Jun 072017
 

Mr. Texas has this habit of not coming very quickly. It may seem like a wonderful thing, except I like to change up from having sex after about 15 minutes, regardless of how many positions we engage in. I used to have this habit of hooking my heels on the insides of a man’s hips and physically pushing him out if he was on top after about 15 minutes. I don’t do that with Texas, I let him continue until his incredibly sexy grunts and groans and goosebumps dotting his skin signal his climax.

Perhaps it’s because he orgasms so beautifully I let him continue.

So after far too many multiple orgasms, with his own pleasure slowly trickling out of my body and the drops increasing my sensitivity as they move between my folds, he presses my body against his own – little breathless spoon wrapped around gasping and sweating big spoon, sealing our bodies tightly together. His fingers caress, and his semi erection presses against my cheeks; I moan and arch slightly into him.

He roughly rolls me onto my stomach, his hands grip thighs, palms press into cheeks, and he leaves me for a moment. I turn my head to look at what he is doing – such an unusual activity from this man after we start to cuddle. “Who gave you permission to move?” His voice stern, cluing me in that my body is about to go from pleasure to pain. I clench instinctively, and the echo of an orgasm throbs where our orgasms are still pooled in my depths.

A few days prior, in the hot tub where all our steamy discussions drift, we talked about our experiences with the cane that he now grabbed. I guided him in that discussion for more breaks, more change up from hard to soft, moving his position so it hit on different legs different ways; the cane was a challenge for me because it stung and I am positively wimpy at sting. So when the cane came out, he must’ve remember our talk.

He did everything right and the pain only heightened my sensitive body, became crests that were at the edge of my tolerance and rolled through my foggy brain, keeping me present on him and my beautiful body.

Rolled over, he entered me again, his hands going up my body and gripping my breasts. “I have this urge to take the crop to your nipples.”

“Go for it,” I agreed, hazy and breathless from an orgasm, “just remember that my nipples can take a lot but my breasts can’t.”

So gently, with precision, he cropped my nipples, that unexpectedly hardened and created sparks of pleasure and tension tightening even around his cock buried deep, led to such a powerful orgasm.

My body is a wondrous thing.

Earlier in the day, we painted the bedroom in colors of my choosing so that it felt like my domain – Mr. Texas is clever at using things at hand. He rolled me over, brought out the tape used in painting and stuck it over the reddened stripes. He caned over those places, the sting more thud with the protective layer, and then smacked with his hand a few times.

Next, the tape was so slowly and sensually peeled off. It was odd: far too intimate for my body to feel like clothing, more like I was losing a layer of skin or stinging places were peeled off that exposed sensitive nerves to the air. Three strips of tape were on each thigh, going from inside the thigh to wrap around and slightly up to the outside of the thigh. They glided off effortlessly with the slight pulling, making my skin so achingly aware as they gently removed.

So sensual; I moaned and raised my hips up in welcome.

Unable to resist the plump offering, his fists beat against the fleshy bottom and back of thighs, a welcome thud after sting. Being resourceful, he took an unused paint roller and slowly rolled the fuzzy fabric up my thighs, bottom, back – a warm blanket rolled up and graced my skin. Wherever the roller was, so too were my every thoughts, just feeling the sensation. A short pause, a movement alongside me, when again the roller traversed, there was a thin line of cold  across – water he dripped onto the material – that really made me aware of the roller circling around as it traveled.

Next, it was the paint brush’s bristles, stiff little points passing along my curves, following paths of red stripes that no longer hurt but welcomed the brushing.

He beat me with his fists again after such gentle care, yet my body and brain welcomed the sinking of his knuckles into muscles. He rolled me over onto my back and in one hand gripped both of my ankles, curling me up a little to smack at both sides of my bottom’s crease and thighs, occasionally getting my swollen wet labia, where eventually the stinging smacks made me cry out.

Telling me how absolutely beautiful I was, he lowered my legs, then mentioned moving me into the bathroom where there was more light for a picture. Mr. Texas is learning so very well, however, as he changed his mind before he could encourage me to move off of the bed, instead allowed me to lay in my hazy brain and lazy body, and held me in his arms. My body was now a sweaty mess, hair tangled and refusing to be tamed no matter how much he tried to brush it back as I laid my head on his chest.

I drifted in and out of his praise and caresses, fell into a deep sleep that gloriously lasted the entire night.

Mar 052017
 

It had been months, and I was emotional. Yet, to see The Wanderer’s smile, I was smiling and felt myself relaxing (later irony considering how tense he made me that night).

He was on a conference call, his standing figure silhouetted against the backdrop of the city lights in the large window (what is up with him and large windows in his hotel rooms?). Airplane shadows in the sky, colorful cars nonstop – my eyes were only on him, though I did appreciate how the background represented him so perfectly – always a traveler.

On my stomach, I stretched out on the bed, muscles appreciative after the drive to meet him. He came over to perch on the edge, my dress allowed me to feel the light tracing of his fingers from toes to calves to thighs, up over the curve of my bottom, lingered there with soft circles, followed the sensitive hollow of my lower back, up my spine, across my shoulders, brushed my hair back to smile down at me. I smiled back at him.

He muted the call for a minute. “It’s good to see you smile.” The concern was in his voice and I appreciated it – him caring.

I rubbed his thigh through his denim, had the urge to undo his pants and take him into my mouth. Resisted and listened instead to the timber of his voice as he talked. He threw down his phone, having the device in his ear, and began massaging my feet, took a moment to look at the design I had painted on from the last pedicure and commented it was cute. His hands rubbed and massaged up calves and thighs, became a bit rougher at my rounded cheeks.

His spanking kink is obvious, though this trip he was almost as enamored with my breasts.

I had the urge to take him into my mouth again, whispered I was going down to the bar so that I didn’t distract from his call. He gestured five more minutes, handed me a room key, and we parted ways.

Once he joined me at the bar, mere minutes later as promised, conversation between us was casual, though it would have been odd for me if it didn’t contain some flirtation – so of course there were a few remarks. I spoke softly of my urges in the room and he mentioned that the call would have been a lot more pleasant if I had given in to the urge. A man sitting near us would occasionally give a sidelong glance, a smile, and perhaps he heard a few things I shared.

We had a drink, a meal, then opted for nothing else but the rest of the evening in the room. Our time is few and far between for too many practicals and not enough fun.

The Wanderer allowed me to push him down  sitting on the bed as we kissed; I straddled his lap while tasting his lips, used my body to press his further down into the mattress, my hips ground down in promise as my lips and tongue tasted from his mouth, moved onto skin.

Having excellent control and never getting too far carried away, he stopped me, though the regret was still evident in his body language. Still, with a devilish smile, he told me to get up and unpack the items I brought. I moved over to the large suitcase, complaining that toys took up a lot of space. In part, I was a bit defensive – he’s an expert traveler and will be away from home far longer periods and dressed spotlessly yet I always use larger luggage.

Days before, he had instructed that I bring a few items:

  • 3 impact implements (I only had two, he reassured me he brought 3 belts just in case, well isn’t that considerate?)
  • 3 insertables (which really brought up the fact that I need a dildo)
  • My violet wand kit (a huge amount of space needed just for this)
  • Rope

As I took out the gorgeous paddle, he swatted me with it, told me to be grateful he kept on the clothes after I whined. It wasn’t much of a warm up with the force – a sign of what was to come. Next, the crop kissed me through far too thin fabric and my noise signaled complaint…and apparently a please-hurt-me-more if his reaction was any indication.

Grabbed, spun around, and pulled over his lap on the nearby bed before I could catch my balance, his large hands caressed my dress up, he seemed delighted and slightly distracted at my polka-dot panties just briefly before slapping until I’m sure my cheeks were a pinkened hue.

Got it…don’t complain or he’ll give me something to complain; on the other hand I also stored the message to complain so I no longer have to anxiously unpack torturous devices: I’m a flexible learner that way.

He pulled me up and undressed me slowly from behind, sensually his hands caressed,  his mouth kissed up and down, his body pressed against my back and ground his desire against my cheeks. My own hands reached back to fondle his growing erection and in my impatience I undid the buckle of his belt. He must’ve felt it as his hands gripped my wrists between our hot bodies.

“Oh you want my belt, do you?” He whispered menacingly against my ear, or perhaps I heard the menace in the meaning.

“No.” I certainly didn’t want his belt but I tightened in anticipation anyhow.

Regardless, he threw me down on the bed and his belt licked painfully at my rear. It stung and felt like it sliced, my skin not warmed up enough for the force.

Yep, I was totally justified in hearing a threat with the belt.

He stood me back up and told me to put back on his belt. I took my time – partly because I had never put on a man’s belt, usually just the opposite, but also to take advantage of slowly touching him even though I had just been punished for trying to take advantage.

I may be a flexible learner, but I also apparently don’t learn the lesson the first go round.

Next, I was ordered to roll up his sleeves and I joked of how boding. Apparently I’m dense as a rock because while I joked, I didn’t foresee the threat that was to come.

He moved a chair into the center of the floor and had me bend over, grabbed a larger, thicker belt and went to work on my ass, not gentle but harsh and painful. I cried out my dismay and pain, trying to escape. Normally at this much distress signs, he would have slowed or gone softer, however this time he simply wrapped an arm around my waist to hold me down and continued his onslaught.*

As if the belt wasn’t enough, he spanked over the belt marks’ welts. Perhaps he wanted to lower the racket I was making with crying out in pain, or perhaps he wanted the racket to be one of pleasure, but he promised me an orgasm as he picked me up to lay me down in the center of the bed. I laid on reddened fire as his fingers delved into my wetness, his words speaking of how I clearly didn’t dislike the belt as much as noises indicated. My body betrayed me.

*This was after my sister died and the weeks in between I had told him that I needed a rough beating to penetrate through the haze and just feel something. He gave me what I asked for – and to date this is probably the hardest I’ve had an implement strike me. 

***To see a picture, click here

***To read his account of this scene, click here

Wicked Wednesday

Nov 132016
 

So, Mr Texas is learning to beat me. The other day he had me bent over a pillow on the bed and he was spanking my ass and taking a crop to it. He would create a pattern, and every so often skip a hit, laughing at my reaction to the anticipation of the impact.

“You know,” he said merrily, “I think I really like this.”

Those words stuck with me then and they stick with me now.

In the beginning of our relationship, he was very judgmental of my wants, desires, kinks. And then he learned a bit. And then we separated.

Months later, going back to him more for convenience (which I’m honest and admit that I want nothing further), he has completely turned around his mindset on things.

He would tell me that he would never hurt me. Now he offers to beat me – he’s particularly good at spanking and leaving vibrant hand prints across my ass, though he still needs to work on his warm up.

He didn’t understand going so hard as to leave bruises, now he takes pride in punching (with the heel of his hand mostly) to the point that he leaves bruises across my ass or thighs.

I would really like to think that he truly is enjoying this.

He told me that he had a change of mind because while we were separated he realized that he was judging me and being negative towards things that I wanted. That he realized that he needed to be supportive if he truly wanted a relationship with me, and he did.

I am worried, however, that he didn’t really change his mindset, that he trying to be supportive but not really enjoying exploring these aspects of kink with me. What if he is only doing this for my benefit and receiving no real value for himself?

This is something that is beyond my control, and I know something that I cannot control and should then just take at face value, yet I don’t want him to be with me under any sort of false pretenses. I don’t want him to compromise who he is or what he feels just to be in a relationship with me.

And maybe he’s not. But I am suspicious of the sudden change, the practical 180 of what he is saying and doing.

Oct 112016
 

Sure, my Wanderer wrote about connecting the dots, but when I think about connecting the dots, I like to do it even more simply (and maybe more spectacularly because I’m an overachiever?).

I suggested that we start to share the differing perspectives because perspectives have always been fascinating to me. So with that concept in mind, here’s a countdown of our moments with a side by side viewpoint:

The bench, the brush, the brute:

“Nearing the end of the scene during an OTK hairbrush spanking she decided to try to play high jumper, shot up and off my lap and onto the bench I was on and to get away tried rolling behind me. Truth be told is i was just about done with making her bottom glow until that little move.  She was nearing what was her typical edge in the pain department and was going to get a lot of pleasure. Pussy shaking cunt clenching breath steal pleasure. and all of the orgasms she craves Of course she didn’t know that ofr how close she was from being to to stand up and go get her Doxy and Lelo.  Instead though earned herself a lot more pain and much longer and harder beating than was originally intended.” His: Spanked to Orgasm

“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.” Mine: The Brush

So many spankings: 

His: Take Control                        Mine: Room with a View and Couch Surfing

Our second meeting: 

Him: Making her Dance           Mine: Reverberations

Him: Two Days Later and Be My Lover and The Lousy Sadist

“One minute he was focused on getting her to that edge, the next devouring her pussy with the entirety of his mouth and sucking all of her sex completely into his mouth without changing the motion of his tongue and stimulation.  Eventually settling in on her and a series of slightly varied motions and frictions that made her purr so perfectly urging him not to change, to take her were she now longed to go he inserted two fingers and explored her depths as he focused in on getting her to the edge again.  Slow, steady and firmly applying pressure with each pass his hand worked in concert with his mouth until she began to tense.  her legs drew wider as if to say “There!  Stay there and don’t let up” which this time he didn’t as she tenses her pussy around his hand, drove her clit into his tongue and for a moment was as hard and as still as a stone before a moaning exhalation and a gasp. Her body shook.” Him: A Good Licking

“Ever the amazing man of sensations, I was on the bed and being gifted with his own mouth, his finger delving and exploring the wet mess he created.

I know I begged, arched, welcomed, clenched. I don’t know if I did my confusing “please” which could mean please don’t stop, or please stop and give me a break, depending on what side of the pleasure peak I am on.” Mine: Developing

The first time: 

Him:  Heavy Petting  and A First OTK Spanking and Wasted Space

“Do you want to do some Rope? Are you ready?” she asked.

Boy was I ready but simply smiled and said yes. You know me mister cool sitting across the room. Legs stretched out, arms over my head watching her. Which is not at all an unpleasant thing to do. Yet I remained comfortable and in my own way both engaged and distant. In part because I tend to be very self-aware of my physical size compared to others.”  Him: My Rope Life Rebooted

 “When we went back to the hotel room, he sat in a chair and I laid on the bed. We just talked, he seemed in no hurry, and it’s bad manner to show how impatient I am to someone I don’t know well. Time was getting shorter until I had to leave, however, so I bounced on the bed and asked if he wanted to do rope.” Mine: The Wanderer

 

Okay, not a shared perspective, but we had so many moments that I didn’t write them all and neither did he:

Tied, spread, on the floor: Him: Teasing, Permission to Orgasm

I loved reading about a blowjob I gave: 

His: The 20-Minute Orgasm

Wicked Wednesday

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


Sep 112016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - small

*Time to get back to my adventures with The Wanderer, as this scene continues from several days’ spent with him.

The Wanderer ordered my arms behind my back in between two spankings and when I let instinct guide me the wrong way and held him, thus moving my arms; he took me from one couch to another in the hotel suite as a consequence.

After a punishment of the belt, in which I was unsure if I liked it, I assumed the position of arms behind my back. He tweaked my nipples a bit and then ordered me to bring him rope and the crop. It would be our first time using both this trip and I was excited about the rope, nervous about the crop.

It was not my first time being told to deliver him something, and I had the internal debate again of: do I present both? How? I’ve seen tumblr things where the person offers them with wrists exposed and palms open around the perfectly balanced items like some sacrificial lamb offering up the carving knife.

That didn’t sound like me – at all.

So again, I just kind of gestured the things at him and he took them. Perhaps like I am doing with Mr. Texas, so too is The Wanderer doing with me: training a new partner in likes and dislikes.

1IMG_2269

My wrists tied down towards the back of the chair legs isn’t visible in this picture, but this was his view before impact

Next, he ordered me to kneel on a chair in the bedroom with my arms over the back of it. It was quite comfortable to be in this position for a long period of time, my knees sinking into softness and having the additional support of the soft sides of the plush chair to support my legs staying open – something  he took full advantage of. It was also a position that kept me from squirming too much later on.

He tied my wrists to the back of the legs to hold me even more securely, and then the crop caressed my back and butt, at first seemed to gently kiss both cheeks, and then flicked, before reigning down tiny burning flames…again with the sting (something that I’m utterly wimpy at and don’t appreciate much). My poor bottom.

His hand spanked where the crop had been, a large hand that covered so much of my cheeks, alternated biting rhythms and force. A paddle followed, sounding just as impressive as the impact felt, added to the burn of my skin and the tension building in my body, and then back to his hand, which sometimes the other hand would explore my wet crevice and relieve that tension brought on by pain by briefly bringing me to an orgasm, or to multiple orgasms, in between or even during the smacks, before rebuilding the tension all over again from pain. I was unaware I was pulling furtively on my bindings until one wrist felt the burn of fibers, the rope not relenting.

When he finally released me to hold me, my legs were noticeably shaking, my bottom was inflamed red, my wrists were raw, my thighs were drenched, and I was so blissfully happy.

Luckily, the chair was next to the bed where he comfortably held me in his secure arms while I relaxed fully after the experience and realized how tired the events of the day with him had made me (fortunately, it was time for us both to rest for the night).

Jul 282016
 

So The Wanderer and I were in a suite that became a gigantic playground, full of possibilities. There was the wall that was a window overlooking large crowds of people. A purple couch that I immediately fell in love with. Gorgeous colored paintings. More couches and chairs – seriously, there were three couches in this place.

1IMG_2251I was bent over two of them for our first scene, after the windowed spectators below us terrified me while my bottom became pinkened, after a few orgasms that began to rise in volume and increase in intensity, he sat down and pulled me over his knees.

An over the knee spanking (and all three that I’ve ever had have only been with him), is unique. He says it may be because of my size, that I have absolutely no purchase on the ground so that I am completely at his mercy, but I feel very vulnerable. I love that feeling even if it’s unsettling. My toes barely touched the ground, my fingertips only grazed, I relied on his grip on my hip and his lap to keep me stable. He started playfully (he claims he kept it there, but I disagree…mostly because I’m a wimp), and I saw only his feet and ankles. That in itself is a bit of a mind game.

And as his hand came down harder and the sting settled into muscles, one of my hands gripped his closest thigh. I don’t know whether I wanted to caress him or hurt him, my touch was somewhere in between or a bit of both.

He stood me up and pulled my arms behind my back in a hug, told me to keep my arms there. Pinched my nipples and watched me gasp and squirm standing and not stopping him – controlled by mental bondage.  Positioned me in front of a painting and took a picture. Spun me around and held me against his chest, my arms instinctively wrapping around him.

Wrong instinct.

“Did I tell you to move your arms?” he questioned, a sadistic sparkle in his eye.

Ugh. “No,” I replied honestly, opting to not be the brat at that moment.

1IMG_2267“I think you need to learn a lesson,” he told me as he pulled my arms back and propelled me towards the next room with another couch. When we were against the back of the couch in the middle of the room, he told me to take off his belt.

A belt?

A first, well kind of. David, a friend of mine, had once taken a belt and demonstrated one smack with his play partner and she encouraged me to feel the impact of one smack.

So yes, a first in my mind. I took off his belt – hesitantly though I was hoping that wasn’t conveyed and it just seemed slowly, and I’m sure he touched me, whether it was pinching my nipples or softly brushing my hair back from my face, I can’t honestly say.

Do I present it?

Hell no, that would seem eager, and I was nervous…and a bit intimidated. I wadded it up and brought my fist up so he could take it. He walked me around the couch unhurriedly, and standing bent me over the couch cushions.

Whack. Oh gosh a belt stings! I didn’t like it, yelped and whimpered. Whack. Why couldn’t I settle into stinging sensations? Such an utter wimp with impact.

“How many is that?”

He couldn’t be serious?! He didn’t tell me to keep track.

“So many!” I exclaimed, hoping the point was coming across that it hurt.

…though I didn’t try to stop him, it was a pain I could handle.

“Seven,” or maybe he said eight, and I wondered what number he was going to. “One more,” after a couple more, and this time the belt smacked at the line between cheeks and thighs and this time it felt good.

Hmm, maybe I could like a belt? Only if it felt like that single solitary slap.

He pulled me up to standing by my hair and ordered my arms back. I assumed the position. He tweaked my nipples a bit and then ordered me to bring him rope and the crop.

I was excited about the rope, nervous about the crop.

*To be continued.

 

Jul 262016
 

Wicked WednesdaySome things I’m doing this summer:

First thing first: I dyed my hair purple and fucking loved it for two months until I had to fully transition in my life and be professional again.

I went skinny dipping a lot…

…On a related note: I’m getting sun burned on parts of me I never have before. I make very sure to put sunblock on my nipples, but have completely forgotten my bottom – and that hurts when I’m trying to sleep, sitting down, or getting spanked (which this summer has happened surprisingly frequently).

Having pool sex…

…Actually, I rock at pool sex. I straddled Mr. Texas‘ hips, gripped my heels around his upper thighs, my hands at his shoulders for balance and rode, grinding against him until he came deep inside of me with a groan, the water splashing around our bodies.

With no children around, he and I had sex with me bent over the kitchen counter, then he swooped me up in his arms and laid me down on the cold hard tile as he slipped between my thighs.

He slipped my skirt up and pushed me over the end of the couch, pushed himself into me.

I went cherry picking, the cherries tart and sweet in my mouth as my teeth puncture the tight skin and the juice trickling down my throat. In the dirt brown backdrop, the red a sharp contrast.

I visited quite a bit with The Wanderer, who seems to be a calm shelter amid my tempest summer.

I went to Las Vegas twice: once with The Wanderer, and once with a friend who turned out to be an asshole – he expected sex because we were sharing a hotel room, even though I stated that I wasn’t interested. I ended up completely disgusted by the pressure and asked to be brought home early.

1IMG_2271

A picture of my purple hair (a dark purple) and a picture The Wanderer took of me in front of some art in our suite in Las Vegas. My ass is a little pink from a recent spanking and I was ordered to keep my arms behind my back in this moment.

I visited some local dungeons and have made some great friends and new experiences.

I met some old friends and made some new ones from Twitter.

I hooked up with my husband, a lot. He has broken up with me and my heart three times in the last month alone, still as wishy-washy as ever. He goes back and forth between his girlfriend and me, playing us in his quest to not be lonely (my perspective). He and I still continue to talk about our future and love…and I truly do believe that despite everything he loves me. Fear keeps us apart, I believe, and a fucked up past neither of us know how to overcome. He also has no clue who he is outside of the military, and I don’t know who I am outside of him, so we both are suffering an identity crisis that is shaping our stupid decisions. He didn’t want our make up to be a secret anymore, so if we try it, dammit we’re both being very public about it.

I love the fuck out of that man, I can’t stress that enough. He fulfills me in a way that I have never felt before, fits into my life like a puzzle piece meant to be there. Honestly, I want to be fully monogamous with him and live as happily ever after as possible in a real society where we have to work hard to keep our love alive – a thing I still believe in.

I committed myself to him for life, and if nothing else, I believe in that commitment to him still. We could make it. But I don’t have faith anymore that he would allow it, and even though each and every time trying to be back together again is his suggestion and persuasion – by this point I’m terrified of hoping we’ll make it only for him to break us up again within a week.

Jul 152016
 

I had two people co-top me last night (*not actually last night). At first it began with a negotiation with a male, but after learning that I’m a wimp (by my own confession) and that I like sensations more than impact, he asked if I played with females. I don’t normally, but I have, so he asked another female if she wanted to join in since she was more sensation play. She agreed. I was nervous when I got the offer, but after the stressful morning, I thought why not and agreed.

She and I discussed some negotiation things – no genital touching (breasts were fine), no penetration, no marks other than what a bathing suit would cover, no blood or needle play; she asked about name calling (I admitted I had not experienced this and would let her know if I had an issue in the moment), and I warned that I can only handle lighter impact…unless I orgasm. That last part came into play because she asked when the last time I played was, and I was bemoaning the fact that I lost my crop.

“A crop? And you do light impact?”

“Well, I can take more from an orgasm.”

As the man came into the room with his toy bag, she threw in that piece of information, and he asked if I wanted a Hitachi. I said maybe and that I would think on it.

I got undressed down to underwear.

She sat on a piece of furniture near me and watched as he pushed my back against a leather padded structure and asked about face slapping and hair pulling. “No to face, yes to hair,” I stated. He announced he would start out touching me, so he did, lightly and unhurriedly tracing his way up and down my body, looking for reactions. He commented to the female that my breasts felt amazing and that she needed to feel them. She stated she would in a minute, that she was watching.

He spun me around and told me to spread my legs, gripped my hair tightly in his fingers. He began to talk dirty to me, his mouth close to my ear, his words touched me before his hands.

He started with fingertips washing against my back side, and then light slapping of my ass. “She has a beautiful ass, you should smack it,” he suggested to the female and she did. I felt her nails softly scratch my skin across the skin she smacked.

It was a long scene, so I’ll skip around a bit…

A female’s soft mouth on my nipple, her tongue teasing the hardened tip, and seeing the way her hair swayed to the side, was unusual to me but it was nice. Her gracious lips would occasionally graze at my sensitive breasts throughout the scene, but that first time I viewed her bending over while I stood against the furniture stands out so vividly.

His vicious hands in my hair on either side were meant to hurt, and they did, keeping me centered and aware that he was in charge.  The Wartenberg Wheel’s tines kept my brain focused on my skin by offering the prickly sensations along it, even across my nipples.

She held my arms back and I melted against her softness in such a sharp contrast to the stinging impact of him slapping my inner thighs in front of me. I thought it was incredibly hot to be in between the two of them, thought of how lucky to experience such.

She would check in on me every so often – a calm reassurance.

I was ordered up on a table and blushed as it was discussed how eager I appeared. Fortunately for me, while I could feel the color in my cheeks, I don’t believe that they could see it.

His electrical wand came out and a large light bulb caressed and zapped its way down my body. The woman stepped away for a few moments – disliking electrical play.

Next my body was slapped, more lightly towards the breasts and rougher on the thighs. I am such a wimp at stinging impact but I hoped that I wasn’t disappointing them – I didn’t color or try to stop it, my body was sufficiently warmed up and I became conscious of just breathing and moaned through the hands reddening my skin.

And then my vulva was slapped – tentatively at first, a test of impact, and I groaned in a way that must’ve been encouraging. He began a rhythm and my noises clued in my obvious enjoyment…and perhaps just as obvious building of an orgasm as he stopped right before I could. I whined and he seemed very pleased with the denial, laughed and made a comment that wasn’t at all sympathetic.

He grabbed a flexible bamboo rod and told her of his plan to hit my thighs to a rhythm and that in between each hit, she would slap at my lips.

After he discussed the plan for all of a few seconds, he asked: “are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” she said after a moment, but I know the words were meant for me, to see if I would protest, if I was okay. I didn’t respond during that pause nor did I protest. I was anxious but far more curious.

“Good, I don’t care if she’s ready, I only care if you are. Little sluts are always ready.” For some reason we all laughed and continued laughing at the beat they played upon my body; the humor in the scene was refreshing. It wasn’t the first time I was called a slut in this scene, but it was the first scene that I had ever had name calling done and I still felt a bit odd about it – neither positive nor negative, rather indifferent.

*This scene has six more installments, as there’s a lot of firsts to discuss and dissect. The next one is here. And then to discover why I could achieve an orgasm without penetration, click here to read about earlier in the day.

**To hear the two people who co topped discuss (briefly) the negotiation (where I heard it was also their first time co-topping), click here and go from 37:20-38 minutes, and 40:20-40:30 (the whole part of safe words is a great thing to just listen to).

***To hear a later discussion of how the female views me as hetero-flexible (I would say she’s fairly accurate), click here and to go 34 minutes.