Feeding the Minx
I sometimes spend my day at work lost in my thoughts. That is, when I have those rare quiet moments of breathing space in which I can find those minutes of private solace. Then I dream of him. I softly conspire in my mind of what I would do to him if I had enough energy that evening. What I would want him to do to me. These snippets I collect and catalogue away in the inner scrap-book I keep. This library of mine, for me only, serves me well. I dip in and out of the mental images, movements and emotions stored within. The overriding feeling I get when I do take a little trip away from my present physical location is one of burning desire. And it builds inside. Builds up and begins to smoulder, sizzling away beneath the cool surface of my appearance. The calm and collected individual I have been told I assume the guise of. If only they knew.
The adrenaline kicks in and feeds the Minx. She starts to stir and to move underneath my skin. She prickles at the back of my neck and the pit of my stomach. Calling, purring subtly to me. She will support me through a tough day at work, whispering to me that it’s only a few more hours before I can be back with him once more and all will be well then. The thought is at once soothing and electrifying. Placating and riling.
When I do arrive home, he awaits me. Always with a smile, always with a kiss. He picks me up from work on occasion and I see him smile as he pulls up to the kerb. I melt in an instant. His once again. The exterior of restrain slips away to be replaced with the softened edges of warmth towards another. Saving me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, it’s the best thing I could be in, but there is that certain distinction between who I am at work and who I am with him. Work feeds my mind; he feeds the Minx beneath. The instinctual part of myself. All desire and rage, passion and need. Stoking the fire that powers me.
And he knows the mood I am in when I get in this state of Minxiness. My movements are slow and heavy, but at a different mode than from mere tiredness. More deliberate in my connections between he and I. Each touch meaningful. A clear message to his inner Rogue. We smoulder together for the hours the evening presents us with. The tension increasing. My hand will creep under his clothes, swooping up his back, over his stomach. To feel his skin with the very tips of my fingers, the raised portions of my fingertips becoming extremely sensitive to any point of contact. When we first were dating in those years past and I was discovering the beauty of the male form for the first time, this simple act of touch would transform me into something of quiet ferocity in arousal. I like to revisit this way of trickling my hands over him, spidery in fashion, twisting and spreading their incantations of lust. Then it is his turn to purr.
When we haven’t set ourselves up for a planned session, it is mainly in his response that will decide whether I will fall to him or rise above and take the reins. In most cases, I want him to make me fall. Taking me over. Subsuming to his rule. The Minx, at heart, desires to be tamed. His natural dominance will emerge. His hand goes to clutch my hair and when it pulls back, I know. I know when he too moves his hand up under my work clothes, that corruption of who I am at work I know he adores. Taking the pillar of responsibility from under me and bringing me crashing back down. To the darkness where there is only me and him and that is all that matters. Who I am in the day is being ripped from me and I am left torn and his alone. His to use. His to misuse. The Minx flexes her muscles in satisfaction and in the knowledge of what will follow. Sated, but not quite.
That is what I live for. At times at least. Just something I like to muse on.
I’ll Tell You No Lies – Question Time
It’s that time again where I open up to you lovely twisted people out there and attempt to engage you in a bit of dialogic blogging!
If you’re new to my place here or a regular, I invite you to ask me [just about] anything. It could be something sexual, thought-provoking or an everyday question. Past questions asked by readers have included:
When did you first realise you were kinky?
Has Mister been the only man you’ve been with?
What’s your views on al fresco sex?
Least and most favourite positions?
If you could be as naughty and filthy as you wanted, no limits, no strings, no inhibitions, absolutely the filthiest thing you wanted to do, what would it be?
What did you have for tea?
Do you ever wonder why you’re so submissive?
In return, I ask you to give a response to my own little poser:
What are you afraid of revealing to your lover(s)?
This could be in relation to first-time sexual encounters or something you have refrained from telling your long-term partner. Do you have a secret so dirty, or a desire to do something that you know your partner may not agree with, like etc. As part of the bargain, here’s my answer:
I have secrets that I keep from Mister. Since starting this blog I have read other people’s deviant desires or activities and I have thought to myself, yes, I want to try that too. Things such as exploring anal have been and still are being achieved and successfully (and very enjoyable) experienced. Others, not so much. Yes, Mister is the only man I want to be with. He is my world. Yet, there is a part of me that would like to know what else there is out there. But not the male of the species. LadyP desires the ladies. Mister knows I fantasise. He doesn’t know that one day I want to make it a reality. I don’t know what he would say to this. I know that I am not ready for any serious exploration into this area right now, but that doesn’t mean to say that I never want the option available to me. I find women to be extremely attractive, moreso than men. Apart from Mister, I have never really fancied another guy. Ever. To be honest, men scare me. And I flirt with women terribly if given half the chance. And a glass of wine.
I think I should write a proper post on this during the next couple of weeks. I think I need to air out and solidify my thoughts on this subject.
So that’s my secret. What’s yours?
And don’t forget to add a question to the end of your response!
Target Practice
Friday night and the Minx came out to play again.
I had already decided what I wanted. Spent the best part of an hour getting the bedroom and myself prepared. Now, fully prepped, I returned to him in the sitting room with our forgotten ‘lover’s chequebook’ we had cast aside many, many moons ago from our first year together. I dropped it into his lap as I strolled back to put the finishing touches to our bed.
Fill out three by the time I get back.
I already knew one of which he would choose. Upon returning to him, he had dutifully filled in the details.
PAY: Dirty Little Lady
I promise to let you tie me up
You have to admit, that’s pretty cute. The choice of value is already filled out for you, you just have to sign it off. A second read:
PAY: Miss [P]
I promise to let you have sex with me wherever you choose.
“Wherever I choose”? Now that is very tempting. I am holding onto that one for a summery day.
The third was left open as to the value – One for me to ponder over. I intended to cash in on the first cheque this night. I had already set up the transaction in pre-emptiveness.
I told him to go and have a shower then wait for me in the bedroom. I wanted him to stew a little. The bindings lay over the pillows, tied one end to the metal frame. A few other options draped over the end of the bed - a short length of black silk we use as a blindfold, another two scarves and the tasseled whip. Just to get the apprehension going. I continued to potter in the other room. Flicking through emails. Wittering on Twitter. I am not addicted. I think. After I heard him exit the bathroom and complied with his second instruction, I added another fifteen minutes to his arduous wait. Only then I thought about getting up and moved to the kitchen. I knew he could hear me as I padded into the next room. I knew he heard the freezer door open and shut as I removed the ice and let several cubes fall conspicuously into a bowl. It’s a distinctive sound. By this time my own senses were sharpening up. Mostly touch. The temperature of the ice reminded me that I should start out a little friendly at least and I left the bowl in the kitchen. Ready just in case it was required. I continued to draw out his wait as I moved to the bathroom myself. Mostly to preen unnecessarily and touch up the eyeliner. Not that he’d see much of it anyway after his sight was darkened by the blindfold. But I like to make a memorable entrance.
For this I had also filled out a cheque for him.
PAY: The Gorgeous One
I promise to seduce you while wearing my La Senza & Agent Provocateur lingerie.
I was bringing out the silk and the lace. Full battle-mode. Command and Conquer. [Yes, I did just type that. Yes, I know how it sounds]
He was within my sights. Time to take aim.
I knew he would be naked, but that initial sight of entering a room to be faced with a nude man face down on my bed caught me off-guard. His pale skin stood out from the dark red of the linen. A beautiful contrast between the light and dark; his deshabillé to my lingerie. I tried not to let my slip-up in concentration show. Moving over to him, I grabbed at his buttocks and gave them a light spank – well, they were there, asking for it. I lay next to him fleetingly, pressing against the length of his body. As I ran my hands down his back I felt him shiver under my touch. The ice’s frozen kiss still lingered on my fingers.
I turned him over, levering using his shoulders. His mind must have been filled with all the dirty possibilities those cheques held, for he was all beautifully aroused and hard for me. Funny how your eyes are drawn to prominent objects. Without saying a word, I drew my gaze directly to his eyes and swooped over to straddle him. Hands straight into his hair, I grabbed hold of it as I gave him a deep, breathy kiss. I slipped my hand down to caress the side of his cheek before trailing along his arm to grasp at his wrist that was busy in my own hair sending me delirious with how he toyed with my strands. Here I was positioned in one of my most beloved poses/moves. Lying on top of him, I took his two wrists firmly in hand and drew them above his head. As I did so, the movement equally drew my face closer to his own until I was millimetres from contact. I like the sense of challenge and intimidation this position has.
I thought I would try out something new, something he has done with me a while back, but I had yet to explore. I intimated I wanted him turned onto his front to expose his back. One after the other, I took his hands in my own and brought it to rest on his back, just above his buttocks. Mock-arrest style. Utterly divine image. Coiling a length of black satin sash around his wrists, I bound them together. My breathing had already started to grow haggard. I attempted to compose myself once again. This was going to be a challenge for me as well.
After the final touch of the blindfold, we were both highly attune to every movement by the other. He by my position within the bedroom, and I to his little flickers and shivers his body betrayed to me. I opened up the evening with a few light spanks and even lighter trailings of my nails down his flanks. He was behaving well, responding appropriately to the attention, making all the right noises.
I stepped up a gear and took hold of the tasseled whip. It’s a hard thing to wield correctly. For me at any rate. I can’t seem to aim it as well as Mister does. Inevitably after a few swipes at his flesh, I missed my mark by quite a way.
I was not impressed by his response to this.
He dared to laugh. At Me.
Not a very wise thing to do. My reproach seemed amusing to him also. Again. Not A Wise Thing To Do.
How dare you? Right. You asked for this.
I walked out furious at his audacity. The ice would be playing a major role in tonight’s performance. Time for some targeted punishment.
Sorry…
I admit I make mistakes. Done things I wish I hadn’t. I feel regret.
Very rarely do I feel these things when it comes to Mister. I have never really had cause to feel guilty. But today I feel an unusual weight of this emotion is on my shoulders. Mister – I am sorry.
I am sorry that I did those things to you last night. I had too much red wine and that was bound to leave me a little hazy about events. What I do remember is the biting. That was one of the first memories to be recalled. Trying to muffle my screams you were so ardently pressing me to emit. You get so single-minded when you’re in the swing of things. I wish you would realise that when we are visiting my Mother, as much as I want to, I cannot make the same volume of noise that I do when we are alone in our own place. I’m sorry, but I’m just not prepared to do that – she’s just across the hall for goodness’ sake. You made me clamp down into my own flesh – my hand and my arm – because I knew it would be too much to ask of you to offer up your own skin. The ghost of that memory came to me this morning as I rubbed my eyes awake and noticed the faint reddened crescents on the back of my hand.
You have to believe me when I say I have never felt as bad as I did this morning when I saw your shoulder. Three scores from your shoulder-blade to your clavicle. Another on the tender under-arm skin. Flaring at me. You turned in your sleep and I saw worse. The small red patch on the pillow. Yet in your sleep you still welcomed me to nestle in; rest my head on your chest.
I scrambled in my mind to piece the events back together. I don’t remember being that swayed by the alcohol. My head was feeling fine. I did recall that we didn’t have sex. I did recall that I left you unsatisfied. I know you hadn’t complained. You didn’t give in. Unrelenting in wanting me to break. What do you expect from a trapped animal? They will always claw their way out.
Later on, when you were awake I questioned the scratches. Just in case you did them in your sleep. But no. It was me. I did it.
Wait until you see my leg, you said.
Pulling back the duvet, I could only bury my head in shame at the gouged-out trench I had made at the top of his thigh. Ok, so I exaggerate. It was a couple of inches in length at most. But the colour of it…dark. Angry.
All day I have been feeling bad. I know you don’t like me to draw blood when we are in the playing mood and I get scratchy – I have always observed your wishes. Understandable. Sensible. You didn’t make things any easier by looking at me with your accusing eyes. Burning into me. Talking me down.
But, honey. You should have stopped me. You could have prevented it. Before it became too much. You never winced last night. You brought this on yourself.
But still.
I am sorry. I apologise. I love you.
Forgiven?
Time to Turn the Tables
I think you’re losing your dominance, Miss P.
Is that a challenge, Mister?
***
[Of course, names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent; P, not being my real moniker and all]
Mister has been in a deliciously welcomed dominant phase in the past few weeks and to be honest I have been more than very willing to accept his overpowering presence. Pretty hard not to once he’s lying over me, face close to my neck with his fingers thrust up inside me and the other arm wrapping itself behind my back so I can’t wriggle away. We’ve had some quite simply inspiring sessions together. Just thinking about them gets me all hot and bothered. Saturday morning, too, a prime example of his smarminess showing through claiming that now he had ‘had his way’ with me he could get up and out of bed, energised for the day.
Well, Saturday evening was different. I, too, was energised that night. The weekend hit and I was feeling on top of my game. Just point me in the direction of a wine bottle, make sure he’d had one glass too many (but not two glasses too many) and I would be hauling him over the bedframe in no time at all. Well, not quite as literally as that.
The bottle had somehow emptied far too quickly for my liking (‘Have we no wine here?!’) and, taking his hand so that he followed behind me, I led him to the bedroom.
I wouldn’t like to say I ‘pushed’ him down onto the bed, no. Rather, I looked up into his blue eyes with a fixed stare and pressing my two hands on either shoulder I leaned into him so he landed slowly on the sheets. Being cold in this damn flat, I rushed under the covers and pulled him in with me – as I did I swiftly manoeuvred his shirt up and over his shoulders. His jeans went the same way. No provocative teasing over the removal of clothes tonight.
I stripped down to my underwear and reached for the massage oil – my favourite ylang ylang one we thought we lost, but marvellous Mister rediscovered it hiding amongst jumpers. Bunching up the duvet around my shoulders (gotta keep warm, otherwise I am no good at having fun) I spent a few moments staring down at his body. His skin is so perfect, so smooth, soft and unblemished. Just right for a little roughing up…just a tad at least. Not wanting to be too cruel too quickly, I applied the oil to my hands to warm up before running them over his back. That first movement up on either side of his spine, the beginning, the start of it all – not just the massage – always makes both of us illicit a murmur. I alternated between deep, pressing swoops over his skin and lights, spider-touches with my fingertips. I know that’s something that really makes him tick – especially spider-touches using my forefinger and little finger along the back of his thigh. As my hands went lower, I exploited this. Naturally.
The touches developed into light trailings of my thumbnails down his spine before full-on digging into the flesh of his buttocks. Brief and momentarily. Here I started getting carried away. I leaned in to press my face close to his shoulder – not quite touching, but near enough for him to know I was there – he had his eyes closed most of the time during the massage – and my dark hair fell over my own shoulders, alighting onto his back. I brought a hand up to move up from his neck into his hair. Grasping once I reached the crown. Pulling his head up to meet my glance. I could see the smile. His eyes were dreamy and moved slowly. The massage had relaxed him nicely. Time to wake him up. I spoke in low tones, quietly by his ear. Immediately complying, he turned over.
As a reminder of where things stood I ever-so-slightly twisted a nipple as soon as it was in sight. His are more sensitive than mine, and I take full advantage – comes in handy during tickling fights. Squirming away, he grabbed my wrist. Twisting, I took hold of his and pinned it to the pillow, above his head. I get very aroused at this sight of Mister. This submissive position, vulnerable, open. Especially if I happen to be astride over him. Matching his stare, I moved in for a hard kiss, deep and with the occasional light nip. These ’strong’ kisses also are another thing thing that will really turn me on. Me directing when it starts, how it develops and when to end it. I also played the game of moving my head slightly away from his lips, him reaching up for another kiss and moving back further at the last minute, so he misses. Always makes me smile.
I was doing really well at the ‘calling the shots’ idea until I decided I wanted a look in on some touching up. I had been busy for the best part woking on him, so it was time for him to pay his dues. Here I became unstuck. You have to believe when I say I told him how quickly I wanted him to go in his caresses. You have to believe that I tried very hard not to get overcome in case he switched back. The trouble is, as soon as his hands venture near my pussy, I instantly seem to go into sub-space. Damnit.
So when he uttered, I think you’re losing your dominance, it was just the trigger for me to fight back. And prove that I was the one to make any decisions. We tussled and fought over who was physically the higher between us, rolling over and around. Legs entwined one moment, levering against one another the next. Eventually I came out on top. Literally. My thighs pressed against his, I had the condom in hand and rolled it over his cock.
Then began Round Two.
