(no subject)
It was just a kiss. He didn’t pin me, or bite me, or even put a hand to my throat. With only his lips and tongue he spread me open and left me feeling taken and used and dirtied.
Goddamnit, I love that.
Goddamnit, I love that.
(no subject)
It was when he pulled the third layer snug around my chest that I felt something snap into place. “That feels so good,” I told him. I couldn’t move my arms at all, and could just barely wiggle my fingers.
He kept wrapping, covering my belly with layer after layer of plastic. “More,” I said at one point, and he smiled quietly, winding the wrap around me again and again. When I was covered from shoulder to hip, he looked me squarely in the eyes. “How do you feel?”
“I think I must really be a freak.”
“Because you like this?”
I nodded. “I want you to like this,” he said, and kissed me. “Can you lie down?”
“Not gracefully,” I said, and flopped onto my back. Then, we were both quiet, as he encased my feet and calves in the plastic wrap, working quickly and with a look of calm concentration so different from the furrowed brow I see when he’s tying knots. When he finished, he tried to tickle my feet—our usual way of testing my bonds. But, though I wiggled a little to please him, his touch felt good to move away from.
The bands of plastic held me tighter than any bondage I’ve ever experienced. I could bend at the hips and knees, but my legs were firmly held together. My arms were bound wrist to elbow beneath my breasts, held securely by several layers of plastic wrap that went on first, before the ones around my chest. I was completely helpless. The thought sent blood pouring into my cunt.
He began to tease me. He would play with my clit for a moment, moving it in slow circles, then roll me over to swat my ass or grab my head to slap my cheeks. Once I was moaning (which didn’t take long at all,) he grinned at me impishly and pulled on his shorts. “I’ll be back in a while,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
My cunt and I waited, it gaping hungrily, while I sank into my warm cocoon, savoring that strange combination of raging desire and deep quiet that comes over me when I’m tightly bound. And, this was so sweet, this embrace. So warm and snug and smooth.
He returned more quickly than I’d expected, perhaps wondering how I was responding to these new bonds. The look on my face must have told him, because when his hands landed on me that second time, they were not there to tease. He pounded me, first with the flogger, and then with his cock, pummeling my cunt, and coming between my thighs.
When he finally pushed the vibrator against my clit, there was nothing to do but take it. I came with a helpless joy.
Some time later, he cut me free, wrapping me instead in fleece and his arms. I snuggled against him and the afternoon curled around us.
He kept wrapping, covering my belly with layer after layer of plastic. “More,” I said at one point, and he smiled quietly, winding the wrap around me again and again. When I was covered from shoulder to hip, he looked me squarely in the eyes. “How do you feel?”
“I think I must really be a freak.”
“Because you like this?”
I nodded. “I want you to like this,” he said, and kissed me. “Can you lie down?”
“Not gracefully,” I said, and flopped onto my back. Then, we were both quiet, as he encased my feet and calves in the plastic wrap, working quickly and with a look of calm concentration so different from the furrowed brow I see when he’s tying knots. When he finished, he tried to tickle my feet—our usual way of testing my bonds. But, though I wiggled a little to please him, his touch felt good to move away from.
The bands of plastic held me tighter than any bondage I’ve ever experienced. I could bend at the hips and knees, but my legs were firmly held together. My arms were bound wrist to elbow beneath my breasts, held securely by several layers of plastic wrap that went on first, before the ones around my chest. I was completely helpless. The thought sent blood pouring into my cunt.
He began to tease me. He would play with my clit for a moment, moving it in slow circles, then roll me over to swat my ass or grab my head to slap my cheeks. Once I was moaning (which didn’t take long at all,) he grinned at me impishly and pulled on his shorts. “I’ll be back in a while,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
My cunt and I waited, it gaping hungrily, while I sank into my warm cocoon, savoring that strange combination of raging desire and deep quiet that comes over me when I’m tightly bound. And, this was so sweet, this embrace. So warm and snug and smooth.
He returned more quickly than I’d expected, perhaps wondering how I was responding to these new bonds. The look on my face must have told him, because when his hands landed on me that second time, they were not there to tease. He pounded me, first with the flogger, and then with his cock, pummeling my cunt, and coming between my thighs.
When he finally pushed the vibrator against my clit, there was nothing to do but take it. I came with a helpless joy.
Some time later, he cut me free, wrapping me instead in fleece and his arms. I snuggled against him and the afternoon curled around us.
(no subject)
Saturday night brought pleasures I hadn't quite expected. Oh certainly: they were there in my mind is some fashion, hiding, their coy suggestions twining about my synapses. But they took the form only of idle fantasy, and I'd no way of knowing, once I finally met him, whether I would even want that.
He's one of my oldest online friends, someone I've known consistently in this medium only for over three years, but never met in person, despite his relative proximity to me. I had seen pictures, enjoyed his writing, and especially been intrigued by his poly family life - a life that recently fell apart, as mine did not long ago.
This past weekend, he decided to make an impulsive trip to meet me and my boy. I cleared it with said boy, who seemed pleased to meet such a person and not at all threatened. I figured we'd meet, go out for drinks, chat. Of course, we picked the place in our neighborhood where the drinks are extra-large and the magic of the atmosphere begs for deep confessions, fast friendships, and magical possibilities.
He showed up at my door, tall and handsome as his pictures, bearing flowers for me and wine for us. A thorough gentleman, as I'd anticipated. We did a brief house tour, then the three of us swept off to our neighborhood haunt.
Pomegranate martinis were the special of the day, and I may just have drunk a few too many, but after the usual life stories, dirty jokes, flirtations ever increasing in obviousness and a strong note of approval from my man, we wended our way back to the apartment, stalled with a bit of artwork-sharing, and eventually, reached a seeming impasse. The new boy suggested he fetch his overnight bag, as his alcohol consumption had pretty much guaranteed his staying over. As usual, my man came to the rescue with an unmistakable initiation of festivities: "Why don't we take care of the lady first?"
Take care of me, they did. I only wish I had a greater memory of it: alcohol was clouding me, and only brief erotic images come to mind: the new boy's face between my legs as (I believe) I put mine between my man's; being fucked from behind, the new man's come-cry music to me; my man fucking me afterwards, his vigor increased by how I'd been primed, by how ready I was for him.
In the morning: more sex with my man, after our friend got up early and prepared for the longish drive home. All through the day, and even to now, I felt more connected with him than ever, the emotional intensity increased, the bond strengthened, not by a challenge, but by a shared experience of newness and rightness, a feeling of growth that expands, rather than going outside, of our love.
Luckily we're all interested in doing it again...next time, sober and fully awake.
He's one of my oldest online friends, someone I've known consistently in this medium only for over three years, but never met in person, despite his relative proximity to me. I had seen pictures, enjoyed his writing, and especially been intrigued by his poly family life - a life that recently fell apart, as mine did not long ago.
This past weekend, he decided to make an impulsive trip to meet me and my boy. I cleared it with said boy, who seemed pleased to meet such a person and not at all threatened. I figured we'd meet, go out for drinks, chat. Of course, we picked the place in our neighborhood where the drinks are extra-large and the magic of the atmosphere begs for deep confessions, fast friendships, and magical possibilities.
He showed up at my door, tall and handsome as his pictures, bearing flowers for me and wine for us. A thorough gentleman, as I'd anticipated. We did a brief house tour, then the three of us swept off to our neighborhood haunt.
Pomegranate martinis were the special of the day, and I may just have drunk a few too many, but after the usual life stories, dirty jokes, flirtations ever increasing in obviousness and a strong note of approval from my man, we wended our way back to the apartment, stalled with a bit of artwork-sharing, and eventually, reached a seeming impasse. The new boy suggested he fetch his overnight bag, as his alcohol consumption had pretty much guaranteed his staying over. As usual, my man came to the rescue with an unmistakable initiation of festivities: "Why don't we take care of the lady first?"
Take care of me, they did. I only wish I had a greater memory of it: alcohol was clouding me, and only brief erotic images come to mind: the new boy's face between my legs as (I believe) I put mine between my man's; being fucked from behind, the new man's come-cry music to me; my man fucking me afterwards, his vigor increased by how I'd been primed, by how ready I was for him.
In the morning: more sex with my man, after our friend got up early and prepared for the longish drive home. All through the day, and even to now, I felt more connected with him than ever, the emotional intensity increased, the bond strengthened, not by a challenge, but by a shared experience of newness and rightness, a feeling of growth that expands, rather than going outside, of our love.
Luckily we're all interested in doing it again...next time, sober and fully awake.
Followup to the followup
Okay, so when I bought that vibe attachment, it was partially with the intention to try...um...sticking it up my ass.
I wince to admit that, which is totally bogus, which is why I'm making myself post about it...six months later. If I can brag here about smacking and insulting women I love, I'd be a jerk to guard my dignity by refusing to confess to stuff like that.
Well, one thing I learned--condoms are too big for the G-Spotter, and fingercots aren't really long enough. I might try the "snug fit" condoms sometime, but you know, it's only in the last few years that I've been able to go into a CVS and buy condoms without my heartrate accelerating a little from nervousness. I'm in no hurry to walk up to the counter with a pack of X-tra Tinys, though I suppose if Emma can make her purchase, I shouldn't be a wimp about mine.
So how was it? Eh, good, but not amazing. The absence of fingernails was a refreshing contrast to other such experiences in my life. It went in very smoothly (with a little lube), and I probed around for a bit in search of the prostate stimulation that is apparently so delicious. No dice on that, but the vibrations were definitely pleasant, and the climax, when it came was intense. Will I do it again? Yeah, probably, sometime.
I wince to admit that, which is totally bogus, which is why I'm making myself post about it...six months later. If I can brag here about smacking and insulting women I love, I'd be a jerk to guard my dignity by refusing to confess to stuff like that.
Well, one thing I learned--condoms are too big for the G-Spotter, and fingercots aren't really long enough. I might try the "snug fit" condoms sometime, but you know, it's only in the last few years that I've been able to go into a CVS and buy condoms without my heartrate accelerating a little from nervousness. I'm in no hurry to walk up to the counter with a pack of X-tra Tinys, though I suppose if Emma can make her purchase, I shouldn't be a wimp about mine.
So how was it? Eh, good, but not amazing. The absence of fingernails was a refreshing contrast to other such experiences in my life. It went in very smoothly (with a little lube), and I probed around for a bit in search of the prostate stimulation that is apparently so delicious. No dice on that, but the vibrations were definitely pleasant, and the climax, when it came was intense. Will I do it again? Yeah, probably, sometime.
taking a lover
He catches my eye across the parking lot and I give him an excited half-wave. He slides easily underneath my arm for a small hug, and he feels warm and new. I brush my fingertips over the ribs of his shirt, thinking of the flesh and bone ribs underneath, wildly hoping to see him later, without the shirt.
We steal a kiss later, and flirt madly all night. He disappears to spin fire, and I watch, nursing a cool, pale beer. The evening air is still and damp against my face. After midnight, we say our goodbyes at the same time, meeting eyes over the heads of our friends. We dance around each other as we leave, bumping shoulders playfully, kissing with lips only, his hands full of gear and fuel.
I follow him home, knees shaking as I see an accident on the highway, my chest squeezing as I sort through my motivations, and find myself glad we didn't stop to see if the driver was okay.
At his house, we make tea and look up things on google. I try his homemade mustard, and smell the spices in the cabinet. It's all prelude, really.
Later, I sit on his lap and we kiss, him smelling like soap and deodorant and white gas. I nip at his ear, slide my tounge over his, exhale breath gently against his ear. I want to find a way to crack his reserve. One mustard seed still burns against my cheek, caught in my last back tooth.
My body doesn't burn, but I flame a little, gently. My cunt softens, and I let him slide my shirt off.
He is so breathtakingly beautiful to watch as he tounges my nipples. I am not usually so visually oriented, but just the sweet and concentrated way he closes his eyes and slides his small, sweet tounge over my nipples - I have to catch my breath.
We walk to the bedroom after a while, just a few short steps across the carpted floor. I grin and tease him about the pirate flag above his bed. Then I grin again remembering how I'd growled softly at him after he kissed me when no-one was looking, and he'd smiled and made a pirate joke.
We fall easily onto the bed, a squishy mattress on the floor, just where I feel most comfortable. Clothes come off quickly, but he pauses to take my socks off and rub each foot, just for a moment. My heart melts.
We grope softly, in the very dark dark of his room. We kiss, slidingly, subdued heat between us. The specters of my early morning and our mutual tiredness hang in the air behind us, keeping the passion tamped down. My throat scratches a little, too, slowing my reflexes, making me cuddly and slow. Eventually I roll him onto his back and begin to kiss his skin, avoiding his nipples, kissing his sides, his chest, chewing gently on the gorgeous path of hair just below his navel. Eventually, I give in to my growing desire and sweetly take his cock in my mouth. I moan a little, almost sub-verbally, as the warm smooth newness of his skin touches my lips, my tounge. I work him with my mouth, gently, slowly, easily. He squirms a little, then a little more, and makes the first sound of abandon I've heard from him, little escaping groans and whimpers. My cunt twitches, and I want to fuck him, suck him off, ravish him. When he digs his nails into my arm I groan appreciatively around his cock, and I feel him get a little harder. Soon, though, he pulls me up towards him, and we kiss, deeply.
"I love that your mouth tastes like me."
Swoon. I'm yours, beautiful.
-emma
We steal a kiss later, and flirt madly all night. He disappears to spin fire, and I watch, nursing a cool, pale beer. The evening air is still and damp against my face. After midnight, we say our goodbyes at the same time, meeting eyes over the heads of our friends. We dance around each other as we leave, bumping shoulders playfully, kissing with lips only, his hands full of gear and fuel.
I follow him home, knees shaking as I see an accident on the highway, my chest squeezing as I sort through my motivations, and find myself glad we didn't stop to see if the driver was okay.
At his house, we make tea and look up things on google. I try his homemade mustard, and smell the spices in the cabinet. It's all prelude, really.
Later, I sit on his lap and we kiss, him smelling like soap and deodorant and white gas. I nip at his ear, slide my tounge over his, exhale breath gently against his ear. I want to find a way to crack his reserve. One mustard seed still burns against my cheek, caught in my last back tooth.
My body doesn't burn, but I flame a little, gently. My cunt softens, and I let him slide my shirt off.
He is so breathtakingly beautiful to watch as he tounges my nipples. I am not usually so visually oriented, but just the sweet and concentrated way he closes his eyes and slides his small, sweet tounge over my nipples - I have to catch my breath.
We walk to the bedroom after a while, just a few short steps across the carpted floor. I grin and tease him about the pirate flag above his bed. Then I grin again remembering how I'd growled softly at him after he kissed me when no-one was looking, and he'd smiled and made a pirate joke.
We fall easily onto the bed, a squishy mattress on the floor, just where I feel most comfortable. Clothes come off quickly, but he pauses to take my socks off and rub each foot, just for a moment. My heart melts.
We grope softly, in the very dark dark of his room. We kiss, slidingly, subdued heat between us. The specters of my early morning and our mutual tiredness hang in the air behind us, keeping the passion tamped down. My throat scratches a little, too, slowing my reflexes, making me cuddly and slow. Eventually I roll him onto his back and begin to kiss his skin, avoiding his nipples, kissing his sides, his chest, chewing gently on the gorgeous path of hair just below his navel. Eventually, I give in to my growing desire and sweetly take his cock in my mouth. I moan a little, almost sub-verbally, as the warm smooth newness of his skin touches my lips, my tounge. I work him with my mouth, gently, slowly, easily. He squirms a little, then a little more, and makes the first sound of abandon I've heard from him, little escaping groans and whimpers. My cunt twitches, and I want to fuck him, suck him off, ravish him. When he digs his nails into my arm I groan appreciatively around his cock, and I feel him get a little harder. Soon, though, he pulls me up towards him, and we kiss, deeply.
"I love that your mouth tastes like me."
Swoon. I'm yours, beautiful.
-emma
From my journal.
Come out of the woodwork. Line up all your little buttons in front of me, like a typewriter, for me to press as I choose. Let me type out the scroll of your belief. Let me write the story of your fantasy, the story you never even would have thought of telling to yourself. Let me tease the paper through you line by line, injecting phrases from your childhood, words you've spoken to me, lines of dialogue you've told me only in gesture, in the way you stand when you're near me. Let the narrative stretch until what you want and what I want blur together, until, not as the djinn says but truly, your wish is my command: I command you, and whatever you are told to do is the thing you most wish for.
you're welcome
I had told this girl one of the things that really drives me crazy, in the best kind of way: to give me head until I was about ready to pop, then back off for a bit, start again, ease off, and keep teasing me on the edge for as long as she could keep it up, and then let me go off.
She had apparently decided this was the night for it, as she started by giving me incredibly delightful fellatio -- long warm strokes with her mouth and tickling-stroking my balls with her hands -- and just when I was ready to let fly, she pulled me out of her mouth and just stroked me gently for a minute. Then started again, moister and warmer, and pulled out again at the perfect moment. And grinned.
"You fucker," I breathed. "Not at this moment, no," she pointed out, and started on me again. It was beautiful: she kept me desperate and on the edge for several minutes, until I could barely think straight. Eventually, she either took pity on me or her jaw started getting seriously tired: "I think you really want to come now," and started sucking me truly in earnest.
My mind was somewhere else, my cock was in seventh heaven, and I was barely articulate. It was so fantastic that just as I felt myself hit the point of no return, I mumbled, "Thank you."
At that moment I heard a sputtering, spewing sound from down below. I thought that I must have hit her gag reflex and pulled back a bit in a moment of panic. But she didn't stop, and I came gloriously and whimperingly in her mouth. I still didn't quite understand.
What had happened was that she had laughed. You're supposed to say "thank you" after you come, she pointed out afterwards. She had been so surprised by the timing of my gratitude that she had involuntarily laughed.
But you know what it's like when you laugh suddenly while you're drinking something? ... with the nose and all? Yeah.
You know you've got a good relationship with someone when they can snorfle your jism and you can both laugh it off afterward.
She had apparently decided this was the night for it, as she started by giving me incredibly delightful fellatio -- long warm strokes with her mouth and tickling-stroking my balls with her hands -- and just when I was ready to let fly, she pulled me out of her mouth and just stroked me gently for a minute. Then started again, moister and warmer, and pulled out again at the perfect moment. And grinned.
"You fucker," I breathed. "Not at this moment, no," she pointed out, and started on me again. It was beautiful: she kept me desperate and on the edge for several minutes, until I could barely think straight. Eventually, she either took pity on me or her jaw started getting seriously tired: "I think you really want to come now," and started sucking me truly in earnest.
My mind was somewhere else, my cock was in seventh heaven, and I was barely articulate. It was so fantastic that just as I felt myself hit the point of no return, I mumbled, "Thank you."
At that moment I heard a sputtering, spewing sound from down below. I thought that I must have hit her gag reflex and pulled back a bit in a moment of panic. But she didn't stop, and I came gloriously and whimperingly in her mouth. I still didn't quite understand.
What had happened was that she had laughed. You're supposed to say "thank you" after you come, she pointed out afterwards. She had been so surprised by the timing of my gratitude that she had involuntarily laughed.
But you know what it's like when you laugh suddenly while you're drinking something? ... with the nose and all? Yeah.
You know you've got a good relationship with someone when they can snorfle your jism and you can both laugh it off afterward.
(no subject)
Ate some *ahem* brownies last night and had the spectacular, soul-melding sex that always comes with that activity...then had the luxurious sleep and sexy dreams that are also generally attendant to it.
In one fantasy scenario, a pretty blond boy I used to sleep with on occasion (in the waking world) was joining me and my boy in a threesome...sucking my boy's cock.
Not to be outdone in the fellating department, however, I had another, much weirder dream in which Hunter S. Thompson appeared - some part flesh, some part spirit, claiming he had fifteen minutes to be corporeal - and I sucked him off. Gross, weird, right? Somehow, though, it was the wild, bezerker spirit of his that was pure sex to me in the dream, and when he came (it was all sort of abstract, like an arty video, not like real sex), it was as if some part of that spirit flowed into me in a spiral. At that moment he too spiraled away into smoke and ghosts.
It was after the first dream, though, that I awoke, horny as hell. My boy was also partly awake, and we spent the morning by first having (careful; he's rather large) anal sex (ah, anal orgams, how I love thee!), then him running his hands everywhere on my body except my genitals, which were screaming for it by the time he touched them (ah, clitoral orgasms, thy sharp pleasures bid me yelp!), and then a proper fisting (ah, vaginal orgasms - well, you get the idea).
Needless to say, we both spent the rest of the day in a kind of restful giddiness.
In one fantasy scenario, a pretty blond boy I used to sleep with on occasion (in the waking world) was joining me and my boy in a threesome...sucking my boy's cock.
Not to be outdone in the fellating department, however, I had another, much weirder dream in which Hunter S. Thompson appeared - some part flesh, some part spirit, claiming he had fifteen minutes to be corporeal - and I sucked him off. Gross, weird, right? Somehow, though, it was the wild, bezerker spirit of his that was pure sex to me in the dream, and when he came (it was all sort of abstract, like an arty video, not like real sex), it was as if some part of that spirit flowed into me in a spiral. At that moment he too spiraled away into smoke and ghosts.
It was after the first dream, though, that I awoke, horny as hell. My boy was also partly awake, and we spent the morning by first having (careful; he's rather large) anal sex (ah, anal orgams, how I love thee!), then him running his hands everywhere on my body except my genitals, which were screaming for it by the time he touched them (ah, clitoral orgasms, thy sharp pleasures bid me yelp!), and then a proper fisting (ah, vaginal orgasms - well, you get the idea).
Needless to say, we both spent the rest of the day in a kind of restful giddiness.
just feeling
Saturday night we played our first really intense scene that didn't involve gential touching. I had asked him in the car on the way home if we could play a scene where I was not just submissive, but the scene would be all about my pleasure, and not my orgasm. I asked for sensation play, and for me to not have to think. This was something I'd wanted to ask for for a long time, but had been having so much trouble finding the words, finding the worth.
When we got home we decompressed for a while, and then he made the bed up with fresh sheets. He led me into the bedroom and started to undress me. Then he blindfolded me. He put on music and the next hour and a half or maybe two were all about him taking his time with my body. He started with a full body massage, working my feet and my tired calves, then my legs, then my shoulders and arms and back, and my chest. Once I was really getting relaxed, he started in with the light sensation, the fur paddle, his hands. Then after some tapping with the harder side of the paddle (possibly one of my favorite toys) he turned me over. We played with the nipple clamps for a little while but it was a bit too much for me. Then he turned me back over and started to spank me.
He spanked me for a long time, starting slowly, and building over time. I took more and more, and eventually I was moaning and gasping, pulling in deep, heaving breaths as I struggled with the pain. He leaned over and told me what a good girl I was being, and told me that he was going to give me one more round, and then it would be over, and I was going to take it all. I barely nodded my head, and wasn't sure whether I could take it or not. As his hand hit my ass with a sharp crack, I sucked in my breath and stretched my body into the pain. He hit me again, and again, and then - again. I whimpered and moaned, nearly in tears, but oh - I was flying. I hurt so much, and it felt so good.
After the last stroke of his hand he immediately leaned over me and started praising me, loving me, telling me how good and brave and wonderful I'd been. I felt melty and scared and small. He pulled me into his arms and slowly raised the blindfold from my eyes. I stared at his beautiful face, and the buried my face in his chest, and suddenly, began to shake violently. It was like full-body sobbing without the tears. I made small whimpering noises, and just surfed the strange aftershocks that were passing through my body. Just after he'd gathered me into his arms, a cd came on that is a favorite of mine, and it was just what I needed to hear. As I calmed down and started to begin to come back to myself, my lover wrapped me in warm blankets, and softly stroked my hair. We lay there through the whole soundtrack, moved deeply by the haunting, lonely, tearingly beautiful music. We talked and cuddled and slowly, slowly, I came all the way back to myself. Everything was tinged blue-green around the edges in that soft light, and a strange, overwhelming emotion flowed out of me.
Later, I put on his soft clothes, and wrapped myself in the blanket, a mug of hot tea cradled to my chest. I couldn't believe how cold I was, and how hungry.
-emma
When we got home we decompressed for a while, and then he made the bed up with fresh sheets. He led me into the bedroom and started to undress me. Then he blindfolded me. He put on music and the next hour and a half or maybe two were all about him taking his time with my body. He started with a full body massage, working my feet and my tired calves, then my legs, then my shoulders and arms and back, and my chest. Once I was really getting relaxed, he started in with the light sensation, the fur paddle, his hands. Then after some tapping with the harder side of the paddle (possibly one of my favorite toys) he turned me over. We played with the nipple clamps for a little while but it was a bit too much for me. Then he turned me back over and started to spank me.
He spanked me for a long time, starting slowly, and building over time. I took more and more, and eventually I was moaning and gasping, pulling in deep, heaving breaths as I struggled with the pain. He leaned over and told me what a good girl I was being, and told me that he was going to give me one more round, and then it would be over, and I was going to take it all. I barely nodded my head, and wasn't sure whether I could take it or not. As his hand hit my ass with a sharp crack, I sucked in my breath and stretched my body into the pain. He hit me again, and again, and then - again. I whimpered and moaned, nearly in tears, but oh - I was flying. I hurt so much, and it felt so good.
After the last stroke of his hand he immediately leaned over me and started praising me, loving me, telling me how good and brave and wonderful I'd been. I felt melty and scared and small. He pulled me into his arms and slowly raised the blindfold from my eyes. I stared at his beautiful face, and the buried my face in his chest, and suddenly, began to shake violently. It was like full-body sobbing without the tears. I made small whimpering noises, and just surfed the strange aftershocks that were passing through my body. Just after he'd gathered me into his arms, a cd came on that is a favorite of mine, and it was just what I needed to hear. As I calmed down and started to begin to come back to myself, my lover wrapped me in warm blankets, and softly stroked my hair. We lay there through the whole soundtrack, moved deeply by the haunting, lonely, tearingly beautiful music. We talked and cuddled and slowly, slowly, I came all the way back to myself. Everything was tinged blue-green around the edges in that soft light, and a strange, overwhelming emotion flowed out of me.
Later, I put on his soft clothes, and wrapped myself in the blanket, a mug of hot tea cradled to my chest. I couldn't believe how cold I was, and how hungry.
-emma
In Praise of Handjobs (part 2 of 2)
I love giving handjobs to women. There's a certain tension in that phrase--the word seems to connote that it's done to men, perhaps because it seems to be derived from "blowjob." Though Dictionary.com disagrees with me, I say masturbation refers to the solitary act. Yeah, you see "she masturbated him" and such written from time to time, but it alwaus feel awkward to me--a square word squeezed into a round gap in the sentence.
"Fingerfucking" connotes, to my eye, manual penetration only, exclusive of clitoral contact. So handjobs it is.
I got to play several times with a very orgasmic woman. She could come from having her nipples licked; she could come from being kissed; she could come from sucking my cock. If you were gonna touch her clit, though, you had to learn to do it just right. In general, if I can give a woman substantial pleasure that way, it's because I've studied what she likes, and have learned the idiosyncratic combinations of speed, pressure, and location that work for her. For my money, that's fucking sexy. I have taken on this exciting new landscape, and I have wrested its secrets from it, learned to make it respond to my will.
Not that I'm disappointed if it comes too easily, mind. At one get-together a while ago, I was fingerfucking a beautiful young lady while rubbing her clit. She'd been very thoroughly worked-over by her paddle-wielding boyfriend less than half an hour before, and that she was still dazed enough that I'd hesitated to proposition her. But she'd agreed readily enough, and now her glowing red ass was propped on the softest pillow we could find while she reclined against another guest who nuzzled her ear and tugged at her nipples while I worked away at her cunt.
She started out sopping wet and languid, and soon was gripping my fingers inside her. Our eyes locked, our gazes intent as the electric energy of excitement buzzed back and forth between us. My own groans echoed hers as she pumped against my hand, and soon, without a word of instruction, her internal muscles were spasming, her back was arching--she was coming. Later, with her leaning against me as we watched someone else play, I mentioned my surprise at the accomplishment. "It was as much the way you were looking at me as what you were doing with your hands," she confided.
After a bit of thought, I decided to take it as a compliment.
I spent most of the rest of the evening bewitched by another woman who became, and remains, a serious lover of mine. She told me a week or so later that it had been my expression while playing with the first woman that had convinced her she had to try me out.
So there's the job-well-done stuff, and there's the power trip. Then there's the being-really-crazy-about-cunts part. I retain a kind of adolescent fascination with the mystery of penetration (perhaps even infantile--"Peek-a-boo!"), and the infinite graceful variation in this most female of female parts hasn't stopped bewitching me yet. My arousal will ebb and flow as I rub a woman off--I'll get hard, then soft, then hard again, but I rarely get really bored.
"Fingerfucking" connotes, to my eye, manual penetration only, exclusive of clitoral contact. So handjobs it is.
I got to play several times with a very orgasmic woman. She could come from having her nipples licked; she could come from being kissed; she could come from sucking my cock. If you were gonna touch her clit, though, you had to learn to do it just right. In general, if I can give a woman substantial pleasure that way, it's because I've studied what she likes, and have learned the idiosyncratic combinations of speed, pressure, and location that work for her. For my money, that's fucking sexy. I have taken on this exciting new landscape, and I have wrested its secrets from it, learned to make it respond to my will.
Not that I'm disappointed if it comes too easily, mind. At one get-together a while ago, I was fingerfucking a beautiful young lady while rubbing her clit. She'd been very thoroughly worked-over by her paddle-wielding boyfriend less than half an hour before, and that she was still dazed enough that I'd hesitated to proposition her. But she'd agreed readily enough, and now her glowing red ass was propped on the softest pillow we could find while she reclined against another guest who nuzzled her ear and tugged at her nipples while I worked away at her cunt.
She started out sopping wet and languid, and soon was gripping my fingers inside her. Our eyes locked, our gazes intent as the electric energy of excitement buzzed back and forth between us. My own groans echoed hers as she pumped against my hand, and soon, without a word of instruction, her internal muscles were spasming, her back was arching--she was coming. Later, with her leaning against me as we watched someone else play, I mentioned my surprise at the accomplishment. "It was as much the way you were looking at me as what you were doing with your hands," she confided.
After a bit of thought, I decided to take it as a compliment.
I spent most of the rest of the evening bewitched by another woman who became, and remains, a serious lover of mine. She told me a week or so later that it had been my expression while playing with the first woman that had convinced her she had to try me out.
So there's the job-well-done stuff, and there's the power trip. Then there's the being-really-crazy-about-cunts part. I retain a kind of adolescent fascination with the mystery of penetration (perhaps even infantile--"Peek-a-boo!"), and the infinite graceful variation in this most female of female parts hasn't stopped bewitching me yet. My arousal will ebb and flow as I rub a woman off--I'll get hard, then soft, then hard again, but I rarely get really bored.