May 242017
 

Mr. Texas needed me to engage in kink. It was obvious. I introduced him to it, gave him a taste that he became addicted to, and then withdrew. To be fair: I was withdrawing from life, not just kink.

He hadn’t had a bruise in a month from me, and it had been a few weeks since he had bruised me.

We laid in bed on our sides and kissed, the beginning dance of sex, when I pushed him onto his back and sunk my teeth into the center of one side of his chest. “Ow,” he cried surprised, but the tone was one of optimistic acceptance. After a minute of which I increased the pressure, he tapped softly twice – a physical sign he has always just naturally done when he is at his limit. I leaned up and smiled down at the indentures of my teeth, lowered to lick in the divots, traced my tongue as I savored the sharp intake of his breath. Next, I made a smaller circular mark slightly up from the last one, almost where chest rises to shoulder in the slight hollow. The smaller bite allowed my teeth to curl inward towards each other in a more true bite – he could take more pain in this particular area, a bit more movement. He held his breath, trying to sort through the pain, and then released it as he tapped. I didn’t stop, increased the bite pressure a bit more, and let go at the same time as he said, “yellow”. Soft kisses and tongue tracing covered this mark that almost had my back molars imprinted. Then I bit down under the first mark I made, less of a bite and more of a true sinking of pearly pressure deep into his chest muscle above his nipple. This would leave less of a bruise than it used to – his body becoming adjusted over time to biting, but it would still give me the sensitive chest zone that would feel a tap or a slap, even a pain when I oh-so-innocently pressed my head against his chest.

I did the same with the other side, though to a less extent in case I decided I wanted to play on that side a different day – I didn’t want to exhaust my entire playground where the pain wouldn’t allow me to play another day. Foresight and lessons learned.

Next was his thighs: he knew it and I knew it, but I trailed caresses and kisses down the center of his chest and stomach. I cupped his balls and gripped his hardened shaft as I slid my breasts to either side of his cock, dipped my mouth down and tasted his precum. My lips pressed against his head and slowly opened to suck his head into my libidinous mouth. He moaned in appreciation, pressed up as I swirled my tongue around the top, and groaned as I released him into the air. I gripped his thigh and bit down hard where his muscle flexed instinctively under my touch, hearing his cry and waiting for his tap before I released. I again drew his cock into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat, slowly in and slowly out, as I positioned to bite at his other thigh. This time I didn’t waste time going for a pain that would make him tap but I also contrasted the sharp bite with stroking his hardened shaft, knowing he would be a bit distracted and allow me to sink my teeth into an even deeper bruise. Back and forth I went to each thigh: a painful bite as I stroked him, a teasing of my mouth in between each side. His body didn’t know if it wanted to arch into my mouth or push himself away from it.

After a time I simply pretended I would bite him and I would get the same noises of distress. I would chuckle at his false alarm and if he failed to seem surprise then I gripped and pressed into the more painful places and received the painful signs from him. I straddled his thighs, my own thighs pressed into the muscles that I hurt and he whimpered in surprise. Leaning forward for a kiss, I also shimmied up to straddle his cock, my own wetness slick so his cock nestled in between my lips but I didn’t position myself so he could slide inside. Our tongues slid against each other as I slid up and down, teasingly coating him but not granting him access inside my body. He made a noise of complaint.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I leaned up, pressed my palms into his chest, heard his plaint of pain and smiled at it, pushed harder on his chest where it hurt the most as I lifted my hips and poised myself at his tip. “Don’t  you want this?” As I asked I lowered slightly and took just his head into my body while I curled my fingernails into the marks that my teeth left.

He took a huge inhalation to work through the pain, “I don’t know,” he cried out and arched as his shoulder blades could sink him into the mattress further away from my nails and his hips raised to thrust upwards into my body. I was having none of it, my nails sunk deeper and I raised myself where he left my body completely.

“Oh honey, then I’ll stop,” I soothed as he groaned in frustration and his hips moved back down in defeat. My hands caressed his reddened chest, tracing over the welts of fingers and the depressions of teeth marks.

Gosh, I love contrasts, like to slow down a moment to appreciate such things.

“No,” he was almost panting from pain and need, his breathing coming in short and quick, “it’s fine.”

So again I positioned myself, but this time slammed myself down, impaling to the hilt. Surprised, he jerked under me and groaned. Slowly, I tightened around his girth and raised up, while at the same time leaned back and gripped his thighs where previously I had bitten, felt for the indents of teeth that finger nails filled and clawed into.

There would be no pleasure without pain for him tonight, a predicament that eventually frustrated him enough to throw me off of him and take me from behind, his hands tightly gripping my wrists so I could no longer touch him, until he finally found his release buried within me, his groan beside my ear as his body shuddered and felt heavy against my own.

Feb 212017
 

Febraury PhotofestHave I ever shared that The Wanderer knows me intimately? Perhaps it is because we have been friends for so long, but he knows how uncomfortable some words make me. And sadist that he is, he uses them and smiles about them (even from distance, I’m sure).

For example, he wrote to me that I was a good cocksucker. Okay, even writing the words makes me squirm a bit.

But he told me that as my mouth was wrapped around him last time as well. In the act, he uttered words that turn me shy. It was a contrast – a mind fuck that I always find delicious – as my body and mouth were wanton and bold, but words suddenly make me feel like a sheltered and shy unsure youth.

*This picture is not with The Wanderer. It’s a shadow that I love from the photo story of David and I.

Feb 162017
 

An unrelated picture that continues the hotness that is David

Febraury Photofest

 

 

 

 

I swear there is something wrong with a lover of mine. Either that or I’m losing my touch at training.

Maybe a bit of both.

I am incredibly verbal while having sex. When something feels good, I tend to verbalize it, either with words (a more conscious things) or just the sounds that slip unbidden from my mouth. I sigh, I moan, I groan, I state “yes” or “that feels good” or “don’t stop”. I arch into the touch, I hold it tighter, I grind down onto it.

It’s only when I get overwhelmed that I get confusing with directions, when I start to unconsciously say: “no yes” or “stop” (but don’t mean it). It’s when I grip tighter but then push away, squirm a bit from the sensation but say yes. But this is after an orgasm or two, so if a lover gets confused and stops, I’m okay…

I’ve had mine.

But I have a lover who stops when I tell him not to, slows down when I physically am at my most welcoming. He is constantly ruining my orgasms with the premature ending of what feels good. I am not being confusing in what I want to occur because I haven’t even managed to have one orgasm yet. Maybe he thinks even the slightest noise means that I’ve already achieved an orgasm, instead of I’m just beginning to feel the build up of pleasure.

But honestly, regardless of how confused I get when I have an orgasm, when I say “don’t stop,” it doesn’t mean to stop. Honest.

Feb 092017
 

Febraury Photofest

My ankles were tied to the legs of a wooden chair, spreading thighs and exposing the lacy fabric thinly shielding my sex. Next, wrists were tied behind my back and rope ran across my chest in a harness that he used as a way to grab and maneuver me. He pushed me down onto a plush ottoman in front of the chair and caressed my butt through my panties, then I felt the cold prickle of a blade slide up my calf, my thigh, held my breath as it slid under the fabric and heard at the same time as felt the fabric being cut. He cut the shoulder straps of my tank top.

So fucking hot.

He slit the fabric up the side of the hip, and then the waistband. The fabric fluttered down, exposing the curves of my bottom. His fingers traced the curves and dipped into my pussy, fingered me to an orgasm.

He pulled me to sitting, sat himself down on the ottoman in front of me. He was naked. He pulled me back down slowly while kissing me until he laid back and his cock was at my mouth. It opened for him and I tasted his desire at the tip, slid lips down his hard shaft, sucked and licked my way down to impale him at the back of my throat. I bobbed as much as I could with hands tied behind my back. After a few minutes, and some groans of appreciation, he pulled me up by the rope around my chest and I was back to upright.

He clenched the fabric at the front of the panties and pulled it slowly, sliding the pieces of fabric between my wet slit and the chair. When it was fully removed, the knife appeared in his hand again and the bottom of my tank was cut, then a bit more, every time a bit gave and the fabric parted, it caused me to catch my breath a little. And then he took two sides and ripped the rest of the way until the rope stopped him. Then I was breathless while I moaned in appreciation. He pulled the remaining top half of the top down, revealing first one breast, which he kissed and caressed, and then another. He cut through the fabric and pulled it slowly to one side until I was naked except for the rope.

He untied my ankles and picked me up, kicking the chair out of the way. He laid my back gently down on the ground and tied my legs tightly ankle to thigh. He fingered me to an orgasm and my bindings felt even more tight into my thigh muscles as I shuddered. And then he bent me over the ottoman and fingered me again. teasing the tip of him against my entrance but not entering. He picked me up and laid me down on my stomach on the ottoman, liberally applying lube and then a glass anal plug. He entered me, creating such a full sensation with the anal plug and granted me an orgasm before withdrawing and rolling me over on the ottoman.

He slid deeply into my depths, his body weight causing my own to dig painfully into my wrists tied behind my back. It was a minor inconvenience in comparison to the tightening of pleasure. The angle that he was thrusting in and out of me was exquisite and rubbed all the right places. I moaned through two orgasms before I heard his accompanying groans of his own release.