Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary of Sensuality

As soon as my head hits the pillow my mind begins to race. It shouldn’t. I should be instead emptying my thoughts, going to that blank space where sleep is to be found. Not cluttering up my inner space with these ideas of mischief.

Because it’s always mischief that fills my head when he’s next to me. Both of us naked. Keeping close for warmth. I always come and huddle myself to him, facing him. One arm on his hip, the other tucked away in the space between our chests. My leg entwining with his own. Finding toes and tickling. He has devilishly ticklish feet. I do take advantage.

Once the warmth is gained, my head re-emerges from being hidden under duvet. I twist and shift and turn. We spoon now. I tuck myself in once again, wriggling up against his body. Two puzzle pieces found. Clicked into place.

Here the real mischief starts. I’m a wiggler and I know it. I start playfully, pretending the movement is part of keeping warm. It’s not. My hips move and my legs slide along his. Feet roaming up his calves and thighs. I slow my movements. Becoming purposeful, with a clear direction. The hips snake, and my buttocks are pressed up against him, his cock nestling inbetween my cheeks. Now I feel him move. Involuntarily – that movement, that familiar stirring from his groin.

Twitching. I feel his cock becoming firmer between my flesh. I may even let out a small laugh. I’m winning, you see.

His hands realise there’s a woman lying next to him wanting him to touch her. If he doesn’t respond I reach behind me and take a hand, place it on my breast. The other hand, he creeps under my frame and holds me to him, or is suddenly in my hair. Clutching.

I am aware of him discovering my body once more. It may be familiar, but each time he touches me, it’s as if he is with me that first time we were both naked together. He touches with his whole hand, unlike I who touch with my fingertips. His touch is hungry, gathering me together. Firm strokes over the side of my back along my hips and down my thighs. Up again on the inside this time, inbetween the warmer skin of my thighs, the softer skin. More sensitive.

And he brings his nails along with him. He’s wised up to the fact that I love the scratches. I long for the hair pulling and I crave his spankings. So he begins. Lightly. I need it harder. Long drapings of his nails up and down my back, swooping over my skin. Slowly, then the sudden rushes down. One single nail, then all five at once. My breath catches. I gasp. I moan. I smile. Telling him I can take harder scratches – god knows I can claw him something awful, he should meet my level. Take that as his gauge of how much I can take.

He rolls me on top. He can reach my arse all the better. He grabs hold of me. Pinning me to him. The scratches continue. Hair falling over him now, I am kissing over his neck, jawline, shoulder – nipping at his ear and adding my own painful clawed clutches at his skin when he hits the spot just right. I pause, look at him, toss my hair out from my eyes, heavy-lidded eyes. Heavy with passion, lust, desire and most of all love for this man who will do this for me and gets such a kick out of it too. He likes to watch my reactions. The voyeur. I see him staring at me intently. It catches me off-guard and I feel at once ashamed of wanting this so much and pride in the fact that he will give this to me. It’s strange and somewhat unexplainable.

He brings me up, we sit upright now. My legs either side of him, loosely cross-legged on the bed. He pulls the duvet around me, knowing the cold will spoil the moment. We smile at this together. We don’t need the words.

All this time he has yet to touch that place that is yearning, burning for him. My whole body is hot, the proximity of our bodies enhancing the temperature between us. I feel a prickle of heat flash over my back and around my head. Now his hand drifts lower and with purpose, clear intentions, slides in between my lips, slick. His other hand is wrapped around me. He holds me to him. He knows I will thrash. He knows I will try to lie down in the throes. He wants me vertical. He wants me to struggle against him. Flash that look at him of panic mixed with white hot desire for him never to stop. Now he is the one winning.

I glance behind me and see our reflection in the mirror. I catch his eyes staring at me in the glass. Always watching.

When he slips inside it is not frenetic or rushed. This time we move slowly. I feel every movement his cock makes, he feels each twitch and convulsion of my body, rippling through. We hold on to one another, lips meet skin. Tongues taste nipples. Teeth graze. Nails – yes, always the nails, they claw.

Just the thing to empty one’s mind of mischievous thought, n’est pas?

I haven’t had one of these posts for a while. Y’know, one of my nosy posts where I like to fumble around your dirty linen and uncover the secrets squirrelled away and hold a candle’s flame to those dark recesses of your minds. One of those blog posts.

Of course, I air out my dirty laundry too so it’s all mutual smut we’re rolling about in.

And enough of the extended metaphors…Could do with a shower now. Let’s settle it with this week’s question:

What was your first bona-fide sex toy?

I’m not talking about pervertibles, or home-made kink – so none of the mentions of electric toothbrushes or vegetables (has anyone *actually* done that??). No, I’m talking about specifically-made-for-the-deed toys and implements. Whether it’s a vibrator, dildo, designed-for-sex restraints or whatever – I’m curious. As always. Can’t help it, comes with the territory of the name.

If you’re new to the blog – please do add your tuppence-worth, and as usual, please return the intrusion with a question of your very own you’d like me to answer. Be it sexual or non – I’m a very obliging girl under the right circumstances.

As for myself, my first sex-toy was a little way into my relationship with Mister (again, if you’re new – he’s my One and Only, so I was still warming up to the idea of kink). If I remember correctly it was either one item or another. The first was a pair of glow-in-the-dark sex dice. You know the ones, one has body parts labelled on it and the other has actions. Thus, LICK, SUCK, RUB could be paired up with TITS, BUM, COCK – you get the idea. We’ve hardly used them. And they don’t glow.

The other was a ‘Slap and Tickle’ set – a pretty red feather tickler on a plastic stick and a small foamy hand on a plastic stick. We’ve used this more, funnily enough. Mister’s quite fond of the ’slapper’. I didn’t like the fact that it actually had ‘Slap!’ written on one side of the hand in mini foam letters and tore them off. He wasn’t amused with me.

We often use the tickler when one of us is blindfolded. I like to use it in conjunction with my nails or the wax as a balance of sensory play. He likes to use it to tickle my pussy, lightly feathering my lips and the very top of my inner thighs, making me squirm and shiver. Just at that moment before I start to get so wet in arousal – he will use it then. The thought makes my thighs quiver as I think of it now. He’s quite a dab hand at it.

So ladies and gents – what was your first sex-toy? And if you have yet to purchase one, what would you like it to be?

And please don’t forget to ask me a question in return!!

Mister is a quiet man. He is composed and thoughtful. I have never seen him lose his temper, nor have I had cause to worry about mood swings. His manner in general is calm.

That is when he is in public.

In private, he is a wolf. All passion and fire and hunger. Instinctually feeding his lusts.

There is only one occasion when these two sides to him come together, where the fire and the composure meet and combust. That is when he plays. Mister is a guitarist. He plays bass, electric and acoustic. Around our two-bedroom flat I can spot five guitars. There are more still at his parents’ place. I have never seen him play on stage, but with his latest venture into the foray of band-playing with some acquaintances, this could be brought to fruition within the next six or so months.

I dig guitarists. I fantasise about the day I see my man on the stage. The concentration on his face when he plays is mesmerising. All that focus and channelled energy to his fingers, strumming frantically, the rhythm, the sound and the buzz flowing through his body. I can see it all.

I want to be there when he plays on stage. Or wherever – the corner of a pub, I don’t care. I just want to be there at the front, gazing at him, both of us lost in the moment – he in the music, I in my adoration. The thought makes my heart heavy and light, oozing with warmth and adrenaline. I know how much he practises, I know how much music means to him, the band, the sound they are trying to generate. They have a hybrid mix of genre and style. Their name is amusing and satirical. Very dry humour – him all over.

When that day comes, I will be there. His roadie, tagging along to carry his equipment. His groupie, starstruck and, oh yes, I will be sleeping with that guy on the stage afterwards. The moment he finishes I will there there to meet him with a kiss and an embrace. Quick, excited and electrified. Echoing his playing.

That is my dream. And it Will come true. Soon. It’s been almost six years in the making, but I can feel it’s not far off.