Apr 062017
 

*Taken from notes I wrote on a phone, I am leaving this unedited. I believe this was when my ex husband and I were practicing rope with some of our closest friends, and he wanted to see if he could rig a predicament bondage with a suspension and Doxy wand, where I could put down my foot to take away some pain of the suspension but it would cost me. 

**I wrote this August 2015, half a year before we divorced. 

You’re really sexy babe he said as he tied my legs to the pole, knees bent on the floor, thighs parted.

It was a reassurance in the midst of my shyness, of my uncertainly in a room full of people watching, spread in such a manner in just my underwear, a thin sliver of pretended modesty. He whispered it before he bent me over, exposing me more, so vulnerable feeling except his words of praise, of proudness, of appreciation of the trust I placed in him, bent me over until my face hovered inches above the ground, the chest harness of rope wrapped tightly around my beating heart stopping my face from hiding, showing my body bent, never a flattering angle for a stomach and mine especially felt awkward hanging curled in such an angle. Yet his eyes never left my mother’s hips, my muscular thighs, my rear end invitingly titling up with such ease of access, the small of my back.

He saw beautiful and I felt the warm glow of approval.

Apr 022017
 
Sinful Sunday

[jwplayer mediaid=”7163″] When my friend Yuè Lǎo took this photo, I thought of Type O Negative’s song, Christian Woman.

A cross upon her bedroom wall – from grace she will fall
an image burning in her mind – and between her thighs

A dying god-man full of pain – when will you cum again?
before him beg to serve or please – on your back or knees

No forgiveness for her sins – prefers punishment
would you suffer eternally – or internally – ah

 

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.

Feb 032017
 

Mr. Texas tied my wrists – taking a few times as it had been a month since he even touched rope and the rope kept tightening. He strung the rope up to the sides of the head board, stretched one side too far where the shoulder wasn’t down. Experience taught me my shoulders would fatigue if they weren’t down, so I requested he loosen the rope a bit so my shoulders rested comfortably down, adding that my wrists up were fine.

Futomomo ties for the legs, where the ankles and calves were bound to the thighs – he remembered this surprisingly well and didn’t struggle in the slightest. He used the small loose ends to extra rope  to tie into the extra rope on bed posts that restrained my wrists. I thought that was very clever, as it spread my thighs as much as possible and moved them slightly up as well.

I was now spread open naked, a position that makes me feel vulnerable in an appreciated way as it assists the mind set that I want to achieve.

Ugh, I had actually suggested this was hot to me. Yet, in the moment, orgasm denial is such a tensioned tease that is hard for me to deal with. I whined my disappointment. Fingers again became aggressive inside of me, this time he allowed a full orgasm to slam into my body, quickly slapped at my inner thighs with his other hand, waited for me to come down from my orgasm and gripped and spanked at the lower part of my bottom that he could reach.

He slid his hips between my thighs, my tied heels nestling him behind his hips and keeping him pressed against me. I felt his erection at my entrance, the head slipped past my entrance and slid deep into my body. He felt so amazing inside of me and I tightened instinctively. He moved slightly, rubbed up and down a few times, just enough to get me worked up, and then stopped before I could find pleasure.

Withdrawing, he reached up and released my wrists. I think he moved towards the end of the bed, it felt that way. “Play with yourself,” he ordered. I hesitated, I know I did. I don’t do this often, and even though Mr. Texas and I had been together for months, it was at the edge of uncomfortable for me. Yet, if I denied him, would he think that his attempt to take control failed?

Did he he even want to see me masturbate? Just a few days prior I expressed how I found it hot when a lover would masturbate for me, and he replied that he thought that it was odd.

I didn’t want to discourage him – that alone made me tentatively slip a finger between my lips and rub. Was he watching? Did he sit there and get turned on by the sight in front of him? I hoped so, as that would encourage me to listen to this command in the future.

“Harder,” he told me, and I plunged two fingers in, though I couldn’t use my still tied legs to thrust my hips up to get a good angle.  “Make yourself cum really hard.” And I moved faster, but the angle was wrong and my mindset was wrong.

Fortunately or unfortunately, he must have believed that I had an orgasm from my fingers, as he moved my hand aside and entered me again.

We had sex until we both found our own release in each other.

Febraury Photofest
Dec 152016
 

This actually does include a cowbell, but I’ll get to that part later…

We met at a Starbucks down the road from a dungeon that I had never been to. He had been contacting me to play with him for a couple of of months but with life being so busy and then my sister dying, I just stopped going. This was to be my first solo kink event after she died, and I almost canceled.

It didn’t help any that it was a stormy night and many parts of the roads were closed or traffic was horrendous through all the car accidents.

He walked in the door and immediately stated: “you look so vanilla.”

I was wearing a sweater that is appropriate for work, and jeans. I had asked previously if there was a dress code and he stated there wasn’t. “Well yes,” I was a bit taken about and briefly worried if I appeared too vanilla, “but I do vanilla well and we are meeting at a Starbucks.”

He agreed, ordered a drink, then we sat down and began negotiations. He had watched me play with others and also read my fetishes and notes on Fetlife, so I was already impressed with his coming to the negotiations informed. I had asked around about him, read his fetishes as well, but had never seen him play (hence why I asked around about him). I was told he was creative by others.

The scene last four hours…

He warned me that he brought a lot of things, and I parked behind him at the dungeon to help him carry in his bags. Once we entered, I saw some friends and we visited for a bit, then staked out a room.

By the time we finished the scene, it looked like a cross between a toy store and a torture chamber. Seriously, there are so many titles I could have picked…

“Violet Wands and toy swords”

“Floggers and paddles and toys, oh my!”

“Race tracks and nerf bats”

“Cruising a dungeon tied to a moving cart”

I undressed down to panties. He started with a posture collar that barely fit my small neck, and then with rope. Starting anything with rope is always a good move, as that’s my primary love. “I’ll give you a tour of the dungeon,” he told me as he tied me to a moving cart that he had modified by placing soft cushiony foam on and attaching tie off rings around all the sides. He tied my legs and hands to the cart, and then off we went where he dragged the rope attached to the cart all around the place, introducing me to people I had never met and showing me the different rooms. He would spin me around from time to time, and when we were in the entrance to the place talking to people the door opened to the outside and he shouted out, “good lord, woman, cover yourself,” and wrapped an arm around my breasts amid my laughter.

He was a very playful man, even more obvious once we went back to the room and I was bent over a bench while he opened up his play bag. My behind and backs of the legs were treated to what I consider standard sadistic implements like:

Paddles (okay if they thud), rods (nope, somewhat wimpy – “remember I hate sting,” I would remind him), a toy sword (“I dub thee…” he went on a serious voice at one point and gently touched both sides of my shoulders as he spoke).

Wooden spoons, spatulas, but then also a strange and large frosting knife (so cold when it wasn’t smacking me).

I was tied to a St Andrews cross, after he claimed I was far too short for it and he dragged steps against it so that I could stand up higher. A flogger rhythmically swiped at my back, thighs, and bottom, a relaxing moment that I appreciated. Hot wheels race tracks swung into those areas, and the plastic tracks stung and hurt so badly that I asked him to switch out somewhat quickly.

I was tied laying to a high platform and the violet wand came out, the noise always far more frightening than the actual feeling, and he began with larger implements that lit up beautifully but were hardly felt, down to the unseen pinpoints of pain from a pencil lead.

I wasn’t paying much attention to the doorway or what others were doing, being so involved experiencing different sensations, but I would still occasionally become aware of my surroundings a bit more, mostly because of noise. Often, we would have an audience in the doorway, but what really drew a crowd was the cowbell. I could tell because of the laughter.

Yep, this man had a cowbell.

When a good song came on, and I was bent over a bench, he handed me a hefty cowbell and told me to hold it at a certain angle. Then he sat himself down, took out drumsticks. and beat down upon my body in time to the music, every so often hitting that cowbell. The noise was…well, a cowbell. It rang alongside my ear and after awhile I began to like the sound as it signaled a hit reprieve from the drumsticks. The noise also drew the crowd, as earlier in the evening he was discussing how he had brought a cowbell, and people remarked they were curious how it would play out (see the pun?) in a scene. Once they heard the cowbell, their merriment in their laughter was apparent even over the sound of the cowbell.

I am glad I met up with him, as laughter is a bit fleeting for me right now.

*Last year, for the Christmas prompt set to the song, “Little Drummer Boy”, I shared a time my husband slapped my labia for the first time. This year, Exhibit Unadorned, is opening up the old prompts and I thought how much had changed in a year (a divorce, a new relationship, etc.). So I thought I had far more of an appropriate scene in playing with new partner for the first time that went with the prompt of drummer boy.