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My lovely has been obsessed lately with the idea of car sex… driving through town with my hand roaming across her sexy young body, leaving her tingly and squirming by the time we find that nice secluded spot where I can strip her and then fuck her nice and hard and deep…
(via playtime-with-daddy)
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Date, Part I
I stretched my had forward to touch the glass, wiping away the foggy surface so that I could see my bare face, face flushed from my hot, almost scalding shower. I didn’t usually wear makeup or do anything special to my hair - I really prefer low-maintenance, and I don’t have the patience for anything that takes a great deal of time - but with my damp hair dangling shapelessly around my rounded cheeks and wide eyes, I looked younger.
I made a face. I appreciated the slow aging my ethnicity gifted me with, but even I didn’t like being mistaken for a high school student.
Still, I liked the person I saw in the mirror. Long brown hair, almost black, though sometimes a warm bronze in the summer sun; a slim figure with roundness at my hips and arms, the faint suggestion of muscle lending tightness to my thighs and calves. My lips curled up in a smile as I touched my fingers over my reflection. I was glad that I liked me, and pleased that he would love having all of me tonight, naked beneath him after our date.
Our first real date. We had been long distance so long, that I’d forgotten about one of the benefits of living in the same state: dates and movies and sleeping over. I knew he would have preferred that I move in with him - he had offered, had always made it clear he would love to have a place with me - but when I’d taken the job, I decided that I didn’t want to commute, and wanted to at least try living on my own first, so I could get used to the city on my own terms. I would only be staying here for a year or two at most, and at that point, I’d like as not be ready to live with him full-time.
It had taken some time for me to settle into my small little apartment in Seattle proper. I’d gotten the corner studio at a steal because one of my coworkers had a cousin who was traipsing around the world during her mid-life crisis. After weeks of slowly unpacking my stuff and moving it around the apartment, I’d finally managed to hang up all my clothes so I could stop living out of my boxes and suitcases. My few precious books were stowed away on bookshelves, rather than tables, and my other little knick-knacks - a ceramic bunny piggy bank, my stuffed Yoshi collection, and my various jewelry stands and boxes - were all scattered around the apartment, reflecting bits and pieces of my personality in a home that didn’t quite feel like home yet.
I sopped up the water in my hair with a fluffy white towel while padding barefoot to my closet, scanning through the rack of dresses hanging neatly behind the sliding mirror. Two years ago, I’d had exactly one dress. Now, I had over a dozen, some expensive and some cheap, but all of them more flattering to my feminine figure than the tomboyish girl I’d used to be had ever wanted.
My fingers touched on the stiff beige dress covered with an exotic butterfly print, then danced two dresses down to a new purchase I hadn’t yet found an occasion to wear it to yet. Black cotton lace made for a festive look that was stylish with a hint of vintage, and the heavy material fell well - perfect for a windy Seattle evening.
I patted the purple jersey dress I had laid out earlier with only a pang of regret. I knew he loved seeing me in the purple - he had gotten it for me, after all - especially naked, with me squirming underneath and trying to hide my blushes. But I wanted to surprise him, and I wanted to make it through our first date without succumbing to his inevitable teasing and touches.
Oh LDRs...
her: This is a moment when I wish I could be next to you physically.her: I want to hug you.
An Afternoon in the Scene, part 3
Your legs are shaking, trembling with weakness as I stand you up, one of my arms across your abdomen holding you back against my body while my free hand clutches firmly at your left elbow. My chest rises and falls against your back, deep and steady breaths as your own breathing continues raggedly, as uncontrolled as the rest of your tingling body.
“Are you prepared to stand, my lovely?” I whisper, my breath tingling hot upon the back of your ear.
You nod tentatively in response as your hands clutch at the front of my trousers. Slowly my hand releases your arm, and the limb that was secured snugly around your midsection relaxes as well. I step back a half step, fingers still brushing against your hot skin until only the tips of my fingers rest lightly against your waist.
“I’m going to release you. Stay exactly where you are until I tell you to move, pet.”
The complete darkness of the blindfold combined with the adrenalin-fed dizziness causes your legs to quake as my fingers slip from your body, and tingles surge up your spine as your ears strain to keep track of my movement. I make no attempts to be quiet as I circle around you to the front, and then past to step a few feet away to the right. Moments later I return, and you feel my fingers upon your right arm. My touch is damp and cold, and a shiver surges through your muscles as my fingertips close around your bicep.
“Open your mouth.”
You comply quickly, without thinking, head tilting back slightly as I hold you steady with one hand. Moments later you feel the caress of a smooth glass along your bottom lip, and water trickles across your tongue and into your mouth - just a splash at first, which your throat automatically swallows down, though followed by a second and third drink. The cool water cascades down your throat, setting to life another pleasing tingle of sensation as the heat is washed from your lips and tongue.
“More?”
“Yes, please,” you whisper, and moments later another splash of cool water trickles over your lips and down your throat.
I set the glass aside and move around you once again, grasping the carabiner between your wrists and urging you forward. Your feet comply automatically, your body’s defense against falling taking over and moving your legs to propel you ahead of me. Three steps, and I draw you to a halt again before turning you a quarter turn to your left. One final push brings your thighs in contact with something hard, smooth and slightly padded, yet my hand continues to urge you forward against the edge, pushing your hands up toward the small of your back in the process. Unable to resist the urging of my hand, your body folds forward at the waist and you struggle forcibly against me for that split-second before your torso presses firmly against the flat surface of my new table.
“There we go, just like that,” I murmur, the smile upon my face clearly discernible in the tone of the words that issue forth from my lips. My fingers come together between your wrists as I disconnect the carabiner, after which I grasp both of your wrists and draw them out and upward. Your arms are extended out, and then up, until your hands reach far out across the surface of the table - at which point you feel yourself once again restrained, this time with your wrists tugged out above your head at slight angles to left and right. As I secure your arms to the table, you’re able to shift your grip around to grasp the thick ropes that now restrain your arms, with just barely enough slack for you to wrap your fingers snugly around the doubled bonds.
I turn and move along the table, with my left hand grazing along your arm. The fingers caress past your elbow and up your bicep, then along the rounded curve of your shoulder before making their way slowly along your shoulderblade. My hand pauses at the center of your back, fingers poised atop your spine before moving once again, nails dragging slowly along your skin all the way to your waist. As the maddening touches make their way down your body, your muscles twitch and quiver in response, and you push up onto your toes as your backside arches high into the air - as if pleading for more attention from my firm hand.
“Would you like something, young lady?”
“Yes, please,” you gasp softly as you tug on the ropes, savoring the feel of the cool, smooth leather on your breasts and abdomen.
“And what is it that you would like?” I murmur as my forefinger grazes down between your cheeks, stopping momentarily to tease at your puckered asshole before continuing down between your swollen and slippery labia.
“I would like you to flog my ass please, Chad,” you say with a gasp as my forefinger bumps against your hypersensitive clit.
I shift my position, turning and facing your backside as the finger on your button works a circle around it, and with my right hand I sweep the soft leather tails of the flogger over the twin curves of your asscheeks from right to left, then back. Your feet push up even higher, arching your ass up into the air as maddening tingles of sensation rage up your spine.
“Feet on the ground, pet,” I say, flicking my forefinger firmly against your clit. A hot flood of sensation surges through your cunt at the simple movement, and you feel the flush of embarrassment color your cheeks and neck as you force yourself back down onto your heels.
“That’s better,” I murmur as I cup my hand over your wet cunt, pushing my palm against the mouth of your pussy firmly. “You’ve been having naughty thoughts again, haven’t you?”
The words resonate, and your body squirms with an energy all it’s own as the flogger tails drag once again over your asscheeks, from left to right. My hand shifts away from your soaked mound, and moments later the tails of the flogger flick gently against your rounded bottom. The first strike is more of a caress, yet the flesh of your heavily spanked ass almost instantly begins to rage with tingles in anticipation of what is to come.
“Nnnnnn,” you whimper, and the flogger swats at your backside again, slightly harder.
“Your mind has been filled with dirty, slutty imagery all morning, hasn’t it?”
You twist your head left and right, jaw clenched as you resist answering, yet your body tells a story with much greater detail as your hips begin to rake left and right against the edge of the table.
“Keep those feet on the ground, girl,” I warn again, this time accentuating my firmer tone with the smack of the flogger’s handle diagonally across your left asscheek. The strike causes you to yelp and shudder as hot, stinging pain grasps your backside, and you force yourself consciously back down onto flat feet.
“You’ve been daydreaming about being filled with two cocks again, haven’t you?” I accuse, as the flogger tails smack down once again, lashing with more stinging pressure diagonally down across your backside and the back of your left thigh. “Having your pussy stretched nice and tight around one while another pushes deep into your tight little shitter.”
“NNNnnggghh,” you whimper as the scene visualizes itself within your mind, and your hips press down harder against the edge of the table as your pussy pulses with slippery wet heat.
“That’s simply naughty, young lady,” I growl, and the flogger smacks down again, diagonally from the other direction. The tails lash firmly across your reddened bottom, amplifying the throbbing heat that already rages in both your asscheeks and your cunt, and you cry out as the sensations flood your mind.
I step away, and your muscles clench in anticipation, unable to determine what is to come. From a further distance you hear the flogger’s tails whistle through the air again, lashing against your meaty, yet sensitive thighs. Each strike grows slightly in intensity, yet with each one the combined force seems to multiply exponentially, leaving you gasping and trembling after another six evenly timed lashes.
“Naughty little slut, wanting her cunt and ass both fucked hard at the same time,” I chide, stepping forward to press my firm hand up against your core with my palm hard against your asshole as my fingers shroud the entirety of your soaked, tingling pussy. “Do you think good girls dream of being stuffed full of cock from two directions, young lady?”
“I am a good girl,” you cry out, shivering violently as you press back against my hand, the fiery heat in your pussy nearly overwhelming your senses completely. Your heart pounds madly as you gulp for air, lungs aching from the intensity of your arousal.
“A good little slut,” I correct, my hand drawing back before smacking firmly up against your vulva. The strike rips another gasping cry from your lips, and your hands tear at the ropes as the hot, aching pleasure surges through your body. “A good little cock-hungry slut.”
My hand draws away once more, and the sound of whistling tails touches your ears a fraction of a second before they kiss your backside. Unable to respond verbally to the onslaught, you tremble in pain-filled ecstasy as the stinging lashes begin to fall with regularity over your ass, thighs and pulsing hot pussy. Time becomes unmeasurable as your body clenches and writhes, fighting against the bonds, flinching away from the straps, pushing back in desire for the next. You fear, and yearn for more as your control is systematically stripped away to leave your emotions raw, unchecked and free from the limitations of your public self. With every kiss of the flogger your emotions are set free and you become the slut, hungry and yearning, unabashed and shameless in your need, your desire. With each fiery strike your body is pushed closer and closer to the edge, until the tingling pulse of your aching clit threatens to leave you babbling and incoherent with the intensity of the sensations flooding through you. Each stinging slap of the tails pushes you beyond what you thought were your limits, until you float immersed in sensation unlike anything you’d ever experienced.
Your body shakes uncontrollably, muscles twitching madly as your mind struggles to regain control, but it still takes nearly a minute for you to realize that the flogging has stopped. Heat, fiery and intense, pulses through your tortured backside and thighs - and your pussy seems to throb with the rapid pounding of your heart as you gasp for lungfuls of cool air. Comprehension is nearly lost to you as I free your wrists from the ropes and then pull you gently, lovingly up into a cradling caress, arms around your torso securely. Your head lolls forward as your forehead finds the curve of my neck, and my fingers caress your cheek as you hang limply in my embrace.
“Breathe, my lovely,” I whisper softly as I hold you secure in my grasp. Slowly the strength filters back into your muscles and you begin to steady yourself in my embrace, and within a few minutes you’re able to once again lift your head from where it laid against my shoulder. I shift once again, and your fingers tighten on my arms as you clutch to me unconsciously.
“Water,” I murmur, raising the glass to your lips, and you drink earnestly, gulping at the cool liquid and savoring the renewing sensation that it carries through you. Finally I pull the glass from your lips, and you murr in protest as your body yearns instantly for more. “Enough, young lady,” I breathe into your ear.
“You can have more later,” I tell you as I shift us around, pressing you once again up along the edge of the table - though this time, it’s your sore, reddened, strapped bottom that I push up against the padded leather. “After candles and ice.”
The “Real Life” Kink Community
I will be the first person to acknowledge that virtual communities and friendships forged in those communities can be as real and true as any friendship that is forged in “RL,” a.k.a. real life.
I was lonely, depressed, and sad for the latter part of my elementary school and middle school years, due to a combination of changing schools after a major move, being made fun of by my classmates, and family troubles of the sort where my parents would argue with each other at night after they thought I had gone to sleep. I have vague recollections of glass shattering, and my dad telling me to go back upstairs when he saw me peering down to the first floor from around the corner. I had no one to talk to and could only bury myself in my books and my stories, and try to muffle the sounds coming from outside of the safety of my bedroom.
High school and the library would eventually become safe havens, but my first sanctuary was found on Fanfiction.Net. I’ve lost touch with most of the people that I first connected with, but one of the girls is someone I still consider one of my closest friends. Since then, I have floated from GaiaOnline to Elliquiy, finally finding a home that is welcoming and civil, holds a wealth of intellectual discourse on a wide range of topics, and a community of members that (by and large) respects everyone else. That’s not even to mention the amazing roleplayers and people I have had frequent opportunity to write and interact and work with.
Still, compared to real life interactions with people sitting in front of you (as opposed to across the computer screen), online is but a pale shadow of real interactions. Before you argue, consider that over 90% of what you are saying is lost - language that is conveyed through your tone, through your body language, through your facial expressions, and other nonverbal language - and what you see on the screen conveys very little of the true subtleties of communication. I am not suggesting that RL is better than online or vice versa, but it is a simple fact that online communications cannot convey everything that a face-to-face conversation (or even a phone conversation) can.
I empathize with and understand - and experience! - the anxiety that can come with meeting new people, especially meeting many new people who already know each other. Compound that with doing so alone. Compound that with doing so on a topic that is very personal - sexuality and kink. Online can be easier. Online is anonymous. Online, I can be anyone I want to be. I don’t have to attach my Real Life Identity to my kinky self. I don’t have to reveal that I’m 10 pounds overweight or that I’m uncomfortable in social settings.
But online has its limits. Me, I’m no social butterfly, but I love interacting with people. I love talking to people and hearing their stories. I believe that every person has something valuable to share of their experiences and beliefs. And so, I decided that it was time to take my online persona and establish myself in the real life kink community.
Determined to explore the kink aspects of my sexuality, I signed up for Fetlife, a social networking community (think Facebook) for the BDSM and fetish community. I joined a group aimed at people in my local community, made note of some important resources like reading material, calendars, and stickies in various groups, and then ventured out to my first munch (low-pressure social gathering for those in the community, usually at a restaurant) a few weeks ago.
I’m not going to describe the munch or the subsequent munches in detail. I’ve gone to a few munches held by two different local groups, and one discussion group/event that had a significantly different atmosphere due to the nature of the gathering. I’ve spent a lot of time listening, mostly - and while I can’t say that I’ve made any close friends through the experience so far, it is early yet, and I hope to eventually make some friends who understand this part of me that I find so difficult to share with other friends who have known me since high school and college. Men, women, and others in the community who I would feel comfortable going to with my questions and concerns about my own relationship.
I don’t think I’ve gone to enough events yet to really determine how I feel about being involved in the kink community - I haven’t been to any workshops, for example, nor to any play parties or some of the more ‘exciting’ munches. However, I’ve come to realize that for all that my online communities are wonderful and supportive and have given me so much opportunity to learn and interact with people in a safe place, there is truly nothing like going to a community munch in person. People have been nothing but kind and welcoming to me, and while my social activity is necessarily limited by my amount of leisure time and other non-kink-community responsibilities and social connections, I believe that registering for FetLife and taking a step out into the Real Life Community is a step in the right direction. Even though everything is still new and I’m quite in awe of all of the different kinds of experiences I have yet to try, I’m very excited to meet more people, attend more events, and ultimately learn more about myself and my relationship in the process.
(Source: oh-butterflydreams)
An Afternoon in the Scene, part 2
As I guide you through the house, my left hand relaxes, releasing your elbow. Fingers slide along the back of your arm all the way to your shoulder, and then diagonally across your shoulderblade, rising up to the base of your spine. My touch wraps around the back of your neck, grasping firmly as I steer you around unseen obstacles that rest along the pathway towards the second bedroom. Your skin tingles along your right arm as my palm grazes lightly along it, closely trimmed fingernails scraping down along the sensitive inner curve of your elbow.
“You saw the new table that I brought home yesterday, didn’t you?” I murmur, my disembodied words carrying that rough edge it attains when I’ve taken complete control of you.
“Yes,” you whisper demurely, your mind racing with apprehension as un-requested images begin flooding into your head. It was a simple device really, a stout wooden table with thick, brown wood-stained legs and a top that was close the height of most kitchen tables, only slightly lower. The horizontal surface was lightly padded, over which was stretched smooth, black leather. At various points along the edges and also halfway down the legs were mounted gleaming steel rings that looked stout enough to hold even the most squirmy submissives.
The fingers at the back of your neck clench slightly as I guide you into the hallway, squeezing with just enough pressure to keep you moving in the correct direction. “And did you obey the rules regarding my new toys?”
Your head nods, causing your bangs to bob against the blindfold as you reply semantically as well as verbally. “Yes, Chad. I only looked, I did not touch.” Memories of when I’d installed the whipping post the month before still tingle through your body, remembering being caught stroking the smooth, polished wood with your fingers as your torso pressed against it. You received a first-hand lesson to just how effective a tool it had been - getting your bottom, back and legs striped before your clit was tortured for an hour with the wand. Afterward, it took nearly a half hour for your body to remember how to walk on legs that were as wobbly as those on a newborn colt. Granted, your orgasm had been more powerful than any you’d remembered, but my stern words echoed more deeply in your memory.
“Very good, pet,” I say with a smile as we make the turn into the second bedroom, directly across the hall from the larger room where we sleep. I guide you into the middle of the room and then draw you to a stop, my hands releasing your elbow and neck before sliding to your shoulders. “Now, stay right there and don’t move.”
As you’ve been instructed previously. you assume your standing position - your arms slip behind as your hands join at the small of your back, fingers laced loosely together, and your head tilts forward as you gaze sightlessly down at the floor a few feet in front of you. Your knees relax as you make sure not to lock them tightly, as you know doing so could cause you to faint and collapse while you wait for my touch once again - and that would cause you to move, which would certainly bring reprisals.
Your ears, tuned to hypersensitivity by the application of the blindfold, follow me as I move around the room. The soft squeak of steel hinges as I lift the top lid of my wooden toybox, and the rasp of wooden drawers as they’re opened and closed. My stockinged feet are almost silent upon the floor, but you can feel the movement of warm air when I step closer to you. My breathing as well, steady inhalations and exhalations as I prepare around you.
Fingers brush along the nape of your neck as my hand sweeps a few errant strands of hair back, followed by the cool caress of leather as something is draped over your shoulder. Multiple thin straps dangle down to tease over the rise of your right breast, gliding back and forth for a moment before they settle against your tanned skin. I move away again, to the left side of the room and another chest of toys and tools.
Moments later, when I return to stand in front of you, silence drops like a curtain as you literally feel me staring intently. Finally you hear the rasping of something metallic, stone scraping upon steel - the flick of a lighter - and a moment later you feel the flickering heat of a flame teasing for just a heartbeat underneath your pebbled left nipple.
A gasp pours from your lips as you inhale reflexively, muscles clenching and nerves instantly tingling with maddened awareness, yet the heat has already gone. You feel and hear me move off in the direction of the table, and then turn to stride once again past you on the left. Fingers graze over your heated and pulsing left nipple, savoring against the sensitive nub until gliding away and caressing around your left bicep.
The hush-hush of my socks on the hardwood retreat down the hallway toward the living room and kitchen, and in moments you’re left in complete silence, accompanied only by your breathing and the rapid thumping of your pounding heart. The caress of the flame underneath your nipple has put your entire body on high alert, nerves tingling with indignant stimulation as you struggle to maintain your position without moving. A rushing sound in your ears makes hearing the minute sounds of my passage somewhat more difficult, but in the distance you hear the clinking of glass, and the pressurized sound of the refrigerator opening, then closing.
In less than two minutes I return, but from underneath the blindfold, two minutes feels more like two torturous hours. I say nothing as I circle around you counterclockwise again, once, twice - and then stop in front of you, slightly to your left.
“Tilt your head back, pet. Open your mouth.”
You obey, muscles responding jerkily as your head tilts back, and as your mouth opens, you feel the trickle of clean, cool water. Just a dash at first, caressing over your heated lips and your tingling tongue, and you swallow reflexively. A second dash, this time slightly larger, and you once again swallow thirstily, but not before a helping escapes your lips and falls to splash between your breasts and then race down over your abdomen. By the time the bead of water follows the curve of your mound and soaks into the elastic of your panties, it’s nearly warmed to the temperature of your skin, yet it still elicits another electric shiver as the butterflies dance madly within your tummy.
“More?”
“Yes, please,” you ask, your mouth opening once again. A third time I pour the crisp icewater past your lips, and again you swallow it down, savoring the refreshing feel as it cools your throat. I step around you and behind, and you feel the chilled glass graze against your hip as I move away. Condensation stripes your flesh, leaving a cold caress six inches long that remains to tingle pleasantly as I move to slowly close the bedroom door.
The click of the latch on the door is inordinately loud in the silence of our playroom, sealing us off completely from the largely vanilla decor that abounds through the livingroom and kitchen, and even in the bedroom across the hall. Here, you are my pet - and I am your Master. Here, your only duty is to serve and obey, faithfully carrying out my instructions and submitting to my will as my hands, my words and my assertive guidance lead you along that path to ecstasy you’ve never been able to navigate alone. You are my beautiful, precious, priceless property - the instrument of my obsession, masterfully played and brought to sing with the intensity of an enraptured symphony orchestra, dutifully spilling out the request of their conductor.
Hands grasp your wrists, pinning them against one another, holding them securely, and you hear the click, click of a strong alloy carabiner as I latch your cuffed wrists together. The d-shaped ring provides me with an excellent grasping point, which I use to turn you slightly to your right.
“Step forward one stride,” I command as my hand pushes forward, and your feet move unconsciously to comply. I step around to your right, and then draw you off and slightly imbalanced as my position shifts.
“Bend forward at the waist, pet.”
You do, with a slight hesitation as you arch yourself forward into the unknown. Your bottom pushes out as a counterbalance as your upper torso hinges forward, yet with my firm hand at your wrists, you remain just barely under control.
“Stop,” I say, with pleasure in my voice as you feel my right hand grasping at your right bicep just below your shoulder. “Kneel, young lady.”
As your one foot moves back and you lower yourself more, you feel an obstruction against your abdomen. The familiar feeling is identified easily in your mind, and your body eases down into a prone position draped across my joined thighs with your right elbow brushing lightly against my linen shirt and your left hipbone pressing down atop my left knee. My hand moves off of your bicep as you lay yourself across my lap, grasping up the handle of the flogger and moving it to drape over the back of your neck just below the root of your ponytail.
“There,” I murmur, my soothing words seeming to act as a balm upon your senses. My left hand releases the carabiner before shifting back to graze feather-light fingertips down the curve of your left asscheek and back up the curve of your right. “Are you comfortable now, my pet?”
“Yes, Chad,” You answer dutifully, and truthfully, as your body relaxes in anticipation, nerves tingling and ready to feel the caress of my hand across your backside.
The first slap of my hand against the soft lavender silk sends an electric rush of sensation coursing up your spine. Certainly not hard enough to register as pain, but you know from experience - it’s only just the beginning.
“Your naughty little cunt has mussed your new panties badly, girl,” I muse as my fingers graze down, teasing lightly over the swollen flesh of your petals through the darkly saturated material. “And you’ve only been wearing them for a few hours. Have you been aroused this morning?”
“YesssSS!” you respond, your speech amplified as the second smack falls, my hand cupping to wrap solidly around your right asscheek. Another falls a second later, this time on your left asscheek, with enough force to push you across my lap and drive a rushing flood of warmth through your tingling, aching pussy. Inside you, the free-floating orbs within the Luna Balls dance in response to the strike, causing your pussy to clench down tightly in a fruitless attempt to control the movement.
“Your pussy has been aching, needing my attention,” I whisper, my throaty words causing shivers nearly as intense as those driven up your spine by the heavy strikes of my hand on your reddening bottom.
“Nnnnnnyess,” you writhe in response, and my right hand clenches at your wrist tightly, pushing your hands down against the small of your back.
“Sit still, young lady,” I warn. You struggle to comply, fighting for control of your body as the sensations and the desires vie for mastery of your muscles.
Another heavy blow lands upon your left asscheek, and a flood of fire and ecstasy rages through you as you feel moisture surge from your tingling cunt. My pinky finger presses down and pulls left, pushing your asscheeks apart slightly, and you feel what can only be described as a river of slick honey surge from within you to soak into the already saturated material of your panties.
My hand moves back to your right, and strikes again, as hard as the last, leaving both of your asscheeks glowing with heat and pain as the strong muscles quiver and clench in response. I squeeze, and then caress gently before my hand sweeps down the back of your right thigh.
“Tomorrow, when you go to the gym,” I say as my fingers trail back up between your thighs, nails grazing lightly over your rock-hard clit and swollen petals, “you are to wear the Luna Balls again. When you get home, I’m going to tug them out and see just how much nectar an hour’s worth of exercise at the gym creates.”
My hand draws back and then whips through the air once again, my now slick and slippery fingers falling directly centered across both asscheeks. Fingers aligned with your crack fall directly on your swollen pussy, and the blow sends a shockwave up and through your spasming core as your kegals clench madly against the dancing balls inside you. My hand presses up hard against your wetness, my long middle finger laying directly atop your throbbing clitoris.
“Yess, Chad,” you cry out as my finger circles around your button, the friction of honey-soaked silk and my calloused fingertip amplifying the sensations that much more intensely.
My palm shifts to caress over the tingling flesh of your ass for a few moments before I move my fingers up to the curve of your waist. My thumb slides underneath the lace-shrouded elastic and then roughly, violently drags your panties down until they are trapped at the widest point of your thighs. the abrupt movement leaves your heated, moist pussy exposed directly to the air, and a rush of maddening tingles rages up your spine as my hand slides up to grasp your sex fully in my hand.
“Who does this wet little cunt belong to, girl?”
“Y…you,” you say shakily as my middle finger probes between your swollen labia, nudging against the orb of the Luna Balls just inside your opening.
“Say it like you were taught,” I growl, my finger pushing the toy deeper and causing your muscles to clutch against it in response.
You writhe atop my thighs, bottom arching up against my hand as your abdomen presses down firmly, and your muscles quiver with tension. “This slut’s wet little cunt belongs to you, Chad.”
You can hear the pleasure in my voice, almost hear the smile that has spread across my lips as my reply caresses your ears. “That’s right. It’s my naughty little cunt, to do exactly as I wish with. Good girl.”
The next blow lands directly across both asscheeks again, this time without the thin shroud of silk protecting it, and the slapping wet sound is nearly as loud as the cry that is torn from your lips as pain surges up through your tingling, humming, hyper-aroused body. One by one they fall upon your ass, thighs and throbbing pussy, each blow coming no more than a second after the first, and your mind is quickly overtaken by the sheer volume of sensation surging through your tortured nerves. Muscles twitch and shiver in response, and you all but lose the ability to resist squirming and struggling against the deliciously intense pain that floods up your spine, down your thighs and deep into the core of your soaked, hot pussy. Seconds, minutes, hours could have passed - yet you only know sensation, coursing through every cell of your body as the hard spankings turn your tanned bottom bright red and cause your already swollen labia to surge fat with blood.
Finally, the blows cease - followed by tender caresses that are even more maddeningly intense than the spankings themselves. Whimpering cries pour from your throat as my fingertips lightly caress your throbbing pussy, your hot pink asscheeks, your clenching and nectar-soaked thighs. Your breath rasps from your throat as your lungs struggle for more oxygen, and your skin tingles with sweat as the air in the room caresses your ragged nerves.
“Now what time is it, young lady?” I inquire as my hand slides up the curve of your ass, fingers stopping to lovingly clench your own shaking, trembling hands. You grasp my hand tightly in response, fighting to compose yourself well enough to speak.
“It is time for your slut’s naughty ass to feel the kiss of the flogger,” you say, your voice hungry with anticipation and trembling with fear.
Photo
An Afternoon in the Scene, Part 1
The morning has been quick, uneventful, skating across my awareness with the same unregistered non-importance that I place on most things in the periphery of my vision. In the same way that my mind tunes out a television that drones on in the background, I have distanced myself from anything not essential to my returning home after the short excursion into the city. Only one thing focuses on my mind, and it sharpens into crystal clarity as I turn the key in the lock and then push the front door open gently.
The house is cool, a few degrees colder than the springtime morning outside, and the air is fresh and inviting - the scents of home. The scent is clean and familiar, and beneath it is that which I yearn for; the scent of you. Your body, the floral hint of your shampoo, the barest hint of soap. And the essence of arousal.
As the door swings open, I see you. Kneeling upon the throw-rug in our entry, your hands resting gently upon your thighs, your feet tucked demurely underneath your bottom and your head tilted forward slightly. Your thick, lustrous hair drapes forward, cascading like an ebony waterfall from over your shoulders and down to drape in front of your pert breasts, and your bangs shroud your eyes from my sight as you remain motionless in wait for me. Completely naked but for a simple pair of panties - a pair of black on black cotton hipsters with barely noticeable silvery pinstripes that streak horizontally across your nethers. You’ve followed my instructions exactly, so far.
“I can smell your pussy, pet,” I murmur as I step inside and push the door closed. ”Have you been playing?”
My eyes are upon you now, and my previously idling awareness has instantly charged to full steam as I sweep my gaze over you. A barely noticeable shiver causes your shoulders to tense at my words, yet you obediently remain as still as a statue as my words send a jolt of electrical excitement down your spine.
“No, Chad,” you respond, your eyes still downturned and your voice no more than a tiny whisper. “I was good, and didn’t touch my pussy.”
I continue to watch you as I move to stand only a few feet from your knees, and my gaze meticulously sweeps across your graceful form as my hands raise to unfasten the buttons of my jacket. I pull the closely fitting grey garment from my shoulders and flip it around, catching the collar in my left hand before lifting it to hang on the coat-rack that stands just inside our front door. Next to the rack is a tall mirror, and from my position I can see you in profile; your body is curved sensually, bottom pushed back and your spine curved forward as it rises to your neck, and from underneath the curtains of your hair I can see your nipples jutting forth from your chest, firm and aroused. The sight is deliciously erotic, your entire body poised and waiting for me, attuned and excited for the unknown yet to come.
My shoes click upon the laminate floor beside the throw-rug as I slip my heels from them, toes capturing them and lifting to place them neatly beside the other shoes that are arranged along the wall underneath the mirror and coat rack. My socks make little sound as I turn and step toward you, only the sweeping brush of nylon against the golden blond floorboards.
“Tell me what you did after I left the house this morning.”
I circle around you as you begin to speak, stepping through the angle of the reflection and behind you, head tilting to admire the curved perfection of your round bottom. A hint of pink against your tanned almond skin still shows, glowing healthy from the spanking you received just before my departure.
“I went to the toybox and got the Luna Balls, and slipped them up inside my cummy pussy,” you whisper, and I see your hands clench slightly upon your thighs as the words roll from your lips. “Then I went to exercise in the living room.”
I can’t help but smile as I envision that scene, your well-fucked pussy clenching around the twin spheres as you did your morning’s yoga. The smile broadens as I reach down and touch you, fingertips caressing through the silky hair at the back of your neck, and then graze my nails lightly down your spine all the way to the elastic of your panties at the small of your back. My touch continues, sweeping down over your asscheeks as my middle finger follows directly down the crack of your ass until it rests directly over your swollen, sensitive labia. Your panties are soaked, slippery with your pussy’s sweet honey, and underneath I can feel the soft coil of the Luna Balls’ retrieval loop.
“And after your exercise?”
Another shiver surges through you, and this time you are unable to hold your rigid stance. Your head twitches slightly and your hair sways in response, yet in less than a heartbeat you’ve retained your control. From where I’m standing I see your tongue sweep across your bottom lip, whetting it before you speak again.
“I took a shower and brushed my teeth, then put on the panties you instructed me to wear. Once I had them on, I went to make myself breakfast.”
I stand again, rising to full height as my hand slides smoothly up along your back, my palm and fingers brushing lightly over your perfectly smooth skin until it rests upon your left shoulder with my thumb aligning gently against your spine at the base of your skull. My fingers curl around your neck until my fingertips settle softly upon your left collarbone, and my forefinger strokes up along the side of your windpipe. A gentle pressure upon your neck urges you toward me, and your body leans from its position until your right temple and cheek brush against my thigh.
“And did you enjoy your breakfast?”
Your chest rises as you draw in air, and the tiny sigh you exhale is barely enough to notice, but I can feel it nonetheless. “I enjoy our breakfasts together more, Chad.”
“I know that, young lady. We can’t always share our mornings together, though. It also doesn’t automatically make unenjoyable the breakfast you did have.”
“My breakfast was good,” you say after another moment of silence. “I was very hungry.”
Bending at the waist, I lean down until my head hovers just over yours, and I place a soft kiss upon your forehead as my lips curl into a loving smile. “I’m pleased to hear that you enjoyed it, my lovely,” I whisper softly, my warm words caressing your skin through the shroud of your bangs.
I stand once again, and circle around you from right to left, my hand sweeping counterclockwise around your neck as I go. My forefinger sweeps gently beneath your right earlobe and along the curve of your jaw, almost to your chin before my hand drops, removing our contact.
“I’ll be right back, young lady,” I tell you as I stride away and into the house.
I return only minutes later, the confident sound of my sock-clad heels striking down onto the floor paralleled with the tiny tremors of force that resonate through to where you remain kneeling atop the entryway carpet. I move to stand behind you, hands reaching down to gather your hair and sweep it back off of your shoulders, and then I carefully arrange the mass of thick locks before capturing it all into a snug ponytail at the base of your scalp. Once your hair has been pinned back, my fingers caress gently across the top of your head before I lower the familiar darkness of your blindfold over your eyes.
This blindfold is a replacement for our original, hand-made by me and designed especially for you. The leather eye-pads are backed in luxuriously soft rabbit-fur, and they fit so perfectly that you are immediately plunged into complete and total darkness.
“Your pussy is soaked, pet,” I murmur softly as my fingers secure the blindfold at the back of your head, the buckle resting just above the root of your ponytail. “Your panties are completely saturated.” My words seem to resonate through you as your sight-deprived senses refocus upon your remaining sources of information, amplifying the power of the sensation.
Once finished with securing your blindfold, I move around to your right. The soft, crisp linen of my shirt brushes against your right shoulder as I bend down, sending a tingle over your skin as my fingers close around your right wrist. Metallic sounds tickle your ears as you once again feel soft suede upon your skin, the caress of restraint with the cuff secured around your limb. I lower your right hand back to your thigh, then step around once again to repeat the process upon your left wrist.
“What are we going to do today, pet?” I question as I move to stand behind where you kneel.
“I’m going to have my ass and pussy spanked.”
My hands slide under your arms from behind, cupping underneath your armpits, and I gently and confidently lift you from the ground and to your feet. “And?” I whisper in your ear.
“I’m going to have my ass and pussy flogged.”
My left arm sweeps forward and around your midsection, holding you back securely against my body as your feet find the floor. A rush of tingly needles rushes down your legs as the previously constricted blood is allowed to flow once again, carrying heat and sensation along your muddled limbs. “And?”
“I will be restrained down to your new table.”
My right arm sweeps around as my fingers graze along your upper arm, then to the rise of your right breast. Fingertips tease over your pebbled nipple, and I pause to pinch it, hard enough that a surge of hot and tingly pain jolts through your body. “And?”
A gasp pours from your lips in response to the pain, yet you struggle to regain your composure. “My body will be introduced to clips and clamps and pinches.”
As I lean in, my lips brush against the back of your right ear. My nostrils flare as I draw in a deep breath, flooding my lungs with the intoxicatingly sweet essence of your body, your sexuality, your energy. As I exhale, my voice is a seductive whisper, hot and enticing as my breath caresses directly into the canal of your ear.
“And?”
You pause for a moment, uncertain at the answer to the question. “You haven’t told me yet, Chad,” you tell me as you lean back against my solid torso.
“Mmmm, that’s correct,” I confirm as my lips glide underneath your earlobe, brushing along your neck with the tickling caress of a downy-soft feather. “Today we’re going to play with ice, and fire. We’re going to decorate your delicious body with a carpet of tingly hot and colorful wax. Your smooth, flat tummy and your little volcano titties and your sweet naked cunt.”
The words send a shivering rush through you, of excitement and of anticipation and of fear, and your knees quiver weakly underneath you. My hands hold you securely, however, not allowing you to fall as I turn you around and begin to lead you back toward the playroom and the leather-covered table that you are to be strapped down to.
“It’s going to be a deliciously long afternoon, young lady,” I tell you, the tone in my voice gaining an edge of arousal and teasing control. “And, if you’re a very good girl - I’ll bring out the wand and I’ll let you cum, again and again and again.”
The “Silent Treatment”
I came across a discussion in one of my online communities, wherein the poster was asking for advice about how to handle a situation with her Dom. When he was annoyed or upset with someone or something else, he would essentially give his girl the silent treatment: wouldn’t tell her what the problem was, would ask to be left alone (with the caveat that he would talk when he was ready), and would text and talk to others while ignoring her.
There were many insightful posts about why he might have been behaving that way. People channel their emotions in different ways, and anger (a volatile emotion even at its best) most of all can be difficult to handle not just because of the emotion, but because many people will often lash out in anger without stopping to examine what it is that they are angry about. They don’t look at the root of the problem, and merely ignore it, shove it away, or deflect it in a way that doesn’t truly address the real issue.
That is an entirely different discussion, though.
Certainly, in some dynamics, this situational silence could be a good thing. For example, if the person knows he has a temper, knows he has a tendency to lash out - silence could well create a buffer and give him some space to calm down and try to see things objectively. Some people (not just men) need to withdraw into themselves to handle their anger or frustration. Sometimes, it’s not even about anger, but a situation that needs discretion or involves privacy concerns.
However, I believe that communication and trust are absolutely necessary for all relationships, regardless of their dynamic. As per the example above, if he didn’t want to discuss the situation with his submissive, a simple, I would prefer not to discuss this situation with you or I need some space right now or I’m not angry with you, but I need some time would all suffice in communicating his desire and need for space and silence, without worrying her. She, in turn, would trust that he was being honest and give him space. He doesn’t need to talk it out or discuss the situation, but communicating that there is something going on is needful, in my opinion. It shows that there is an open flow of respect and trust in the dynamic.
I mentioned somewhere during the discussion that I would want to know if my partner was upset about something, even if he wasn’t upset with me. I don’t necessarily need to know what it is that’s going on, only that there is something going on, and that he needs the time/space to resolve it. I will respectfully give him that - I don’t want to be a crutch or a constant sounding board. I don’t need to know all the details; I don’t need or even want full disclosure. But giving me the silent treatment or ignoring me because there’s something else going on, and not even respecting me enough to mention that he’s out of sorts for some undisclosed reason?
Even if the problem/situation/frustration has nothing to do with me, I really can’t agree that it is okay to ignore me or give me the silent treatment, as opposed to mentioning that he needs some space. Even something that amounted to I’m angry/frustrated about something, but I don’t want to talk about it would be signal enough for me to respect his space. And really, that’s all that is necessary - a few words expressing that need.
The discussion continued for some time, at which point another submissive made this comment:
Some of us who are with Dom, are with them because they are masculine. I want a Dom, not another girl friend in a man’s body.
This gave me some pause.
At first, I couldn’t figure out why the comment didn’t sit right with me, but after a few days of thinking it over, I realized that this opinion makes the assumption that discussion - about a problem, about feelings, about emotions - is relegated to the activities of females. That a man who was comfortable doing so was not considered ‘masculine,’ and that a man who did or wanted to talk about his emotions was clearly not a Man with a capital M.
I consider it a sexist stereotype (though some would merely say that it is a more conservative/tradition, ‘older’ way of thinking) because it creates an expectation that men are expected to keep all of their emotions inside, and they should not talk about their feelings or emotions because that would make them less masculine.
Another way this statement could be interpreted is that the poster sees her Dom as the one person/place she can go to where they do not need to deal with ‘another girl friend’ who will (going by the above stereotypes) want to talk about her feelings and her emotions. Her Dom is a place where she does not need to take care of someone else, where she is the one being taken care of. One might even go so far as to suggest that in this way of thinking, the external expression of emotion by a Dom invalidates masculinity - and when this ‘weakness’ is seen in the person who has been chosen to safeguard the submissive’s control, the submissive’s stability is placed at risk.
Without examining these alternatives too deeply, I will merely end this post by stating that emotions are a human experience, not only a female experience, and that the expression of those emotions should not define how masculine or feminine an individual is.
(Source: oh-butterflydreams)
Clothing…
Back when we had only just met, my lovely was a self-proclaimed tomboy. She had been into sports in school, was an avid tennis player, and spent most of her time hanging out with boys rather than spending time with girls, doing what I tentatively call “girl things” - shopping for shoes, dresses, frilly underthings, and so on. She had a few feminine things, but for the most part her wardrobe consisted of comfortable, utilitarian clothing - board-shorts, tennis shoes, hoodies and nondescript cotton panties. There’s nothing wrong with having a wardrobe like that, of course, but it’s certainly not conducive to dressing up sexy.
One of my lovely’s first hurdles was the fact that she didn’t feel sexy. She felt that she was just ‘one of the boys’, and that men didn’t see a sexy, sultry woman when they looked at her. By the time she and I began to have discussions relating to her wardrobe, I had already seen her on webcam and I knew she was stunningly beautiful. The idea of dressing her to complement her already ample beauty seemed quite appealing to me at the time - and it seemed like a perfect opportunity to see if I could draw out some of her own sexuality that she had hidden away so carefully within her. As I’d mentioned in an earlier post, I began with panties.
Undergarments, and panties in particular, I see as a physical representation of the core of a woman’s femininity. In a sense, they are a reflection of her mood - sexy, spunky, demure, risque, naughty - and with a simple change of attire, she can redefine that which is viewed by the people around her. When my lovely received that first care package I sent, loaded with a number of sexy little panties that were definitely nothing she would have bought for herself at the time, it was as if she had been given permission to do something that had previously been the exclusive privilege of the “sexy, pretty” girls. Of course, it’s not a private club that only the physically “beautiful” people can be a part of, but I’ve seen many women who I believe felt they didn’t ‘deserve’ to wear sexy clothing simply because they felt that they weren’t physically attractive enough. I personally think that beauty is much more a reflection of personality than physical attractiveness anyhow, as evidenced by the large number of stunningly attractive girls who, by the fact that they’re insufferable bitches, fall far below an average looking girl who had a beautiful smile, an infectious laugh and a warm demeanor.
Back to our story. That first package contained, along with a shiny new rabbit vibrator, a number of sexy, lacy panties. Most were boyshorts or hipsters, my personal favorite, and quite a few were manufactured with the seam that runs directly down the center, leaving a bead of stitching resting directly against her pearl. There seemed to be an almost instant change in her demeanor once she put on the first pair, as the blushes crept up her cheeks and the random giggles of illicit embarrassment began. She had heard me tell her of how beautiful I thought she was in the weeks before opening her birthday gift, but in that single instant of drawing that soft, silky lavender lace up her thighs, a switch was flipped within her - and the woman within was allowed the opportunity to emerge.
I instructed her on exactly how I wanted her to put the pair on, step by step. She stripped out of her clothes, and shed her plain cotton panties and bra, and then slowly drew the new panties up her thighs, drawing at the back, then the front, then again to the back until they were finally wrapped snugly around her hips. Then came time to adjust them perfectly, smoothing her fingers along the waistband to ensure they were resting in the right spot. Boyshorts sit much lower than normal bikini panties, and she noticed right away how they seemed to enhance and highlight the roundness of her hips. Then to brush her fingers down along the inverted heart curves of her asscheeks, feeling exactly how the lacy material was hugged around her bottom. Lastly I instructed her to brush her fingertips down over her mound, feeling the soft luster of the lace as she cupped her pussy in her hand - squeezing gently, feeling the heat of her cunt radiating out through the lace and against her palm. She was trembling visibly by the time we’d finished, and her pussy had already dampened the new material before any other clothes were donned.
In the days after the donning of the panties, I began to encourage her to think of dressing herself in a more sexy manner - skirts, dresses, sexy panties and bras, clothes that highlighted and complimented her body, rather than concealing it. She has broad, muscular shoulders, likely from her days as a tennis player, and strong and powerful legs despite her relatively short stature. In addition, she has b-cup breasts, which she was not happy with at the time - she felt she would have been more attractive with larger breasts. Her body is unlike that of today’s fashion models - which is, in my mind, a very very good thing. I didn’t have an accurate reference at the time to compare her to, but during our first vacation as we visited the Seattle Art Museum, I found an uncannily perfect equal in physical shape to that of my lovely - the ancient Greek statues of the Goddess Aphrodite.
I’m not a fan of huge breasts, nor am I a proponent of tiny waists and pencil-thin legs and arms. A woman who radiates health, balance and proportion is one that will draw my eyes long before a woman with the enhancement surgery and the barbie physique. Additionally, I think that clothes follow along the same lines in respect to the body, as wrapping paper represents in comparison to the present underneath. The nature of the clothing is irrelevant beyond their ability to enhance the natural radiance of the body that exists underneath. Her clothes are the wrapping paper, and her lovely body is the present that I enjoy the privilege of unwrapping every time she curls into my embrace. She is my Aphrodite, my Goddess of Beauty and Pleasure.
Since those initial days after shrouding her sweet pussy in those lacy purple panties, my lovely’s taste for beautiful clothing has grown immensely. Dresses, skirts, beautiful sheer blouses, form-fitting jeans, sexy heels, boots, jewelry, delicate panties and frilly bras, even garter belts and stockings have become things that she absolutely adores. Even more enjoyable is when I have the opportunity to dress her, taking the time to pick out each and every piece of her wardrobe and then dressing her, slowly and meticulously, like she is a beautiful living doll being decorated for my pleasure. Her face glows with pride and happiness as she watches me, my eyes savoring her form and my fingers touching, caressing, fondling as I clothe her as I desire. Certainly, the clothes do nothing to make her any more beautiful than she already is - for she is perfection in form before the first stitch of clothing drapes from her body - yet the combination seems to uplift her, bolstering her confidence and her esteem beyond that which results from simply my telling her verbally how stunning she looks. The clothes bring her from that place where she once existed only as an awkward tomboy, elevating her and allowing her to feel like the beautiful woman whom I see whenever I look upon her.
I believe that all people should take pride in their personal appearance at all times, and always look for ways to improve their personal selves. To me, healthy is sexy - and seeing a woman who respects her body and takes care of herself, one who dresses to proudly display her own confidence regardless of whether or not she fits the stereotypical Hollywood mold of beauty - that represents true sexiness.
Confidence. Self-esteem. Self-respect. In order to understand what it means to love another, shouldn’t we all begin by learning to love and respect that which we see in the mirror every morning? Learn to love yourself - live healthy, respect and take care of your body. There will always be those people who will turn away from you and tell you that you’re not ‘attractive’ - but doesn’t true beauty lie within the soul? Attire your soul with confidence and esteem and respect for yourself, and enhance that which exists within all of us. Those people who cannot see past the physical are unworthy of your concern - focus your thoughts upon those people who uplift you and help to make you better.