Darkness Falls
As the night thickened around us, the rain lashing against the window sill, wind howling, there was no possibility of going for a walk that evening down to the pub. Staying at his parents’ for the night, back in his old room my head flooded with the memories of past encounters in the dark.
Out there, in the house by the sea, there are no street-lamps to filter in through the curtains. The stars are at their most impressive – the Milky Way is breath-taking – and of course, when the lights go out you have absolute blackness. An absence of light. Being back in that room where some of my first explorations into the delicious world of debauchery he that brought me; that we both explored for the first time together my head swam.
The Saturday film had ended and we were both snuggled under the duvet together in the single bed – Ah! another fond memory – I had already removed some clothing to ease things along. As he walked over to turn out the light, the rest of my clothes followed and my limbs called out to his body and wrapped themselves around his legs, welcoming him back to the warmth of the bed, and me.
I’m not quite certain why, or what causes it, but the lack of light seems to get me worked up very easily. Perhaps the knowledge that he can’t see my next move coming, or the delicious grin that paints my face as I find my mood is being rewarded by his body’s reaction is what makes this act of darkness so enjoyable.
Soon I am over him, my hair falling about, trailing over his chest, neck – it gets everywhere these days – as I kiss my way up to his lips, licking along his jaw to nip at his earlobe then back down to his shoulder, my teeth grazing lightly over his collar-bone. By this time I am astride him, my body pressing into his, my thighs gently pincering his own. With one hand I support myself on the bedframe, my arm close against his head, enclosing him, a claustrophobic air of certainty of no escape – he won’t be going anywhere fast. He’s mine.
We moved through the phrases to reach our end and the storm that raged outside had its mirrored passion reflected within this room.
Or so I hope to think.
It’s refreshing to relive the good memories.
January is the Cruellest Month
(as is April, but that’s another story)
It’s been pretty bleak these last couple of weeks. The wind is blowing and the rain is falling. Walking in to work this morning a cyclist skidded at least a good 10 feet on the iced road right in front of me. A cheerful greeting on Monday morning acknowledged that that day is the most depressing in the year – just after Christmas, in the bleak midwinter, cold, rainy, budgets tight and to top it all off a Monday Morning.
I also did my back in on Monday evening so all hasn’t been too great (how? you ask…oh, silly me trying to prove that I have muscles somewhere and attempted to lift up Mister from the ground. Yes. I know. I iz an iddyot).
Yet all is not lost. Light is at the end of this dark tunnel. Literally – the evenings have started to pull out and lengthen in their precious minutes of daylight. Sunbeams – albeit fragile and watery – have been shining through my window at work making me smile. Mister continues to be marvellous – being all worried at my poor back (feeling a little guilty, no doubt, for being so manly and heavisome as I like to imagine). Kneading out the knots I have incurred all along the left-side of my spine with gentle, warm and effective fingertips.
Seriously – I was not a happy Pandorah. It took me the whole of four minutes to turn in bed from one position lying on my back to lying on my side, the pain was so ouchy. I’m just about better with minor twinges if I overstretch.
Anyway, despite the sharp pain I was experiencing if I moved a millimetre, he was undeterred from making sure we were both fully relaxed and in the right frame of mind for sleep. By bedroom friskiness with fingers.
Naturellement.
His usual approach of go at it all guns blazing and make me writhe and jolt had to go out the window as the slightest back movement made me yelp with an unforced ‘oh!’ of stabbing ache. Instead the softly, softly method was adopted. Not his normal choice, but one I like as it draws out the process allowing me to really savour what it is he is doing with his fingers on me, concentrating all on the feather-light touches on my clit and thighs. I prefer it at times to the frantic scrambling to grab onto anything to attempt to contain myself – in vain usually, deliciously.
Here the pleasure/pain idea was really being explored. Each time I drew near to a peak, my back naturally wanted to arch and jolt, but that induced the vivid aching twang. I was focused on reducing my movement to a bare minimum.
Consequently, something of a little game I play with myself, when I play with myself. A kind of challenge I set myself, scenarios in my head to see if I can restrain my movement. I always lose, though. Can never stay motionless.
So that night, Mister and I played that little game (although he didn’t knew it’s one I know the rules of already)
It worked out nicely, in the end. A beautifully langourous time spent on one another, him teasing me and I, him.
Maybe I shall pull the other side of my back next week. It did have some benefits.
Or maybe not. It wasn’t that much fun walking around twinging and cringing every 10 paces. I shall just have to be more assertive and tell him not to take the ‘guns blazing’ approach every time. Yes.
A year on, any wiser?
Today is my blog’s birthday. Come and share some e-cake.
To mark the occasion, I will write a better post than this a little later on (^ note time of posting ^).
It’s been a great year in most respects, and very awful in one or two others. But, in creating this outlet for me to express my thoughts more clearly than if spoken, I have been able to write of my experiences, share some dirty little secrets and even venture into a bit of fictional erotica.
So ladies and gentlemen, do you have a memorable post of mine that particularly tickled you? Intrigued you? Got you all hot under the collar?
And finally, as a side-note – I invite you to ask Pandorah a question regarding events of the past year. I’ve had a number of good questions recently, one leading to a post of its own. So, be nosey – just this once!
The Modern Age
Ain’t the future blooming marvellous.
In other news, I was thoroughly pleased and cheered to find that The Guardian has a ‘Head of Blogs’ Editor.
Also, huzzah to the pilot. He shall be forever revered.
I Wonder Oh I Wonder
So, Blacksilk has posed me a question that I feel deserved more consideration than a comment box can offer. I’ll give it my best shot. If any readers have a question they would like to ask – go ahead. It may even lead to a post of its own as this particular one has done!
Do you ever wonder why you’re so submissive?
I have a few ideas. There’s a general debate between nature and nurture. Are you naturally submissive due to your genes? Or has it been conditioned into you by your upbringing and/or treatment by others? It’s a fairly common theory that tars lots of different behaviours with the same brush (Spent an age discussing this theory in regards to Caliban in The Tempest - was he born bad, or was it Prospero that made him so?). Personally if I were to ascribe to this I would say it was my nurturing.
See, I’m the youngest in the family. The baby. The youngest of a large family, predominantly of girls. I was also the product of a second marriage for both of my parents – and possibly unexpected due to their being a little more mature in years when I arrived. Due to the fact that it was a second marriage, most of my siblings had fledged already and I was left in a curious situation of being brought up in an only child environment. This all left me to depend a lot more on those around me rather than to fend for myself as I imagine I may have had to fight for my individuality more if I had brothers and sisters around me.
Leading to me not having a terribly independent streak, only surfacing in the latter years of adolescence. Take that a step further into sexual maturity and it is, I feel, a strong explanation for the submissive that is inherent within me.
But, you say. What about the love of the scratching and dom-ing of Mister?
I lay down the card of childhood once more – The only child gets her way more often than not.
A second, different theory of why I and people are submissive is that of the world of work. You know the deal – All those executives in big wig jobs just love to pay those Dominatrixes extortionate amounts to lick their PVC-clad boots and whatnot because they seek it as a balancing in their mental scales. Or something like that. In relation to yours truly, this can apply to a certain extent also.
Where I work, I have responsibility. I have duties. It’s fair to say some of the people there look up to me. I like to kick back and leave that behind when I pass over the threshold back to my dearest, darling Man. The pressure at work is something I don’t like to bring home and being sexually submissive and leaving the keys firmly in Mister’s hand is a way to escape that. The fact that he naturally falls into it kinda helps. He knows the effort I put in and worry at times I go through and he looks after me. He sends me to bed when I come home exhausted. I catch him looking at me, forehead creased in concern after my eyes open from a tired, nose-pinching squint. The bear-hug welcomes and enveloping cuddles last thing at night. It all leads to a relationship where his ‘looking after-ness’ translates into to the bedroom as him being in charge and making the decisions for me. For the majority of the time, of course, not 100%. 75% perhaps. I don’t know – numbers have never been my forte.
But, of course, theories can be bunkum.
I am submissive most of all because I enjoy it. It gets me off. It gets him off too. And of course it has much to do with the man I am with. I wouldn’t know for sure, as I haven’t been with anyone else, but who knows, if faced with another partner, I may be the one calling the shots and then too, it would be because I would be having a bloody good time doing it. Sex is subjective. Each to their own. That’s why it’s so fun. No one good screw is the same as another. There are two people here that make up the balance of submission and dominance and whatever the weighting, neither would go through with any of it if uncomfortable.
When we play those roles, live the labels of D/s (eugh at all the capitalisation protocol that goes on, but hey ho) I feel I am being me when I am subbing. When we switch, I know that although I am having the best of fun, it is a rôle, a character I put on. Mantle of the Domme. It is part of me, but not who I am. I am ultimately the submissive. When he draws near me, he exudes the air of subtle dominance that melts me in moments. As when I am in control, and I loosen his ties (if that’s how we’ve been going), it can take him a millisecond in which to overcome me and I have lost myself to him. And again note, I have to be in charge with the use of implements – the whip, the bonds, the wax. He needs nothing. Just him alone is all it takes. I give him everything when I am subbing. My heart. My body. My all.
I thank him once more for making me see what it is that makes up Me. Pandorah, the Inner Minx, Real Life Her.
Whoever I am, I am his. And that thrills me.
Bringing Kink Back
I was bound.
Bound and face down on the bed.
Bound, face down and naked. I was horny as hell. And I was smiling. He just couldn’t see it, my head between the pillows.
I could feel the heat permeating up through my body. He’d tied my wrists together and knotted the blue cord to the metal bedframe. One of my greater pervertible creations – an old dressing gown tie. Long and strong, it was also kind on my skin. Which was handy as Mister was going to make me strain against the binds that held me. He was going to make me pull the cord but it wasn’t going to give way like others we’ve used.
With my eyes closed, I waited and listened to hear what he would bring to the bed. He was rustling about our collection of boxes and bags we keep squirrelled away. I had already told him that I was his tonight. That I was to be used however he wished.
My mind wandered whilst I waited. The last time we brought the kink out, I was in the driving seat. I had explored the kitchen utensils for the first time with him. Jointly, we had made the executive decision that wooden spatula = good, but small wooden round-headed hard spoon = not good for smacky Mister time (I think it has something to do with the spread of impact of the spatula versus the centralised force of the spoon). I got a little carried away.
Apparently.
I thought it was jolly good fun.
He brought me soon out of my reverie with a bang. He had chosen the tassly whip. Such a good choice. As it passed over the flesh of my buttocks, the initial sting had to be soon suppressed as he delivered another, better-aimed blow across my skin. The first flinch amused him – I could hear the slight exhalation that I could imagine was accompanied with a smile. After each series of blows he smoothed them over with his warm hands, soothing out each welt almost. He focused on my arse to begin with before surprising me by aiming a hit over my left shoulder-blade. He had never done that before. He was taking a leaf out of my book.
By this time the arousal I had built up was tangible. I felt as though I was exuding waves of heat from my skin – from the welts, from my sex. Even before he had started, the anticipation had made me wet, now he was in his stride I was extremely slick, I could feel the moisture dripping between my labia. He, of course, upped the game and began to make me squirm further by moving his finger to toy with my lips. Dipping in and out of my pussy, up to my clitoris. Here was where he really worked his mischief. Alternating between swipes with the whip, he lightly brushed against my clit, quickly wiggling just the tip of his finger for a few seconds – enough to make me moan and gasp – before rushing away to spank my arse. He did this a few times and then I started to growl. I needed more. But I was in no situation to complain. He could have stopped at any moment to spite me and there wasn’t anything I could do. My hands were preventing me from it.
It wasn’t long until he too felt that the urge which I had being enduring for what seemed like an age become unbearable. He momentarily left to gather for himself a condom to return and enter me from a much missed position – me face down, legs slightly apart as his own straddled me. His cock pushed in – little resistance met either mentally or physically from me. He had plied me well for his intentions. I imagined he would thrust away until the inevitable result, but once more he had a trick up his sleeve.
He stopped and started. After a few delicious thrusts he withdrew to kiss and bite down on the back of my neck then plunging back within me. By this time I was completely lost, my low moans gradually building in pitch, fervour and speed. Breathing ragged, he pulled at my long dark tresses causing my back to arch up to meet him.
Needless to say he had me coming within moments.
***
As we rested, he and I, my breathing gently returning to its normal pace, I realised I hadn’t even noticed I was still tied to the bed. With an appealing glance to him he carefully released my wrists. Yet I didn’t move them from their position for a few moments.
I’m a natural submissive, although I am quietly eager for my turn to hunt around and rustle through the bags and boxes.
Back to work tomorrow
…that sucks.
Maybe some fancy pants and suspenders will ease my day…
Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies
Over the months, I have had a regular feature of ‘Your Favourite Things’ where in each post I would ask you a different question about your sexual preferences.
I think that now it is a new year, perhaps I could adapt this into a more dialogical two-way thing where readers can ask me questions about my own preferences. Or just be nosy to find tidbits out about me. For example, you may wish to ask me my views on strippers. Or what my favourite chocolate bar is. Or the name of my least-favourite sexual position. You get the idea, surely.
So, ladies and gentlemen, over to you. What would you like to know about Pandorah? Within reason, I’m obviously not going to give out personal information about where I live, or the address of my work. But other than that, pretty much open to suggestions. You never know – your question may even lead into a post of its very own! You can pop your question into the comment box here, or if it’s a longer, detailed exploration, feel free to email me. Email address in the post below.
Come on then, ask. I dare ya!
Bidden
There are days when Mister realises I’m just begging for it. For him. He doesn’t need to be told, permitted, allowed or requested. He just does it.
All went relatively well over what potentially could have been a stressful Christmas which turned out to only have one family upset on Christmas Eve (result!). We’ve now officially returned to our flat in Devon on the English Riviera from visiting family in the deeper, darker parts of Devon (we don’t stray far from the tree) and spent a lazy evening on the sofa.
Mister knows very well how affected I am by a spanking. Even a light tap or thwack on my behind is enough to start me going. Many are the times when his casual pats turn into something a lot more strong in nature and passion. Consequently, my hopes were raised when, after curling up with him in front of the TV, he began in this manner this evening.
I don’t know what it is, perhaps the implicit connotations of being punished for being bad, doing something I shouldn’t – transgressions, but as soon as he lay his palm on my ass I got that familiar and welcome flush of heat rising from below. Adrenaline, excitement and arousal. My pussy woke up immediately. Nothing gets me wetter more quickly than a good spanking. As usual, he started out lightly, after each contact he stroked along my flanks and the inside of my thighs.
‘You’re misbehaving again,’ I said to him. I like to give a slight impression non-compliance with his actions. Even though we both know I want it and will never stop him.
His other hand crept up to feel my breasts before slipping under my top to unhook my bra. Again, a small murmur of disapproval swept over my lips, a light chastisement perhaps.
‘You’re lucky I’m so loose with you,’ I half-whispered, adjusting myself neatly into his body, pressing against him. Cock-tease that I am.
Twisting around, I caught his crystal blue eyes staring straight at me – he does this every time. He watches me, my movements, my expressions. Intently. My own eyes, half-lidded now after his careful attention, smiled back as I kissed him. Kisses after foreplay has started, for us, have more depth to them. They’re not the shorter, anticipatory kisses at the start of foreplay. The blood has already started to rush, and my mouth is more sensitive to his lips on them. I savour those kisses.
By now he had eased his hands into loosening my jeans and knickers and was enjoying toying with my slickness his spanking had delivered.
‘Stay there,’ he spoke to me – No worries, I wasn’t in any mood to run anywhere. He returned with a condom and resumed his toying. Fingers dancing on my clit, lightly, gently all the while watching me. His face close to mine – I could feel his warm breath on my neck. Breath that was deepening with my own.
‘I’m going to fuck you now.’
‘Please…’ was all I could manage in response to that. He slipped inside - I was so very wet and turned on. That first thrust always, forever making me gasp. Every time. The gasp of another presence within me, the gasp of relief, fulfillment. He continued to touch me as we moved slowly against one another, still lightly, still gently. He’s taken on board my advice not to try to break me with his fervour when he fingers me. Despite how much ‘fun’ he has when he does so. The devil.
After all was ended and we resumed watching Jonathan Creek (hmm, plot got a little lost for a while) we lay there, both of us half undressed, him still with his hand down my front, bringing me down from the high. He knows me so well – I can’t just have the sex and then nothing. I need the come down. Like sport, I seem to require the warm up followed by the actual event rounded off with the warm down. Gosh, I’m quite needy. Damn the high sex-drive.
We settled in to the rest of the evening and now I am contemplating where next to take things. After last night’s blow-job (in my sister’s spare room after a fab fancy-dress New Year’s Eve party) and today’s spanking I think we’re even on the treats. Not that I’m keeping tally or anything…
It’s good to be home.
Happy 2009!
[Edit ~ I seem to have lied in the last post where I mentioned at the end I would dedicate this post to the return of the Kink. That particular incident will be reported to you in due course. It was very enjoyable so I doubt I shall let it slip from my blog's grasp. Pandorah x]
