From Inside

I find you irresistible,
even through the blur of my tears
A dark shadow of a man
whose hands bruise
whose lips heal
Dominates
my thoughts, my passion, my body
You read me
my short breaths
my long moans
clenched muscles
You provide pain and pleasure
fulfill a dream
a fantasy
whispered secrets
Touch my skin, mark me yours
with your cock
fingertips
daring tongue
Test my limits, find my walls
From the inside

Kiss

I was drowning in a sea of hate and self-loathing. My eyes pooled and spilled over with tears of anguish. I wanted to scream "I don't want to DO this anymore! I just want to get AWAY!".  I wanted to pound on the walls and express my rage. I wanted to be someone else at the moment, anyone, as long as it was not me,  as long as I didn't have to feel this way, to be this person.

 I needed something from him that he cannot quite understand but I cannot live without. The jumble of feelings and emotions, I needed pain to overcome it all. Pain felt that was wholly my choice, not forced on me by another. To drown out the screaming in my head.

The strike of his hand and the grasp of his strong fingers was what I craved. I wanted the power stripped from me and unleashed through him. It was more than dominance I craved, it was consumption, ownership, to be absorbed into him. I quaked with my need and pleaded with a tear stained voice, trying to express that which was locked inside of me, trapped like I was in the place in my head.

"No."

I was being denied. This was MY life so I shouldn't be surprised, that sad pathetic thing I lived every day. I felt unworthy, wilted more than before, broken. Didn't he know? Couldn't he see I was in pieces on the floor, lying at his feet, at his mercy of which he was giving me none? How could he deny me the thing I needed most? 

Those fingers caressed my cheek and suddenly the dam within me burst. I had been pushed past the limits of my endurance and I couldn't contain it anymore. His cruel denial was the last straw and my anger bloomed in furious color in the staining of my cheeks and the sudden cessation of my tears. My hand came crashing into his cheek with a fury born of everything I was feeling and everything he was denying me. The sound was deafening and the feelings vibrating up through my fingers gave me a vicious satisfaction.

One way or another, someone was feeling the sting.

I turned as quickly as my hand had delivered the blow and tried to dam the hated tears that were brimming and threatening to spill and weaken me again; fully intent on leaving, on seeking solace in privacy from the Hell I was in. Strong fingers in a grasp that demanded my attention, but yet did not claw, suddenly gripped my arm and spinning me about quickly had me crashing into his arms on unsturdy legs.

Those beloved, hated fingers gripped my chin as he stared into my eyes. His lips brushed mine in a whisper. "No". One arm encircled my waist and the other held firm my chin as those same soft lips grazed mine. Once. Twice. Finally the lips took mine in a kiss that held all of the emotion I felt, and the deliverance from it. 

The tears I had so valiant a struggle against came now in torrents and rivers and flooded the earth and our cheeks. The salty taste of them intermingled and caressed our lips as they caressed each other in healing. He moved both arms around me in a tight embrace that told me I was home. The anger and the hurt had no room to be, for there wasn't even an inch between our bodies for them to gain space. He caressed my cheeks, kissed my tears, and stared into my eyes.

He knew me, better than I knew myself right then. I had lost myself, given myself over to things that are dark and seek to destroy but my lover was still there. He was my anchor and saw me when I could not see myself. I needed to see love, not power. The submission of myself and the power of his dominance was shown now not through force, but through an understanding that he would care for and protect me through  and from everything, even myself.

My clothing slipped to the floor in a pool as he slid his hands softly against my skin, caressing and worshiping every fevered inch as he went along. There were no restraints but I could not have broken free from the sensations now humming along my nerves. I loved the feel of his breath, the sigh lightly playing along my skin as his cheek rubbed against the side of my breast while he lowered himself to remove my panties. His head came to rest on my stomach and his arms encircled me for yet another embrace. There are no word I could use to express what the embrace of this man conveyed. As the last of my garments joined those on the floor, the last vestiges of my fury abated. I was soothed, I was loved, I was aroused.

He laid me gently on the bed and parted my thighs with kisses and caresses. He knelt down before me in worship and showed me the submission of his heart to my needs. His tongue was strong as it flicked across the very center of me; unlocking the secrets of me and causing my legs to quake.

The aftereffects of all of the heated emotions that had me so keyed up earlier were still coursing through my blood, making my nerves more sensitive and ready to explode. I could not contain my hands and needed as much as air to caress him, to touch every part I could. Within moments caresses turned into insistent tugging as I needed him to hold me again, to kiss me , to fill me.

No longer being denied, he rubbed his body over mine as the heat of him seared a memory onto my skin that would last an eternity. He was mine as I was his. He caressed my cheek, still damp with my emotion, and stared into my searching eyes.

As he slid into me, with one strong, fluid stroke, those lips, that had saved me from the precipice minutes before, formed the words I needed so badly to hear to heal my soul.

"I love you."

As my muscles melted with my relief they started gathering new tension in preparation for my release. My back arched and my hips rose up to meet his with increasing demand, my body expressing all of the love and need that my heart felt, to drive us forward to completion. As so rarely happens, the world fell into place and we reached our pinnacle together, my body tightening and wringing every drop of his orgasm at the same time, demanding it and claiming it as mine.

I had wanted his violence, but what I needed was his kiss.

Incapable of Thinking

We argued, and I couldn't sleep. Finally around midnight, I pulled him into bed. "Make it right," I demanded.

He laughed and kissed me softly. I rolled my eyes, not quite what I had in mind and he knew it, so I pushed the covers off of him and kissed the head of his penis, just as softly. Then I looked up - not quite what he had in mind when I went down, I could tell. I winked and then moved my mouth as low as I could on the shaft, feeling the thick head hit the back of my throat, increased the suction, and pulled up. One hand steadied his thickly engorged member at the base, the other hand cupped and gently played with his balls as I kept moving my mouth up and down. He whispered encouragements, or quiet sighs, his hand sweeping my hair away and holding it up so that he could watch.

After a few minutes I moved up, kissing a trail up his body until I got to his neck, and then gently nipping it and applying more pressure on his more sensitive areas, feeling his pulse throb under my probing tongue. His hand moved between my legs and stroked up and down my lips. I wasn't quite wet enough for him to dip in yet. The hand moved up to nipples, pinching each other briefly between his fingers, and then to my shoulder. He gently pushed me to my back, off of his neck, and then rolled me to my side, moving to position his mouth between my legs. One hand held my top leg up and his tongue swept up and down my lips, before his hand separated my lips for his tongue to settle into my sex more fully. He sucked while moving his tongue around and in and out of my entrance, and soon I was panting and begging for more. One hand moved to my clit, an awkward angle considering I was still laying on my side, and teased the bud while his mouth still fucked me. I was trying to push myself more fully onto his mouth, unable to stop myself from moving into him.

Taking his mouth away, he rotated me more towards laying on my stomach, inserting a finger in my very slick sex, his tongue almost doing a questioning lick at my anus. He normally doesn't go back there, but I was too gone in my own pleasurable sensations to do anything more than moan my appreciation, and hinged my hips against his tongue and fingers. Two fingers, and rimming in earnest began, and I was moaning and climaxing, not in my usual hard way, but slowly and softly.

"Hold on," he said quietly, and stretched to over the side of the bed. By this point I was chest down, ass up on the bed, and swiftly I had a buzzing and vibrating toy thrusted down into me, rubbing my g-spot easily from this angle, his mouth back between my cheeks, and I was orgasming so quickly and hard, screaming. Before one orgasm had even ebbed another one began and then another and I was lost completely to the world, swept up in pleasure.

After three incredible orgasms, he positioned himself up between my legs, entering me violently, reaching over for some lube and making me slick before slipping his thumb in my ass, pushing down slightly, giving me a full feeling. His other hand smacked my ass hard. His cock pumped in and out at a downward angle, continuing to slide against my g-spot as his head slammed against my wall, and I screamed with an immediate orgasm, my body so tense, so full. Again, his other hand came on to spank my already red cheek. Again, before one orgasm could completely allow me down another built and crest, and I clenched around his shaft, his thumb, held my breath, felt my already sensitive heated cheek being smacked, became dizzy, moaned, screamed, and cursed as yet another orgasm came. I felt him push himself more fully, shuddering with the force of his own orgasm.

When he pulled out, I already came again, moaning softly at the feeling of the ridges of his head moving along my walls before he was gone. His thumb slowly moved out, and I couldn't believe how sensitive I was even there. I let my shaking legs straighten and sunk into the soft mattress, utterly spent. My head was foggy, my thoughts incoherent, but I turned my head and smiled, unable to see his hand descend upon that same fiery cheek. I yelped at the sting, instinctively moving up towards the source of pain, finding that a strange reaction instead of moving away, a moan following a yelp.

"God that feels good," the words dripped of my mouth, unbidden, like my juices flowing down my thighs from the sudden tightening the spank gave me. His hand came down again, and again I moaned into it. Suddenly his fingertips ran softly over my oh-so-sensitive skin, and I tightened and tensed, raising my hips, thighs pressed together as my body clenched itself into another orgasm. I was just surprised as he was, and he spanked my ass a few more times, the pain intense, the pleasure overriding the pain. His mouth followed his hand, licking up and down the hand imprints, and I begged for something incoherently, his mouth now alternating between soft licks, hard suction. He smacked a few more times, following with his mouth a few more times, and I came in the tension my body created.

His fingers sunk between my legs and he grazed my g-spot, bringing me to another orgasm, and I was again mindless.

Breathless by the time he moved away from me, I rolled over my back, the one side of my ass so aware of all the fibers of the sheet. I panted, by this time hours of pleasure not allowing me any sense of realism, and unable to help himself from toying with my quivering self, his fingers grazed my clit. I sucked in my breath, already feeling dizzy from the slight contact, my legs parting without thought. Suddenly two of his fingers danced upon my pearl, and I was so taken with pleasure I had no idea how I ended up laying with my back on his chest, one solid arm across my shoulder and neck so fingers could tugged at a nipple, the other hand quickly alternating between slipping into my sex and rubbing up into my clit. When had I moved?

I screamed, arching against him, arching into his tormenting and pleasure inducing fingers, both on my breast and between my legs. I felt his breath against my ear, harsh and ragged as if he was matching my own breathing, his body seemed to be an unforgiving hard mass against my back and my throbbing swollen ass. It seemed as if my scream lasted for days, and I don't remember quite coming back to the present, just his sexy voice quietly promising to "leave me alone now". I think I drifted; I think I got up shortly afterwards to clean myself up, my legs a wobbly mess and he playfully slapped my ass lightly, but it was still so sensitive, and it felt so good that my legs almost collapsed underneath me. I think he said something to the effect that I came every way imaginable tonight, and I mumbled what other ways he could surprise me about myself.

I don't remember if I ever really opened my eyes, it seemed as if the world shut itself out and the after moments were but a dream. I slept soundly.

Being on the ropes

Awhile ago, for Sinful Sunday I posted this picture of my clit. It garnered a lot of curiosity about the experience. So, without further ado: Once upon a time...

God I'm wet. He walks in the door, gives me his intense stare, and I can't help but run into his arms. I truly think that for the first time in my life someone owns me. I would never think to hesitate with him. The desire between us burns brighter than a forest fire. The things this man does to my mind are just as wickedly delightful as the things he does to my body.

I'm naked while he is still in his riding gear, the leather of his jacket rubbing against my nipples as I rub myself against him like a cat, leaving my scent, gaining his. He pushes me to my room and opens the drawer that contains one of my favorite things... The rope.

"You need this don't you?"

He knows I do, I've been climbing the walls lately. I need more than just release. I need intensity, I need to find that space in my head where quiet and calm and serenity are found. I hope he leaves bruises.

It's almost a surreal process, getting tied up. I stand next to the bed, proud in my nudity as he wraps yard after yard around my body. The intricate design that he weaves starts at the top. He completely wraps my hair in rope. As he is done he lets the rope fall straight down and it nestles in the center of my ass. This is pure sensuality. As he starts blinding the rest of my body he makes sure to caress a sensitive area, pause for a moment and look into my eyes, his so full of promise. Suddenly he quickly pulls the length of rope through a loop. The rope running, pressed against my skin is painful and startling. He pauses to lick the rosy area created and my nerves go haywire. As the full bindings are coming together on my body diamond patterns begin to emerge. Every part is connected. He spreads my thighs and runs the rope from my torso up through my lovely center back through to my ass. The two ends of the rope that he works with part my labia. He pauses in his kneeling position and I feel the flick of his tongue against clit and my knees are no longer steady. 

The rope firmly bound, he helps me onto the bed as my upper body is immobilized now. I cannot even bend at the waist, it chokes me. My head is held back on my neck as the rope that he bound my hair with is weaved right through the center of the design. My body is held taunt as my hair is then tied to my ankles with my legs bent. To relax a muscle is to pull my own hair.

All I can see is the ceiling from my twisted position, the slow fan blades making lazy shadows that cross the room. I'm already finding it, the center, the place of being. My mind is slowly focusing. I can't see what is going on, I'm effectively blinded by the blank white view above me. I feel his fingers skim my inner thigh. I know that he is doing something with the rope between my thighs but I've no idea what.

A soft whisper against my very inner thigh "You're such a good girl" he practically breaths. Shivers run down my spin and my body's natural reaction suddenly provokes a startling effect. The minute movement of my body caused the rope to tighten. I instantly discover through feeling what he has done. My clit is squeezed between the ropes.

The rope is arranged in such a position that it pulls back my hood, and my exposed clit is rubbed by its twisted texture. The effects of my response cause me to move more and the sensations escalates so quickly it steals my breath. My mind has literally stopped in its processing. I've never felt anything even remotely similar to this. I never knew skin, nerves, my sex, could become so sensitive. 

I can feel his gaze, his fascination. "Would you like to see it?"

I can talk... I have a voice. Words... I know words, I need one. Oh, God I just took a deep breath, the ropes are taunt again. Oh God. What? Oh, yes, yes.

"Yes"

He grabs my camera and takes a picture. He comes around to my head and I see him for the first time in what feels like ages but feels like nothing. Time has no meaning. All I can do is stare at the picture in front of my eyes. I can't, I don't, I just, I don't know what I'm seeing. The world is a haze and all I can feel is my muscles, slightly uncomfortable, the pull of the rope against my skin everywhere... My clit.

There is no way I am going to be able to comprehend the picture in front of me, but something else has caught my eye. My lover is naked, his throbbing excitement at seeing me at his mercy and his pleasure is deliciously evident right in front of my face. He knows me, knows what I will do. I try to shift to get him in my mouth and my hair is yanked firmly by my ankles and the strongest sensations yet are jolted through my trapped and swollen clit.

Mercy granted, he moves to my head which is slightly off the bed so I can have him. I'm lying on my back and he admires the way he can see the shape of him in my throat as he pushes farther in my mouth. The thrust of his hips is driving me crazy and I don't want to be teased, I want all of him, I want to swallow him, consume him. He runs his hands over my body. He can always tell when I'm finding zen, when I start to no longer notice the pain, the ache. He always distracts me from that, so suddenly those sensations come back, more intense now. 

It is this process that allows him to get me so deep into subspace. I didn't give him ownership of me, he took it through his mastery. I have to be the luckiest girl in the world. Not that I can think of that at this point, my attention is captured by my neck is a mild, annoying cramp. I move.

Oh yes, that's right, there's rope currently caging the most sensitive part of my body in a strong grip. He notices my attention being sharply focused suddenly. He moves away from my view and I strain to hear him moving around the bed. He comes to my parted thighs and the desire is so very very strong to have him inside me. Finally, filled.

"Oh, I'm not going to fuck you. Did you think I would?"

...wh-? There's a flick, a gentle thud against my bound clit then a soft rub up and down. I can feel his precum. He's rubbing that most desired part of him against me. Teasing, tantalizing. I've never felt anything like this. This is not the same body I have been in whenever we have sex. I have NEVER had this body, this can't be real. I haven't taken drugs to invoke these feelings but yet I am intoxicated. He is my drug.

He continues to tap on my oversensitive clit and I come quickly. Oh God. Intense. Every nerve in my body is taunt and singing hosanna to his name. The tensing of my muscles in orgasm causes that lovely magical rope to tighten and continue my pleasure. I don't think I can take this much longer, I am going to die of the intensity of release and sensitivity.

A final spasm of my body and the rope is ripped away from my sensitive bud in a final crescendo of feeling from the force of my movement.

Wilted. I lay in a heap. He helps me from the bed and I am unsteady on my feet. Hours, minutes, days, eternity? I've no idea of the passage of time. He begins to undo my bindings, starting from the bottom. I mechanically lift a leg here, move a foot there to ease the removal of my bindings. Once the lengths of rope are mostly on the ground the only thing left is my hair.

He lays me down as a tired kitten, sated, beyond this world and in my own. He takes the end of my hair binding and winds its from my headboard to tie to my footboard so my hair is pulled with firm tension. I dose off in this position. I can't imagine anything feeling this languid, this comfortable this safe and protected. He leaves me there as he organizes and stores my loving binds. He brushes a stray tendril from my brow and kisses me . He undoes my hair at last and tucks me in. My last sight before the oblivion of the deepest sleep is of him blowing out the candle, leaving the room in quiet darkness.

Independent Princess

FFF Prompt - July 5 - Independence Day

Key Word - Independence or Independence Day
Word Limit - 237
Forbidden Word - Fireworks
Extra Credit - Put the action on July 5th

It is hard being a famous princess. The woodland creatures and children look up me.

Worse, I had to plan a wedding once a year, because everyone knows that weddings are the “happily ever after”.

My handsome prince, was impatient during the umpteenth wedding, as he muttered: “every stupid July 5th.”

I kept my smile, and nodded slightly. We knew the routine, kissed when expected with large smiles on our faces, and rushed towards the carriage with rice being thrown, amidst trumpets, people cheering, the creatures waving goodbyes, even the doves calling down a congratulations as they flew over.

The white carriage, with its perfect-heart-shaped-carved-out-backing, so people can observe our happiness. I leaned my head on his shoulder, conscious of the numerous eyes watching our departure. He also knew the eyes were directed to the back of us. He kicked the basket at our feet, the clink of glass apparent; I gave a sigh of relief at seeing the alcohol bottle with glasses. He reached over, seemingly to embrace me closer, reached in and pinched my nipple, hard. He began twisting it viciously as he whispered his commands, the eyes peering at our backs us becoming farther away. Those wicked words wound me up. He ordered me to lift my dress, slipped his hand up my thigh, then grasped and ripped my panties off. A little bit of lace is hardly a barrier.

His fingers sought my already dripping sex, and he roughly pushed three inside me, his other fingers still created a wave of pain to my nipple. As his fingers fucked me, he told me how I was to strip naked once we got to the secret glade and serve him, the tortured foreplay that was going to occur as I was tied to a tree, how he was going to fuck me raw against a rock till my back bled. “Cum,” he commanded as he felt the tightening around his fingers. “Cum,” and I convulsed around his fingers, the pain and pleasure so exquisite.

As with the first honeymoon, I gave up complete independence, and loved every minute of submissiveness. 

Fulfilling Bruises

When I first got together with my husband, I had bruises on my knees. We both had no idea why, but it had been a very long night of all foreplay, and no sex. Literally, all night long. So I shrugged my shoulders at the unknown source of the bruises, but he worried that I bruised easily.

A year later…As a professional, he marked me on the neck: a small hickey, but one that I had to cover in makeup and hair, and I was extremely upset over it. I cannot have a visible mark on me for my career, especially a teenage-ridden one. He remembered to be more careful from then on.

And later…With our more passionate lovemaking, I would often have finger bruises on my thighs. I loved these marks, small little marks that often I was only aware of, a secret reminder of our time together. The marks became more numerous if we saw each other for any length of time, and I marveled how dark they could get, how lovely they looked against my milky thighs.

When we would wrestle, I would sometimes bruise, mostly it was me bruising myself trying to get the upper advantage, occasionally on my wrist from him managing to pin me down. I loved these playful moments; he always worried about me getting hurt.

I am so much shorter than him (over a foot), and he outweighs me almost double. I am grateful for his concern, but….

I wanted him to spank me. We had already learned I liked my nipples played with rough, orgasm harder from rougher sex, and my hair tugged. But when I asked him to spank me, it was lightly. It didn’t do the job that I wanted, that I was curious about. He was scared to mark me, to hurt me, to bruise.

Just like the finger bruising, or the sore nipples, I wanted to both see and feel our time together, even after the fact. I wanted to be reminded of it. I wanted to savor it.

It took a lot of talking, reassuring, instructing, demanding to get where he finally smacked my ass to sting. We both marveled over how red, how we could see his hand and finger imprints. It felt so deliciously warm to the touch; I smiled and even giggled when I kept looking back to see it. Sadly, it didn’t last throughout the night, but he was so worried about spanking me that hard, I worried not only what it would take to get it to bruise (and if I would even like it), but more how I was going to convince him to go even harder. I was working against his own preconceived notions, and society's, of never to intentionally hurt a woman. But it was kink/pleasure, and at my consent; he needed to see it differently.

My loving husband, who protected me and sheltered me, who thought I bruised so easily, so was cautious about marks (my point was visible marks, but he was still cautious), was now being asked to bruise me – someone much smaller than him.

It went against his protective nature, but fortunately for me, his nature is ultimately to please me. He is truly a lover that is flexible, adaptable, and open-minded. And we did finally accomplish a bruised and marked ass (which I was thrilled about, but that experience also taught us limits and timing on spanking). Since then, I’ve asked for much more from him.

I am such a lucky wife, that I married a man who is changing and evolving with me to keep our sex life interesting and new. That if I become curious, I feel comfortable enough to discuss it with him; or vice versa. And if we are ever uncomfortable with a suggestion, we simply don’t do it or discuss our way to comfortable at a much later date.  

Many married couples do not share their fantasies with each other; we not only share ours, but do our best to fulfill them. Even if that means bruising.

Not all marks are visible; he has left so many invisible, deeply imbedded traces throughout the years, and those are certainly savored, cherished, felt, and loved.

How you know I'm ready

The buildup, it takes me higher and higher until I can't think. Tied up, immobile. Unable to move and at his mercy.  He knows my limits and he pushes them always.

I haven't seen him in so long and he is determined to make up for lost time. New pleasures, new tortures, all await me. I brought toys of the delightful kind, he brought toys of the torturous.

I'm bound from head to foot in a delightful design with the ropes that were cut just for me. He fits a ball gag in my mouth, a new toy for us. He'd had me wear my plug out all afternoon while we running errands and now, he was making me enjoy its presence.

My heart rate spikes as he tells me it's best not to have the plug in for what comes next, it might be too intense. That's when I hear something click, and a whoosh; just before something small has a sharp impact on the tender flesh of my inner thigh...

Gloves have spanked and smoothed skin, a leather belt has lashed welts into tender flesh, and now this new tantalizing curiosity. I've no idea what it is. Another click, another sharp sting of impact. A few more and he asks if I know what it is.

I'm forced to answer in the negative. I've no clue as to what the object is, and frankly, it's hard to think clearly with the exquisite torture I'm being put through as is. That's when he raises my blindfold and it takes me a moment to identify the bright orange and blue object in my lovers sadistically clever hands...

It's a nerf gun. I'm currently being shot in the pussy with a nerf gun. He switches now to the gloves again, my tender flesh brightly red from its abuse. Suddenly my lover uses yet another new implement he's bought: an industrial abrasive scrub brush. It's rubbed on my raw skin and my eyes begin to water... I moan into my gag and stretch against my binds...

The exquisite torture he is putting me through has come to a crescendo and I'm crying. The gag is new to me and the saliva pooling from my mouth, coupled with the ache in my jaw from the size of it, are adding to the intense sensations I'm experiencing throughout the rest of my body. Mascara is running down my face and I'm moaning for all that I'm worth when my lover stops and comes to my head to remove my gag. He's petting my tear stained cheeks and kissing my forehead and asking if I'm ok.

I'm confused and befuddled. I don't know why he stopped. He suddenly wipes a tear from my cheek and examines it shining on his finger. He looks past to me to say something I was definitely not expecting.

"I hate to see you cry, I can't stand it."

My heart melts just a little bit more as I point out I almost always cry when we play rough, it's honestly just one of the steps to subspace. He assures me he knows, but that this time of play was particularly intense and he never wants to hurt me beyond that which I enjoy.

I love this man and his care of me. We are far from perfect, but we are perfect for each other. As he soothes me and I sooth him of his worries, the heat of desire returns to our eyes. We use the smaller ball for the gag to ease my aching jaw and he kisses me and returns the blindfold to my eyes.

I know he has gotten over the heartbreak of my tears as he makes me pick a number between 1-40... I low ball it, instinctively knowing I won't like it and less is better. 4 is the number of thumb tacks I chose to sit on with my abused posterior. I've no idea of this prior to him assisting me down (of course, I am still tied and blindfolded) onto the sharp needle points. Those hateful tears sporting back up instantly and I'm furiously shaking my head no. No no no! I can't, I won't, it's too much.

He instantly picks me back up and soothes me again. I'm in for more intense treatment throughout the night, more tears, deep subspace, then finally that heightened crescendo of being filled with him, the thing I've been longing for all day.

Although my tears had moved him that night, despite being tears from the incredibly sweet pain I craved and which he gave me to heighten my pleasure, it is the true tears I must hide. For come morning we must part and my love will no longer be mine again for quite some time to come.

The tears from pain are how you know my body is ready, the tears from parting are how you know my heart is ready.
 

FFF: Illuminations

FFF Prompt - Stratagem - June 28
 Key Word = Stratagem
Word Length = 700
Forbidden Words = Spy, Tuxedo
Bonus Points - Quote your favorite line (and link to the source in case we don't know it)

She leaned over, rested her chin on her hand propped up on the table, hair cascading to the side, and winked. He cocked his head to the side, unsure what the wink was for.

After all…he was winning.

The city lights shined brightly in sharp contrast to the night sky, just as her nudity contrasted his evening attire. They were both in a suite, sipping champagne, seated at a table playing chess; but he was fully dressed, even wearing his shoes, and she was kneeling on the chair, naked, nipples almost grazing the table. Clearly, they were on unequal ground. He was aloof, clothed in the uppermost formal shield; she was exposed, vulnerable.

Still, a small smile, one corner turned up slightly more in a crooked smugness, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at the chess board. He was puzzled by her reaction.

She couldn’t believe her position. When she normally took jobs, it wasn’t to sit naked and play chess, though she was sure he would have other, more wanton requests. But chess? And then what? Checkers, moving to cards, moving to naked Twister? Or was he too refined for that?

He would want his monies worth, of that she was sure, was just unsure what that entailed for this client. And yet he sat across from her, gazing intently at her, equally focused on the beautiful board between them, and gave an impression of superiority.  Little did he know her stratagem.

She leaned back, pretended concern, and moved. His eyes had drifted to her hands, watched as she gracefully manipulated a small figurine. Her hair shifted slightly to cover one small but perfect breast, the other breast revealing a hardened nipple. She studied the board; he studied her.

But pride would not let him be distracted by her beauty. He moved a piece, and his eyes widened with disbelief when she reached across the board suddenly, and moved to checkmate. She clapped in delight, still leaned over the table, eyes on the winning board; he stared at her, eyes darkening and broadening, leaning back.

She looked up, a smile on her gorgeous face, and saw his expression. Smile vanished. “Would you like to play another game? We have all night,” she offered as reparation.

He casually swiped the pieces onto the floor. “Let’s play the game you were meant to play,” he said, his voice gruff with intent, and passion. He moved next to her, stepping on her dress. She seemed concerned, and he felt his manhood harden. He felt powerful with her unease, and grabbed her hair, ignoring her mewling sound, pulling her off the chair. She fell, not able to get her legs out to catch her descent, and tears were brought to her eyes with violent tugging of her hair.

She made a sound: half whimper, half plea, and situated herself to her knees. She tentatively reached up and unzipped his pants, adjusting his sex through his boxers, and wrapped her lips around his shaft.

His hand still in her hair, he moved his other hand to grip behind and slightly to the side, and thrusted in, until he felt his tip hit the back of her throat, until he heard her gag and almost retch, and watched as tears formed in her eyes.

He chuckled, murmured as he stroked the side of her face, “I think you are losing,” as he watched her continue stroking his cock with her mouth, eager to please, cautious in case he forced her too far again.

She moved rhythmically, glancing up often to gauge his reaction, trying to bring him to pleasure quickly. She felt him tense, throw back his head, and knew he was going to cum. Her fingertips scanned ever so slightly, delved inside, and gripped. She swiftly pushed away when she felt fluid pumping into his base, cum splattering onto her breasts as she rose up, slashing with the knife she gripped across his throat, blood mixing with his cum on her porcelain skin, watched as he now kneeled, hands going to reach his throat, but not making it before dropping with his body onto the floor.

She was dismayed that he bled on her dress and she didn’t have another. She also felt like gloating, stepping barefoot over him, saying, “*wars and temper tantrums are the makeshifts of ignorance; regrets are illuminations come too late.”

 

*Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces, an excellent perspective on mythology, and one of my favorite books. My absolute favorite quote of all time.

Now, this is over 700 words slightly, which I've never gone over. At first I added more fluff because for FFF this is a lot of words allotted this week, and I am not used to it for these prompts. Then the story grew, and I had to trim, but I liked my fluff at the beginning, and couldn't stand cutting out anymore. So it remains. I'd get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness, but I can't guarantee what I'll do after that, so let's just call it even, shall we?

Clear Vision

         She found herself standing in a dark room alone, silence except for the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning from a large window. She fumbled for the tornado radio on a table, next to the front door, hitting her knee in her effort and dropping something before feeling the radio, and turned it on. The radio crackled out a thunderstorm warning for the following counties, hers being one of them.

            She breathed a sigh of relief. Just recently, a neighboring county had been hit by a tornado, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction. She was glad that it wasn’t a tornado warning. And she cursed that she became so consumed in her work that it was now dark, and for all she knew, she was alone in the building.

            She wondered where a flashlight could be located, and reached into her purse, removing her phone. Turning it on, she used the feeble light to move in between the cubicles towards a large window, stumbling slightly from time to time. Through the window, the rain slashed and splattered down, and the lightning exposed the tips of the trees swaying violently, the moon completely hidden above the storm.

            Not just the darkness confused her, but she still felt as though she were in that book that she was translating. The book she simply struggled to render appropriately, as the words mesmerized her with their dark erotic fantasies. She had always felt superior translating, this book left her humble and hoping she eloquently did it justice; it provoked a physical reaction that still left her wanting.  

            Halfway to the large window, a flashlight’s beam shone directly in her eyes, blinding her. She stopped abruptly, squinting. A man’s voice stated with some surprise, “Ah, Jen, I had thought you had left with everyone else.” His accent thick, making him distinguishable even blind, Jen was glad she wasn’t alone in this frightening storm. He lowered the flashlight, but she still couldn’t see anything. Too bad, she thought, he was gorgeous to look at. Recently joining her department, she and other women would cast stolen glances at him when he was near.

            “I lost track of time, I guess.” She shrugged. Spots of lights still flashed before her eyes, but she could see his form silhouetted in front of the window. She noticed that the beam of light was pointed downwards, at a spot between them in the carpet. The light moved forward, towards her, and she looked up to see him closing the distance between them. She smelled his cologne when he was close enough to grasp her upper arm, and she felt like leaning into his smell, becoming enveloped in his scent that it became her own.

            “Are you alright?” the lightning exposed his smile, he was so close that his words were felt on her forehead. She shook her head a little, blaming her current thoughts and predicament on the book she was working on. Of course, there could be worse things than being stuck in a storm with a hot man. He mistook her shake, and wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his hard chest through his suit. “It’s okay, the storm will pass over us soon,” he murmured, rubbing her upper back. She found herself putting her arms around him, holding him tightly. His heat seemed to cocoon her, and she felt so hot all the sudden she was afraid of perspiring. At least she could blame it on the storm, and his assumption that she was terrified.

            “I’m okay,” her voice came out muffled from his suit jacket; she felt oddly calm at the soothing strokes of his hand on her back, the other arm still holding her tightly to him. The hand moved a little lower, to her lower back, and the circles would sometimes reach the top of her ass. She was sure that wasn’t intentional, and decided to not protest it.

            Still holding her but allowing more room between them, he looked down at her face. “So lovely, Jen, even in shadows and darkness.” She was surprised at the words, but more surprised when his face could be vaguely seen lowering, lips came down to meet hers, his hand now firmly on her ass, pushing her towards him again. She found herself kissing him back, his tongue melding with her own, the taste of him unique. “So hot,” he leaned back and murmured, and she briefly felt his hardness against her through the layers of clothes. The hand caressing her butt gripped tighter, the arm supporting her shoulders was suddenly used to turn her around so fast that she was shocked, letting out a little cry, tripping over her own feet and grabbing in the dark a nearby desk. The arm snaked over her shoulder, pulling her up and against him, the other hand lifted up her heavy mass of hair, and she heard him whisper something in his native language, so soft she wasn’t sure what it was, as his mouth came down upon her neck.  She felt goose bumps along her skin, and her body tremored slightly.

She hazily wondered what she was doing, alone in a storm with a near stranger that apparently didn’t ask for permission to approach her sexually. She debated briefly if she would tell him to stop, or do something, but his other hand slowly started unbuttoning her blouse, the palm grazing the newly exposed skin as he unhurriedly went down the row. His mouth moved to the side, the hand still gently lifting the hair up to give him full access. She moaned, and decided that she would see where this would take her. She could always tell him to stop later.

Fingers deftly made their way into her bra, fingertips caressing nipple tip to a hardened point before tugging slightly. He lips and tongue so warm sliding along her jawline, she turned her head to be able to kiss him. He dropped her hair as his mouth seared against hers, his tongue probing and asking of her own passion. Suddenly, he pinched her nipple hard at the same time as he trapped all her hair in his grasp and pulled her head back, away from the kiss. “I wonder if you are ready, lovely,” he questioned to her ear, still holding her head back as the fingers moved from nipple down, pulling up her skirt so quickly and moving aside her panties that she didn’t even think to protest.

She almost felt panicked at his aggression, unused to it, unsure of him, but a finger stroked against her clit, sliding easily along her slickened lips to penetrate her sex. She gasped, and he inserted two fingers. His mouth again moved to the side of her neck, nibbling and sucking, as his fingers moved quickly in and out of her. “So ready for me,” he said.

Yes, she thought, you and the book of words have me mesmerized in fantasy. She felt herself soaking his fingers, tightening around them, and began panting. He withdrew them right before she could clench around them in orgasm. He grabbed her hip, the hand in her hair now between her shoulder blades pushing, bending her. Her hands out, they felt the impact of the steady desk, and she laughed, curious if he even cared if she had smashed into it face first. Her skirt was hiked up above her hips, her underwear yanked down, and his mouth moved upon her clit. He pushed her legs further apart, and in her frustration to have him down there, she untangled her high heel from one side of the undergarment, leaving it like an anklet around the other. The tongue darted against her nub, once, twice; sighing, she felt him sucking on it.  She shifted slightly, bending more fully over the desk, pushing papers out of her way. The thundered boomed, the lightning flashed, and she prayed the electricity stayed off and not waken her to reality.

His mouth moved back, his tongue fucked her, his lips pulling at her lips. She moaned and pushed against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, before he moved, the fingers seeking where his mouth had been, his mouth moving up to licking her anus. The fingers sunk in deeply, curling, fucking her to an orgasm that she screamed more voraciously than the violent storm outside.

“Ready for me?” he panted, moving up to stand behind.

It took her a hazy moment to realize he had actually asked her a question. She heard his clothing shifting. “Oh yes,” she stammered, backing up slightly, bumping into his shadowy form. He chuckled, grabbed her hip with one hand, guided himself to her with the other, before both hands were on the sides of her hips, and he was moving them back and forth, pulling her upon him as he pushed, and roughly taking her to another orgasm, slowly the tempo slightly. She became briefly aware of the rain still pounding down to the earth, very aware of him still filling her deeply, and then thrusting fast again, competing with the speed of the rain, until they both shuddered and groaned.

He stepped back, smoothed down her skirt. He began reassembling his clothes before she even moved to stand up again, feeling wobbly, using the desk for support. She decided to lean against it, and turned, still just seeing him vaguely. She struggled to pull up her panties in the same amount of time that he dressed.

A dream lover, she mused. “My tempest,” he leaned down and kissed her forehead, his accent thicker from their passion. The thundered rolled, but it seemed so far away to her, a relaxing soothing background sound. “You were lovely,” he leaned down and picked up the flashlight, shining it again at the floor.

“What now?” she breathlessly asked. He put an arm around her shoulder, and steered her towards the front door.  

“Shall we get you to your car?” He handed her the purse she had dropped, grabbed an umbrella in the doorway, and continued to move her into the rain. As they stepped outside, the umbrella snapped open, lightning flashed, and the lights behind them were suddenly on again. They laughed as they walked away; she was grateful it was still dark outside. She wanted him to continue being a mysterious dream lover. Tomorrow back at work would be soon enough for her to cast furtive glances of longing or askance at him, translating his mood more than her current book project, amid the papers, chatter, clicking of keyboards, and clear vision.

Electric Feel

Finally! I was in charge and planned on reveling in the fact that it was my turn to dish out the punishment. There was so much to do, I didn't know where to start.

My lover was teacher despite relinquishing control, and he showed me many ways to torture and tease him. He taught me how to tie him, to use my nails and my teeth to hurt him, and them he handed me the remote.

We had an electric stimulation cock set, and I had the juice. There were two parts to the unit, the shock could be sent through the cock cage, or used in the handheld part to deliver a delicious shock of electricity all over the body.

I started out light and teasing. If you turn the controls away, he has no way of seeing if the power was flowing to his gorgeously erect dick, or his sensitive inner thigh where I held the other part.

I giggled, I coo'd, I taunted. I loved having him at my mercy, although I missed having him in my mouth. He sassed back at me so I turned up the intensity and sent a thrill of sensation to his cock for being a bad boy. I was in my element.

The heat in his eyes matched the wet heat growing within me and the heady sensation of power merely spurned me on. I knew he was enjoy it. My VERY dominate lover also enjoyed cock and ball torture and I was endeavoring to give him his moneys worth.
I loved how we played. First the wise teacher, now the sensual victim of my sadistic pleasure. I increased my taunts, the frequency of the sting, bringing him higher. Although this was my first time with the device I was doing a pretty good job. That's when my finger slipped on accident and I didn't realize it. A playful smile turned up my lips as I prepared to give him a bit more than I had before. "tsk tsk, lover, remember, WHO is in control right now?" I flipped the switch and power went rushing through the lines straight down to that precious instrument I loved so much and planned on having inside of me within a moment's time. The breath stole from his lungs as his entire body tightened in convulsion. Unbeknownst to me the power was accidentally as high as it could go and I sent all of that power straight into the most sensitive part of my lover. I was so startled I fumbled with the controls and he was only tortured longer. My poor Wretch. While he enjoyed the exquisite pain he could experience through rough play, he wasn't quite prepared for what I had dished out. Suffice to say I paid the price that night as well. After what I had done there wasn't much hope of further play, so I wasn't surprised, although definitely sad, that the night would end with cuddles and concession instead. I was however, surprised when I got the text from him the next day. It turns out the shock was so intense that the points of contact on the cock cage had left perfectly shaped bruises in the delicate skin on his penis... For once, our play left little love bruises on him instead of me... I've been promised sweet retribution, and while he has used the shock kit on me, it wasn't in vengeance... Although the threat of obtaining a tens unit if I'm a bad girl still hangs over my head... Looks like I have to make sure I'm just good enough to avoid that fate, for now.

Knife Play

 Kink of the Week is on one of my favorites. To KISS (keep it stupidly simple), I am just going to answer the questions.

"Knives excite a lot of people. They scare a lot of people too."
Just yesterday a friend of mine told me that he's terrified of being stabbed. He has something against knives. He's in the military, and has no fear of being shot, but a serious fear of knives. I found this odd; knives have always excited me (and I think being shot is worse).

"Have you ever played with knives?"
Oh yes, I've played with knives. I have two scars in the learning to play with knives. I used to fight with them, and I was adept at throwing knives in my youth as well.

Sexually, I began playing with knives with a boyfriend that taught me sword fighting. This man was masterful with a blade in general and I wasn't afraid in the slightest when he suggested that we incorporate one in bed. The first time the smooth flat part came in contact with my hot flesh I was sold. The contrast in temperature was amazing. It moves smoothly, effortlessly across the skin. The tip of the knife scratches its way, leaving a tiny trail of such precision.

"Does the sight of a knife’s sharp edge excite you, make you afraid, do both? What about the feel of a knife?"
A knife does both for me. I have trusted two partners to bring a knife to me, though I have used a knife on more. With my current lover, we were talking in a parking lot in his car and I saw that he had a ka-bar. It was in a sheath wedged between the center and his seat, so I grabbed it. The weight was so heavy, so solid, the edge so sharp and smooth, the flat of the blade was thick and dark. I loved the feel of this in my hand. "What are you doing?" he asked, curious. Suddenly, impulsively, I straddled him and put the knife up to the side of his throat. There we were, in an abandoned parking lot, in a car, and I had a knife to his throat. He just calmly looked at me, a steady gaze, queried again, "whatcha doing, babe?" and I melted and fell in lust with him.

"Ever played with a knife?" I whispered in his ear, nibbling on it, on the other side of him gliding the flat of the blade across his neck, going slowly from behind the ear to below it, across the side of his neck, against the pulse, slowly down to the front dip between the collarbones. I breathed heated breaths against his neck, moved back a little, and swiveled so that the knife tip so very gently followed the collarbone towards me and arched up the side of his neck, softly moving up to behind the ear I had just recently nibbled.

"No," his voice had a deeper timbre to it, "but I think I've been missing out on it suddenly."

"Does a knife at your throat (or other body parts), or does holding a knife to someone’s throat (or other body parts) make you hot or turn you cold? Is it fear play for you or just sensation play?"
It is fear play, but mostly sensation play for me. I have a glass dildo that is cold like a knife, and thick and smooth, and runs across skin like butter in a pan. There is a picture of my glass toy and a knife resting in ice water that my lover thought to do to increase the cold factor when we play.

The same friend yesterday, when I described the cold sliding against fevered skin said, "then we could just use a spoon." I laughed, and argued that a spoon would work for one type of sensation that a knife can do, but it isn't small and precise like the tip of a blade, exactly what is wrong with my glass dildo; to which then he said, "a fork will do that." Yes, but a fork isn't thick and there's more than one small protusion.

And there needs to be more than sensation play, I need to excitement and fear of a knife. I love that absolute concentration required, that the person wielding the knife is skilled with their hands, that the person receiving the blade is still, focused on the sensation, and above all trusting of the other. A cold knife at my throat is exquisite, the tip of the blade scratching softly at my nipple or gliding flat blade across and making them pucker makes me breathless, and the any part of it moving up and down the inside of my thighs makes me tighten in desire.

What...?

"I have the bouquets right here. But before we go in, I want to discuss something with you guys. We all know she never, ever expected to get married, and recently she's been questioning this decision. We all know they love each other, that they will be just fine. She's getting cold feet, is all. So I've posted family members at all the exit-" laughter "I'm not even joking. But we're closest to her, so we need to watch her carefully for any signs of bolting, cut her off before she can get started."

"No problem," mixed in with other agreement sounds.

 "Great, her parents are all ready to walk/escort/force her down. Mom on one side, dad on the other, it's perfect." The hands holding me were cool, belonging to the calm and collective voice, the person obviously in charge. I thought I was being given to the person in charge, but she sounds in charge...who...what am I getting myself into? I'm meant for happiness, not an emotional woman escaping prison confines. We moved into another room, and I was put down for final touches to the lady in white, her complexion almost matching the dress color. I was handled by the steady hands again before being handed over to freezing shaking ones. Did anyone even take the time to sniff me in appreciation? I was the perfect perfume gone unnoticed.

A deep sigh above me, the owner's hands were sweaty (seriously: sweaty but frigid?). They hurt in their fierce grip. I was concerned at any moment my lovely fragrant petals would be ripped apart, my stems bent or torn. Music started, and I was almost dropped,  a man's hand moved to my side to steady and stop my descent. Whew, close one, but if she decided to run...would she toss me on the ground? Shove me into a door or the chest of some person trying to tackle her like I was some football? I was meant to be tossed daintily into another waiting woman's hands, where I would be cherished as the love symbol that I am. I am delicate...though apparently not as delicate as this person's nerves.

We began walking, and the quaking became severe. How could anyone appreciate my beauty if I was a blur in her hands? Of course, with the back drop of her white-even the hands, my colors had to be vibrant. At least there's that comfort, though small comfort that that was. Oh my, I'm beginning to feel woozy from the shaking, or is it choking of her hands? I can't breathe, I can't see, why won't the world stop spinning? What....

 

Non Vanilla Flavors

When I saw the Wicked Wednesday post, I texted my sister and asked her if she had it (like the foot fetish one for Kink of the Week); she replied she was excited to write it. I felt like I had nothing to contribute. I (and she) would definitely identify my sister with these labels, but for myself? Not so much. If I had to choose a label for myself, it would be vanilla, especially in reading so many sex bloggers.

And then I read Molly's contribution this week. And my sister, as is her lovely wont, impulsive took off for a few days on Wednesday, without writing for Wicked Wednesday yet.

Now my brain is going, and I have an opening...

So here's my non-vanilla flavors:

Knives: I've always had a thing for knives. Since I was young, I used to practice throwing them at my sister (intentionally missing, but she served as a non-target practice, if you will). Okay, not responsible, but we're siblings. Sword fighting furthered my love of cold steel, and knives have been a part of my kink for seventeen years now. I love the danger aspect, I love the rough scratchy tip, the cold feel of the steel against fevered flesh.

Bondage: almost just as long as my blade fetish, I love the control of a blindfolded and tied lover, the mischievous little imp comes out and plays, and I love the watch their reactions when I unexpectedly tease and please them. I love to hear them beg me.
I love to surrender the control as well. Always in command in my life, it's nice to not be for once. I love not knowing what's going to happen, not being able to stop them teasing me relentlessly, or to take control of my pleasure. I love to see what inventive or creative things my lover will bring in while I am blindfolded. I love the anticipation. I love the denying some senses so that I am more aware of others; likewise, I love not being able to play with them so that for once I am solely focused on my own body and reactions and pleasure.
I can easily "switch" due to the above. However, I am certainly leaning more towards submissive.

Rough sex: I have always preferred a faster pace. I love the rougher sex when I may be sore afterwards, hell I may even bleed, but it was worth it. It's more exciting to me - it shows passion (in the lack of control) in my opinion, and I'm big on that component.

Rough nipple play: just a few years into this one, I love the sensitivity of my nipples after being used roughly. The hard, sensitive buds keep me so turned-on, and serve as a constant reminder of what transpired - a secret only my body is aware of (and of course, the lover). I like my vibrating nipple clamps, but they don't always stay as well as I'd like.

Spankings: Ah, a fairly new love of mine. I've now been bruised from it, and it was awesome. Certainly, I think I am in love with a spank, or two, during the height or after-glow of orgasm, but the bruising wasn't bad either.

Wax: The newest in my repertoire, something that will be a special occasion kink, I think. I really like it, but it is certainly one of those "in the mood for" things. It's shocking and surprising, without being able to anticipate. Who knows, maybe after more uses, it may be a common occurrence.

As for roles: always being in control - from work with over a hundred people that I am in charge of, to family (not just immediate), to domestically, truly I am person who is always responsible for decisions. I want to relinquish that in my sex life - not personal life - but the partner I need in the bedroom is different from the partner I need in the living room. This has been an awareness of mine for a little over a year, and I am slowly trying to move towards that direction in my wants, and requests. It is now what I desire utmost in a lover - to not be in charge of our sex life.

So what do you know? This vanilla person can discuss BDSM.

Shades of submission

The rope, it binds me firmly in it's tight embrace. Mastery, dominance, control, binds me firmly to you. I see your love in the delicate violet marks upon my skin, the rosy glow of the ropes impressed upon my body.

"You're such a good girl"

The sharp sting upon my thigh, the soft featherlight caress of your tongue and your lips soothing the offended area.

My reward for immediately obeying given to me by hanging my head over the end of the bed, filling my mouth with your delicious taste as your hands seek out the secrets held between my thighs. Fingers then stroking the delicate throat you can see yourself sliding in and out of.

The bed is drenched under your skillful ministrations and I am helpless to withstand the maelstrom of sensations you evoke within me. My drug, my release.

Finally, you move to give me the ultimate pleasure and I am not proof against the grinding of your hips and the power of your hands. We reach that sweet haven of ultimate bliss and the world pauses for a moment.

Long after life has forced us to leave our warm cocoon locked in each others arms, I carry with me the sweet reminder of who owns my heart and my body, in the lovely, delicate shades hidden upon my skin.

 

Tied and blindfolded

"Tie me." Okay, so I'm not for subtle, or pretty words.

He smiled, indulgently. "Okay."

"And we're bringing the knife, and the candles."

"Okay."

I bounced on the bed as I waited for him to get the ties out of our ammo can (must be a military things). He fastened them to the four bedposts, already knowing that they need to be as loose as possible to compensate for a small female stretched out on a Cal King bed. He lit the candles, grabbed a large towel and draped it in the middle of the bed. I proceeded to flip myself onto the center of it, crinkling the towel so he grabbed the corners and smoothed it out again.

He reached over my to strap a wrist in, and his penis hovered above my face. So tempting, so delicious, and I wasn't tied up yet, so I lifted my head and wrapped my mouth around the shaft, probing the head with my tongue as my lips pushed further up onto his shaft. I started sucking gently, but he moved up further; I increased the suction, but he pulled out of my mouth, smiled and shook his head, then proceeded to tie my other wrist.

He brushed the hair back from my face, gently stroked the side of my head, and then reached back and grabbed my hair at the base of the neck. He forced my head up slightly and pushed his still damp member into my mouth, allowing me to suck a few times, then pulled me back, then pressed me back to suck. He had never controlled this element before, and being denied something I wanted made me want it even more. I would let out a sound of disappointment every time he forced me away. After five or six times, he completely moved away and down to my ankles, tightly binding them, forcing my legs apart.

He grabbed the blindfold and tenderly adjusted it to my face. When we take out ties, we always use a blindfold; I don't recall us ever using one without the other. I love not knowing where he is going next, trying to anticipate, relying on the sounds, smells, subtle movement from the bed. He has more of an advantage than I do - he can reach me without touching the bed, I am too short and he can almost always feel where I am on the bed when he is blinded.

He was still near my face when he proceeded to torment me again with sucking him, his hand back firmly in my hair, guiding my mouth and his cock where he needed, withdrawing and then allowing my mouth back around him. Just ever so briefly, then I felt him remove himself completely off the bed.

"Oh, we have all the temperatures tonight," he stated matter of factly and I felt something very cold and smooth rubbing against the side of my rib. I drew in a breath at the touch of chill, exhaling the breath gradually. Chilliness brushed lower, down the side of the hip and around above the knee, before unhurriedly making its way up to my inner thigh. I recognized it now as our glass dildo. The glass seems to stay arctic for so long. It nudged itself delicately between my lips, rubbed its way up my clit, and then grazed a trail around a breast, rubbing the nipple and making it pucker from the cold. His mouth warmed the cold flesh, a pleasant contrast, soft but wide open kisses to fully cover as much as possible, the tongue flicking the nipple a few times, before pulling up, grasping with suction and tightening on just the nipple, applying a bit of tugging with his mouth. I moaned and attempted to arch up, my pussy clenching.

He inched away just briefly, and there was a small buzzing noise. My other nipple was pinched and forced up, stretched for a nipple clamp to come down on it, the vibrating strong in such a small sensitive zone. He kissed the other nipple again, his hand slowly going down to gently stroke my clit, and I thought he was going to apply the other clamp, when I heard him whisper, "I wonder if you'll like this".

I felt him sit up, and another small buzzing sound, before his fingers played with my clit, rubbing back and forth until it swelled and became more prominent. Suddenly a vibrating sensation was there, and I protested (was it a protest?), "Oh fuck." He inquired if I was okay with that, but before I could offer any other opinions, cold steel touched the side of my breast that did not have the clamp. The tip of the knife point gently scratched its way around the soft globe, the flat of the blade massaged its way across my nipple, and I was breathless.

While I was aware of the shaking clamps on my nipple, and my clit, it became almost background sensation to the cold knife making its way across my body, browsing my stomach, scratching delicately on the inside of my thigh, flat blade almost pressing against my lips. It moved in a slow, icy, deliberate manner. He alternated between the cold smoothness of the blade, pressing it more firmly, chilling my hot skin; and the tip, softer, almost gossamer at points, daintily skimming and scratching the surface.

He set the knife aside, and his tongue flicked the tip of the nipple trapped in the clamp. The tiny little top became so central to every nerve ending, every thought. It felt ridiculously hypersensitive, and amazingly good. He gradually slid the clamp off, kissed the nipple more firmly, softly blew on it, cooling it with his breath. He reached down and carefully took off the clamp on my clit. "Did you like that?" he asked, his fingers massaging the incredibly receptive pearl, before dipping between my lips and discovering how wet I was. "Oh yes, you liked that," he confirmed, and I could hear the smile of satisfaction in his voice. He moved his finger slowly in and out a few times, not to please or press any buttons, but to tease, before he withdrew and I felt the side of the bed give slightly as he shifted away from me.

Suddenly a hot splatter stunned me, and my indrawn breath gave voice to my surprise. It wasn't pleasurable - it was fiery and shocking. Another scalding drop kissed my chest, but being more prepared, it didn't bring me out of any reverie - but it still required my upmost attention. Trickles bit by bit fell, first falling in the center of my chest, then my soft breasts, a few scattered splatters touched very sensitive rosy nipples. My body, already aching, adapted quickly to random drips; the hot drops brought the skin to a heightened sensation, quickly cooled, hardened and left traces with the weight and texture against my skin. I began moaning into it, unable to prevent a twitching every so often at the heat, but always an awareness of my own self and my increasing desire.

He brought the glass dildo up against my skin, skimming the surface where the wax was so swiftly I had no idea what he did with the candle. It was excruciating winter, such a stark dissimilarity, and I writhed as much as the bindings allowed me to, trying to escape the icy glass against some sensitive places and endeavoring to welcome the touch in other places. Slowly, the glass skated across bare skin or raised slightly over the wax, the wax a buffer against the chill in small places. Both nipples were massaged until they were hardened points, then the glass was rubbing against my clit, just briefly. I cried out, wanting...I had no idea what anymore, but just yearning.

The glass parted my lips, and dipped agonizingly slow into my folds, my heated wet passion seemingly an unbearable furnace that felt the onslaught of frosty glass, slithered slowly, sinking, still so cold, my entrance cooling with every new movement inside, my depths aware of the temperature difference but adjusting, warming. Once he moved the dildo fully inside me, he pulled out just as slowly, my folds cocooning, my excitement allowing easy movement. Then down, fast, quickly, and back up to almost the round tip fully out, and suddenly he was fucking me hard with the toy, and my body was so ready for the release, my hips moving as much as the ties would allow, my thighs taunt and resentful of the stinted freedom, and I was screaming into the orgasm.

When I was done, he wrenched the toy suddenly out of my spent body and positioned the head of his penis against my aroused entrance, pausing with just the tip. I let out a moan of frustration, my body greedy already, longing again so quickly for him. Effortlessly slipping inside, but just as slowly as first with the toy, he was so hard, I held my breath and focused on feeling his length slide down further and further into me. He rotated up, patiently measured, and back down, letting out a sigh of pleasure. After a few more times, in his attempt of fully tease me by almost completely retreating before gliding fully in, he shifted too far out. (The ankle ties make sex challenging, as my legs are not a fully spread as he needed for his broad body.)

"I have an idea," he said, and I questioned what. He didn't respond as he released my ankles. I felt movement around my wrists, but I was busy attempting to move my legs around his body to pull him into me. He seemed impervious to my endeavor, and grabbed a hold of one ankle and raised it up to my hand. I believed he was going to hold one leg up and enter me, but felt a fasten around my ankle, attached to the wrist binding. He had used extra ties that were otherwise too short, and I had forgotten even the existence. My other ankle joined up to my other wrist, and suddenly I was spread as open as I've ever been tied up. "Are you comfortable?" he questioned, the concern in his voice.

"Yes, but I feel very open, and vulnerable," and swiftly as I was speaking his mouth was upon my pussy, a gentle suction on the lips and his tongue thrusted inside me. His mouth was unbelievably hot, the suction was amazing, and I tried to squirm against the feelings - a motion that had always been available to me, but suddenly was not. I was splayed, full access to him. And oh my goodness, his mouth was doing the most incredible things with that advantage. He seemed to lick and suck for so unbelievably long, and I felt spent and ravaged. He hoisted up and then entered me, absolutely no gentleness - but my body offered no resistance. I clenched around him, I shouted so loudly that my throat immediately felt raw, but he now fucked me roughly. In the position I was in, he could thrust against me with no boundaries, he went so deeply into me at moments that I felt him hitting a wall, but beyond any sensation beyond orgasm, I continued to scream as he continued to pound into me.

A slight lull, a shifting of his body, after that extreme pleasure that took me to heights and would have kept me until he decided otherwise, and he alternated at a slower pace. It was more controlled, and I could feel the ridge of his head rubbing the inside of my quivering body.

Oh my...and unexpectedly sweltering tormenting rain on my breasts, on my stomach. The wax was commanding my attention, sizzling, startling, focused skin. He persisted to move slowly in and out of me, my body started to grip him tighter, preparing for another orgasm. Suddenly wax poured down the interior of one thigh, still wholly exposed because of the ties, and it burned a fierce path down, cooling and resting about halfway. It took me out the feeling of orgasm with its intensity, but his continual plunging pushed me right back towards that mood to focus on my muscles beginning to tense and shudder, and wax splashed downward again, bringing my concentration back, but my body wasn't to be diverted for long by a lowly thigh, not when the entire core of me was taut, tight, clenching, spasms rippling through that the third time wax was splayed the thigh was rigid and barely registered, consumed by a violent orgasm. I screamed again, forgot to breathe, floated and became dizzy, became aware of his decelerated movements, of his calm withdraw, almost a mockery of the ferocious orgasm just felt.

His mouth was back between my legs, and his fingers and tongue took turns pillaging my already spent but oh so sensitive sex. I sensed a vibrator, and he used my own juices to stroke up against my clit, amid my folds but not quite entering, and then transitioned down to my asshole. "Can I?" he asked.

He could have asked to bring in twenty people just to gawk at me, for all I cared at the moment. I was blissfully happy, exhaustively spent, easily amenable. I gave a shaky agreement - the few times we've tried anal anything with me I didn't like it, and we had only tried a finger, or a small anal toy, nothing that vibrated, and nothing as large as that.

With the same infinite patience that he used throughout this session, he carefully inserted the vibrator into my small hole after using a lot of lube. I tried to relax into it, for once a little easier just because my body was so complaisant after such pleasure. Before I could feel and fixate on any sort of uncomfortableness, he entered me again, not removing the vibrator.

I felt so full, like there was not enough room for me. My muscles immediately reawakened and began a squeezing pattern that was fast leading to another orgasm, but he kept ruining the pace. "It keeps slipping out," he vented, and slid out of me. "Do you mind if we do it doggy-style?"

I didn't mind if he did me on the moon, I just wanted him deep inside of me again. He reached up and pushed the blindfold up, and even the low lighting hurt my eyes, so I shut them. He freed my ankles, and I felt stiff, it hurt my hips to move my legs down and together. Next, my wrists, and then I rolled over, mostly so I didn't lose my nerve again with the vibrator. I pressed my chest flush to the bed, and raised my ass up. He cautiously slid the vibrator in again, and then sank his length into me. A repeat, that feeling of fullness that I was unused to. He increased the pace of his thrusting, the vibrator easier for him to keep in place, and it wasn't long before we reached a peak of pleasure together from this position. Once more, the release was so quick, and made my entire body respond with such force. He withdrew the vibrator first, and then himself. I managed to do nothing more than collapse on the bed, just laying there.

He laughed at my limp form, laid down next to me, and kissed me on the forehead. "You're a mess," he said. I could do nothing other than smile, (and tweet about it the next day).