(among other activities).
And I really, really liked it. 😀
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I am hurt, angry, and feeling neglected, so I lash out, hurling complaints and demands at you. No matter what you say, what you do, how you hold me, my anger grows. I can see your face tightening, your expression becoming distant and angry, but I can’t stop myself.
Finally, exasperated with me, you sit up on your heels, arms crossed, mouth tight.
“Stand up,” you say, your voice cold and hard.
I stand, still crying.
“Take off your bottoms,” you order next. I ignore you, so you repeat yourself.
“Why?” I ask, sobbing.
“Do it. Now.” Your voice brooks no disobedience. I finally take them off, still radiating anger and defiance even though I’m obeying your command.
You grab the back of my neck and push me face-first against the wall, gently but firmly. You hold me there, your grip on the nape of my neck strong, commanding, masterful. You lean in close to my left ear and growl, your voice deep and menacing:
“When I tell you to do something, do it.”
I shudder, turned on by the rough hand on my neck, but still angry and hurt. It’s confusing to me and I don’t know what to do, how to respond to it.
“Lift your nightgown.”
I comply, reluctantly, and you pull my silky panties up out of the way, baring my buttocks. Your other hand is still holding me tight against the wall. You press your body against mine; I can feel your cock nestling into my ass.
“Stop crying,” you order me, but I don’t. I can’t stop it now, even if I wanted to, and I don’t, really, because I want you to know.
You whisper in my ear, and it confuses me again, how a whisper can be so soft and quiet, and yet so full of danger:
“Stop crying, or I will give you something to cry about.”
Of course, this makes me howl, and your response is swift and punishing, a harsh swat. I wail, and you spank me again. I sob helplessly, another swat. Another wail, another swat. I lose track of how often you spank me, deep into my wailing and keening. Then it stops and I gradually come back to myself.
“Strip,” you demand with that growl.
God, normally I would love this, the dominance in your voice, your hand hard on the back of my neck; but tonight, it just adds to my misery, and I find myself completely frozen, unable to comply. Another hard swat, the penalty for disobedience. I jump, then slowly pull my nightgown over my head, shimmy my panties down to my ankles, and stand with my head down, a submissive pose despite my reluctance to obey you.
Your hand turns me around and propels me forward until my knees hit the mattress. I crawl onto the bed, slowly, feeling no joy in my submission. “Down,” you say, with a light push on my shoulders. I kneel down in a presentation pose, your favorite for spanking me. I know what’s coming, and I wince, waiting for the first blow.
Instead, I hear you opening and slamming drawers. I flinch at the sound, at the controlled violence in your movements.
“Where are the floggers?”
“In the toy bag,” I sniffle, “under the bed.”
You are angry, really angry, I hear it in your voice. You’ve never hit me in anger or spanked me in punishment and I’m scared. I continue sobbing quietly. I don’t want to, I’m afraid of making you angrier, but I just can’t stop. And the fact that I can’t stop, that I’m probably making you angrier, just makes me cry harder.
You swat me again, hard, with no warning or warm up. I shriek and scream. Another blow, and I jump and move my legs closer together.
“Keep position,” you snap. I move them apart again, slowly, dreading what will come next.
“Next” turns out to be the heavy flogger. Christ, you can make it sting when you want to. I scream and cry and plead with you through a few fast blows–five, maybe ten. I kneel in the silence, sobbing, apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” you say. But I don’t believe you. And you know I don’t believe you, 15 years have taught you how to read me, but you also know at this point that nothing you say will convince me.
You push me forward, across the bed, and shove my knees farther apart, and I feel your cock just outside my entrance. Then you’re in me, taking me, hard and fast, and it doesn’t hurt but I cry anyway, because that’s all I seem to be able to do at this point. You set a demanding, punishing pace but I stubbornly stay still. I don’t want to enjoy this, I don’t want to respond, and I try my hardest not to, but it just doesn’t work. I was wet when you went in and I can feel myself getting wetter, expanding, stretching to accommodate you, and my mind, my traitorous mind…my mind finds it incredibly arousing that you are taking me like this, taking what you want when you want it, using me, because you can, because I belong to you, because you own me.
I feel myself start to rock a little, and I feel betrayed by my own body, which insists on enjoying the fucking machine you have become. You hit bottom, hard, and I gasp and lurch forward. You pull me back, hit bottom again, and I moan and thrust back, fighting it but losing the battle. After that you hit it with every stroke and I push back into you, helping you to ram into me harder, and I gasp and moan and the feeling keeps building, keeps building deep down in my cunt, the darkest recesses, pleasure and pain together so overwhelming that it takes my breath away. Lust, desire, arousal, submission, they swirl together to create the perfect storm and the pleasure is too much, too strong, too glorious and you plunge into me one more time and push me over the edge, and I come. I stop breathing for just a moment and then I moan, the sound skirling up into a helpless, ecstatic cry of relief and amazement and I’m mumbling, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…”
You grab my hips and pull me back onto your cock, hard, so hard I can feel your pubes brushing my ass, and again, and once more and you come too, explosively, rocking me so hard I nearly collapse under you, and still you pump into me until finally, with one sharp jerk, you hit bottom once more and shudder to a stop, gasping, doing that all-over shiver you do when it’s really good. I feel you collapse on me, your chest blazing hot against my back, your cheek on my shoulder.
We pant together, both of us exhausted and wrung out. You ask me quietly, almost gently, whether I feel better now, and that’s when I realize that I’ve stopped crying. I understand, finally, that you weren’t mad at me after all. I have begged for a rough scene, for menace and danger and a hard master, and tonight, when I needed a reason to wail, to scream, to let out all the bad feelings, that’s exactly what you gave me. And the catharsis has left me calm, peaceful, and soothed, the emotional distress gone.
You gave me exactly what I needed, before I even knew that I needed it, and all that is left is joy, and the knowledge of your love for me.
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I heard the familiar command: “Woman, come here,” and found Himself in the hallway. He arched his eyebrow at me, guided me into the bedroom, bent me over the bed, and swatted me. It was a good swat, a good, solid, THUMP connecting with that sweet spot where your thighs and your ass meet. You know, that spot where the vibrations echo up into your ass and down your legs and across your back and into the deepest recesses of your cunt. Yeh, THAT spot.
I got a few more of those. Six? Ten, maybe? I’m not sure. That sweet spot gets me so subby so fast that I tend to forget (how) to count. My brain got fuzzy and my ass got higher as I relaxed back into my Master’s hand. I felt the moisture gathering between my legs, and I’m pretty sure I was purring.
He stood me up to strip off my dress and tank top, then shimmied down my shorts and panties (unlike The Dom Next Door, Himself prefers a naked ass to practice his happy whackery on) and bent me back over the bed. I closed my eyes as the short heavy leather flogger hit my ass. It was softer than he usually hits me, warm and relaxing, and I could feel ripples spreading out from the impact. Another, and my ass came up a little; another, and up a little more. Before I knew quite how it happened I was standing on my tip-toes, arching my back down and my ass up, reaching for the next blow, greedy, demanding, and impatient. I rolled my hips a little, squeezed my thighs together against my clit, and moaned. Oh yes, oh yes, please, again, right there, oh……
He nudged my feet apart. No, farther. Yes, that’s it, hold it right there. The long heavy leather flogger can hurt like a motherfucker, but he started out light-ish, no pain, and I felt all warm and tingly, across my ass and up my back. But he swung it harder, and harder, and it CRACKED every time it landed. I squealed and moaned and he switched it up and flogged my pussy, not too hard, not too direct, and I jumped but it felt good, I was so wet, just floating out there in happy-sub-space.
I have recently expressed interest in trying a cane. I am terrified of it, and fascinated by it at the same time. Terrified, because goddamn it looks like that hurts like a sumbitch; and fascinated, because goddamn it looks like that hurts like a sumbitch. I’m not at all convinced that my ass has worked up a hide thick enough for a cane…and although I’m developing a taste for pain, I’m not that far into yet. And if we did decide to try it I would want to go slow, really slow, and gentle, because I’ve seen butterfly-kiss taps with a cane leave outrageous stripes. It’s something we would have to work our way into very carefully, and so, I have decided that, for now at least, it will remain a fantasy.
Apparently, Himself did not get that memo.
I got an almighty WHACK across the ass with the riding crop handle. OMFG. Seriously, that pain was just…well…fuck, I don’t even have words. “Took my breath away” is far too mild. It left a line of fire across my ass and I gasped, yowled, and tucked my butt under in the antithesis of my happy-ass-reaching-for-the-blow move. He did it again–WHACK! and I jumped and yowled again. The third time, in almost the same spot, did me in and I screamed. I mean, I SCREAMED. I screamed loud enough to make the dogs, who were in the back yard, start barking. And then he did it again, and I screamed again. Screamed, and cursed.
Himself said, “Well, you said you wanted to try a cane…this is pretty close.” I huffed back, “Not yet! And not that hard!”
So of course, he WHACKED me again, just as hard. Bastard. LOL
He started flicking me with the tip of the crop, which felt like gentle kisses after the handle treatment.
Himself: “Do you like it when I just use the end?”
Me: “Yes, Sir!”
He continued fluttering little crop licks all over my ass and lower back, even my upper legs, and it was feeling good. I started to relax and stick my ass back out, and WHACK! he got me again. I screeched. A screech, in case you don’t know, is several orders of magnitude louder than a scream. I think they probably heard me in downtown Portland.
He chuckled. Goddamn, I am married to an evil, evil man!
He took pity on me, though, and rubbed my poor, abused cheeks. His hand felt really cool; my ass, he said, felt really warm.
Yeah, I knew that, Sir. Thanks for the update though. 😀
He left to let the (still barking) dogs back in the house, and I stood up–well, wobbled up, mostly up, probably canting a bit to the side–to wait for his return. I took the opportunity to rub my ass–man, he wasn’t kidding, it was warm, and then I craned my head around back, and even with my glasses off, I could see the red glow. I smiled. A glowing wench is a happy wench, even if she doesn’t always like the process that got her there.
Dogs taken care of, Himself grabbed a flogger–the short heavy leather flogger, I think–and starting flogging my tits. He wasn’t hitting hard, not yet. In fact, he used this technique where he’s spinning the flogger like a wheel, and so it’s not as constant or as hard as when he makes a direct hit. Damn, it felt good. I felt myself smiling–my goofy, “please Sir, may I have some more” smile. Then he started flogging side to side–right side of right breast, left side of left breast–and it hurt, because the night before, he had smacked my breasts, mostly the right one, with the flat of his hand. They were swinging to and fro and having a good old time and he kept whacking away at them until the right one turned bright pink, and he stopped and said “I think you may have bruises from that.”
So, yeah, the tits were sensitive, and they did not appreciate the heavy flogger, not at all.
But no worries! He switched it up again and started doing the wheelie-thing in reverse, so the tails were hitting the underside of my breasts with a little smack-bounce that made me moan and lean into it. That went on for awhile, with the leather flogger and then the rubber flogger and then back to the leather.
He stopped to flick my nipple, and I gushed. He liked that, so he grabbed the other one too, and started pulling me up, down, forward, and up again, and I gushed some more. By that point I was listing so badly that he had to use them to pull me (more or less) upright.
When I couldn’t stand up anymore, it was time to bend me over again. More happy whackery ensued, until my ass was pleasantly sore, my legs were trembling, and my pussy was dripping.
Himself nudged me up onto the bed, then flipped me over and pulled my butt closer to the edge. He dug through the toys and found a thinnish blue vibe that I haven’t used in ages, handed it to me, and said “Masturbate.” The vibe didn’t seem real promising, considering that what I wanted in me was his cock, which is considerably thicker, but I obeyed the order and started playing.
The thing with vibes is, if you (or, at least, I) use them too early, or too long, they can make….things….numb. Things that you don’t want numb. So when I use one, I wait until I’m getting close before I touch vibe to pussy. And since I wasn’t close yet, I just held it, waiting for The Moment, and got my right hand to work on my clit.
I was enjoying the proceedings when Himself left the room. Um…Now what? Was I supposed to keep going? Or stop and wait? I decided to be a good Marine and Follow The Last Order (inside joke), and I kept going. Scraping sounds, and Himself was back, with…a chair? Yes, a chair. Oh my god, an audience. Gulp!
Now, I’m not shy about masturbating, I do it all the time, and I know he likes to watch. But he’s never set up a chair like that, with a direct line of sight to my cunt, and just…WATCHED. It was very different from having him lay beside me, playing with me or having me suck him while I masturbate. It was much less intimate…and much more so, at the same time. It was weird.
It was also, once I got used to it, a major fucking turn-on. I started doing my best to perform for him, to entertain him, to please him, which got me even hotter. I slid my fingers inside, come-hithering my g-spot, then up to my clit, and back in again. I was getting frustrated that I couldn’t have my fingers in both places at the same time, when I suddenly noticed the vibe buzzing away in my left hand. Oh, right, the vibe! Not my usual pocket vibe or Hitachi, but an actual penis-shaped vibe, specifically designed to fit a hungry cunt. Oh, happy day!
I worked it in and out, pumping a little, trying to find the magic spot…oh, yeah, there it is! I worked my clit with my slick fingers while I worked my pussy with the slick vibe, and the closer I got, the harder and deeper I pushed it, and I was so wet, and so hot, knowing he was watching everything, that I was doing it for HIM, and I remembered that my pleasure belonged to him, my pleasure and my orgasm…and that pushed me right up to the brink.
I gasped out, “Please, can I come, Sir? Please?”
When he said yes, I came like a train. I swear, that orgasm came from my toes and worked itself all the way through my body and out my mouth in a deep, guttural, completely un-ladylike growl. I rode it, and kept stroking, and came again, a little stronger this time. He ordered me to keep going, and I did. Although I can usually keep going and going, like the energizer bunny, these were so deep, so strong, that I was exhausted by the time I got to number four.
But I didn’t stop there, I couldn’t. Not when I could feel number five waiting for me, out of sight, just around the corner, one more orgasm to be wrung from my exhausted, almost satiated body. I knew I could coax it out, and I worked my fingers and that vibe, wanting just…one…more. Please? Please?! Please!!!
Then, oh my god, it hit me. It was like going over Niagara Falls in a barrel: wild, out of control, a little scary, a lot exciting, and ultimately exhausting. I collapsed, panting, eyes closed, vibe forgotten once again, mumbling incoherently, “That’s it…all I’ve got…can’t…anymore…”
I heard clothes falling to the floor and smiled, knowing Himself was coming to join me. I wondered vaguely what we would do next. I was glad I didn’t have to figure it out, since I wasn’t entirely sure I even knew my own name by then.
He kneeled beside me, put my sticky fingers on his cock, and I started stroking it. I forced my eyes open and there we were, eye to eye. Master’s cock and I. It winked at me, which made me happy, so I kissed it. And it tasted good, so I licked it. That tasted even better, so I slid my mouth down over the head and started sucking his lovely, lovely cock.
I turned on my side to get a better angle. Himself cradled my head in his hand until he could get a pillow for me, which I found very sweet–both the cradling, and the pillow-getting. With my head situated I focused on the job at hand (heh) with fervent enthusiasm. He pumped into my mouth and I bobbed back and forth on his cock, very happily, and then he pulled out of my mouth and pushed my face toward his balls. I dove in, lapping and tonguing them–long strokes, short strokes, swirling strokes–while he took his cock in hand. He stroked, I licked, and while I licked, I wiggled, getting farther under him. My tongue stayed busy-busy, licking and lapping, as I scooted back again, and again. He was getting close, I could hear it in the way he breathed, and I slid back again…just a little more…until I reached his taint. He groaned as I licked voraciously, moaning myself, humming a little, because damn, I love licking that spot, the way it feels, the way I know it makes Him feel.
His fist was moving faster, and the very first, early shudders of his body told me it was now or never. One more push and I reached up and slid my tongue into his ass. And that did it, like it always does, it drove him right over the edge and he came, and came hard, panting, shuddering, gasping, and I felt his hot cum hit my tits. I moaned again, and if I hadn’t already exhausted myself I probably would have come again, just from that, the cum on my skin, and licking his ass. I shimmied back out, just in time for him to slide his still-dripping cock back into my mouth. I sucked him and licked him until he shuddered one last time and pulled out of me.
As he got up to shower, I smiled happily and mumbled “I’m just going to stay here and bask in the afterglow, if that’s okay with you.”
It was, and I did.
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There were constant reminders of our morning play–the residual pain in my poor flogged pussy, the lovely well-fucked feeling in my ass and cunt, the memories of sucking him that would flash in my mind at random and leave me panting and gasping…But the biggest reminder of all was my swollen, aching clit and throbbing, unsatisfied pussy.
Yes, you read that right–I was still unsatisfied. You may wonder how that’s possible, even for Himself’s greedy little slut. First, let me say: Don’t judge. 😉 Second, allow me to explain:
Of all the (9, 10, or maybe even 11!) types of orgasms we’re capable of, I most often have clit, deep-spot, cervical, g-spot, or anal orgasms–sometimes more than one kind at the same time, which is just as fantastic as it sounds. I’ve also had oral orgasms (when pleasuring Himself), skin orgasms (when he comes on me, especially on my face), and fantasy orgasms (look ma, no hands!), and I’ve come really, really close to a nipple orgasm (guess we’ll just have to keep practicing on that one). I love them all, and I can’t really say I have a favorite.
I am horny most of the time (take that, menopause myths!), which means I want orgasms a LOT. The easiest type for me to have alone is, unsurprisingly, a clitoral orgasm. I also get g-spot/squirting orgasms from clitoral stimulation when I am that special kind of horny that comes from lots of teasing from Himself, or prolonged exposure to kinky shit, or nipple pumping, or days without sex (Himself travels a lot), or pleasuring Himself multiple times with no relief for me….
Once I’m at the level of horniness, nothing, and I mean nothing, will get rid of the never-ending clit hard-on or the g-spot engorgement except for a clitoral orgasm. If I’m really, really turned on, it can take 5 or more in quick succession to get real relief.
So in our Sunday morning scene, I had this great, fantastic, mind-blowing deep-spot orgasm and I was a happy, happy wench. But I was on all fours and for some reason that I have not yet figured out, I haven’t had a clitoral orgasm in that position in years. This is inexplicable to me; how can I be capable of 25 orgasms in a row on my back, but can’t have even one on my hands and knees??
Whatever the reason, it doesn’t happen; even with Himself, myself, and the vibrator working away, there was no clitoral orgasm. Which left me with a weird combination of satisfaction and frustration that lasted All. Damn. Day.
I told him in the shower, right after our scene, that I was probably going to want sex again Sunday night due to the orgasm issue. I’m not sure he thought I was serious, but by bedtime, I was crawling the walls, and I knew there wasn’t going to be any sleep for either of us unless I got off.
He demurred. I begged. He demurred again, and I begged some more. After torturing me for a while with thoughts of a sleepless, horny night, he finally had mercy on me, and ordered me to get naked. I got naked really fast. 😉
There’s a direct connection between my nipples and my cunt, and when Himself plays with my nipples, I’ll be squirming, gasping, and writhing within seconds. He likes those reactions, so he gives them a lot of attention. He started rolling them between his fingers, and pinching them, and clamping his fingers on them to twist them, pull them, and shake my breasts.
Then he started the flicking. OMG, I love the flicking. We discovered this a few years ago–neither of us can figure out why it took us so long–and from the very first time, it has worked to get me hotter faster than just about anything else he does to me. Flick, flick, tug, pull, flick, roll, tug…After a few minutes he grabbed my breast with one hand, immobilizing my nipple and forcing it to stand up tall and rigid, and then he flicked that captive nipple *hard* with his other hand, and I felt a gush of liquid in my pussy with every flick.
I dipped my fingers in my cunt to massage my g-spot, then out to rub my clit, and back to the g-spot…I was so wet I could feel it dripping down to my ass, and that excited me even more. I started focusing on my clit with only the occasional detour into my cunt, I felt every stroke deep down inside me, and oh god it felt good.
As I got closer, my clit got bigger and harder, my cunt gushed like a river, and I was moaning in ecstasy, and then Himself flicked my nipple really hard and said “Come,” and I did. The first orgasm hit me like a freight train, and before it even stopped the second one rolled over me, and then the third, and that was the strongest one, the one that took it all out of me, and I collapsed, squirting and panting and delirious, mumbling oh god, oh god, so good, oh fuck…
I came out of my post-orgasmic daze when Himself used my hand to rub his cock. He gets turned on watching me masturbate, and he was sporting a very impressive cock-stand. I held him naked in my hand, silky and warm and hard, and I stroked him, moaning with hunger for him. I took him in my mouth, and the taste and feel and scent of him got me wet and throbbing all over again. I sucked his cock and licked his balls and sucked his cock again. I was doing my best to suck the chrome off his tailpipe (heh), and he liked that, I guess, because he got even harder. I tasted pre-cum on my tongue, and then he pumped his hips hard and growled and came in my mouth, and I bucked too, because it turns me on so fucking much to make him come.
As I licked him clean he stroked my hair and said, “Well, aren’t you an obedient little wench?” I paused and asked, “Was I a good girl?” He chuckled and said, “Yes, you were a very good girl.”
Those are some of the sweetest words a wench can ever hear from her Master, and it made me very happy indeed. I snuggled down onto his shoulder, smiling in the dark, and fell asleep in his arms.
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(Read Submission, Part 1)
When he was done flogging me, he handed me my trusty pocket-vibe.
Me: “Yes Sir!”
(I really can’t convey the fervent nature of that response in print, so you’ll just have to imagine it for yourselves. ;))
I did my best to follow orders, while he stroked a finger up and down my slit, and then slid it deep into my pussy. It felt good. Really good. I got lost in the feeling of his body inside mine, but I wanted more—I wanted his cock in me. I pushed back against his hand, begging, and felt a second finger slide into my cunt.
I shuddered as my pussy clamped down on him. He kept pumping me, in and out, in and out. It wasn’t his cock, but it was good, and I relaxed into the steady rhythm of it, enjoying the sensation of his fingers filling me, and the buzzy vibrator on my clit.
Then I felt a finger slide into my ass.
And I was gone, just completely gone. I forgot the vibe, I forgot everything except the feeling of his fingers inside me, and I was soaring, just giving myself over to it…and then I felt another finger push into me. Honestly, I don’t even know which hole it was that time, I was so far past rational thought by then. I can’t even describe how it felt, to be so full, and have him stroking me so hard, and harder, and harder…
And then he put another one in.
I fell completely apart. I mean, I was not even in the same solar system anymore. I had, by my (admittedly questionable) count, 5 fingers filling me, and he was pumping them in and out, so smooth, so hard, and it was unspeakably good.
And then my husband, my Dom, my Master, my MAN, he took it up another notch, and started stroking my clit. I remember thinking, “What is that, 6?! how is he DOING that?!” And then he drilled into me, hard, really hard, and…
I’m aware that some women don’t like cervical contact during sex, but I am not one of those women. Hitting bottom is one of the (many) things Himself does that I had never experienced before him, and I love it, I can’t get enough of it. And I was feeling so good already, I didn’t think it could get better, I didn’t, and then he proved me wrong, again, because he hit bottom, and he kept hitting bottom, every stroke, his fingers filled me, and my clit was swollen and aching and it just got better, and better, and then everything inside me just exploded. I could feel my cunt clamping down on his fingers, and I felt the orgasm thrumming deep, deep inside me, and it kept going and going, with every stroke another spasm, until he gently slid his fingers out of me.
That was when I learned, once again, that I am a greedy little slut, because I wanted more. Before I had even finished coming, I was pushing back into him, wanting his beautiful cock inside me. And he obliged, yes he did, because he loves his greedy little slut, and so he filled me with his cock, and he fucked me. Ecstasy rippled across my nerves every time his cock slid over my swollen g-spot like an unstoppable cascade of tiny little orgasms. I was on pleasure overload. My hands and feet were tingling, and they only tingle for truly exceptional sex. Exceptional, powerful, mind-blowing, intense, kinky, hot, animal sex.
And then (wait for it, wait for it)….
It. Got. Better.
He pulled out of my cunt and drove his cock deep into my ass, still stroking that g-spot with every thrust, and I lost what was left of my mind. At some point I realized, through the fog of sexual pleasure, that I had a death-grip on my chain (remember the chain? yup, still there), and I felt like I was filled with helium and if I ever let go, I would just float away.
(Have you ever seen Disney’s animated Peter Pan? Do you remember the big Newfie, Nana, who floated to the end of her chain after she got fairy-dust bombed? Yeah, it was just like that. :D)
I had another series of tiny little orgasms while he fucked my ass, which reminded me of the vibrator, which had been buzzing away by itself, completely unnoticed, for a very long time, and so I grabbed it, and put it to use. His cock in my ass, the vibrations on my clit, and those tiny little orgasms running through my body kept me orbiting happily out in deep sub-space, right up until he pulled out of me.
I still wasn’t done, dammit. I wanted him to come in my ass so I could come with him, and squeeze his cock and milk him dry. I whimpered, but he just patted me on the rump and told me to stay as he walked out of the room.
Then he was back, standing over me, pumping his cock next to my cheek. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him, and I could hear him, and that got the tremors going again. By the time he got close we were both breathing hard, masturbating for all we were worth, and then I heard his breath catch the way it does right before he comes so I turned, just a little, so my cheek was under his cock, and then…I almost came again, just from the submissive jolt I get when he comes on my face. I sighed contentedly and opened my mouth to let his cum drip onto my tongue. Mmmm, it was warm, and salty-sweet, the delicious taste of my Man. I licked my lips and smiled as he collapsed against me.
When he could move again he took off the blindfold and cleaned me up, unclipped my chain, ran his hands down my back, and took off my collar and cuffs. I love this part of it, the soft happiness and fierce joy that I feel when he takes care of me after a scene.
Later, in the shower, because it was still bothering me, I asked him why he didn’t come inside me. Was I doing something wrong? Was it…bad? He laughed and said, “I just fucked my wife in all 3 holes and then came on her face. That is not ‘bad.’ Do you know how many men would love to be able to do that? And I get to do it any time I want.”
Hmm. Well, okay then. Ignore my momentary lapse of reason and sanity. <BEG>
And then, because it was still bothering me, I asked him if he had been mad at me when we started.
Himself, puzzled: “No.”
Me: “I thought I’d done something wrong, that you were punishing me, that that’s why you were hitting me so hard.”
There’s this look he gets on his face when he’s simply confounded by the emotional knots I’ve tied myself into. He gave me that look, shook his head, and said “I was doing that because I wanted to.”
Me, in a very small voice: “Oh.”
I was relieved to know I’d (eventually) figured that one right. And I only asked him two more times before I believed him.
I also had to know how he’d worked the finger thing; I couldn’t visualize how he had room for both hands down there, or how he’d moved them together so well. He showed me what I am calling the scissor technique: hands in prayer position, then spread the fingers: pinkies up by the clit, ring fingers and one middle finger in the cunt, the other middle finger and an index finger (or 2) in the ass.
Fucking brilliant. That one has a permanent place in the play book.
I had a big, goofy grin on my face for the rest of the day.
And the night.
But that’s another story. 😉
(Read Submission, Part 2)
Well, it was supposed to be a Saturday Night Submission, actually. But sadly, the s-type had a nasty headache. And the d-type declared a rain delay because, and I quote, “I don’t want to beat a woman who already has a headache.” The woman in question proceeded to pout. The d-type was not swayed (dammit). “I’m taking care of you. That’s my job, remember?” Crap. What an inconvenient time for him to remember that. LOL
He promised morning play instead. I went to sleep with visions of sugar plums (or something) dancing in my head.
Sunday morning I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for some good play time. The d-type, again, had other ideas.
“Go put the clean dishes away, clean up the kitchen, and load and start the dishwasher.”
OK, fine, so I followed the orders from my favorite Lieutenant, even though all I wanted to do was throw myself at him. I was being a Good Girl ™, with hopes that I would be suitably rewarded. Then I found myself getting horny—from cleaning the kitchen, fergawdsake–just because Himself had ordered it. Seriously, us s-types are truly wired weirdly sometimes.
Kitchen done, I wandered back into the bedroom, and stood by the bed in my lacy boy shorts…and nothing else.
(Imagine these in black with turquoise embroidery…and, um, a few sizes bigger. I’m a plushious wench :))
Himself (in seriously sexy black boxer briefs): “Get your restraint collar.”
I dove into the toy bag and started pulling out leather stuff. One cuff, two cuffs, three cuffs…Collar!
Himself: “Get those out too.”
Me: “The cuffs?”
I dove back into the toy bag and found the elusive 4th cuff….after I pulled everything else out of it. I really need to get that damn thing organized.
::scrambling to kneel::
“Lean forward.” As he fastened my collar, a bolt of pure lust shot through me.
He rubbed my face against his still-clothed (dammit!) hard cock. Up, down, sideways, and across, repeat…
I. Wanted. To. Taste. Him. So. Bad. I may have mouthed him a bit (oh, who am I kidding? There’s no “may” about it), but otherwise I behaved myself. Okay, I admit, I whimpered when he pushed me away. But really, who can blame a wench for that??
Himself: “Put your cuffs on.”
He left the room while I scampered to obey. Each buckle I fastened made me feel just…that…much…more…submissive. And wet. Let’s not forget wet.
When he came back, I was kneeling up on my side of the bed, facing him, eyes down, hands on my thighs, drifting on the edges of my happy place.
“Come here.” Oh, how I love that stern, commanding voice. I crawled across the bed and kneeled in front of him. He reached under the bed.
Wait, did I hear…jingling?
My cunt spasmed when he clipped the chain to my collar; I gasped and shuddered while he blindfolded me. Then, finally, I assumed the head-down-ass-up position that he prefers, my hands holding onto the lovely, lovely chain.
I was lying there in a happy daze, when–SMACK!!, his brought his hand down on my left ass-cheek, HARD. I squealed in shock. Before I could recover, he grabbed my ankles and pulled them back and out.
Then–CRACK!! Something thin and hard struck my right cheek. I jumped, and felt the heat spreading out from the thin line of impact. The crop, with with no warm-up. Fuck!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!! I yipped. He hit me with the long, heavy leather flogger–across my ass, on my back, on the outsides of my hips and thighs– WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!! He was merciless.
I started to worry. Had I done something wrong? Was I being punished? Why was he flogging me so much harder, so much earlier than usual?
He pushed my thighs farther apart. I waited, trembling, and then WHAM!! A hard hit straight to my wide-open cunt.
Oh holy fucking shit my christ. He has never hit my pussy that hard before, and spread open like I was, I had no protection at all for my tender pink dangly bits. He hit me again, and again, and again…I screamed and howled. I raised up my pussy as far as I could, trying desperately to get away from the evil *thing* he was hitting me with.
I heard myself whimpering. It fucking *hurt*so*bad.* I was very close to safe-wording, for only the 2nd time ever. I wondered for a second whether he was getting rougher, or I was getting wimpier. Then he whipped me again, and I knew, it was definitely not ME that had changed.
He started working my ass and back again. Compared to the serious pain of him whipping my swollen, unprotected clit, the flogger hitting my ass felt almost gentle.
That doesn’t mean I wasn’t still howling, though. I clenched the blanket in my teeth and howled non-stop. I was sniffling by then, too, thoroughly convinced that he was mad at me for something. My mind was trying so hard to make sense of the situation, and that was the only reasonable explanation I could think of.
It never occurred to me that he was just doing it because he enjoyed it. Seriously, it did not. I was not firing on all cylinders at that point.
It stopped, thank god, and then he was at my head.
Himself: “Are you okay? Is it too much?”
Me: “It’s kind of hard…it hurts.” ::snuffle snuffle::
Himself: “It’s okay, it’s okay.” I whuffled again. He stroked my hair, and just like that, I relaxed. When he pets me, he gives me such a feeling of safety, peace, and well-being…it’s balm for my soul. I sank into it and let the fear slip away.
He moved, and my nose bumped into his naked cock. Silky skin over a hard cock…there’s nothing like it. My heart started thumping.
Himself: “This is how you get a flogging break—by pleasuring me.” My pussy clenched in response. I think I forgot to breathe for a minute.
I knew then that he wasn’t punishing me, because he gave me his cock to worship. He knows that’s a treat for me, and that I am always happy when his cock is in my mouth.
I took the head of his cock in my mouth and lapped at the drops of pre-cum. The salty-sweet taste of it burst on my tongue. I took him in as far as I could. I wanted him to know that I adore his cock; I wanted him to know how much I love doing this for him. I licked him and tasted him and smelled him, and I wanted more…
…he grabbed my hair and pulled me away, and I whimpered, I didn’t want to let go. Then he guided me down to his balls…Oh, I love his balls, almost as much as I love his cock, and I licked them joyfully, breathing in the intoxicating, musky scent of Himself. It’s like a drug to me, irresistibly sexy, and the lust I feel when I smell him goes straight to my pussy and leaves me dripping wet.
I was in my happy space. I knew he wasn’t mad at me, and I felt loved and cherished. After that, the thud of the flogger and the smack of his fists against my ass warmed my whole body. My muscles were heavy and relaxed, the endorphins were kicking in, I felt every blow deep in my core. He flogged my cunt again, more thud and less sting, and I could feel my pussy swelling, so wet, dripping down my legs…Oh, I was ready, so ready for him.
(To be continued…)
You are my sky,
and I your earth
I open to you, my Lord;
The blood in my veins
Sings to you
My world is within your arms
In your heart beats my sun;
In your eyes shine my stars
Come, my Lord,
Rest in me;
Let me be your comfort,
As you are my shield,
Arched above me,
The vault of my heavens
The sheltering sky
My sheltering sky
And I your earth
Sky © deviant wench 2002, all rights reserved
(Written in 2002, to/for/about Himself, and still true.)
Prism (painting) © deviant wench 1992, all rights reserved
My Master came into the bedroom Saturday night to find me kneeling face-down on the bed, naked, ass in the air (his favorite pose), wearing my collar and holding out his leather Master bracelet. The ritual of undressing, putting on my collar/cuffs, and posing puts me into a very nice place, but when he snapped that bracelet closed…wow. Strapping on his own leather meant he was about to claim me for his own, and it shot me straight into a deep submissive state.
I clenched my hands in the blanket and waited while he decided what to do with me. The toy bag rustled a few times, then I heard it start…the buzzing. Oooh, the violet wand!!
We’ve had our violet wand for years (and it’s OLD—Sears and Roebuck from the early 1900s, complete with an instruction booklet on using electricity to cure all sorts of ills). IMHO, we haven’t used it nearly enough. I am an electro-stim slut. I’ve been wanting to play with the wand and our new Wartenberg Wheel but that, of course, is up to him, and he had other ideas.
He started out fairly light, but gradually cranked it up until it was near the highest setting (Note: MDM says it was actually nowhere near the highest setting. Well, frack me. It sure as felt like it was!). It went from buzzy/warm/a little stingy to OMFG Jesus H Christ that STINGS oh please please please do it again!!! Which he did. So there I kneeled, unbound but holding position as ordered, with here a zap, there a zap, everywhere a zap zap…
His favorite targets are my nipples. Because I have large breasts, my nipples are squashed against the bed when I’m kneeling, so he gave me a little nudge on the side of my breast to get me to raise up a little. Then he put the wand near my right nipple… close…closer…CLOSER…until the arc shot out and I screamed. He held it there for a few seconds, then moved to the left one, then the right one again, back and forth, because he wouldn’t want one of them to feel left out, right?
Eventually my nipples were red and stinging and I was squealing, so he decided to move to a different target for a while. Down on the feet, back and forth, then up one leg, across my butt, down the other leg…all in close contact so there was just a nice warm buzzing. Next came an unexpected assault on my feet, one then the other, zapping up and down and across my toes. I am not allowed to move or even wiggle much, and curling my toes or (god forbid) kicking while he’s actually working on my feet is definitely Verboten. I had to just lay there and take it and squeal until he got bored again and moved on.
Note: “Squeal” may not be entirely accurate here. “Screaming bloody murder into the blankets clamped in my jaws like a gag” might be a little more on the mark. Heh.
Of course, my cunt was next. He’s so good at getting it just…close…enough that it arcs. Holy fuck, but that’ll wake a girl up! He zapped my clit a few times, then moved back to my asshole, then the labia, and back again. Every once in awhile, just to mix it up a bit, he’d move it in real close and hold it right against me—clit, vagina, asshole–so it was just warm and buzzy. As soon as I would unclench and start rubbing my pussy up and down the glass head—ZAP! I felt like Charlie Brown and that damn football, I just never learn. LOL
The nice zappy violet wand went away and there was more rustling in the toy bag. He waited long enough for me to relax, unclench my hands, unclamp my jaws, and stop screaming.
We have two custom floggers made by a guy named Tree in Houston. They’re made of thick, heavy, buttery-soft butterscotch-hued leather, one with (thirty-nine) 14” falls, one with (thirty-seven) 27” falls. The short one gets a lot more use, since it has a shorter throw, but I am especially fond of the long one.
Master grabbed the short one and gave me a good whack across the ass. I yelped and jumped a bit and then stuck my ass back out, just begging for another one. He went to town with that for awhile, across my butt, the backs of my legs, my nipples, and my pussy.
Pussy-spanking. Mmmm. That deserves a little detour.
I have recently (very recently, in fact) come to terms with the fact that I seem to be a bit of a masochist. I’ve always liked a little pain with my pleasure, but I thought it was all in the context of the kinky D/s dynamic. IOW, if he wanted to do it to me, then it would make me hot, and I could enjoy it. At some point that changed (or my awareness of it did) and it appears that I now like pain (mild pain, but pain nonetheless) for pain’s sake. It’s taken me awhile to wrap my head around this, because I’ve never thought of myself as a masochist of any type. Hmmm.
MDM figured it out long before I did, so he’s been incorporating more pain into our play for awhile now. In the last few months, he’s started flogging/slapping/spanking my breasts and pussy. It makes me stupid hot. So glad he pays attention to these things!
Anyway, back to the flogging. He’s also figured out he can flog me harder, now that I’ve come to enjoy pain, and boy, does he take advantage of that. Used to be, he’d flog me for awhile, and I’d maybe yip a couple times, but mostly just bask in the warmth spreading across my butt. Now, there’s a lot more screaming involved. A LOT more. I bite down on whatever is close when that happens—blankets, this time; the straps on my wrist cuff, last time—but it’s still a really good thing that we live in the country or I’m sure we’d have the police at our door. Weirdly enough, I love the screaming. Instead of trying to stifle it, I just go with it, as loud and as long as I need to, which he likes, which leads to more flogging, which leads to more screaming, and so forth and so on. It’s a lovely vicious cycle.
I screamed louder and longer this time than I ever have before. My throat was raw. But it felt so primal and I was so damned proud of myself for not having to safeword.
Which leads to another detour. I’ve never safeworded. Never. There have been a few times when I’ve gotten, maybe, to chartreuse. Never all the way to yellow, and certainly not to red. So I’ve just sort of assumed I never would. Not that I don’t have limits, but they seem to be expanding at the speed of sound, so I wasn’t sure I’d ever actually hit one. That will be important in a bit.
MDM put down the flogger and commenced to tickling me. I’m extremely ticklish and never enjoyed it until MDM started doing it. Of course I’ve always protested because, well, because I did. Tickling my feet is actually less difficult for me than tickling the sweet spot right where my ass meets my thighs (don’t tell him I said that, he doesn’t need that kind of intel! LOL). He wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted out of my feet, so he moved up to my well-flogged, red, sensitive, bottom, and holy cow did that tickle! I was squealing and jumping around as much as I could and still maintain The Position. OMG did I get the giggles from that! I love giggling in scene.
He asked if I’d had enough. I responded, like a good sub, “It’s up to you, Master,” even though I wanted to scream “No no no! Never enough!” Then he used his lovely deep Dom voice and said, sternly, “I asked whether YOU have had enough.” I replied promptly, “No, sir!”
Then he brought out the long flogger. This one is as heavy and thick as the short flogger, good for thuddy play, which is my preference. But since MDM has to stand farther away, it tends to actually be a lighter stroke, distributed over a larger area, and more likely to induce the warm-happy-fuzzies that I love most about flogging. This especially happens when he flogs my back with it. The throws are long enough to cover my back from shoulder to butt, and it’s such an incredible sensation that I feel, with every stroke, that I am just-that-close to coming. Delicious. Oh, I love my floggers, and I was definitely in my happy place. IMHO, it didn’t last nearly long enough. But then, I don’t think I’ve ever actually had “enough” flogging.
He put the flogger down, and walked out of the room. I focused on unclenching my hands and spitting the blankets out of my mouth. Then I heard it—the freezer door, opening. His hand, in the ice box. The freezer door closing again.
And I started whimpering.
A few weeks ago, he decided to make me perch my pussy on an ice-cold can of soda while he flogged me. OMFG. I like sensation play, including temperature play, but christ, that was cold.
Saturday morning, he decided it was time for me to get up and since I wasn’t cooperating, he brought in an ice cube, stuck it in my underwear, and told me I couldn’t take it out until I got my ass up and into the bathroom. I moved fast, lemme tell ya, but I think it’d already frozen some of my dangly bits.
I was not looking forward to a repeat experience!
He started out slow and gentle, though. A little on the nipples, just enough to make ’em perk up and take notice. Then my ass, where the heat from flogging made it melt—really fast—and trickle icy water down my legs and onto the bed. I started relaxing, thinking hey, this isn’t so bad.
A word of advice: Never, ever let yourself think “This isn’t so bad.” The universe just sees that as a big, fat challenge.
Just as I started pushing my butt back into the ice cube, the Man ran it down between my cheeks, then held it firm against my asshole.
I screamed. Man, did I scream. The soda can had nothing on that ice cube for sheer cold torture.
He laughed. A deep, low, nasty little chuckle, actually. That chuckle is never a good sign for me. I gulped.
He moved it, thank god. Right to my clit. Where he held it. For a long time. Wait, why did I want him to move it again?!
I screamed some more. Wiggled a lot. Just about bit through the blankets.
He moved it again, and used his hand to push it just inside my cunt.
OMFG. OK, I know I said that already, but seriously, I’m running out of descriptors for just how sadistically fucking COLD it was. I started screaming and didn’t stop, just one long scream, and I actually pushed away from him, trying to get away from that fucking ice cube. He growled “Get back in position,” which I did, screaming and whimpering.
Back to my asshole. Back to my clit. Back into my cunt. Holy jesus.
I have no idea how long that went on. It seemed like hours but since he only used one ice cube, it was probably actually about a minute. I remember screaming “I’m really close to safewording!” and hearing that chuckle again. The ice went back on the clit and stayed there and it was too fucking much. I screamed “Safeword! I’m serious, safeword!!”
The ice disappeared. My screams trailed off into whimpers and I collapsed down on the bed, rubbing my pussy against the blankets, trying to warm it up.
He stood at my head, rubbing his hands up and down my back, warm and gentle and strong. Comforting. He chuckled. I chuckled. I squeaked out “Holy fucking safeword, Batman!” and started giggling.
We sat up In bed together after, talking. He was surprised I safeworded. I was surprised too. He asked if I was OK and I just sat there with my eyes half open, a goofy smile on my face, floating happily on the endorphin rush.
I think I may have asked when we could do it again. But next time, no ice cubes. Please? Please, MDM?
Wait, is that a chuckle I hear? ::twitch twitch::
More or less.
These are the results, anyway, from the quiz floating around on FetLife, “Do you have an inclination for BDSM?” It’s quick, it’s succinct, and it’s actually mostly accurate, except the degradation score should be much lower. And I don’t think I’d be that much of a sadist if I ever got a willing crash test dummy to practice on…
You scored as submissive
It should be noted that ‘submissive’ is at the very top of the list, although I would have actually expected a slightly higher score there–this is who I am and what I live. Maybe the fact we’re not strict D/s, with rules and protocols and all that bullshit, plus the fact that I’m not kinked for service, brought the score down.
I’ll own the masochist label. My darling Master (MDM) tends to give out a little more than I would want on my own, but I take it and enjoy it and get hot as hell, so clearly there’s a little bit of a pain slut in there somewhere. And I get all proud that I got through it, that I took it for him, to please him (there’s that submissive thing again :)). That masochist side of me seems to be increasing in recent years, so apparently I’m still evolving. lol
The switch/sadist/dominant part of me doesn’t have an outlet, sadly. I need to find a sub, or at least a bottom, of my own to play with. I have lots of evil ideas that I’d love to try out on somebody else besides myself. <BEG>
I am shocked–shocked, I tell you!–at the high degradation score. ‘Cause I don’t like that shit AT ALL. Except–and this is the only explanation I can think of–I love it when he calls me pet names (his whore, his slut, his little slave girl) or talks dirty to me. But calling me stupid, worthless, yadda yadda yadda, all that typical humiliation shit, or making me do humiliating things in public? No, no, no, that won’t work with me at all.
I want him to beat the hell out of me, yes, and then fuck me silly, but I want him to hold me and soothe me afterward, and still respect me in the morning.
Lucky me, ’cause that seems to be pretty much what he wants too.