The Deal Is Struck
Games are fun to play, aren’t they? For me they are. Especially if they involve anything sexual with Mister.
We spent today lounging around, my friend who had stayed overnight had left us and so it was just the two of us once more. He had recently showered and that always will perk me right up into the naughtier side of things. That fresh smell of washed Man, the wet hair he will possess, coupled with the clean clothes – I don’t know, it just catches me unawares sometimes and I find myself wrapped around him somehow. Hands running all over his body. Treating him like a piece of meat ready to be devoured by the Minx. Can’t help it. He’s irresistible.
Alone again, I drew him to me, kissed his neck and ran my fingers through his damp hair. He told me I was a naughty LadyP to which I promptly asked him what it was, exactly, that made my actions ‘naughty’. I was only loving him, after all. Seems to me to be the most innocent, natural thing for me to do. I pulled him into me as we lay on the bed and touched his chest, bracing my palm against him. Nothing wrong with this at all in my view.
It felt as though it was going to be a long day for me to try and resist him long enough to get anything done without jumping on him.
We went out. Looked around an old castle (very riveting, I hadn’t been since I was a little girl with my older sister and I love old buildings, the architecture and the history). That seemed to occupy my mind for a couple of hours.
We then returned home, watched the last half hour of an old film that was playing on Film4 (The Riddle of the Sands, if curious) before I noticed Mister was looking slightly sleepy. We had had a busy weekend partying (brilliant fun catching up with old friends) and a late, fitful night in which he had woken up far too early for one who was not working the following morning. With complete honesty I told him ‘You need a nap’. Taking both his hands in mine, I gestured for him to follow me to the bedroom. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, to which I simply repeated my last statement. He didn’t need much persuading. He did look tired.
Once there, I cuddled into him as is my custom when wanting to sleep. I noticed he didn’t move much. Almost as if he was thinking intently. Turned out he was.
You want to have sex with me.
What?!
You brought me to bed so that you could have sex with me, didn’t you? It felt like an accusation. Like he had caught me out or something.
No, I honestly think you need a nap, and as I am sleepy too, it’s an excuse to cuddle up to you. I meant it.
You could, you know.
What?
Have sex with me.
I don’t want to. Not now that you will think that I have been plotting to get you into bed.
Silence.
I wouldn’t even want to give you a lazy handjob as you might accuse me of it.
More silence.
You could give me a blowjob?
What? He knows that to order me to do so can sometimes put me right off it. I don’t quite know why.
I wouldn’t want to give you a blowjob for exactly the same reason as the handjob. I could tell that all this talk of sex and getting Mister off was having an effect. The duvet was slightly raised.
What about you give me a blowjob…and tonight I’ll do something extra special for you?
Silence once more.
Like I tie you up. On the bed. Or tie you to the door. He was thinking on his feet.
My breathing noticeably altered at this proposition. It heightened, became shallow in thought and titillation. He did notice.
Like bribery? You would blackmail me into giving you a blowjob? The incredulity was evident in my tone.
Yes.
That is not what giving you a blowjob is about. I protested. It should be about me wanting to give you one, not because you think I was bribed into it. I was getting a little torn at this point. I have been craving him shackle me up lately, but at the cost of letting him think it was as an obligation to him? I was undecided.
You know I would take great pleasure in getting you turned on. I may think about letting you wear your new suspenders. I might even spank you.
Thinking time.
How? I wanted to lead him on a little now, to see what he would give. Just out of curiosity.
With my hand. He noticed the silence. Or maybe something else. The whip if I can find it.
I knew exactly where it was in the cupboard.
You know I would get you so very wet.
He was completely, utterly, hopelessly correct.
I looked up at him from where my head had been resting on him shoulder throughout this whole exchange. I kissed him, saw into his eyes and recognised that look of eagerness. I knew he would stay true to his word. He was desperate for me to go down on him now, his eyes were wanting. That look of tenderness, tinged slightly with the look of the Rogue I love.
That kiss might just as well have been a handshake, for now I sit here, desperate myself for the evening to come so that he, too, will uphold his end of the deal, as I have upheld mine. Valiantly, and with flair, might I add.
Ticking Over Nicely
I am aware that I still have a blog. Honest. I know I may not have updated for over two weeks, but things are going well.
I have eased up a little with work and have more free time. Quite a bit at the moment, in fact you could even call it a holiday.
It’s that time of year again where sales of Agent Provocateur have been luring me to depart from my hard earned pennies, but luckily not too many pennies. So I bought a new suspender belt and some ribbon-tie knickers. I used to love these when we were first going out, the thrill as he quickly unlaced and tore them away from me, but I wore them so much, the ribbons broke. Even after sewing them back on, they broke again. They were inexpensive, after all. So now I have some gorgeous fancy pants with stronger ribbons and an even prettier suspender belt. I do lust after material things once in a while and not simply the physical (often in the form of DVDs and books most of the time).
In other news, we’ve had a bit of a lull in the kink department lately, focusing our play on not using any toys, kinky aids and the like. It’s been refreshing just to have each other to rely on, our own tools we are equipped with – namely hands, tongues and nails. Mister’s very fond of using his fingers to drive me to the edge of what pleasure I can take under his hand often to the point that he transforms me into a quivering, almost hyperventilating ragdoll. Which is damn fine.
But it has come to the moment when I start to crave something a little more darker, I want the toys to return. I want to play.
I want him to shackle me up against the door once more. I want to feel soft cuffs restricting me harshly, hands above my head, vulnerable. I want him to saunter up to me, stop centimetres away from my face, place a hand either side of my head on the door and stare deeply into my eyes. I want him to kiss me hard and slowly, to have his teeth take warning nips at my lips, one hand moving behind my head to hold a chunk of hair, grip tightly and pull. I want him to move his other hand down across my cheek, neck, trailing a solitary finger downwards, between my breasts, tracing underneath each one, that tender spot beneath. I want him to make me catch my breath.
I need him to blindfold me so that I can have my senses heightened. I need to hear his every move, the sound of his own breath becoming harder as he concentrates on his actions. I need to feel the lightest of touches he places on my skin, tingling from that central point of contact throughout my body. I need him to feel, too, how excited all this makes me, how my own breath changes, temperature rises. I need him to place his hands between my legs and have his fingers coated in my wetness. I need him to want me so badly that his handling of me becomes rough and impulsive.
I will crave for him to swivel me around without warning, my cheek pressed against the cool wood of the door. I will crave his nails raking down my back, starting lightly at the top before gather speed and force on their way down. I will crave for his hand to spank me, beginning with a surprisingly swift, unwarned and jolting thwack on my ass. I will crave for him to call me the names, his lips close to my ear so he traces the words against my skin, in a low voice and almost-growl. I will crave the tasselled whip. Crave its sharp pain it delivers on my behind, on my shoulders and the backs of my thighs, making me gasp each and every time. I may even crave that I hear the sound of his belt loosening from his waist, crave the sound of hearing it being tested against his palm, crave that threat of whether he will use it or not. Most of all, I will crave him.
I will beg for him. Beg for more, more spankings, harder welts with the whip. Beg him to touch me on my pussy when he teases with light, fleeting strokes. I will beg him for less when he drives me too far. Beg him to stop and allow me to catch my breath. I will beg for his cock, tell him I want him so badly, right now. Beg him to hoist my legs around his waist, both of us using the door as leverage and for support, I holding onto the restraints. I will beg him to fuck me.
Above all, I know that he will. I know that he will do all these things to me, that he will want to do these things, he too will crave. I know that he will because he loves it, and he loves me.
And I know that is the greatest turn on of all for me.
Ice Queen
I sacrificed watching Flight of the Conchords to tie up, take advantage of and use Mister. I think it was a better choice of events the other evening. Definitely worth it. Yes. I’d been meaning to get to grips with him lately – he has been missing out on being on the receiving end of some kinky goings on.
Some days present themselves to me and I wander along in a slight daze. Not due to tiredness or anything, but because my head is filled with him in my mind. Things we had done the night before, a few days ago, or ghosting memories that linger, distracting me from what I should be focusing on. And when I return – I return to see those thoughts made flesh and blood and bone in his beautiful form before me. So I can’t keep my hands off him. If he picks me up from work, I will brush my fingers against the underside of his palm as it rests on the gearstick whilst we wait at the traffic lights. I will run a finger along his thigh, making him jump a little; making me smile more.
I passed a day like this on Tuesday (seems to be a running weekly event – kinky fun on Tuesdays – see previous post if bothered) and once home my hands continued to wander. One of my favourite things to do as we eat dinner is to casually stroke along his hip-line, along the hem of his jeans as he sits next to me. His skin feels so soft, inviting, smooth and lightly cool from exposure as his shirt lifts up. Small things like this mean the world to me.
In the kitchen, too, I find him irresistable. Walking up behind him as he washes the crockery, I wrap my arms around him and hold him as best my small frame can manage. Tactile is my nature. I want to touch him always.
And so my thoughts ran to when the moment would come when I could grab him and have him. I had even laid hints, but he doesn’t always pick up on them. Time to initiate, I thought. Almost mechanical – that thought?
I drew him to the bedroom, leading him by the hand. At once an image of innocence and debauchery. I like ambiguity. I was still in my work clothes and my skirt began to ride up as I pinned him to the bed and staddled him. I hitched up the material further so I could move more freely. I think it was at this point I told him to take off his shirt. I adore that look of a topless man. My own personal weakness. I will often lose myself in staring at his creamy skin, poring over his chest and back. When he walks in from a shower, he will dress himself in his jeans before strolling back to the bedroom to find a new shirt and that just-washed-man look with the wet hair and the odd stray drip of water down his neck will cause me to place a great deal of self-restrain on myself. Especially if I’m still in bed. Wanting to dirty him up some once more.
Back to this evening, though, and it was my turn to become a little more déshabillé, shall we say? I was wearing my skirt with a black sash ribbon around the waist – and a spark ignited. I want to tie you up tonight. His eyes at the same time sparkled and faltered at those words. I had started the light clawing already, and I wished to make things more clearer in the fact I wanted to play with him tonight. I don’t think I have bound him as quick as that before. The bow behind me was loosened and removed from the loops at rapid pace. A simple hook around the metal bedhead left the two ends free for me to bind his wrists at either side of his head. I grinned. Then removed his trousers. Things were looking up – for me and for him, it seemed…
Coming back to sit over him, I took off my top and eased off my skirt completely now to remain only in my underwear. There was a strange glint in his eye and I bent forward to rest my chin on his chest, looking up into his eyes playfully.
He looked at me oddly as I stared at him. What are you thinking? I asked. He refused to answer. I asked him again, punctuating slowly with a tone of light threat. Again, he didn’t respond. Well. That’s not playing the game. So I stormed off and fetched the ice.
He heard me clatter furiously in the kitchen as I got the cubes. Returning with the bowl of freezing ice, I asked him again, What are you thinking? Nothing was said back. He just continued to look up at me, silently challenging me.
Now the game began once more. Level Two.
I took up one of the cubes and placed it between my fingers. I let the ice melt as I hovered my hand over his beautiful and hard cock. Still no response on his thoughts. The first few drops didn’t seem to phase him, but as he saw I wasn’t going to relent and the drips came in rapid succession, I saw him wince and wriggle. His expression changed - still the challenge, but now with more uncertainty creeping in.
Remnants of the cube now in my mouth, I trailed chilled kisses over his chest up to his jaw. Kissing him with chilled lips and a cool tongue; light, small and wet kisses from the ice water, he was tender and deliciously meek in his own lips’ movements. I shot him a direct look into his eyes this time, unblinking and millimetres away from his face. Voice low and quiet, alomst a growl. What are you thinking?
That you’re bad.
But you like me like this…
Dangers of the Catwalk
For the burlesque I went shopping for a 40s-style dress and ended up buying two. I have a weakness for pretty dresses, it seems.
So does Mister. In seeing me in them. Seeing me half out of them also.
As a girl is wont to do, I will try on my purchases when I arrive home. This results in parading of said purchases in front of Mister to see what he thinks (whilst also surreptitiously removing evidence of the price). With the dresses, I wanted to see which was the more suitable for the ‘Dress to Impress’ prerequisite on the flyer (or is it flier? hmm). I twirled for him. My moment of girliness. Showing off and prancing. I should have known I was asking for trouble. Perhaps the flash of my seams was what did it. Whatever it was, I had a Mister swiftly following me into the bedroom.
He came up behind me and ran his hands up my legs and under the hem of the dress. It left no question to what he was after. He was insistent. He was direct. He was determined even after my protests. I didn’t want to dirty my pretty new dress this soon. Unfortunately I didn’t have a say in this.
You’re being very mischievous, I told him. His hands crept up to cup my buttocks and the cleft inbetween.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, he said, pulling me backwards to be closer to his body. I could sense the smile in his voice as he spoke.
I think you know very well, Mister. When I call him that I have mischief in my mind also. He picked up on my tone.
The next thing I knew he had tugged down my hosiery and bent me forward. My hands went out instinctively to steady myself on the bed in front of me. I made some surprised noises of shock, excitement and indignance mixed all together. How dare he take me like this!? I thought to myself. Yet these were conflicted with my body’s complete submission and arousal. The very idea of being taken like this, by mild force half against my will made my core sizzle and my pussy come alive. This was getting me off greatly.
One hand was placed on my back, ensuring I didn’t struggle. His other had raised my dress over my ass. In that position, semi-undressed with my underwear around my knees, I had an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. I felt myself getting hotter. The fire was still in my eyes from the indignancy and as I looked back behind me to stare him in the face, he had the devil about him.
Hot, quick, undignified sex. Neither of us were fully naked. He had undone his trousers and had placed a condom on his cock in no time at all. He repositioned me facing forward. My head impusively was lowered, hands splayed out in front of me. I prostrated myself in front of him, but in reverse.
We enjoy our quickies. They are always delicious and have that dirty sense of lust being fulfilled in that short, immediate experience. His thrusts were hard, fast and meaningful. He knew what was playing in my head, this fantasy of mine.
He left me in a crumpled disarray, breathing heavily face down on the bed. It was heavenly. The smile on my face put paid to the worry I had about dirtying my new dress. I didn’t care any more.
If only the credit crunch allowed me to go shopping more often.
Forced
A lot of the time we have sex in the bedroom. Whilst it’s always very, very good, I do wish we played more outside of it. I guess because it’s warm and we can slink right into bed that factors largely among the reasons why and also because most of our sex happens before we go to bed.
But it is good to get out once in a while.
Like the other night in the bath. Not all the way, but nicely toying with each other. Feet slipping up against skin. Hands moving up thighs.
I have a couple of memorable times within our flat that were outside of the bedroom. One was a delicious and much-needed interruption. The second, which I will tell you of, undesired-of at first, forced upon me against my better judgement, but still I needed it.
A weeknight.
Tired from work and simply wanting to do nothing on the sofa. That was me.
He had other ideas.
I had been feeling that we were in a slight rut with the kink.
He didn’t see the problem.
I was in no mood for anything remotely sexual, but he had tunnel-vision. He wanted me. And He Would Have Me.
He pawed. He stroked. He pandered.
I twisted. I complained. I escaped.
Clearly, realising he’d have to work harder if he wanted to get his way with me, he switched tactics. Moving, adjusting, he entwined my legs around him and shifted my work skirt a little higher. Continuing his strokes, he changed his attention from my arms to my thighs.
I pulled the hem of my skirt back down. I frowned at him.
He stared right back with a determined look.
He shifted again. I wriggled against him, trying once more to escape.
No. That seemed only to make his access to me easier. Try again. Still, somehow my usual trick of wriggling away wasn’t working. I blamed the tiredness.
Things stepped up. He got up, crouched before me and pinned my legs apart in some manner with his legs and arms. Dragging me to the edge of the sofa, the angle I was now in, reclining, I found it difficult to move in any direction but towards him.
I got mad.
| if thy mistress some rich anger shows, | |
| Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, | |
| And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. |
I raved. I squirmed. This time from his hand right up on my pussy this time. Showing no mercy. And he was staring right back into my furious eyes. My hand was gripping his wrist to drag it away, but his obvious strength was always going to win out. His determination fuelled him further. He moved toward me. He straddled me.
He unbuttoned his jeans.
I was in no position to argue at that point, really. He’d won. I was lost.
I licked his shaft and the around tip of his head with a mixture of petulance and desire for this man who was forcing me to suck him off. This aggressive streak I don’t usually find in him. I felt him pushing in to me, but it was still careful, still gentle, despite all the brutality behind its origins. I drew him into my mouth and looked up, the fire burning still from my anger. The flame a different shade, though. Not as white hot. More crimson. Scarlet.
A hand was in my hair. Clasping and tangled. The other was steadying his frame by being placed on the back of the sofa. His knuckles were whitening. My eyes, they smiled for a glimmering second before remembering how this came to pass.
***
Isn’t it nice when you enact mini-fantasies without ever uttering a word to your partner about them…
Coffee Table Kink II: Deluxe Door Jam Cuffs – Vibrator.com
A few days ago I gave you a little snippet of my experience with some marvellous new arrivals to my Kink Collection. Here’s more on that.
The lovely people at Vibrator.com package their products and sex toys carefully and discretely, for any of those who are worried about their postman getting strange ideas about how you run things on the other side of the letterbox. I, for one, was thankful for this as I had to collect my parcel from the post office and walk through town after somehow not hearing the delivery man bring it to our place the other day. On top of this, the parcel arrived with two sachets of Astroglide lube and some lovely pink stickers which Mister is tempted to attach to his guitar as a humorous gimmick, so all fab there!
The cuffs themselves are of good quality. I have the Deluxe Door Jam Cuffs which accommodate both wrists and ankles, and whilst the image on the cover (above) isn’t that appealing – noticeably, the model’s shoes don’t appear to fit her too well 
– it’s what is inside that really matters. Made from beautifully soft black material, the cuffs don’t leave much of a mark if any at all on your skin. Adjustable to suit most heights, the straps can be altered with between a whole foot in leeway length. They attach to wrists or ankles using velcro. I was a little dubious as to how well they would hold, but I needn’t have worried. They are secure against very strong tugs and even held the majority of my weight as I hoisted myself up to meet Mister’s thrusts. Safety-wise, you can unattach them yourself quickly and easily so they are not as hardcore bondage as, say, lockable handcuffs or tightly bound ropes/scarves. Ideal if you are perhaps quite dirty-minded but are worried about losing keys/not being able to escape from your bonds in an emergency.
Easy to attach, just hook over and close the door!
The Door Jam parts are made from sturdy plastic with door-friendly rubberised ends. These are very easy set up and to store, folding away to an inconspicuous size – quite the travel handy piece of kit, I would imagine…
If you are a regular reader of my witterings here, you may be aware that I have just the *slightest* propensity towards bondage, both of myself and of Mister. I dig it big time. There was a decided spring in my step walking back through town with the box tucked under my arm. I couldn’t wait to get it home to try things out.
Releasing my hair, I was able to see him move downward towards my breasts and proceed to take one nipple inbetween his fingers and the other between his lips. Mister is definitely a breasts-man. And I love the attention he pays to them. Licking, sucking, nibbling and, today, biting as well as a few twists to settle me right into this delicious discomfort. Each caress he delivered made me moan deeper and lower, my breathing laboured. He then continued to make the most of my incapability to escape. He moved his focus to my pussy. Already so wet and aroused from everything that had been before, Mister set to driving me to distraction with his oral techniques. I writhed. I strained against the tethers. All to no avail, of course, so all I had left was my voice. He pushed me to the point where my breathing was all shattered and inconsistent, a kind of shiver I like to think it as. He was working hard, to the point that the next morning he showed me a pair of red carpet burns on his knees.
All this time, his fingers were not idle. The were busy either reaching up to my breasts, moving along the side of my body, delving inside me so blissfully at my g-spot or delivering those short, sharp thwacks to my flanks, again making me jolt all the more. After a little while of this complete spoiling of me, he returned to another of those powerful kisses. It amused me to see a little smudge of moisture at the side of his lips, which I dutifully kissed clean. His eyes said it all – all to see there was pure lust and carnality before me.
The restraints then came into their own for another purpose – as a leverage device. We’ve often tried having sex standing up against a wall or in the shower, but with our height differences, he being a little too tall for me, I being a little to short for him, it has always been uncomfortable and awkward. Fun all the same, but awkward. Tonight we found our way. After we had made some fantastically erotic shadows on the wall as he thrust into me from behind for an episode, he flipped me round once more, spreading my legs with his foot (such a hot, aggressive move – not one he’s done before!) I found that, by heaving myself up a little to allow him to move me over his cock and then using one leg to hook around his waist and the other with just the toes touching the floor for balance, the cuffs worked brilliantly in this manner. Supporting my weight and adding a little extra to the proceedings. We writhed together well that night and it was some of the most satisfying bondage sessions I have ever had with him.
I really can’t find any fault in these restraints. Vibrator.com have a great selection of bondage gear, as well as door jam cuffs just for the wrists. If bondage is your thing, seriously – check out this section of the well-stocked and varied site!
Here’s a belated Easter present for you all.
Oh, hell, have another one on me! Might as well make the most out my exhibitionist streak.
Masochism and Malevolence
I read a very interesting post by Elle recently. It got me thinking. How exactly do Mister and I run this ship of kink?
Since reading Elle’s post, I’ve questioned whether what we do is too focused on the pain. I don’t know if I should be worried that it is such a factor in our playing. It’s not as if we use it every time we have sex. But when we have the defined roles of dominant and submissive, pain is mostly how we express that distinction. I have seen an increase with how often we use pain. In the past it was always paired in with pleasure.
We switch. Yes, true enough. Whilst Mister has a perhaps 65/35% majority over who is in control in the bedroom, when I take the reins, I drive him hard. But how do I do it? What do I do? Is it really healthy for us? Is this what Mister wants or is it just me? And possibly most importantly, is pain too much of a force behind what we do?
I think I’ll break this down into my submissive and dominant behaviours.
Submissive
I find I need him to take things in his hands – take me in his hands. I have spoken before, and many other times, about just what it is that I dig about being submissive. The contradictory state of being restricted in your choices and will and having the freedom of mind to leave everything to your partner to steer. I will completely fall to his overbearing presence over me or his fervoured kisses on my lips, breasts or over my body. One stare from him and I melt under him.
But more than anything, I think, is the pain. It gets me off so well. Even the hint of it will get my sex yearning for him. The everyday light spanks he gives me at any given moment when we are alone. Sometimes when we are not. The other day for instance, going upstairs, him following behind he grabs my arse, misogynistically and deliberately and I jump in surprise and turn round to him in mock-disdain. Then there are the spanks he delivers in the bedroom. Deep and meaningful and carefully aimed. I feel myself getting wetter after each sting of his hand. Then there’s the tasseled whip or something wooden from the kitchen. Even writing about it and my toes are wiggling and I feel warmer. Hair-pulling, biting - more-so lately - everything I love about being submissive is linked to pain. Twisting against the cuffs/scarves/ties – I love that burn on my wrists or ankles.
Should this be so good though? Yes, he is always careful with me. He will never go too far and I let him know if things aren’t right. Although he at times will purposefully ignore my pleadings for him to stop when his form of torture is him fingering or licking me to distraction. He aims for me to pass out one day. I am not so sure.
Dominant
Not as often as I would like to be, when I am Mistress of all I survey – namely, Mister, the hold over him is strong. I use restraints to help things along. I’m a little thing really, and it aids for the menacing malevolent streak that I go for. Cruel, yet caring. Usually it involves alternating between giving Mister pleasure and pain in equal doses. A massage with spanks by various implements. Going down of him, easing him to the edge of his limits then backing down. Teasing, tortuously. Scratches. Although not as deeply as I would like – Mister isn’t keen on the idea of breaking the skin. Fair shout, really. The ice and wax games.
I feel myself pulled in by it. Drawn to him all the more because of what he is allowing me to do to him. The level of trust he gives me. It’s dangerously hypnotic.
We go down the non-ouchy route of domming. A remote control buzzy thing that Mister would be in charge of. But that was early on in our relationship. Recently, the body paint and marking him with that. I enjoyed that, fulfilling a fantasy of mine. The paint wasn’t that great unfortunately and we’ve not had another session yet. I need to find something that is the right consistency of fluid with a good colour (and possibly edible). We try things out, but if they don’t work first time, it can be months or in the buzzy thing’s case, a few years before we have another attempt. We stick to the same routine. Bondage. Spanking. The notion of ‘too much pleasure’ that he loves to exert over me. But something isn’t right. I seem to be itching for something else. Maybe it’s because it has become a little too regimented. Too predictable. I want to try more things.
So lately we have been. I bought the anal toy to explore and I’m overcoming my big mental block over that area. Mister is keen to test the waters with it on me, which is great. But I want to try something new for my dominant repertoire. Thing is, I’m not quite sure what. I’m stumped. I need inspiration. Something other than simply tying him up and using pain as the main controlling force over him. I want to get into the ‘mind-fuck’ way of thinking. Mess with his head. Toy with him. Once or twice I’ve set things up to make his mind whir with the possible things I may or may not do to him. I need to be more consistent.
I guess this is partly a shout out to fellow-minded ladies to find out what you do to you significant others and also a call out to any submissives to discover what your partners do to you that really ticks all the boxes.
I need help.
Understatement of the year.
Target Practice Part 2
Just a heads up, I sound like a real bitch at the start of this piece.
The rage inside me had started to peak. How silly of him to challenge me. He was in no position at all to get away with such liberties. His back was practically a blank canvas for me to vent some steam. He had laughed. Giggled. Smirked even, when I missed my mark with the tasseled whip. I saw his body convulse. Not in recoil from the leather, not in reaction to the sting. But with amused chortles. My eyes narrowed. I leaned in to whisper right by his ear in a low growl, toying with his skin as I did so.
You shouldn’t have done that. You will regret this.
I left his body raking my nails swiftly down his back as I went, repairing to the kitchen where the ice cubes were waiting. Preparation is my middle name when needs be. I would have to sacrifice my own comfort as well. The ice would make my fingers cold. Something I detest. But, it was for the greater good. He needed to learn a lesson. Never insult LadyP. Ever.
I promptly placed about four cubes along his spine. Just to make my point clear. Another went to the top of his buttocks, resting just above the cleft so the chill water would melt down inbetween his cheeks. My hand went to his hair and dragged his head back up to meet my sneer.
You asked for this.
Which is technically true. He was the one who filled out the cheque wanting to be tied up. He was the one who surely knew that making fun of me, when in control-mode, would not have a bright outcome. And he wasn’t protesting. I heard the hiss of his breath as the ice met his skin. It was not one discomfort and ‘bad’ pain. His body contorted mildly as the ice hit its mark, yet again he did not howl in a way that would have let me know he wasn’t happy with this.
I don’t know why I’m trying to justify my actions. This is us. Take it or leave it. This is what rocks our world. Once in a blue moon. We don’t do this every time we fuck. And we don’t go in for the ‘no fucking when dominating’ view. No point. For us. We do this because it gets both of us off and after I had untied him, cradled him in my arms, he came back from the ashes and blazed anew. With a stronger flame.
Always my downfall, untying him. I lose my control when he has his hands free. But here is when, arguably, he does his best dominating. It’s almost as if he’s reasserting his masculinity and will go the extra mile to show me that, Now it’s His Turn. He will be all sexed-up from my attention to him, the heavy-breathing and beautiful erection, heated passions flaring and it will be channelled at me, the source of his fervour. I caused it, now I better deal with the consequences. Now he’s the one with all the desire and raging lust. He takes me and it is just that – possessing me, reclaiming me as his, not the other way around.
At this point that night, the hair grasping began. He pulled. Much like I had done to him. He pulled me backward by the hair close to him. The mild aura of threat about him, he was positioned behind me and held me down as he dipped his fingers inside me. I was completely aroused by everything earlier and his switching on me had tipped me over. I was very wet. He slipped two fingers in and out effortlessly, gathering speed, adding his thumb to my clit. Making me pant like some wild thing. His other hand roved between holding my hair and generally taking advantage of my body. Reaching under me to touch my breasts and pinch my nipples then moving down to squeeze my buttocks and give them a good few deep spanks. Not the light and quick, playful ones. These were spanks of meaning. Each hit landed his hand stayed there for a few seconds, grabbing at my flesh before returning for another.
I was lost in sub-space far too quickly. He’s too good at this. I was dimly aware he had reached out for the condom and was manoeuvring my frame around him. I came to my senses and pulled my body over his and straddled him. My hair fell about my shoulders in disarray, over my eyes and onto his skin as I leaned in close to him to meet him with a kiss. Taking little nips at his lips as I went, I lost myself once more to the rocking of our two bodies together and it wasn’t long before we both were in that other mindset of pleasure.
Sometimes good things do come of mistakes. I may have missed my mark, but we both hit the right spot together afterwards. It also gives me that opportunity to have another go at sharpening up my aim in the future.
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.
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.
