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.
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.
Must I Paint you a Picture?
Dipping the tip of the soft brush into the well of massage oil that the candle had created, I started by tracing out my initial on the centre of his back. Between the shoulder blades the massage oil swept over his skin smoothly to form my mark. It’s not a complicated letter so he guessed it fairly quickly. I followed this warm-up with his initial – he was pretty good at this game.
Holding the brush between my teeth as I rubbed over my first attempts, I took hold of it once again to replenish the supply of oil. Time for something a little more complex. A word this time. Letter by letter I spelt it out as he named each brush-stroke’s delicate formation.
M
I
N
E
That made him exhale in mild amusement. Sensing his playfulness, I quickened the pace of each letter of the next word to see if I could catch him out. Each time a word was correctly guessed, I praised him with a loving rub over his oh-so-yummy back. This was fun. I was enjoying myself. Wanting things to progress further, I spelt out my next command for him.
T
U
R
N
O
V
E
R
He quickly complied.
Good boy.
As he turned, his erection was plain to see. He is always so turned on by my massages, and he was enjoying this new experience at least as much as I was. My eyes always linger on that spot after he turns over. He looks so damn good when he’s naked and aroused. It was hard to keep focus. I brought the candle over and gently tilted it to test its dripping capabilities. Again, it was very mild in temperature and when he tried it out on me the following night I was surprised at just how mild the heat was – barely noticeable above body temperature, tepid if you wish.
The candle itself is held within a glass container and the screw-thread of its lid caused the oil to drip down the side of the glass, which was a little messy and didn’t quite have the effect of a proper wax candle. An unfortunate side-effect is that it habitually came into contact with the sheets/duvet cover and created an oily patch, so if you look into going down this route – be prepared for messy bits! But unless you’re retentive about making a mess during sex, this shouldn’t dampen your spirit of fun.
I played with the oil, letting it fall onto his chest, stomach and of course the nice temperature allowed me to drizzle a few spots onto his cock – a delightful sight, all slippy and slidey once my hand had been there. Honestly, my mouth was watering after this and a sneaky few light kisses and licks up his shaft and head may have escaped my lips. I’m proud to say I’m a lot more generous than I used to be when it comes to oral sex, having started out with a slight aversion to it, I am now finding myself yearning to go down on him sometimes. I think his compliments have helped mightily. Apparently I’m very good 
Anyway…
Mister showed his appreciation for my attention to detail by going and switching on me – as he usually does – fired up from the massage he manoeuvred himself over me and returned the favour of the massage with his own, wonderful talents on my breasts and then turning me over onto my back. Feeling the warm oil made a welcome change from the at times chilly stuff we’re used to. I do so hate the cold. Cheekily, he dripped the oil over my arse making me wriggle as it slid between my buttocks, following the liquid’s movements with his own fingers, trailing over my skin then down between my legs. My moans were low and guttural – the sound of a highly turned on LadyP. The heady mix of the oil’s aroma and Mister’s concentrated focus on my pussy led to a series of intense orgasms, leaving me gasping into the pillows and clasping onto the sheets.
All I can say is – if you haven’t tried it, go and buy a massage candle. They are wonderful. Really, really wonderful. It sets you at ease, relaxes you and leads into some very fun, sensual sex. And who knows, it may even lead to try out wax-play.
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.
Interruptions
I should have heard him coming.
Eyes glued to the laptop screen, the evening was slipping away from me all too quickly. The click and clack of the keyboard distracting me from my true purpose of the evenings – being his girl. Obviously feeling neglected I assume he was just reasserting both his and my rightful priorities. He padded over from the other room, the disappearance of the white noise from the TV should have been a dead give-away. He had other things on his mind than mindless images of banality.
I felt him approach before I heard him or saw him. It’s odd, I do feel his presence when he is near. Probably a little clichéd, but it is true. He came up from behind and rested his warm hands on my tired shoulders. Lowering his head to my eye-level he glanced at the screen and made the judgement call – whatever I was working on could most certainly be delayed in its completion. His face was millimetres from mine, radiating his scent and masculine force. My eyes still on the screen, I let loose a small smile with an outward breath. In that minute sign, he knew I wasn’t going to argue.
With his arms still on my shoulders he turned his head to my cheek and earlobe, gently beginning to kiss and nibble. Thumbs lightly moving up and down the nape of my neck. Moving to my neck, his head became lost for a moment in my hair. My head started to swirl and that familiar stirring in my pussy was awakened. Breathing deepening, it always surprises me how quickly he can whip me into a frenzy. I lifted my hand to reach back to his hair, losing my fingers briefly as they buried into his scalp – something I know gets to him almost as quickly as the same action does to me. My head lolled back on its own accord. I was lost.
Keep your hands on the desk. Palm down and don’t move unless I say.
I think I melted completely then. My breath faltered on the exhale and he knew it was what I wanted, longed to hear. Him taking the lead. Taking the responsibility away from me. Into his own hands. I returned my hands to the desk, either side of the laptop.
Eyes front.
My dark eyes instantly became transfixed on the screen in front of me. But god help me if I can remember what the pixels on the screen resembled. All my mind was focused on was the effect his touch, his being was doing to my body in that moment.
He moved away from me and murmured for me to stand. I say stand, but it was more like leaning, what with my hands ordered to remain on the desk. Add to the image in your head you may be building that I was also still in my work clothes – long asymmetrical skirt and v-neck jersey top – and we had quite the air of a boss/secretary flirtation. As soon as I was up, he was down. Lifting my skirt and removing my hosiery and knickers (quite affected from my now-slick pussy) Mister remained under there. Placing my legs either side of his kneeling body, he worked his caresses up my legs. These were not light brushes. Firm fingers snaked up the inside of my thighs. Strong lips pressed against my skin. I was praying for the moment he reached the apex of my legs to arrive. Willing him not to be a devil and stop. My prayers were soon answered.
I felt his fingers first. Against the slick folds of my labia, he tested to see how turned on he had made me. 10 out of 10 there. Quickly after, his tongue followed.
Did I ever mention that he’s amazing and going down on me? No? Well, he’s bloody awesome!
I nearly buckled at that first contact. In fact my knees did slightly give. One hand reached up under my top and bra to cover and tweak a nipple. I’ve said before I am not a big girl in the bra department, but I love it when he feels my breasts when I am upright – they are at their best and the way he holds them in his hand, the weight of them as he releases them…indescribably delicious.
Abruptly he was gone. The lack of his touch was painfully apparent. My eyes snapped open as I realised he had moved. Turning around I saw him disappear into the bedroom, rustling and them returning a minute later. Naked. With a condom. On.
(hot)
(whimper)
(lip-bitingly gorgeous)
I was still, for the majority, fully clothed and remained so as he walked up behind me, lifted my skirt and drove home. No fuss. No talk. Straight to the point. He thrust inside me so easily. Not hard to really, seeing how well he had worked me up. I was still in the position he had told me to adopt and so, partially bent over my desk, we screwed so fantastically slowly. Gripping onto the edge, we worked to a rhythm gathering pace.
We both knew we wouldn’t be able to maintain this languorous motion much longer before one or the pair of us fell to our sense of desire and hedonistic momentum.
I could speak of waves, or fireworks and explosions but those metaphors will never really do the sensation justice. Each is individually its own, belonging to that instant, that particular performance. This one hit like a steam train. But again, that doesn’t fully describe it. The overwhelming release, euphoria. When he comes his voice lets out one deep, short moan. When I climax it’s relief mixed with absolute pleasure with equal parts MInx.
He withdrew and left me standing there. Forearms flat on the desk, fingers splayed.
The screen flickered from the absence of clicking keys and faltered into sleep.
Coffee Table Kink: The Pandora – Vibrator.com
I’ve been making friends across the pond. In fact, I hope that it will be a lasting friendship of mutual benefit. I was approached a little while ago by some lovely people at Vibrator.com asking if I would be interested at all in sparing some time to review some of their products. I was a bit hesitant at first, truth be told. Unsure whether I should or could I was assured by the dulcet tones and allure of free sex toys… oh, and a desire to give an honest, realistic and level-headed review to those out there who wander in here from time to time. I’m doing it for you! I can be such an altruist sometimes.
Well, imagine how delighted I was that the company were willing not only to ship over to dear old Blighty, but that their first recommendation was made with a personal view! Ladies and gentlemen (hmm…don’t see too many of those as I peer out…maybe I should leave it as voyeurs and deviants…) may I present to you the Pandora:
Here we have what is billed as a P and G-spot vibrator. Running on three LR44 batteries (y’know, the ones that go in watches), it has itself seven different settings: four main buzzers of varying degrees of bzzz and three pulse settings. When it arrived in the post, it was nicely packaged by manufacturers and doubly so by the distributors at Vibrator.com including some thoughtful sachets of lube. Upon opening, I was greeted by this pretty little sight:
Aw. Very sweet. I was eager to tear into that plastic case. It isn’t as big as it appears, it is approximately 4″ tall and with a rubbery squidgy texture. The body is rather firm and the nodule at the top – intended to aim at the G/P-spots is more flexible. Quiet on switching on, I secreted myself away from Mister. I like to test new toys out alone when first get one, so I can get to grips with how it works and, more importantly, how to make it work for me.
I have to admit, I did warm myself up a little beforehand with my favourite bullet. Just to get in the right frame of mind, you see. I grabbed hold of the Pandora and eased the tip over and around my clit, testing the waters of each individual setting. It wasn’t all that strong – I supposed it is a G-spot vibrator, rather than a clitoral stimulator. Move on.
Getting suitably slippery, I slipped it in and switched it on once more. Now, I don’t know whether I have an unsensitive G-spot but I was slightly disappointed with the immediate results. I could feel it vibrating subtly inside, but I felt nothing against my G-spot at all. I think, for me, the flexible nodule isn’t firm enough for hitting that particular area. Even on the highest buzz setting, it was merely a tingle. Thinking I was just being impatient, wanting my goodies right there right then, I experimented. I turned it around so the nodule faced downwards. Nah. No effect. So I started to thrust it gently in and out, not really savouring the vibrations, but liking the sensation of being, well…for want of a better word, fucked. This was a level better.
Remembering how much I love it when Mister fingers me whilst playing with my clit, I clutched after my bullet, which was laying discarded by my side and attempted something new. With one hand controlling the bullet on my clit and with a pulsing setting on the Pandora, I set about getting a rhythm going in this fashion.
This was gooooood.
Very good. In fact, this was possibly one of the better orgasms I have managed to achieve alone. And I practice a fair amount. The simultaneous thrusting and pulsings of the Pandora were just right enough for my G-spot to react to the orgasm caused by the clitoral attention of the bullet.
I shall be trying it out tonight with Mister, he was most off-put that I closed the door to him.
All in all, the Pandora is disappointingly average as a stand alone G-spot vibrator. The buzzings are just a fraction too subtle for me, so if what you are looking for is something to ease you into G-spot stimulation, then I see no harm in giving it a try. If, however, you are a buzz-fiend then this, sadly, won’t do very much for you. For optimum pleasure, I recommend you place it along with your favourite vibrators and dildos for a good session of You-Time, then this will fit quite happily in to your routine.
Do pop along to Vibrator.com’s site and have a perusal over their other, similarly-themed G-spot vibrators. They have a good selection, which I hope to tell you more about in the near future!
Make a Wish…
It was getting late. It was Sunday and she had to be up for work at 7:30 the following morning. They both realised precious time was slipping away and they made motions toward the bedroom. Excitement was in his eyes and she could see it sparked through his body. He knew the routine. Tied, bound and spanked. He just didn’t know how far she would go this time. Whether her will could be broken today after his wrists were released. She had spirit in her, that’s for sure. There was nothing he enjoyed more than a good tussle for control.
But that was a long way off. The here and now was what mattered most. The immediate threat of her actions. Would she favour the tassled whip? Was she to use ice? Her disappointment was tangible when she discovered the keys for the handcuffs were missing. He knew she savoured the thought of him squirming against the cold, hard metal of those rings. Leaving the marks for her to see. She was always proud when her work left evidence behind.
Securing him with the red silken ties, routine, she rustled about in the cupboard for some unknown articles. Within a minute she had found was she sought and slipped out, away from him to the next room. That was out of routine. He expected her to get on with the deed as soon as she was sure he wasn’t going anywhere fast. Hearing her movements through the walls, he was curious to her designs for the night ahead. Patience, he thought, it’s part of her act, putting me off guard like this. Making me wait. How right he was. He knew her well.
Patience surely a virtue, he was rewarded with a sight to melt the iciest, coolest of hearts. Hair flowing down around her shoulders, she stood at the foot of the bed, her arms held out at each post, a pose that showed she meant business. Wearing the pure black silk nightdress that was sorely neglected in her lingerie collection, the white trim around the neckline and hem hinting at a certain Continental nature. Paired underneath with a basque and her favourite stockings with the ribboned tops, she enhanced this theme further when she held the small feather tickler in her left hand, she certainly wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Parisian establishment of disrepute.
Your final request tonight before everything is in my hands… Speaking quietly, he wasn’t sure at first to what she was referring to until her raised eyebrow and eyes pointed towards the blindfold in her right hand. Shaking his head, he refused this option presented to him. The last for a while. Indeterminate.
Walking straight to the prepared bag of goodies at the side of the bed, she took out her instruments. The tassled whip, of course. Oils and massage bars – but would she be using them? He watched her remove each item one by one from the bag, pondering over what she would use to warm him up tonight. Not that he needed much more prep, he was already on fire.
Turning over onto his front at her orders, his beautiful, cream-skinned back was exposed to her merciless glance. She took a moment to gaze at the sight before her. Good boy, she murmured at his prompt obediance. She would reward him later, but now it was time to play.
She grasped the nearest implement, the whip, and showing no sign of giving him an easy time, she raised it high in the air, taking careful aim before bringing it hard and fast down over his smooth buttocks. The sound of impact, his reaction – the physical recoil paired with the illicited moan – that was what she lived for in these moments. She drank it in as she repeated the action once more in the exact same spot, reaffirming her position above him. Following this with a slap with her hand on the other cheek, she was lost over to her role. He saw her eyes glaze over slightly with the obvious kick she was getting as he twisted round to watch her in her element.
The flogging continued, and that was what it indeed was, a flogging. He had never had such harsh treatment from the offing of one of their sessions of this calibre. He braved it all. Over his thighs, his back, shoulders and chest. Even through her cruelty of turning on the bright light to stare at the marks she had made. Without warning, the stark, blinding electric lighting caught him off-guard after the glow of clandlelight.
He of course thanked her, profusely, for his birthday gift, his wish. Granted. She merely smiled and whispered, Good boy…
Stationary is not what it used to be
The other week when I was last in ‘In Charge’ frame of mind I went for a wander after tying him down to the bed.
I went over to the kitchen to retrieve the ice etc. and thought I’d add a ruler into the mix. As I was walking back to the room, to prepare him for what was to come, I thwacked the plastic across my palm just so he could hear what was coming. It wasn’t even a hard thwack and it broke. Split clean through the middle.
I was thoroughly disappointed.
I of course vented my frustration out on his back. With the ice and the wax.
And the tassly whip.
And my hand.
I don’t like it when things don’t go my way.
The Trouble With Long Hair
I need a haircut. My hair is just that little bit too long. The problem is, I have a slight phobia about visiting the hairdresser’s. Past memories of me as a Mini-Pandorah being dragged to the salon by my mother to have my hair hacked back to the obligatory 90s bob that Mother decided I should wear. I looked like Mowgli from The Jungle Book (via Disney). Poor little me, all I ever wanted was long, lustrous locks. But this was Forbidden. Mostly because I would scream when said locks were being brushed into school-style neatness.
But now it is a different story. I have free reign over my tresses! Huzzah! Since I was about eleven, my hair has been long. Well, longer at least. No shorter than just above the shoulders. At the moment it is currently on a level with the bottom of my shoulder blades. I love my hair. It’s so shiny and dark. Not black however, as many are mistaken in thinking. But a deep, rich brunette. People always comment about its good condition, despite the fact it has been blow-dried to within an inch of its life and straightened on and off since I got my wonderful ghd’s at the age of 18. If only they knew the truth!
The natural kink inside me extends into my hair too. Normally a light wave is to be seen. Unless it’s been braided up into work-mode, fastened by the pincers. Give me some spectacles and call me Ma’am and you’d have a good image in your head at what I look like at work. But, like Rapunzel, I like to let down my raven hair when outside of work. I can’t abide to have it imprisoned a moment longer than needs be.
The thing is, now it’s become too long and needs shearing back again. It gets trapped under Mister from time to time. We will be in the heat of the moment and I will suddenly yelp in not-so-good pain after stray stands have been left behind from rolling one way on the bed. Then there’s the question of going down on him. So impractical. I like him to see what I’m am doing o him down there, but my hair falls all over the shop, annoyingly, so I have to use one hand to hold it in a coil to the side. So that hand is not able to fondle. And I do so love to fondle.
My hair is an extremely potent element in the mixture that results in my arousal. He need only lightly brush his fingers against it and I am like jelly in his capable hands. If he were to venture his fingers deeper in, that tingling, warm tickle will run straight to my core and the switch will flick on instantaneously. If those same fingers were to go that one step further and to grip, tug and pull…well…there are no words to describe that feeling apart from purr….. It makes me tremble in anticipation at the mere thought.
I will admit, my hair looks fab when I’m riding him and I catch myself in the mirror I have surreptitiously placed at the opposite end of the room to the bed. All flicky and wild. But then when I bend down over him to kiss his neck, chest, nipples or whatever, it again gets in the way. I have to be careful I don’t catch him in the eye, or choke him with a mouthful.
But then, that’s part of the fun I guess. And there’s always the threat of those fingers grabbing hold.
Then pulling.
Leading to screaming once more. But of a completely different nature. It’s funny how things come full circle, but are subverted on the re-visit.
