Feb 202014
 

He rode me like a horse. At first I wasn’t sure how keen I’d be on this idea, but like many others of his, it soon had me wet and begging for more.

I am into impact play. I love having a cherry red bottom by the time he drives into me. I’d played with paddles and slappers, textured gloves and canes. Then one day while a out I saw the crop and just had to buy it.

The moment I got it into my hands I giggled. The first image that springs to mind is always the Dominatrix and catsuits. I’m a submissive and into being bossed around, but I am not as into degradation play. I have a hard enough time loving myself sometimes, I don’t need to add fuel to that fire. With that in mind it’s probably not that surprising that I hadn’t added riding crops into my bag of tricks for impact play. It was, in my mind, a very short leap to degradation and a great temptation to anyone who got a crop in hand.

The night my lover and I brought the crop into play I was excited. All thoughts of what if long gone as my body tingled in impatience. We hadn’t seen each other in quite some time so our clothing slid to the floor in haste as we tried to devour each other. His fingers were cold as they slid across the soft skin of my hips and grazed their way to my neck.

He breathed his excitement in my ear. His fingers suddenly tightened around my throat and he spun me around, bending me over as the deft fingers of his other hand slid inside of me. The hand at my throat slid into my hair, insistently tugging my head back to receive his kiss. His fingers left me trembling and wet with want as he left me to grab something from the bed. I was so caught up in the feelings I had been longing for, that I couldn’t think why he would leave my body in such a state of bereavement; the crop. I had completely forgotten about this new treasure until suddenly I felt the supple leather of it gently caressing the length of me.

He brought the crop up between my parted thighs to tease my slick skin and I moaned. A quick flick and I felt a light sting on my waiting ass. His hand still held my head taunt on my neck as his other continued to flick and sting and tease with the crop. A particularly luck strike on the inside of my thigh had my nerves jumping to quick attention.

My impatience ran out quickly and I was begging in short order. He moved me onto the bed on all fours as he positioned himself behind me. He rubbed the crop down my body and told me I was a good girl. My moans became deeper as, after a sharp slap of the crop, he slid inside my waiting body.

He wrapped my hair in his fist as he rode me with increasing tempo, always delivering strikes with the crop at unexpected times. My body bucked, craving him deeper, harder, until there was nothing more than mindless release. My body soon tightened around his hardened length and my arms shook as I found my release. My lover was not proof against my body’s tightening and came soon after.

All doubts I had about the crop quickly dissipated after that first use and I couldn’t wait to continue using it with all of my other impact toys. Neither they crop, or my lover, failed to deliver on that steamy night.

Kink of the Week

Jan 092014
 

The night was amazing and the chemistry was pumping through my blood, flooding my panties. We had had the most amazing date and I was incredibly aroused. I had been burnt out on men, dating… stupid casual sex. It wasn’t giving me the pleasure I typically enjoyed and I had been dodging dates for weeks.

It was the pianos. I wanted to go see the dueling pianos and he was such a charming guy, I decided to accept the date. He had an old fashioned sentiment like I do and when I arrived I was instantly aroused to see him in a tie and fedora. My pinup hair and ruby red lips were a perfect compliment. As we were leaving the bar, a couple of women stopped us and said “He better have been proposing, I’ve never seen a more perfect couple”. My cheeks flushed a mixture of excitment, embarassment, and wine as we laughed and informed them that it was our first date.

Getting home a bit later and a lot more tipsy, I couldn’t stop my fingers from reaching for his tie. Undoing the silky knot and slowly unbuttoning his shirt in the dimly lit romance of my bedroom. I could taste my excitment, my impatience. He cupped my cheeks and gave me a drugging kiss as my fingers fumbled in their task. I was falling into his eyes as I was melting in his strong arms and I couldn’t stop what followed any more than I could stop a runaway train.

Passion. There was so much passion between us it took me by surprise. Lately my love life had consisted more of fucking than of softer things. He craddled me in his arms as his body rocked into mine and I was swept up in the moment and reveled in the difference of it. That’s when it happened.

He moaned. My name. The syllables brushing the sensitive whisps of hair by my ear as the explosion of their effects flowed through my body. It stole my breath away, something so simple. I can’t tell you the last time I was called anything other than the usual generic pronouns during sex. It was me. ME. He was having sex with me, not with the interchangable “baby” or “good little slut”. The sex was suddenly more personal and it dazzled me, the effect that this one word had on me. So simple, and such a strong change.

The sex was incredible. Almost as incredible as the sweet, funny, smart, and amazingly gorgeous man who was in my bed, tucking me into his arms now that we were finish and our breathing was laboured. It was as I was savoring these sensations and trying to catch my breath that I came to the conclusion that for once, I wanted nothing more than a second date, and to hear my name cross his lips again.

 

Nov 272013
 

It began with a request for the misery stick and wax, after a long and trying period of not seeing each other. I had fantasized about him all day, touching myself periodically throughout the day in anticipation.

Even tired, he granted my request. Though not before tying my wrists to my chest, a harness going around both chest and waist, a new experience of rope binding my mouth. He teased and taunted, brought me to orgasm and denied other desires of mine.

I would have been well satisfied with the experience at that point, but he still fulfilled my original request. Grabbing the rope between my chest, he pulled me out of the center of the bed, rolled me to the side effortlessly. He placed a large towel down in the middle of the bed, then grabbed the rope around my back and rolled me onto the towel.

“Where do you want the wax?” he asked, already dripping a few spot onto my stomach where the rope was not.

Did he forget I couldn’t speak? I tried to reply to his question, but my frustration of the muffled sounds my mouth could produce only elicited a chuckle from him.

Splat, the wax dripped onto my hips, where the heat seemed more intense. He grabbed a thigh and moved it apart, exposing the sensitive inner side. Drip, drip, drip, it seemed hotter than normal, and my leg tensed under his hold and the wax, bracing for the next unexpectant onslaught. Confused, I wanted to move into the heat, it dripped, I wanted to move away. No matter my wants, his hand firmly held my thigh. And then some wax poured down and splattered where thigh meets lips of sex, and my lip burned with such intensity that I shook my head no, tried to buck against his touch, yelped against the rope.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he cooed, put down the candle, rubbed between both my lips, my wetness parted and allowed his finger greater access. “I didn’t mean for it to hit you there, no wonder you went a little wild.” His calm voice and teasing finger soothed me, and I felt myself relaxing into the bed again. I shut my eyes, and then felt the scorching wax on the other thigh, making its way up towards my sex, his finger abandoning my sex to hold the thigh in place.

I asked for this? I thought briefly. And the sensation of my passion and pain melded, and I remembered why. I moaned, and then screamed as yet another drop went astray and burned its way down the side of lip and thigh.

“Babe, I’m so sorry. No more wax,” he apologized, and I opened my eyes to see him put the candle on the nightstand. Again, his finger traced the crevice of my entrance, explored up to my clit, gently stroking up and down. Once I relaxed, he got up and went into our chest. I saw the knife, and closed my eyes, anticipating the cool steel. The tip traced along my rib cage, the blade gliding along my stomach, wax a slowly barrier as the steel gently separated the wax from skin. It was such a unique sensation, where the stiff cold replaced the fluid hot-turned-cooled-wax marks. The knife moved to my thighs, and beginning at knee, moved up with the slow intent of peeling the wax off. I groaned, it felt so amazing; I felt like the focus on his attention with the deliberation he was giving to the task.

The flat of the blade skimmed so softly across my lips, the chill soothing the parts that still seared.

He put down the knife, and apologized, then used his fingers to gently pull the wax out of my trimmed-but-still-there pubic hair. It tugged, it didn’t feel good, but was over quick enough to keep me in my sensitive fuzzy mind.

He laid his body over mine, breathed against my mouth that ached to kiss him, smiled at the taunt barrier preventing me from doing so, and entered me swiftly. I lifted my legs up to give him greater access, held the rope against my chest and bit down what was between my teeth at the pleasurable intrusion. He brought me to orgasm before pulling abruptly out, and grabbed the rope to manipulate me head down on the bed. “Are you okay?” he asked, and I tried to nod. I positioned my ass up and knees together, and he situated himself at my entrance, sliding in only about halfway before almost completely withdrawing, a few times taunted, before thrusting into me as hard as he could. I moaned: some from pain, most from pleasure.

He again played the just-the-tip game at my entrance, and leaned over to grab something. The tiny rod of the misery stick rubbed against my butt, and came down softly a few times. He increased the impact of the stick slowly, sliding himself in and out of me, my entrance so incredibly sensitive, my cheek beginning to sting and distract.

The biting of the rod became more of the focus eventually, and I tried to rotate away, tried to push back on his sex to distract him or me. I shook my head no as much as I could between pillows and mattress. “Fuck it,” he said, and I heard something fall to the ground, before he grabbed the rope around my waist and pulled me back, impaling me hard onto his shaft.

He hit a wall, and I tried to push myself away. He pulled back again, allowed distance, pulled. Oh my, I was orgasming so hard. Pain and pleasure again melded into one sensation, and it made me mindless, only aware of my body tensing and releasing and feeling.

My toes curled so much they hurt, and still he pounded into me. Orgasm crashed upon another, swept me far away, until he finally groaned against me.

When we stilled, he expressed his like for the harness around my waist, untying me, kissing me softly. As the rope left parts of it, it trailed against my responsive skin. When finally the rope was gone, he whispered, “come here,” and pulled me into his arms, kissed my forehead. He stroked my skin, occasionally skimming over the raised lines on my cheeks from the stick, making me gasp. He kissed me and made me feel loved and cherished. His hand moved to my throat and without controlling my breathing, he moved me away to kiss the side of my mouth and manipulated me again to his lips. It took my thoughts away again from the present, and I slept.

To see the picture of this: His Rope

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Something for the weekend

Sep 252013
 

The anticipation was quite high for his arrival. I paced. Every minute it seemed had me racing to the mirror to check that I looked okay, that every hair was in place and that my breasts hadn’t betrayed me and given up the perfect cleavage I had arranged. He was coming over purely for sex and so I questioned why waste time getting dressed? Instead I showered and shaved and applied sultry makeup and fashioned soft hair to compliment the completely sheer fabric of the lingerie I had chosen instead.

My heart beat a faster rhythm as my phone buzzed saying he was here. My pacing moved into the entryway after one last dash to the mirror. The soft fabric of my lingerie merely complimenting the perfect nudity of my soft skin. Finally his knock came. I opened the door for him, making sure to stand slightly behind, so his view was hampered until he was fully in my house and I was closing the door.

Suddenly he spun me around and slammed me into the wall, his mouth devouring mine as his fingers drove into the dampness he had perfect access to that was caused by my discovery of this absolute proof of what he thought of me answering the door in such a state. Quickly stripped down, I was standing naked in my entryway while his hands roamed every inch.

He tugged and pulled me into my room where with deft movements he shoved me bent over the bed and entered me so swiftly it stole my breath away. Our sex was intense, furious, primal. He bundled my hair into his fist and pulled my head up so he could bite on my neck as he drove harder into me; my body grateful for his entrance. Just as quickly as the moments had progressed I felt my body tightening around him and a strangled cry escape my lips as the beginnings of my orgasm brought him to his. Filled, finished, with legs I didn’t think would work, I collapsed onto the bed, never having expected such a forceful, erotic moment as this.

I decided then, I definitely need to answer the door naked more often.

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