. I didn’t get much more, but some. “So good, you’re getting there,” he stated softly, his finger teased between my lips, plunged in and curled deliciously. I whimpered and arched, so ready to cum already. He stopped and looked at me. “No cumming,” he ordered.

I took a deep breath, nodded, tried to relax with his finger rather than tense against it. He rubbed in ways that I loved, but I kept my eyes opened and focused on his face and didn’t cum. He leaned down beside me, his hand patted and then smacked at my lips as he whispered in my ear, “you can cum when I kiss you. Really kiss you. Not when you force me to, not when my lips graze yours,” his mouth hovered over my lips, stirred from one corner to the other, lips so close that my tongue could easily touch – wanted to touch. He stopped smacking. “You can’t cum until I kiss you,” he repeated, still kept his mouth close to my own, the finger again inserted and rubbed, the palm brushed against sensitively stung skin. He coerced my body to squirt.

Damn!

“What did you just do?” he sounded disappointed. I was angry at him for forcing an orgasm that I had no control over.

“I came,” I all but wailed.

“Yes you did. What should I do now?”

“Kiss me?” I suggested.

“What are you going to do to be punished?”

I hated being asked to decide my own punishment. It wasn’t fair. Especially since he forced the orgasm. “Head?”

“You won’t like it,” he warned. I loved giving him head. “Understand? It’s a punishment,” he picked me up like a rag doll and flung me to the side of the bed, a hand in my hair with my head over the side before I could get my bearings. I opened my mouth to receive him and he thrusted in, deeply, not giving me time to adjust. Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden and I tried to take more of him, to relax around him. He withdrew and pushed right back in, hit the back and kept pushing patiently. My hand slapped at his thigh, I couldn’t breathe. When he withdrew, I coughed.

“No cumming,” he reminded me and pushed me into the center of the bed. He entered my body, and I took calming breaths, kept my eyes on him, tried not to cum. He positioned himself up to rub a place that is amazing to me. I struggled to relax.

“Please, let me cum,” I begged. I touched his face softly, my hands roamed his body and went back to his face, occasionally tried to pull him closer to my face. “Please kiss me.”

“Oh you can cum,” he said, “whenever you want. And if you keep putting your hands on my face to insist on a kiss, I will put hands on your face.” I withdrew my hands, kept them to his shoulders. With him fully in control, my brain stopped thinking and I just felt what was going on.

Then, he positioned pillows under my hips and the head rubbed up against the roof of my body. I tried, but this time to no avail. I tensed and arched and orgasmed, didn’t even try to hide something he could feel around him, and moaned. He let me calm down, increased the tempo until I almost came again…almost. He edged me four or five times, it felt easily like twenty times. I thought he was being extreme. He withdrew.

“And now what’s it to be?” He flipped me over, reached for some rope and tied my wrists to the bedpost, stretched me slanted across the bed. “Come on, decide. You came.”

“Anything, please let me cum,” my body trembled from all the edging, from the need for release.

“Should I beat you?” He hand spanked my ass, hard, not building up but already at the level that stung and kept that.

“Yes, please let me cum.” My ass already felt hot and red.

A blindfold was placed on my face. I heard him in the toy chest. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you decide your punishment-”

“Anything,” I panted, desperate.

“You can choose what’s in my left hand or my right. That’s all I’m going to give you.”

I had the choice but no clue what they were. Evil. Wicked. He’s left-handed; an instrument with more precision and force was easier with his left hand. “Right.”

“Okay,” he took a moment, and then his hand was back to spanking. “This isn’t it. This is your warm up.” I tried to remain still and not twist away from his hand. I have no idea if I was successful but suddenly his hand stopped and hot wax poured down the cheek that was already hot and sensitive.

I cried out, jerked, felt wax run towards my sex, froze. That was why he needed a moment and spanked me – for the wax to melt. He poured some more, and it burned against skin recently hit. It was a challenge to remain still; I was vocal about the pain, however.

“We’ll go up a little distance,” he said, and the wax splattered and pooled up my spine. Something cold touched the center of my back and I shuddered from the surprise. More hot wax rained around the cold object. “Stay still if you don’t want to burn yourself,” he warned. I realized that the shockingly cold object was the candle holder laying on the center of my back.

He was seriously testing my will tonight. Staying still was never my strong suit.

He took off the blindfold and I saw him untying my wrists. He picked up the candle and put it on the nightstand. “Come here,” he hand was in my hair as he dragged/motioned me to the headboard. I gripped the top, my breasts against the cool wood, and he entered and pounded into my body. The hand compelled my head to the side, and he kissed me with a crazy passion. When he stopped, I was breathless and already orgasming. The head of his penis crashed into my wall repeatedly, caused both pleasure and pain. I was going to feel it later, but my body welcomed it, I pushed against him as he pushed into me and a tempest dance of a harsh orgasm welled. My screams covered his own sounds of pleasure.

It was the roughest we had ever had sex, I thought.

After, my body unable to even move, my fingers too sore from gripping the headboard to release it, he eased out of me and gently pulled me away, onto the soft mattress and against his body. He curled me up tightly against him, my back on the bed, the top of my head tucked into his chest with his face securely keeping it there, his arms my anchor and blanket, my legs draped over his. He held me, kept me warm, praised me, loved me, cherished me until my trembling ceased and I drifted into a deep slumber.

I needed that.


Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 2:21 pm