Fourth Monday

Fourth Monday. Finally. Only three months to get here. Such busy, crazy lives we lead. He asks me to bring my straitjacket and blindfold. My turn for isolation. Picnic on Sunday, so some cleaning is already done, but there’s different things need doing. I set to the dishes and the grills, Toy grabs the recycling and trash. Floors are given a once over and the playspace is cleared up a little. Dressed and waiting, he’s got the collar in the truck.

Chat and chicken and dinner. We head downstairs to curl up and flip through the television. Toy heads up to get coffee and he and I discuss my jacket. Doesn’t really work with a skirt, but I’ve got underwear in the bag. Put them on and bring the jacket.

So I strip down to bra and panties – look they match. And he jackets me up, nice and tight. The straps crisscrossing between my legs. Blindfold next, then earplugs. Sound is deadened around me, and then headphones – blocking out most everything else. He puts me down on the couch, laying back on some pillows. I fold my legs, but he soon pulls them straight and shackles my ankles together with something I’ve never worn, hard metal, that seems to crank down.

I settle in, trying to see what I’ve got left. I can hear whispers of sound. His voice raises in question – can I hear him? But it sounds so faint and far away. Is he talking to me? I turn my head towards the noise, but nothing else comes. I feel like I should have answered, but he doesn’t ask again. I can’t hear anything but odd whispers of noise. A creak of the stair, the ceiling, whispers of the tv that only sound like static.

Nothing else is forthcoming, so I relax into the jacket and the blindfold and the quiet. The tv hisses. Annoying. I hear little things, indecipherable, whenever I fully relax. But I can still manage enough. Keeping still, I feel my mind sinking into my body. I feel like I’m in my bones instead of in my skin. I keep thinking about Harry Potter whenever the tv hissing pulls me up. I try to stop, I focus on my breathing, on the heavy sensation in my limbs. I could move if I needed to, but it seems like too much effort to even want to. Little ticks of pain. A prick in my foot, my nose itches, my fingertips of my left hand are pressing uncomfortably. Little movements to relieve the little ticks. Sinking, comfortable. Mind wandering, recording the sensations, knowing I’ll be writing this. I wonder what they’re doing, but no way to know, so I don’t wonder long. I’ve read so much Harry Potter lately, why won’t it stay out of my mind. Breathing, sinking.

I hear more sounds. My breathing picks up. Clanking, like chain in a bucket. What is that? Are they back? I smell hemp. The pillow below my feet moves. It scares me at first, til I realize what it is. The clanking noise stops. I strain to hear where they are, what they are doing. What he is doing.

Music starts playing. I can hear it softly, but clearly. And I relax. I don’t know why, music signals playing, but I relax. It’s a continuous sound, and I focus on it and relax. My breathing slows to normal. He hasn’t come to me yet. I sink back into myself, more easily now.

I think I hear sounds from them. Indistinct. The pillow moves again. My heart jumps, but the music soothes. Then Uncle lands. Ripping me out of myself and back into my skin. And I scream and writhe. More strikes on my thighs. I curl up and he strikes the back of my thighs. I scream and moan. Then he is gone. I curl up whimpering. Then I hear her. Hear strikes at the other end of the couch. When they stop. I whimper and fidget, cowering, and the strikes come again, legs and breasts. Squealing and thrashing, the blindfold starts to slip, he pulls it back down, but it comes up again. The headphones are taken off and a hood forced over my head, squashing my ears. It’s a hood I’ve never worn, the area around the mouth seems to have a leather piece to it. I can breathe easily through it. More strikes with something different and writhing and screams, but this stays in place.

He goes to her again, I listen to the strikes and her squeaks. Straining to hear it stop, cowering whenever it does. More strikes, he lifts my legs to hit the backs of my thighs better and strikes my breasts as well.

Clips come. Along my thighs, left thigh first. I gasp and squeak, sinking into the pain as he steps away. Then returns, my right thigh now, and two above my panties. I rock with the pain, chewing on the leather by my mouth, breathing and moving my legs to take in in and process. More clips around my legs, and then…

A clamp – forcep? – goes on my left nipple and I scream and cry and writhe and shake. He takes it off. It takes me a bit to calm down and listen to them again. He returns and puts one on the right nipple. I scream and groan and moan and twitch my foot, biting hard on the leather, determined not to let this one beat me. He strikes off the clips with a flogger and removes the forcep and I scream and shake. He retrieves them and puts them back on. Having to dig between the cushions under my ass for some of them. As I write this I am not sure I’ve got the clips and clamps in the right order, but I can’t remember clearly.

I was scared of what might come next, gasping hard through my nose, trying to calm down so I could hear. Finally, relaxing enough to uncurl some, to feel the cushion at my feet again, to listen to whimpers from Toy. And then he’s sitting beside me, a blow to my crotch and then his fingers, working away at my clit. Rough and insistent, I arch and groan, pressing back against him. Gasping and moaning, finally I beg, pathetically. Please. Please. The words aren’t even clear to me, but he seems to ask what. Please may I come? He taps my chest twice. I take this as a yes, and let myself go. Orgasming, but he does not stop, pushes harder, and I orgasm twice more before he stops. And leaves me shaking and breathless.

But not for long. He unshackles my ankles, takes off the headphones and hood, and ear plugs. I blink in the light, fidgeting in the sudden brightness and sound. I come up and out again and he sits near my feet and waves me over. Rocking myself up, I turn and cuddle my head against his chest. He kisses the top of my head and asks a few questions. I assumed two meant yes? Yes, especially when he didn’t stop. Then he points out toy, tied up in the corner of the couch and we smile. She looks beautiful.

Do you think you can untie her with you teeth? No. Well, you better try, it’s the only way you’re getting out. You two have to untie each other. I blink up at him and his wide grin. He’s not kidding. So I get up and go kneel in front of her, assessing the situation. I start for a knot at her feet, but she thinks she can get out. I let her squirm for a bit, but she only gets one foot out. So I pull the other knot by her feet and she frees the second foot. Got anything more? She tries, but doesn’t get anywhere. Okay hold still. I’m going to pull the crotch ropes through your waist rope. She squirms a bit and I scold her til she holds still. He’s laughing and enjoying the show. I pull the crotch ropes out of her waist rope, though this seems to cause them to enter other uncomfortable places.

I stand and so does she. Still trying to get her hands free she squirms, but can’t. Okay, I can see a couple more I can undo. Hold still. I pull a couple, but that does nothing to help her hands. She’s turning and fidgeting, so I stand on the rope. He’s laughing his ass off on the floor by now, watching us. Hold Still! I pull a couple more knots out and she can free her hands and get the rope off. He insists I do the blindfold and she squirms and ends up on the floor in a ball. Alright stay there then! I bend over and pull the knot free with my teeth and drop the blindfold on her back.

Up on her knees, she makes quick work of the straitjacket buckles, even without her glasses. I toss it on the couch and sit on the floor with them. She’s trying to finish untying the rope and asks for glasses back. He gives them to us both. She untangles and I coil up the jute. It didn’t taste like much but fibers. He had me clean up. I put everything back in the tub and chest while he got ready for his massage. He came back over to us, sitting on the ottoman with Toy in front of him and me behind him, all happy and glowing.

Then over to the table, back, arms, legs, feet, until our hands were getting tired, turn over. Chest, arms, legs, head and feet. Light touch when we can’t push anymore. Then toy starts to drop, energy gone. I wrap my arm around her and she lays on his chest a few moments and then up. Whispered conversation until she’s just about falling asleep on my shoulder. I lean down to wake him. We need to move to the couch. Clothes changed, tv on, coffee retrieved. We settle in to end our night cuddled up together. Most excellent experience.

Jute, Nipple Clamps & Tears

“Do you want to go a round?”

“Yes.”

He had the jute in his hand and on his belt. He let me smell it, natural smell – not hemp, but not synthetic or horses, either. Holding it, he looked me up and down, considering. Turned me to face away and put my arms into a box tie.

“How are your shoulders?”

“Right’s a little pinchy, but much better than they have been lately.”

Tie the wrists, the bite of the natural fibers makes me happy, smiling as he warps it around me. Two lengths of eight meters around my arms and chest, wrapping, cinching down, tight, but so very comfortable.

A bit of a length left when he has me secure, and up between the legs, catching the skirt to protect the rope. Yelping as he yanks and then led around the room.

“Keep up, that’s my bad shoulder. Is it in the right place?”

“Yes!”

The grin as he yanks a few more times and then lets it go, finishing it off in the back. Turning me to inspect and show off the work, he stops in front of me. A hand to the throat and he pushes me quickly back into the other room and tosses me on the couch.

“Feet up, prisoner tie.”

I scoot back on the couch, cross my booted ankles, trying to balance and get comfortable for what is sure to be a long tie. The third and final piece quickly secures my ankles to each other and then around to my neck. A comfortable bend for the moment, the jute biting into my skin. So delicious.

Off he goes again, returning with a Japanese washcloth to blindfold me, covering most of my face. And a leather gag to go underneath. The gag is small and flat so my moment of panic is minimized as I adjust, digging my teeth into it.

And here I lose coherent time line. I remember sinking into the rope, into the darkness, listening to conversations around me. I remember changing positions for more comfort, for legs, for back, for neck. I don’t remember how the nipple clamps arrived, but they did. I don’t remember how the other girl came to be tied, but I think it was after the nipple clamps were handed off to another girl to tug on. There was talk of envy of my position. There was talk of requests to be made. And there was tugging and pain and squeaking from me as he tied the her beside me.

I was unbalanced on the couch, squirming to try and move back, my hips were getting strange pressure. When he got her done, he lifted and shoved me further back onto the couch. Gratitude mumbled through the gag.

The tied one wanted to help pull the chain. Something caught his attention from the outer room. He left me, I heard him walk away, his voice leaving the room, but still audible. Panic, kept in check, but bubbling, as I strained to keep his voice in my ears while the first assistant continued to torment my nipples. The one beside me wanted to help, but her hands were tied. Someone else got involved and they moved her into position, got her head in my lap, so she could pull on it with her teeth. His voice returned.

“I was only gone a couple minutes and look at this…”

Multiple people were involved now, a chain of torment starting at my nipples and ending with his amusement. Blindfolded and squealing I had no clear picture of what was going on. It was a writhing mass of energy in front of me, I could identify the players, but not the actions. I knew only that the tied girl was delighted to have the chain in her teeth.

Positions changed and people moved, and there was a slip. I caught a shoulder in the throat. Instant panic and pain, but not the pain I expected. He was there, his voice breaking through my coughing, making sure I was alright. Yes, but still coughing, still panicking, fighting for control. He grabbed it, shoved me back into my place and helped me find my control again.

Camera flashes now. Our photographer capturing the scene. Teeth on chain, both of us squirming and writhing, squeaking and squealing from me. They encourage her to pull harder. I think she was the first to pull one off. The other is yanked free, and they are reset while I whimper.

He sits beside me, landing on a joint and I cringe at the bad pain, but he drops me back into the good pain and rope once more. Her phone rings and her time is up. The first one takes back the chain as he unties.

She sets back to it, testing what sounds she can cause. Enjoying the squeals and the screams. I fall into pain space and breathing and she frowns. She wants squeals. It takes sudden yanks, but she gets what she wants. He hears where I am, and leans in close.

“Watch this…”

And he counts for me, very quietly, right in my ear. She yanks at his direction, sending me higher. Surprised by my command performance. He counts several times, and I focus and use the pain.

The clamps are yanked and twisted and ripped off and replaced a few more times. I shake and gasp when they are removed.

“Did you just orgasm from pain?”

I shake my head, my fingers spelling out “not without permission,” but no one sees. The shaking is the release of energy so as not to orgasm. She pulls and twists some more. My screams grow louder, the gag slides most of the way out at the harshest of the screams.

“Get that back in! You’re not done yet.”

He grabs me by the hair as she twists and pushes. Tears begin to form.

“Go on, cry.”

He holds tight and she presses harder. I scream and gasp and bite down on the gag, trying to keep it in and breathe and cry. The pain swells, and they push, and I tip over the edge. Tears falling freely and they let me go. Leave me to my release.

I cry myself out and then curl up on myself. He is sitting in front of me while they talk, I curl up my head on my own knee, but touching his shoulder. Spacing out again, in rope and darkness.

They return to the couch, either side of me after short while. Conversation continues, but my hips are starting to protest strongly. I get his attention and mumble through my gag until he understands the problem. He frees my legs, and it is enough. She holds and pets me while they continue to talk.

I shift positions, not ready to give up, but with my legs free, I can now lean back and this puts pressure on my arms. I lean forward and back, and into her and away. Finding comfort in different ways for a while longer.

Eventually, it is enough. My wrist is in too much pain. I lean forward and turn my head towards him, waiting. He asks if I am done. I nod. He asks if my arms are numb. I shake my head. He asks what the problem is, and I try a few times, but I really am done, so I spit out the gag and tell him my wrist hurts too much, from its own swelling combined with the pressure of the rope.

He asks me to stand and I try, but am still unsteady so he has me kneel instead. The ropes come off, then the blindfold and discarded gag. The last trappings of the scene gone, I begin to shake. I take the blanket, which was covering my legs through the scene, to wrap around my shoulders. He invites me back to the couch and I snuggle back into her until the shaking passes while he puts away the rope. It is still cold and I stay snuggled between them until he has to attend to other things, another girl takes his place andI am kept warm while I come fully awake. He returns and I thank him for the wonderful scene.

Warmer clothes and breakfast, bits of teasing and discussion. I am still high and spacy, but awake and aware, and so very happy. A great scene that kept us all entertained on a cold, slow night. I felt like his canvas again. Used for his art – for his rope art, for his sadism, his instigation, and his use of mental control. Given the gifts I enjoy – tight bondage, teethy rope, nipple clamps, intensity, pain, pushing boundaries, control, hair pulling, orgasms, and release to the point of tears. Incredibly grateful for the gift of that scene.

Reconnected

Do you want to do flogging or rope tonight?

Sure, get me the rope.

How much?

4, 8mm.

30s?

Yes.

Did you stretch?

No…and I stretch while he explains to her why.

Arms behind my back for a box tie. He wraps bands around my chest as well, a suspension-worthy box tie. Two lengths of 30′ and I could still eel out if I wanted to.

Do I feel screwed yet? No, I still have my feet.

He grabs the third. This one really constricts my movement, my arms cannot separate at all now, they move as a unit.

I still have my feet, but I know I’m screwed.

Up on the bed, legs crossed, he ties my ankles together, having to use a 30′ instead of a 15′ to make it sustainable, as the rope loops up around my neck. He wraps the rope between ankles and neck, tying it off to keep it from sliding. I have a wrapped handle on front and back and I’m proper fucked now.

He rolls me around, teasing, caning, Uncle. Writhing and squealing, gasping, trying to catch his eye through my legs, too close to the edge of the bed to protest too much.

He lets me breathe, then tests my trust. Balanced on the edge he lets me fall little bits, I shriek and he catches me, every time. I look into his eyes, the joy is there, the love is plain.

Time to test the new head box. He lifts me to the floor, setting me on the cold cement. The heavy box comes down, cutting me off. I am gasping, afraid Uncle will return. A stray comment and he is back, pulling my bra down and clamping my nipples. He pulls on the chain, pinches my thighs. I thrash and scream and he giggles. The box needs more padding, the hole is too big, I keep hitting my teeth on the edge. But it does a good job of isolation.

The box comes off, we give him feedback, he thanks us for trying it out.

Nipple clamps become a lead, he drags me across the floor, scooting and yelping. The right one keeps coming off, squeals when he puts it back on. Over to another chain, hooking them up above my head, I have to balance to keep from pulling them harshly. A bamboo cane now, ass and thighs, I roll and yelp and breathe with the strikes. He hits my breast and I squeal, my clamped nipple brings a scream as I find his eyes and his joy brings me solace.

My hips ache and he lets me down, having to reattached the pesky right one, yet again. Whimpering yelp. Rolling onto my back, pillow provided, the cane goes for the tender bits and thighs and ass. Then up to sitting again, he takes the clamps off, gasping and leaning against him. A moment’s reprieve.

The cane returns, I move wrong, blocking in a moment of weakness. He grabs my septum and scolds me, I cringe and grovel and force stillness as he returns to it harshly. I thrash, but keep his target clear.

If I feel teeth you’ll regret it.

I would never. My mouth is open with the pain, it will not close on flesh. Pain space is coming now, screams dwindle into heavy breathing. He moves around the body, I sink into it, and he lets me. Closing my eyes with a hand, he leaves me to drop into space.

The rope, holding me, cradling me, keeping me safe and leaving me vulnerable. My hands have shifted, but they still are held fast. My arms cannot move, but there is no pain. Circulation is complete, the problems easily solved. My neck begins to grow weary, I bring up a knee to rest it on. Not for long, I like the pull of the rope. The handle at my throat is not too close and pulls evenly.

I sink deep into the rope. I can hear the other scene, but I don’t care. I am here. I am happy. I am in His rope again. His hemp digging into my skin. Keeping me just how he wants me. Held in position, easily moved and open access to everything. A prisoner tie, and perfect.

He returned and freed my neck and ankles, ordered me to kneel, knees spread wide. He smacked my inner thighs, bright red hand prints. Pinching the bruises and putting me back into pain space.

Can I put needles in you?

I did not say no.

May I put needles in you?

Not tonight.

Yes or no.

I waffle, because my brain isn’t screaming no, and he wants to, and she has them, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. It’s been a big scene and I don’t know that I want to add that on top of it.

Yes or no.

No.

Was that hard?

Yes, my brain was arguing with itself.

My feet hurt from the pressure of kneeling. He pulls me up and begins untying.

The feel of the rope, shivers through my body. Murmuring, spacing. He drags it across my nipples and I whimper. Pure rope pleasure. One. Two. Three. So good to me.

The rope is off, we hug, just sharing the floating energy. The ropes are waiting, I sit with them, run them through my fingers, coil them and put them away.

Practice is over, everyone is gone. We sit for a few moments, reflecting.

Rope marks and bruises. Joy and love. We needed this. Reconnected.

Erotic Shorts

—–

Bullet

—–

She felt his hand in her pocket, turning up he dial as she lined up her next shot.  Her breath quickened as the little bullet sprang to life in her panties.  She barely noticed that her shot went wide and the cue-ball didn’t hit a single thing as she handed off the stick to her partner.

“You missed,” he said, pulling her against his leg, pressing the little vibrator tighter against her clit.

“Umhmm.”  She mumbled.

“Stay in control, little one.  You have to be ready for me later.”  He kissed her tenderly, turning it down just a bit.  “Wouldn’t want to distract you from the game.”

—–

Arrest

—–

“Stop right there.  Drop your purse and put your hands on the hood of the car.”

She didn’t turn, there was no need, the voice and the tone were unmistakable.  She pulled her purse off her shoulder and let it slip to the ground.  Taking a step sideways, she put her hands on the top of the hood.  She didn’t bother to ask what she’d done, it hardly mattered at this point.

“Spread your feet apart and then hold still.  I’m going to search you.”

He waited for compliance and began to pat her down.  She was not surprised when he roughly squeezed her breasts and massaged her ass.  Then she felt him kneel down behind her as he made a thorough search of her panties and stockings.  As he stood back up, he gave her crotch one last grope that made her gasp softly.

“Hands behind your back, we’re going for a little ride.”

—–

Hair

—–

His fingers slipped up the back of her neck and entwined themselves tightly in her hair.  He pulled her slowly toward his mouth, feeling a shiver run through her body.

“Behave yourself, little one.”  He whispered against her throat.  “or I might put you over my knee right here.”

“Master, please, you wouldn’t…” she stiffened and caught a moan behind her teeth as he bit a taut tendon in her neck.  “I… I’m sorry, Master. I’ll be good.”  She gasped as he release her with a single swat on the ass.

“You better, little one. I’ve always wanted to spank you in public.”  He grinned at her shiver and lowered eyes.

—–

Bite

—–

She stood blindfolded at the foot of their bed, listening and feeling him moving around her.   He slowly stripped away her clothing, running light fingertips over her skin.  She smiled and shivered at his touch.

When they were both naked, he slipped behind her.  One hand brushed her hair back, away from her right shoulder and then slipped around her waist.  His left hand slipped around her shoulders, over her forehead, to catch a nice handful of hair on the top of her head.  He pulled her head firmly to the side as he kissed her throat.  She squirmed back against him and froze for just an instant as his teeth sank into her neck.  Then she moaned with pleasure as he bit deeper and sucked hard on her flesh.

—–

Spank

—–

“You’ve been naughty, little one.”  He ran his hand over her bare back, bending her over the end of the bed.  “You disobeyed your Master.”  He dragged the leather slapper over her pale ass cheeks.

“Yes, Master.  I’m sorry, Master.”  She shivered at his touch, anticipation of punishment tensing every muscle.

“Too late, little one.”  He punctuated this with a sharp slap on her backside.

“Yes, Master,”  she gasped, “thank you, Master.”

He stroked the reddened flesh with leather a moment, enjoying watching her squirm.  Then he brought it to bear on the other cheek.

“Thank you, Master.”  She moaned as he struck her ass again.  “Thank you, Master.”

He smiled behind her, watching her ass grow red, enjoying every gasp and groan and Master that came from her lips.  “Such a good little naughty slave you are.”

—–

Collar

—–

“You have much to learn.”  He stood over her kneeling form.  “But if you work hard, I think we will both be very happy.”

She nodded silently, unable to pull her eyes from the bag at his feet.  It was from their favorite toy shop, and the outline of the sagging plastic clearly showed a collar within.  She could barely breathe through her excitement at the prospect of finally earning her collar.  So much so that she hardly heard him speaking again.

“…at any time, any place. ”  He watched her, knowing it was the bag that had her attention and not his voice.  “You will learn to be a proper slave to your Master without losing your self to the role.”

“Yes, Master.”  She replied, her mind reengaging at the key words of ‘slave’ and ‘Master.’  “Thank you, Master.”

“Good, my little one, now go get dressed, we’re going out for dinner.”  He pulled her to her feet and kissed her tenderly.  “I love you.”

Resistance Play

Resistance play. If you’d asked me about that a year ago, I would have blinked at you in confusion. Why would I, as a submissive, resist? It’s not what you’re “supposed to do.” Now, I regularly play with four people and I have completely different attitudes around resistance for each of them. Let me quickly define here that by resistance I don’t mean fighting instead of safe wording or saying no. I mean giving in to the fight or flight response that some of the play I’m involved in triggers, thus causing the other person to have to work harder to keep control.

One, if I resist, unless he is deeply into what is happening and very enrolled in it happening, will back off immediately, possibly concerned he has done something terribly wrong. I tend to be clear with him about what I want and make sure we don’t do things that would trigger resistance in me unless he is ready and able to deal with it.

Another, if I resist, gives me The Look, and I am immediately apologetic and expect punishment to be swift. He is able to shut down my resistance completely mentally. He occasionally uses this control to end my resistance to someone other than himself.

The third I resist very specifically, usually his teeth, or tickling, and he knows and expects it, and enjoys restraining me more forcefully for those things. He also enjoys putting me in completely vulnerable positions, making me physically unable to resist. This can take me through interesting head spaces as I try to resist anyway and then realize just how futile it is.

The last, I almost always resist, most of our play is resistance play, and we both enjoy it immensely. He can, however, still crook his finger, hold out a hand or give a command and pull completely submissive behavior from me when he wants to. We both enjoy the challenge of seeing how long it takes for him to win, for I am under no illusions that he will not eventually do so. I do like to think, however, that I’m getting better at it as we go along.

Resistance play can be incredibly fun, or incredibly detrimental, as with anything, everyone in the scene needs to be clear on what is going to happen.

Just for Him

Stripped naked and laid out before him. Watching with bright eyes as he stalks his prey. He pounces, grinning, and I smile right back up at him. Knowing what is to come, wanting it, needing it. I wait, but not long, and I am beneath him. Thoughts flying away as his gaze rakes my body. Wrapping ourselves around each other for a kiss before he takes full control.

His weight presses down on me, pinning me to the bed, hips to hips, chest to chest, legs entwined around legs. His hands clamped around my wrists, sometimes holding my head still. Arms pressing my shoulders, holding me below him. I am trapped. Held, not still, but secure. There is no escape from him. From his weight, from his teeth, from his voice, from his cock. And I do not want to be free. I am his to enjoy, to control, to use, and to love.

He holds me tight as his teeth descend upon my nipple. Teasing with tongue or just pouncing with animalistic growl. I squeak and moan and gasp for breath. Delicious pain emanating from a single tiny point. I arch my back, wanting more, even as my nerves scream for me to fight and flee. Some days it leaves me gasping and happy, other days it leaves me yearning for more. Just a little more pain, that was not quite enough. And then he goes for the other one. Sweet torment, twisting the tender one as he bites the fresh eager flesh.

Hands clamp around my head, fingers curling in my hair, I feel his breath on my ear, a soft growl as shivers run down my spine and he snaps his teeth. I want it so badly, I tilt my head towards his mouth, and whimper as his teeth sink in. Gentle at first, I moan softly and squirm against him. Then it become harsher, teeth digging into tender flesh, and I yip and try to turn away. Pain overriding control, especially when he take a bigger bite. I want more, but I cannot hold still, it is so intense.

When he pulls his mouth away, I shiver, the intensity suddenly gone, there is a void that makes me gasp and shake. Just as hard to control as the pain. The yearning for more is almost as intense some days. I fight and twist my head and whimper, but when it stops, I want more. Every snap of his teeth, and growl of his breath and I tilt my ear towards his mouth. Silent begging for what I cannot always voice.

When he counts, while his teeth are deep in flesh, while pain is riding high. It flows free, filling my whole body, with a painful pleasure that only can be soothed by the number Three. Two feels like a string, pulled to breaking point, with a knife rubbing gently on the last few fibers. My mind screaming for the knife to stop, to wait, just a moment longer.

Then everything melts. His voice, with simple numbers, giving me a focus, a direction, a place to send all that built up energy and pleasure. And with Three, or a kiss, it rushes through me, taking all the pain and all the pleasure, every bit of tightly controlled energy and explodes leaving me breathless. Again and again. Until I do not think I have any energy left to spend. Then he counts one more time, and just the energy of his voice, of our connection, is more than enough to ride another wave of pleasure, just for him.

My Favorite Things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…

A kitten without whiskers would be pretty creepy.

But what are my favorite things?

Rope wound around the body.

Knots tied just out of reach.

Fifteen foot high suspension points.

Heavy canvas straitjackets.

The smell of leather.

Nylon hoods muffling sight and sound.

The sting of his single tail.

Saran wrap being peeled off after a long scene.

Nipple clamps sinking in.

Teeth on tender flesh.

His finger pointing to the floor.

The quiet peace of kneeling at his feet.

Breath blowing on heated skin.

Bruises the next day.

The numbers One, Two and Three.

The steady rhythm of floggers.

Deceptively simple commands.

The crackle and hum of electricity.

The pure joy in his eyes.

The feel of his hair running through my fingers.

A strong grip in my hair.

The bliss of an orgasm completely out of my control.

The adrenaline rush of fire play.

The sound of his voice.

The warmth of his embrace.