He bends me over the bed and spanks me with the metal loop. The pain from this is sting-y and thuddy and radiates from the point of impact to my pussy, to my brain. It is so good, but also so much, and I cry out. No. Stop. I can’t take it.
Sir doesn’t stop, He reminds me that I am taking it and to let go. Ride it. I do. He continues for a while, but this toy he’s made is some vicious so He stops before I’m ready (or is it long after I’ve had too much?).
I cannot remember if His leash is on me this night, but no matter… He leads me to the rug at the foot of the bed and orders ‘floor’. I assume the position and He begins a new set of blows to my heated bottom. I also don’t recall which instrument He uses here… The cane? The cat o’nine? Flogger? Whip? I was pretty far gone, one moment blurring to the next. The blows stop and He commands ‘humble’. I comply but Sir wants an overarched humble… Putting all of me on display. No hiding the goods in that position! I swallow my embarrassment and He does things with His mouth that about send me over. Before I do, He comments on how wet I am and takes me hard, not on His knees behind me, but doing deep squats from above. As always, this position feels so primal and urgent and dirty (and noisy). I have orgasm after orgasm… Not worried about the carpet burns that are likely on my face, arms, knees.
When we finish, Sir helps me into bed, and goes to clean up. When He returns, He bends down and recounts everything that just happened, in great, graphic detail. It’s just as hot as when it happened, and I feel the heavenly pressure building. I try to get Him to stop… Sometimes I get a bit self-conscious about all the weird ways I orgasm… But Sir ups the game, using all the dirty words, demanding that I come. And I do. I orgasm from His words alone. It is so fucking good, Sir’s command of my body amazes me.
Words have power. Words stick (and make slick and evoke explosive reactions), so be careful what you say.
We’ve just finished our evening activities.
Sir is in the bathroom, cleaning up, as I lie in the bed, spent and relaxed.
I am sweating, but getting cold as the fan sends the cool air down over me.
In this moment, I’m not thinking of anything.
I am only feeling – love and ownership and thankfulness and…
I begin to doze off…
Sir has returned with my cuffs and collar.
Sometimes we play with them on, but many other times, they don’t go on til after. I really like that.
Cuffs always go on first and tonight, I sleepily hold up my right wrist. He fastens it, then I offer my left.
He is so particular that the buckles face opposite directions. Many times I’ve giggled to Him about it. But now, I’m too busy floating and so ready for sleep.
I lift my head from the pillow, barely.
He places the collar around my neck and guides me to sitting, so there is no difficulty or hair pulling (once He ripped a chunk of hair right on out of my head, so we are extra careful now).
No longer will He simply buckle my collar… I forget this sometimes…
He pulls the collar through the buckle, far past the grommets…
Pulling, pulling, steady pressure…
I’m feeling lightheaded, but I’m getting oxygen, sort of…
And now I feel it building inside of me.
I think I say “no, please.” I must because He replies His usual reply…
“Yes. Come for me.”
And I do, dammit. From the choking alone.
He loosens the collar as my orgasm peaks. Oxygen rushes freely inside my lungs and my body tremors with the pleasure.
I am shivering and I let my head fall to the pillow, nearly forgetting His fingers fastening the collar.
I’m slightly embarrassed about coming like that, without any touching, only choking, but His ‘good girl’ settles me quickly.
He gives me a kiss and slides into bed.
I snuggle into His chest – my Home – and close my eyes, safe and secure in the only place I’ve ever belonged.
I am kneeling on the rug in the bathroom.
My arms held awkwardly to put enough tension on the rope I’m holding.
I can not let it untwist.
I’m fussing a little.
My bones feel every bit of their 38 years tonight.
Sir is in the shower.
I am waiting
not so patiently.
I don’t want to disappoint, but lately I feel disappointing.
My head isn’t in the right place.
I’m happy to kneel, despite the pain, and I will not let the rope go.
Still, I’m fussing.
Sir hears my fussing, asks me, so I suck it up.
I am determined to overcome my brain.
The shower shuts off.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath… again… again…
It is working and I focus on the sounds.
The squeegee on the tile, the slide of the towel, the ruffling sound on Sir’s head, finally the open and close of the shower door.
The rope did not untwist!
He tells me I’m a good girl and takes the rope.
He instructs me to crawl to the bed.
I straighten my legs and crawl up the bed.
Hands and knees.
Words and touching and tongue and…
I’m feeling a little tipsy.
Not from alcohol, Sir is making me feel this way, making my head fuzzy.
Words, then I am opening my mouth and He is slipping the rope in.
It’s a bit. And reins. All in one.
Sir pulls the rope taut and it bites into the corners of my mouth.
Across my cheeks.
I’m drooling. Already.
I wonder if the drool will be a turn off, it’s so much, but I have no control.
He slams into me, filling me, pulling on the rope.
Will the rope rub my mouth raw?
Pounding and pulling.
I’m straining my head against the rope.
I want to feel it all.
Never takes long to get me off.
I’m too fast.
He senses my withholding.
Do it, He demands.
Over and over.
No more thinking, only feeling.
Feeling wrung out.
’twas the start of stellar night…