Sep 052017
 

*Continued from here

Punching is far more effective and safer when I am pressed against something soft from the recoil of force, so after the orgasm Mr. Texas guided me away from the hard and unforgiving bathroom counters. It was blindly, as a leather blindfold now soaked with my tears unusual smell was my primary overriding sense. Trust led us back into the bedroom where he bent me over the bed and punched a few more times at the softest fleshiest parts of my bottom and thighs before throwing me onto the bed on my stomach. It was unsettling to not be able to see, for my body to snap from one place to another by force, something that created a different type of awareness within me.

His fists came down faster and harder in the familiar position but I yellowed rather quickly on both cheeks.

“You normally take a lot more,” he commented, rolled me over and fingered me to yet another orgasm, completely took my mind off of the pain. He kissed me passionately as the head of his cock pushed past my entrance and parted the way into my depths; my body welcomed his intrusion, clenched with pleasure rippling along his length.

After an orgasm from me he slid out, one hand glided across my throat as his fingers and thumb found my pulse on both sides of the neck and softly pressed. It didn’t cut off air nor blood, just a gentle reminder that he was in charge and immediately made my mind quiet down again, an unvoiced complaint of him stopping sex silent on my lips. The other hand roughly fingered me to several more orgasms, my fluids coated his fingers and sounded out into the otherwise quiet room – I am often non verbal with a hand around my throat.

Again, in between orgasms, the smell of wet leather wafted into my awareness.

He slid into me again and we had sex for so long, in so many positions that I screamed in overwhelming pleasure until my throat felt raw and my stomach hurt from the tension.

Eventually he growled sexily in his own release. At the time I was bent over the bed standing so he scooped me up and laid me gently in the middle of the bed, cuddled against me despite how sweaty my overworked body was. The blindfold came off but the pleasant smell of wet leather lingered.

Mr. Texas praised how well I did as he stroked the side of me, his hand ran across a hip.

Smack! And he was back to patting a cheek, positioned his lower body a bit away to get the space to reach my bottom while the arm underneath my head went around front to hold steady firm pressure against my throat. Several soft strokes from his hand and then a hard one, the anxiousness of an occasional promise of a hard one that never landed to watch me tense and gasp, which made him chuckle.

Eventually he positioned me onto my stomach to again punch against my cheeks and the tops of my thighs, though I was fast complaining.

I was also in that floaty space where pain and pleasure collided and blurred and nothing else existed beyond the sensations.

…That is, until he reached to the nightstand and rubbed menthol into my cheeks. “Red,” I stated, concerned at how cold my cheeks became, how they intensified the sting that my skin had already been feeling.

“Okay,” he said soothingly, rolled me over and held me. “No more.”

Perhaps it would seem strange that menthol made me red so quickly, but earlier we had played with a few chemicals and menthol had made its way to my clit and I hated how that felt.

The smell of it finally penetrated the wet leather smell.

I asked him to wash it off so he pulled me into the bathroom and bent me over the counter, this time was only to graze my overly sensitive bottom with a warm washcloth.

He commented on how out of it I looked after our play session and steered me back into the bedroom, tucked us both into the covers and snuggled up against my back. I dozed but woke quickly once the gel penetrated my muscles and made my cheeks feel on fire – a different sort from the hot throbbing after impact, more like pins radiating heat from deep under the skin.

He was already fast asleep but it woke me and kept me awake until the sensations much later finally subsided, effectively taking me out of my quiet mind.

Lesson learned: I don’t like chemicals.

  3 Responses to “Punching Chemicals”

  1. I’m guessing the menthol will stay in the night stand next time? Or is that at Mr Texas’ prerogative?

  2. Gosh, I love punching. We’ve never done anything with menthol. It sounds painful…not sure I could take it.

 Leave a Reply

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>