Jul 062016
 

I think a lot of things kneeling, but most of it is not for D/s as I’ve never really experienced that dynamic.

What first comes to my mind is kneeling so that I can take him in my mouth. Soft where deep throating is easy, where I feel the blood engorge his shaft on my tongue and begin to block my throat as I suck to keep him as deep; or hard already where my hand will help his bobbing member, my lips parting and then protecting from teeth, my tongue swirling along the ridges and veins, my throat relaxing and opening to take more of his length. Kneeling so that I can hear his noises that it feels good, that I continue, that he is cumming (god, I love it when a man announcing he will cum right before he does). Kneeling while he pulses and throbs, as his salty passion spills upon my tongue and down my throat.

I kneel next often for doggy style, or some variation of that. On hands and knees so that he can finger fuck me, rim me, or where he can slowly insert a plug into my back hole. On hands and knees where he grabs my hips and slams his pelvis against me, my hands needed for balance as we go hard and fast, the head of his cock hitting a wall deep inside of me. Or his favorite of my bottom up and chest down, a kinky child’s pose, one where he can be so deep inside of me and that rubs all the right ways. Perhaps his thumb or a finger will rub at the entrance of my back hole – after all I am utterly exposed there this way.

IMG_6277I kneel to ride him and admittedly I am getting a bit better at this. I have short legs so kneeling isn’t always effective, but I try and at least slide him into my body in this position before I change over to squatting over him, and my knees scrape the sheets as I rock back and forth, grinding down hard upon his cock.

I kneel to masturbate sometimes. For him, it might be for his viewing pleasure as I do a strip tease, my thighs spreading even further to lower myself as my fingers tease where he can see. For myself, I may kneel after I’ve positioned my wand with an attachment propped up on a pillow, where I can comfortable ride the vibrations until I orgasm so intensely that I am out of breath and the attachment is covered white from my cream.

I rarely kneel in deference of submission or to show that he is of a higher status. Though admittedly, he could request this of me at certain times and I would, high on sub space and orgasms.

Kneeling can be taxing on my knees, the poor skin rubbed raw by sheets or carpet burn, or just sore by a hard floor (showers most often come to mind for this). But I am more than capable of kneeling, and do so for the most pleasant reasons.

May 082016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallWhen did you first start masturbating?

I didn’t masturbate until I was in my twenties and long after being sexually active.

Do you like to use sex toys when you masturbate?

Absolutely, my favorite toy is my Lelo vibrator because I haven’t been able to break it yet (though I can tell it’s not going to last much longer). 

Does masturbation feature in your relationship? Is watching your partner getting off is seriously hot or something that makes you uncomfortable, alternatively how do you feel about being watched?

I love to watch a man masturbate, but I absolutely hate to masturbate in front of someone. I’ve only done this in front of one boyfriend, my ex husband, and Mimir, and that was after knowing and being with them for a long period of time. I am unsure of the hang up on this, but it’s there. 

What do you think about when you masturbate? Is there a favourite, orgasm guaranteed, fantasy that you like to think about when you are reaching between your thighs? Do you like to watch porn, or maybe you prefer the stimulation of the written word?

Fantasies:

The hand around my throat would stay there even after I orgasmed on the cross at his command, and he would lean down and kiss me again. Suddenly his warm lips and demanding tongue wouldn’t be there and I would feel the sting across my cheek, too shocked to offer protest, all the sudden feeling like I am no longer human but an object to him on the cross. After a long moment, I would feel his hand on my cheek again, and with one hand still around my throat, the offending hand would be between my thighs, drenched with my own juices, the skin so swollen and sensitive from the stinging slaps there, and fingers would thrust and wrench another orgasm from me, my thighs dripping from the force, muscles shaking and quivering, knees threatening to buckle as I stood there gushing.” – Rough Fantasy (Feb 2015)

“Orgasm denial… 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.” – Rope and Denial Fantasy (March 2015)

Nonfiction: 

after many orgasms already, I was on my hands and knees, my boyfriend laying underneath me, his hands wrapped around my thighs, his gifted tongue between my legs. He had his tongue and lips pierced and the metal would add harder sensations amidst soft lips and wet tongue. I squirmed away as much as possible, so overloaded on pleasure and overly sensitive. Every grazing of his mouth or tongue would shoot sparks of pleasure deep into my pussy and create a tighten that would add up quickly to another orgasm. His arms wrapped tighter on my thighs, his hands gripped and pushed me further upon his mouth.

My husband grabbed my throat, looked me in the eyes and told me to hold me still, his eyes a steady calm gaze in a passion filled fogged to my own, his mouth kissing mine as another man’s mouth kissed between my legs. When it became too intense, when I felt I was too sensitive and began squirming once again, his one arm wrapped like a vice around my body, the other around my neck and head, and his mouth by my ear whispered to cum. It was one of the first times I obeyed a command, though my boyfriend’s mouth was creating such pleasure that listening to that order was simple.

It was a perfect moment, as I was swept up in a storm of sensations that began to engulf me to the point where I was ready to call for a stop, when his voice, his calm, anchored me and made me feel safe to become so carried away.

The utter control of both men, the complete fixation on my pleasure, them working so beautifully together for that experience, that is something that I masturbated to for quite awhile.” – Something I Masturbated to for Awhile

For the most part, I will be in the mood maybe once a month when I’m ovulating or when I’m looking at tumblr and I start to see consensual non consent gifs appear (this always gets me in the mood as it’s a fantasy of mine). Words can turn me on far more than anything else, however. 

Mar 212016
 

*Trigger warning of rape play

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Posted by at 1:21 pm
Jan 142016
 

My first kiss was with an asshole. He still was one hell of a kisser though. It was the first time I felt a stirring of horniness. We were laying on the carpet in a room, and he was pressed fully on top of me. My knees kept wanting to bend – whether to further embrace him or relieve some pressure on my lower back I can’t remember – he kept pushing my knees down. It was a short relationship – that may have been the only time I kissed him.

*

My husband’s and mine first kiss took place in the parking lot in front of a casino. It was a chaste kiss – no tongue, we were just friends, and he picked me up until I was eye level to him. I wrapped my legs around his waist for added support, smiled at him, and leaned down and gave him a small kiss on his luscious lips. It took all of a second.

*

The minute I knew we were no longer just friends was when his breath washed over my sensitive skin, washed away my reservations, as we cuddled in a bed one night. We were drinking with the sleeping sun, joking and talking as close friends do. Then he leaned in close, swept my hair aside, and just breathed. My neck betrayed the erotic pulse beat beneath the exposed skin. Bold suddenly which was unlike him, he leaned in and those plump lips grazed the pulse, tongue tentatively dipped and tasted my heartbeat which was forever his afterwards. All my nerve endings came from where he kissed.

The the first move, the first real reaching out sexually, and the fact that he was so shy and still started it surprised us both.

I moaned, pressed against his mouth, let it melt and meld my inhibitions. I rolled over and pressed my lips to his, this time my tongue dived in his mouth and became the aggressor, plundered. My hands and legs wrapped around him, closing any division between us. It was his turn to be surprised. (Breaking Walls)

*

A threesome years ago created a hot moment. My husband grabbed my throat, looked me in the eyes and told me to hold me still, his eyes a steady calm gaze in a passion filled fogged to my own, his mouth kissing mine as another man’s mouth kissed between my legs.

It was during a moment that I had already had so many orgasms that I was beginning to want to stop due to being overwhelmed.

I was on my hands and knees, my boyfriend laying underneath me, his hands wrapped around my thighs, his gifted tongue between my legs. He had his tongue and lips pierced and the metal would add harder sensations amidst soft lips and wet tongue. I squirmed away as much as possible, so overloaded on pleasure and overly sensitive. Every grazing of his mouth or tongue would shoot sparks of pleasure deep into my pussy and create a tighten that would add up quickly to another orgasm. His arms wrapped tighter on my thighs, his hands gripped and pushed me further upon his mouth.

And I continued, despite being so overwhelmed, because there was my husband urging me to do so with his kisses and commands. (Something I masturbated to for awhile)

*

I love first kisses. The shy or bold eye contact, the leaning in, maybe grazing skin at certain parts of the body or hands softly exploring, the almost fearful or anxious breath that both exhibits, the way the lips extend a bit in not quite a pucker, the first meeting of the lips, how one person may open just a bit in invitation, how another person may pillage their way in. I am always curious if they kiss with

wet

dry

aggressive

timid

just tip of tongue

a lot of tongue

a thick tongue

a hardened bolden tongue

suction

all over the mouth

only tilt their head to one side and are crap at the other

take my breath away

allow air to come between our lips

kiss with their whole body

make noises

dominate my tongue or lips

….and so many other ways. That first moment is magical, even if we’re not compatible. It’s a merging of two bodies wanting to connect on such an intimate level.

*

Sometimes I feel like the movie prostitute who states no mouth kissing – I do not need mouth kissing to have sex. I can kiss someone everywhere and have them kiss me everywhere and yet our mouths do not need to touch. So when I do kiss someone on the mouth, it somehow feels more intimate, and somehow more dangerous. I could get their colds; they could steal my heart.

*

On the opposite end of the spectrum, my husband calls himself a mouth whore. That man loves to kiss on the mouth, and when he’s drinking he becomes a bit more inviting of others to kiss him. Kissing is one of his favorite activities and he can do just that for hours.

Kink of the Week is on kissing. I would consider this a real kink of my husband, and a love of mine.

 Posted by at 6:19 am
Dec 192015
 

Kink of the Week and Exhibit Unadorned’s Christmas Erotica Prompt of the song White Christmas both mention semen. So without further ado:

First off, I feel that I need to state that I can no longer get pregnant, so semen does not bring the unwanted worry of a pregnancy. When I was capable of getting pregnant, semen almost seemed the enemy if birth control wasn’t locked down (it always was), and when I did plan to get pregnant, semen seemed like the holy grail of the whole point of the activity (although I still immensely enjoyed myself too). Semen was capable of granting life within me, of mixing and melding to create something beautiful – when it was planned pregnancies. I am grateful that becoming pregnant is no longer a concern, I can embrace semen wholeheartedly with my tested partners.

On a far sexier note: with my husband and I separated, when he shares videos of him masturbating, he always gives me a close up when he cums. I love to see the thick white fluid coating his skin; it always makes my mouth water as well. I keep telling him that just once I want to see it coat the wires of his headphones when we phone/video sex, because the wires are white and they would be mixed with white, and because it would annoy the hell of him but it would happen anyhow because he’d be so lost in the sensations that it would spurt out uncontrolled, and I fucking love the lack of control in that aspect.

I do not like it when a man cums on my skin – it just seems like a large waste to me. I’m not opposed to it as long as it’s not the face, but it’s not something I’m fond of. Watching him masturbate over my body is hot, but I want him inside me when he finds his release.

My mouth is always a welcomed receptacle. I love giving blow jobs, love to wrap lips around his hardness, my mouth creating a sucking sensation and my tongue pressed against and feeling the ridges and texture of his penis. I love when he holds still at the point of climax, his shaft unbelievably hard as it swells, a pulsing inside my mouth, and the salty taste pouring against my tongue or in the back of my throat. I will almost always swallow – if for no other reason than the mess factor, but I do not mind the taste. I know that I have pleased him in a skilled manner – blow jobs are not easy, though they are fantastically fun.

I love when a man cums from sex best of all. I love to feel him rigid and throbbing, push deep and held tight within my body, for him to vocalize in some way that his fluid is gushing and mixing with mine. There is something so deeply intimate about that. I love how his white drops take their time to depart my body, sometimes slowly and unhurriedly – bit by bit, other times a thick puddle, a wet reminder of what transpired; how he marked me.

I don’t necessarily have a semen fetish but I do love when a man finds his pleasure, and the white evidence of that pleasure is a turn on to me.

 Posted by at 10:39 am
Dec 132015
 

The song that inspired this writing, from Exhibit Unadorned’s Christmas Erotica Prompt, song In the Bleak Midwinter. (I listened to it the entire time I wrote this piece.) [jwplayer mediaid=”4872″]

She traversed a bleak landscape of white and frost towards a bleak broken down church. Still, huddled though she was, she paused for a moment and looked, through the white flakes coming from the heaven towards earth, at the grandeur of a part of the side that still stood, the arched though vacant concrete window frames that still stood proudly. She tried to imagine it full of people and hope, color and life.

http://sometimes-interesting.com/2013/06/16/city-united-methodist-church-of-gary-indiana/

She sought solace in its walls, comfort in its will to stand tall still.

And then she saw his figure in the frame of a window, gripped her clothing tighter about her, and proceeded to cautiously make her way amid the now frail blocks of concrete that had fallen in years past.

Before she could utter a word, he had gripped her shoulder, spun her around, and moved his arm around her neck, whispering in her ear how not even the walls of so sacred a place would hear her scream. Though the snow drifted in less places where they stood, it still fluttered like her heart and clung to her cheeks like tears.

She nodded her assent and he released her, circled around and she felt herself not worthy of this place where angels gathered and people were blessed, could not look upon the gray walls covered with bits of moss, vines, and earth that reached up still so high. She flung her view downcast. He stripped her, slowly, first shifting her hood away and taking hold of her chin with a soft order to look at him. When she met his steady gaze, she felt reassured and comforted. He commanded she look around and take a deep breath of what would become his reign over her in this most holy of places. He leaned forward and kissed both of her cold cheeks softly with his warm lips while slower still unraveling the scarf from her neck.

When he moved away to unhurriedly slip her jacket and the rest of her clothing from her body, the very air thronged with tension and passion; and compelled her exposed skin to be even more aware of his warmth in the midst of this once full concrete marvel. The frost bit into her skin and awakened it and she counted the grooves in those arched windows, starting at the top of the pointed frame and every time her eyes drifted down to another groove she felt her body calming, felt her forehead relaxing and her jaw unclenching, felt her shoulders sliding down and her back to straighten proudly, felt her chest rise and fall with each inhalation and exhalation, her stomach a slight wave from welcoming the breaths, her hips and bottom capable of supporting her with legs and feet on a solid foundation.

For though the walls crumbled throughout the years, the foundation at this very core was solid and secure.

His legs connected with the back of her knees and she knelt as if in prayer, worshiped the cold floor beneath with a beloved kiss, connected with the cold hardness like iron and pure white flakes that melted beneath her loving lips. He gripped her hair and pulled her head up, and she felt suddenly that she was worthy, that she had every right to be right here in this moment, that she could fill this sacred space with love and sustain this man at its center.

*Also with a focus on Brutalism/Concrete for Kink of the Week.

 Posted by at 8:16 am
Nov 092015
 

My legs bent, he tied my ankles to my thighs. My wrists were tied. He spread my legs and tied a wand between my legs, using the existing wrap. He turned the wand on. I closed my legs and the wand dipped even further against my body. I spread my legs as far as I could (farther than when he tied them) and the wand miraculously was lifted by the ropes off of my body…barely.

Now I could feel it through the ropes, but they weren’t at my sensitive zones, just my legs, so I could tolerate the vibrations all the sudden.

He knows me. He knew the minute I was fine in the bindings, the minute the wand stopped tormenting me.

“Is that not touching you?” he questioned. I stubbornly remained silent. He inspected and pushed against the ropes, noticed how my thighs moved closer, realized the situation. He kept the wand on and let me strain to keep tied tightly thighs apart while he rummaged for a small piece of rope and nipple clamps.

He pushed my legs together, saw me squirm past the point where he could competently tie, and turned off the wand.

Yay, I was victorious! He measured the small rope, stuck on the nipple clamps, and tied the rope to them. My legs were still together.

He turned on the wand, turned it on high with a remark about how I was cheating so that’s what I get, and the vibrations overwhelmed me. I spread my legs, but the minute the thighs parted, the rope pulled taut on the chain connecting the clamps, tugged painfully at my nipples, and I closed them slightly. The wand vibrated furiously against my lips.

My predicament…overwhelmed with pleasurable vibrations to beyond sensitive or have searing nipple pain from the clamps being tugged. There was no gentle middle ground, and I went back and forth between the two sensations, trying to twist, turn, squirm, alleviate. He watched me intently, as if I was a show put on for his entertainment, and he was immensely entertained. Wicked. Clever. I came after some excruciating moments.

After he turned off the wand, flicked my nipples, spanked me, bit my nipples as he fingered me to orgasm, had sex with me…after he untied me, pulled the covers over us both, snuggled and softly caressed my back to almost sleepy bliss, I praised how clever his predicament bondage was, especially considering he never took a predicament class.

“You don’t need a class. You just need to find that sweet spot that makes you giggle. And that definitely made me giggle.”

…So that’s how I keep a sadist happy, I make them giggle.

 Posted by at 5:12 am
Jul 242015
 

20130402_130221Kink of the Week is on Asses/Bottoms/Bums. Since blogging, I have experienced spanking for the first time, truly creating a better appreciation for my backside. The first photo with the green lace is the first time he had marked me. I have never liked my ass and only saw it as being good for sitting on until the past couple of years.

My husband, while thinking it’s my worst quality, still caresses, pats, fondles it every chance he gets. He always has. There’s nothing quite as lovely as being pulled in for a kiss, a hand snaking around and grabbing a cheek and pulling me up and against him. iphone 202It’s possessive, intimate, and makes me feel as though he can’t get enough of me.

When he began spanking it, it was soft pats more than spanks. He was afraid of hurting me, and I always whimper at stinging pain. He moved onto smacking my ass hard in throes of my orgasm to temper the pain and pleasure aspect. He didn’t do warm ups well, and still doesn’t often – but now that’s evolved to the power dynamics that we engage in – it’s more of a punishment that my body isn’t ready for impact. He certainly doesn’t mind just smacking me hard on the ass.

 

20140402_115048I also had a lover who would do a wonderful warm up, who created a rhythm of taps on my skin that lulled my mind elsewhere to help me find subspace; I love rhythmic impact play for this reason. He would work me up to such points that I could take quite a bit of force on my bottom. I used to joke that he should whore himself out to others for spanking services. Oddly enough, it was the sound of his hand connecting to my ass that bothered my husband the most – and eventually began the downturn of trying polyamory.

assEverything seems to be a graduation of sorts, because impact play has moved on from spanking to paddling. My husband and I have a few paddles, our favorite being an incredibly light-weight wood one. It’s a soft wood so doesn’t travel with us much, but occasionally he’s brought it out when we do suspension scenes. While I always wear yoga shorts in a suspension (it helps the pinching of the ropes against the inside of my thighs during transitions), I am tied up, vulnerable, and my butt is rarely protected in rope. I can’t move to protect myself, to move into the sensation if I like it – it’s a strange feeling to so completely at the mercy of another on such a binding physical sense.

Halloween 177 compressThis past weekend while I was upside down in a suspension, he spun me around and began punching my ass as I moved round that direction. He’s punched my ass a few times now, for a quick reminder that he can do what he wants and something to remember him by. It’s never at his full-force, just what I can tolerate and that will leave a longer impression.

He made two impact sticks with baseballs at the ends to drum on my cheeks, sending a muscle deep pain (think charley horse cramp). I feel that impact for days afterwards; fortunately we don’t bring them out often. What’s a shame is that it leaves no marks, but an undeniable feeling of a deep bruise.

M

A few years ago, at Eroticon, when we learned about the misery stick, that’s also marked my bottom in stripey marks (pictured) and also “M” for a blog picture (pictured on the St Andrews Cross). I may hate that stick, but it certainly does mark immediately.

He’s also been the first to bend me over and thoroughly kiss my backside. There’s something so sensual and intimate about lips and tongue exploring places that are rarely touched. One of his favorite views is when I am chest down, ass up, in a modified yoga’s child’s pose. When I shared a photo in which he tied a wand in this position, I also received a lot of positive feedback on how sexy that was.

child's pose 003So even though I dislike my bum, even though my husband thinks it’s my worst physical attribute, his reaffirmation that he still views it as sexy anyhow and can’t keep his hands off it, and the positive feedback through this blog, I have learned to accept and work through my dislike for this body part.

A new photo to share, however, would have be one of him; he participates in the hunts (as both hunter and prey) and when he is tied to a post, many of the lovely spectators can’t resist beating his ass. While we may agree that my bottom needs work, his is pretty spectacular – even in the rare state of bruised (the only time he allows impact on him is at this event). fet 020

 

 

 

 Posted by at 6:30 am
Jun 302015
 

The kink of the week this time is chains. With M going on vacation, she asked if I wanted it. Well I’ve never used chains. The first thing to pop into my head was Fleetwood Mac. I grew up with my parents listening to them. I quickly pondered if I could argue a case for the band being a fetish, but figured I should give a more serious effort to staying true to the prompt.

Clearly the easiest way for me to handle the topic would be a photo. Luckily for me, I have plenty of kinky friends I could call on to borrow some chains from for the photo.

The problem came from, being the queen of fail, I got sick. With the hip flaring up, and the cornucopia of meds I was on for being sick, a sexy photo shoot was a bit out of my reach.

Luckily, my chemical cocktail lead to some creativity. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this, but I happen to have some AMAZING artistic skills. *giggle*. If I couldn’t TAKE the picture, then maybe I could MAKE the picture. The fruits of my painstaking labor are featured below.

Bust size may be a slight exaggeration...

Bust size may be a slight exaggeration…

All jokes aside, chains is something I’ve been curious about for awhile. To me, the binds seem more intense. The weight of the chain playing a factor in the mindset during the scene has intrigued me. I’m also fascinated by the fact that I see many people use chains for temperature play, but curiously, always for COLD. I’m interested to see how they would be for hot temperature play simply because I’ve really never seen it.

There aren’t many big ticket items left on my sex bucket list. Now there’s small peripheral things, like chains, left. This prompt has brought that subject back into the forefront of my curiosity, and I will certainly keep you posted on what shenanigans I get into with some lovely chains.

While this wasn’t the most informative post on the wonders of chains in kink, (although I hope the drawing made it worth the read), click below to find some bloggers who definitely have a better grasp on them.
Kink of the Week

Jun 072015
 

She was spread out on the cool sheets, wrists and ankles bound to the four distant corners of the bed. Blindfolded, she felt the silence as much as heard it, she wondered if her partner was even in the room, heard his footsteps by the door a moment ago.

The waiting made her suck in her bottom lip and clench in excited anticipation; she was certain she was already damp. She heard soft treading on the carpet and the bed dipped a little.

Her body tensed at the thought of where he would touch her. Her nipples puckered and hardened, apparently offering a temptation too great to deny as a warm hand cupped her breast, fingertips grazed her nipple.

She froze rather than arched, though the action felt good. Her partner didn’t touch her like that. Something was off. The hand squeezed, joined by a second on her other breast, and fingers continued to encourage her harden peaks.  Why did it feel so different?

A hand surprised her around her throat, shocked her so much that she squeaked a bit in surprise. “Relax,” her partner’s voice commanded in a tone she knew all too well. Her body began to relax at just the command, despite the confusion in her head. There were three hands on her now…she wasn’t mistaken…the person fondling her breasts was not her partner. She didn’t know who it was. They had discussed months ago bringing in some anonymous person under these circumstances, but her partner had not informed her that they were going to do it now. He squeezed a bit in further warning and she felt herself letting go of the thoughts and concerns.

She focused on the stranger’s hands soft upon her soft breasts, felt the little electric currents of pleasure beginning to build and slide between her legs. She moaned a bit at the diminutive sensations building and despite her tight binds, arched slightly. The hand was removed from her throat, and while she was more clear thinking after that action and aware of foot falls to the corner of the room and the squeak of a chair in the corner, her body was already beginning to tense and crave more. From a stranger.

She smelled his cologne as one hand began to pinch a nipple and the other was replaced with his mouth. Foreign lips opened and sucked in her nipple; a new tongue darted against the sensitive tip and swirled around. She gasped, surprised how this man could make her feel with the smallest of touches.

She wanted more…how much more was going to happen? The unknown of that should have been far more concerning that it was, at the moment she could just tighten with sensations.

The bed dipped as he lay next to her, already naked – just the thought of that turned her on so much; a mysterious naked man, one she couldn’t see, one her partner had invited in, was here touching her. She felt the warmth of his body, the weight a bit more prominent on the mattress next to her than she was used to, his curious scent, his arousal barely touched her thigh but still so evident to her overworked senses.  He leaned over and his mouth crashed down on the side of her neck, she turned her head away and invited a more thorough invasion. Her ears tuned into his breathing, trying to distinguish a sound she may recognize, her skin tuned into the hot sensations of his mouth, sent shivers down the side of her body. His hand on her breast caressed down her rib cage and the curve of her waist, stroked the side of her hip and thigh.  His hand wasn’t tentative like first on her breast, the sensation of his palm was prominent and the fingers alternated as they traveled with light rubbing or gripping – the gripping becoming pressured at the pauses on her hip and outside of her thigh. The hand traveled back up to her hip and he pulled her more fully against him, just merest spaces, the rope dug into one ankle and wrist from the shift, made her all too aware of her helplessness in bondage, his erection so solid against her hip. His lips separated from her pulse and his breath washed over kissed skin as he slid his body down, the rigid cock slid down to her mid thigh.

Her nipple was assaulted again, this time the mouth much more dominating, and the exploring hand and fingers softly stroked down to her outside thigh, slowly-maddeningly slowly – crossed to the inside of her thigh. Gossamer fingertips traced up her inner thigh, almost touched her damp lips, skipped across in the cool air to the other thigh. She whimpered in disappointment, her cunt clenched at the thought of him touching in her most personal places.

No sound came from him other than his steady breathing. It was a bit unnerving. Would he touch her there, would he fuck her, she pondered as gentle fingertips traveled up the inside thigh closest to him.

He was at the junction where lips meet thigh and stopped (hesitated?) and she felt herself throbbing. Please touch me, she silently begged. Please sink your fingers into my plump folds; please show me how you manipulate a body that you do not know and how you want to fuck my body with your fingers. She felt so wet, so tense, the silence deafening. Her clit felt swollen with need, begged to be touched or kissed. Her thighs strained from tension, wanted to part further to welcome his hips between them, wanted to feel a cock that was she was unacquainted with to part her folds and slide deep to the hilt, stroke in and out of her body in an unfamiliar pattern.

She realized she was holding her breath and slowly let it out. The waiting was killing her, and while it probably wasn’t long, she felt like she was exhausting herself in the anticipation. The fingers rested hot and promising against her crease. Cautiously, straining against the bondage, she arched her hips in an invite.

Kink of the Week

 Posted by at 11:13 am