Mar 202016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallMimir unraveled rope slowly, slid it up to my neck, gently applied pressure and pulled me onto my back. We were both on our knees, and my hips and ass nestled against the seams of his jeans.

I was naked except for lace panties. He was fully clothed. It was a common (and for me unnerving) state for us to start in. His arm went around me as he removed the rope and replaced the pressure against my throat. I could feel his muscles bunch up against my neck, a hand instinctively went on top but I stopped myself before my nails dug in to his flesh in defense.

The rope wound itself around me, tighter than usual, his every move pushed or pulled my body with little indicated care of my balance. His arms would take turns choking me briefly as he traveled around, my wrists were tied behind my back. It was an intentional discomfort, a consistent physically dominating.

It was fucking hot.

Within moments, I found that quiet space.

At one point, I was pushed forward more than my balance could handle and he gripped the rope tied at my back and yanked me up. My head snapped up with the force.

Can I even begin to describe how my body reacted to the force he created? How I clenched in excitement, in concern – not for my safety, never that, but for the unaccustomed roughness. My heart pounded in my chest and my breathing quickened.

Could he tell how I was reacting? I believe so, he seems to instinctively know what I want, how I respond, what I need to find the calm inside the storm.

He gripped the rope after he was done tying my chest and arms, grabbed between my legs, picked me up and and placed me stomach down on the floor. He moved between my legs, and so softly – the merest gossamer of touches, slid a finger against the delicate lace of my underwear. If I had not been so fixated on his every move, if I had breathed too deeply, I might have missed the touch. It was a sharp contrast to the earlier dominance, this soft caress at my lips.

My body cried out for his touch. My mouth remained silent, not wanting to break the spell with demands that would go unheeded simply because they were uttered. He is not a man to be rushed. He tied my ankles to my thighs, far tighter than he’s ever done before, pressing my body to fold further into itself. He tied tight legs to a suspension point above him, my back arched and chest pressed further into the ground. My underwear was yanked down to mid thigh as far as the rope would allow. He fingered me to an orgasm, then pressed his knee against my upper back and grounded my upper body into the floor while he fingered me again.

The pain of the arched angle made further by his body weight, the bite of the ropes around my thighs, built and gathered and stormed with my orgasm, completely clouded my mind and kept it foggy even when he moved to kick at my bindings, to stand upon my legs and apply his body weight against the digging and pressure of the ropes holding me above the ground and not letting me go.

He sat beside me, the wartenberg wheel pricked at my skin as it traversed the exposed areas, shedded light in my haze to the smaller sections and bringing them into focus. His hand was around my throat and my moans of pain ceased.

Lowered fully to the ground, he smacked against the outside of my sore thighs, the sting of his hands felt all the way through them. He gripped at my hips and forced them upwards, pressed against me where half of me was exposed and the other half only shielded by lace barely felt.

Released, a paddle began to rein down upon my ass, the sting overrode the thump after awhile, and surprisingly (considering the head space) I yellowed. His hands soothed and caressed the reddened skin, and then gripped hard and I raised my hips to relieve some of the pressure.

2016 39

A picture of where he bit me on the inside of my arm during the height of an orgasm (the darker bruise my own carelessness)

There were so many moments in this scene that folded upon one another as I was less aware of what he was doing and more aware of what he was creating. I know I fought against the ropes while he played them to his advantage, I know he never lost contact with my skin regardless of how he moved us or what he grabbed. A sensitive little place on the inside of my arm that was vulnerable and exposed tied above my head, he bit into at the height of an orgasm.

The whole time he was in control and he would forcefully remind me of that, not that I was allowed to even have a moment’s lapse in being aware. My body was so heightened and aroused by his actions.

He played a beautiful balance of pain and pleasure until I was a gooey trembling mess, then he held me gently in his arms and brushed the sweaty, tangled hair from my face as I drifted.

 Posted by at 10:16 am

  2 Responses to “Take Down”

  1. Sublime.

  2. This line: “There were so many moments in this scene that folded upon one another as I was less aware of what he was doing and more aware of what he was creating.” That is a magical moment right there.

 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>