An Evening's Romp

Sir has tasked me with creating a series of stories/scenarios about sexual situations. Some will be drawn from past events, some will be things I'd like to have happen, and some will be pure fiction, spun from my imagination and best left there. LOL.



My Master is an ass man, hands-down, no contest. He loves it, adores it, can't get enough of it. And I, though late to the party, am warming up to the idea. He also says that I am a "good little cocksucker." Part of me feels like I should be insulted, but part of me is pleased by the compliment.

Take last night, for example. As he does quite often, Master summons me with a succinct text message: I will arrive at 8 p.m. Be ready.

And so I scurry to be ready on time - making sure I'm freshly shaved and lotioned, putting clean sheets on the bed, placing a large candle and matches on the bedside table. Then I touch up my makeup, and change into Master's preferred "uniform" - plain white cotton panties and a white tank top. By 7:30, I'm ready. And the waiting begins.

I pick up a book - I'm currently reading Oh, Myyy! There Goes the Internet, by George Takei. It's nothing too heavy, and I find it entertaining. But my eyes keep straying to the clock. 7:42. 7:51. 7:56. I put the book down, and try to calm my frantic heartbeat. 

At 8:07 there's a decisive knock on the door, and I hurry to open it, to allow Master entrance. I step to the side so he can enter, then close the door behind it. I lean back against the door, both hands behind my back, palms flat against the wood, and simply look at him.

He gazes back.

My heart is racing again, and I swallow nervously.

"Hello, Kitten," he says.

"Hello, Master," I reply.

"Down."

I drop to my knees before him, my head bowed, and wait. His hand comes to rest on top of my head.

"Take me to bed," he says, and I get to my feet and grasp his hand, linking my fingers with his, then lead him down the hall to the bedroom. I stop at the foot of the bed, turning to face him and letting go of his hand. He cups my chin in his palm and leans down to kiss me. Mmm. When he draws away, he turns his mouth to my ear, and softly says, "Position 3."

I pull the tank top off over my head and shimmy out of my panties, then stand naked before him, my feet slightly parted, my hands tucked behind my back, my face forward, eyes straight ahead. Right now I have a close-up view of the front of his shirt. 

He slides his fingers through my hair, then down my face, across my shoulder, down my chest and cups my breast in his hand. His thumb strokes the nipple, back and forth, teasing it to a taut peak. My lips part on a gasp as he plays, sending a shiver through me. His other hand comes up, then, and cups my other breast, so that both hands are busy squeezing and stroking and teasing. He pinches one nipple, and I flinch. 

"So responsive," he murmurs. I keep quiet, save for the little moan that breaks through my lips. 

He steps back, and I risk a glance at his face. He's watching me, a tiny smile quirking his lips. I watch as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, eagerly waiting for each bit of skin to be revealed (have I mentioned that I love skin?). Once all the buttons are open, he lets it slide down his arms and fall o the floor, then reaches to unzip his shorts and step out of his pants. He walks around me and I can hear him get on the bed, hear as he shifts around to a comfortable position. But I haven't been told to move, yet, so I remain in place, staring at the wall.

And then, he speaks. "Come here."

I turn, dropping my arms to my sides, and walk to the side of the bed, where I stop and wait for further instructions. He rolls completely to his back and grabs a pillow, putting it under his head, then draws up his left leg, leaving the right leg flat on the bed.

"I think it would be a very good idea for you to suck my cock."

I climb up on the bed next to him, my arms straddling his right leg as I lean down and pull his cock into my mouth. His scent floods my nose, his taste dances on my tongue as I move my head, working his shaft with my tongue and lips, sucking him as he hardens in my mouth. When fully erect, he's too big for me to take, so I use this time before he's totally hard to swallow him to the root. I know he likes that. I shift on my knees, seeking a more comfortable  position for my hands, but I don't dare pull my mouth away from him. I suckle his cock, lapping my tongue over it, and now he is too big. I cup his balls in my palm and am rewarded by his deep groan.

I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and pump him firmly as I suck him, and he shifts his hips and sucks in a breath. My jaw is beginning to ache, now, but I don't want to quit. He thrusts up into my mouth, forcing his cock to the back of my throat, and I gag, hard, my stomach contracting so that I fear I may vomit. It settles down in the next moment, though, so I ignore it and keep sucking him, my fingers squeezing and pumping, his shaft so hot and hard and silky.

He tells me to stop then, and I pull away and look at him questioningly. Then he says, "I want my cock in my ass. Now."

I scramble off the bed to retrieve the lube from the dresser drawer, then return to his side, shaking the bottle and squeezing a good-sized dollop into my palm. I rub my palms together to warm it, then apply the lube to his cock, using the act to indulge myself a little, enjoying the heavy feel of his cock in my hands. Oh, yeah, I like that. Eventually, though, I can't delay any more, and I reluctantly pull my hands away. I start to get on my hands and knees, but he stops me - he wants me to top.

I crawl over his legs and get up on my knees, facing his feet. He likes when I ride him backwards like this. I line up over him, and he grasps his cock with one hand, gripping my hip with the other to steady me in place. I know it's going to be tight, and it's going to hurt, especially as I've had no preparation at all this evening. But that's all right; Master has never really hurt me, and I trust that he will not this time. 

I feel the tip of his cock probing at my opening, seeking to push past that tight ring of muscle. I take a deep breath, then let it out, trying to relax. This is always tricky, as he pushes his way inside me. And honestly, I never know what to do with my hands, and I'm never quite sure how to help him, but I lean forward, or back, or press down, or shift my legs, and - damn! That hurt, that hurt, fuck. Oowww. Deep breath, pay attention, try again. 

He changes the angle, somehow, makes me turn to the side a little, and - yes, that's better. I feel his cock as it breaches me, pressing in deeper, and it burns, and stretches, and burns some more, but it's better, not so painful. I let out a breath on a moan, and some of it is discomfort, yes, but some of it feels good, too. He grabs my arms and pulls them toward him, making me arch my back, and yes, all right, his cock slips in deeper, stretching me wide, feeling it burn as his cock pushes in farther. He drops my arms, and one hand grabs my knee, tugging me so I turn to the side a bit more, and that's better yet. His cock slides all the way in, now, so I'm sitting right down on his hips. God, I feel every hot, hard, insistent inch of him, and I drop my head back and arch my back, letting out a moan as my body adjusts to him.

And then, he starts to move, thrusting his hips up, and his cock slides in and out of my ass. And now I'm beginning to see the appeal, as it's starting to feel really good. He fucks me faster, now, as much as he can while I'm sitting on top of him, and I try and match his movements as best I can. His grip on my knee tightens, almost painfully, pulling me to the side even a little bit more, and I rock atop him, feeling his cock as it pumps in and out, as he fucks his ass, uses it, owns it, makes it his. And it's good.

"Tell me," he says. 

"Ah, you feel good, Master, your cock fills me up and you're so hot, and hard, and ungh, yes, that's really good..." I am panting, and a trickle of sweat slides down the side of my face. 

"Touch yourself, " he pants. "I want you to cum for me - but not until I say."

"Yes, Master." It's hard to get the words out, but I'm sure he understands.

I reach down between my legs, and rub my clit. Mmm. It's a bit of a challenge to coordinate my motions with the timing of Master's thrusts, but after several moments I figure it out. I dip two fingers into my pussy to gather the juices there, and wow, it's a really tight fit, as my ass is so, so full with Master's cock. As my fingers dance over my clit, my heart rate increases, my head drops back, my voice becomes a near-constant moan. My inner walls suddenly contract, a precursor of my impending climax, but I recall Master's directive, and slow my fingers, backing away from orgasm. But it hovers there, not far off, waiting ....

 Master grabs my hip and picks up his pace, fucking my ass hard and fast, and his breathing becomes irregular and harsh. Against my conscious will, my fingers circle my clit faster, more firmly, and I let out a soft cry as another tremor shudders through my body. 

"You don't cum until I say, do you hear me? Don't you dare."

I nod, but realize he may not be looking, so I choke out a verbal, "Yes, Master."

But, oh, God, I'm so close, so close, and I'm having trouble holding it off.

"Who owns you? Who is your Master?"

My voice is shaky. "You are! You are my Master. Only you."

"Yesss, I am your Master." His voice is a hiss. "And who are you?"

 "I'm your sub, Master. Your sub, your property, your whore, your c-cunt." I almost can't say it. I hate that word, but more than that, I am coming dangerously close to losing control. I bite my lip, then let out another cry as I shudder. Fuck, it's too close, it's too much -

"Yes, I am Master, and I own you, all of you, don't I, Kitten? I own it all."

"Yes! Yes, Master. I'm yours!"

His voice is firm, commanding. "Cum for me. Now."

I grind my fingers into my clit and then, my body snaps forward - well, as much as it can with my Master holding my knee and my hip. My climax slams over me, pulling a wail from me as my body shudders and clenches down and my muscles all contract. Beneath me, Master slams into me once more, and then his cock erupts, spilling his cum into my ass, and I feel the hot spurts as they fill my ass. And I feel it as his copious spunk leaks out around his cock, too, dripping down my legs and beneath my ass, across his stomach. When the intense wave passes, I slump forward, panting, my hands braced on his legs. I can't move, even though my legs ache and my ass is stretched and sore, and my body is trembling in the aftermath of my release. 

I feel Master slowly begin to relax beneath me, and I lean all the way forward and rest my forehead on Master's knee. I'm panting, still, though my breaths are coming easier now, and my heart rate is slowly returning to normal. Master's fingers on my knee relax, then drop away, and I take that as my cue to move. I pull my self up on my knees, and Master's cock slips out and pops free, and I wince at the little flare of pain which shoots up my spine. I maneuver myself around and bend down to pull his still-erect cock into my mouth, cleaning it for him, suckling it until all traces of his cum are gone. He relaxes into the mattress with a sigh, and I climb off the bed on shaky legs and go to the bathroom for a warm, wet washcloth. Returning to Master, I gently wash him off, running the cloth over his stomach, inside his thighs, around his balls and then, finally, along his cock. I go back to the bathroom and toss the cloth into the sink, then one more return to Master's side, where I stretch out on the bed beside him.

His hand strokes my back in long, gentle motions, and it feels soooo good, all warm and relaxing and protective and safe, and before I know it, my eyes have drooped shut. Just before I fall asleep, I swear I hear him say, "Mine," and I smile.     



 

Crime and Punishment

There's a sharp whistle, then a crack, and I cry out as the cane stripes my ass cheek. Damn, that hurts! Tears leak from my eyes at the lingering pain. That makes six strikes, and Master told me there would be an even dozen as payment for my transgression. We are halfway there.....

(2 hours earlier)

Master and I were in session, and I had been looking forward to it. His first word to me, on this day, when he walked through the door was "Down." I complied immediately, and his fingers combed through my hair as he said hello. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the caress, and then he grasped my chin and tipped my head back. When I met his eyes, he smiled. 

"I'm very glad to see you, Master. I've missed you," I told him.

"Have you?" he asked. 

"Yes, Master, I have," I said.

I assumed Position 2 at his command (sitting up tall on my knees, my fingers laced together behind my head) while he walked around me, inspecting me, making sure I had obeyed his directive. I was freshly shaved, clad in my black mesh, crotchless body stocking. The opening nicely frames Master's tattoo, proclaiming my position as a submissive. I passed inspection, and Master took me by the hand and led me to the bed. There I sucked his cock, gagging and choking but doing my best to take him, to please him, and he rewarded me by allowing me to have and swallow his cum. The day was off to a great start.

Once he'd caught his breath, he pushed me to my back and used his mouth to drive me to the edge of orgasm. His teeth nipped my skin; his tongue licked and lapped and traced trails up and down my body; his lips laid kisses on my chest, my ribs, my inner thighs. I sighed and squirmed and moaned and pleaded, and then he added his fingers, pressing them inside my pussy, twisting and thrusting and pumping, and then he ordered me not to cum. Not! God damn, I was so close! But I bit my lip, and tightened my muscles, and writhed with the effort to deny my body the release it was so near to achieving, all to earn my Master's continued approval. 

And as I lay there, panting and squirming and fighting so hard to obey, my Master began talking to me, laying out his claim and his ownership of me. He has taken this tack with me before, so I wasn't exactly caught off guard. But it does make it damned difficult to fully hear what he's saying, when so much of my focus is wrapped up in staving off my climax.

"Who owns you?" he asked me.  "Who is your Master? Who brings you this pleasure, allows you to serve him? who do you belong to?"

"You! You, Master. You own me."

"Yes, I do, don't I, Kitten? I own you, wholly, completely, and you will do what I say, won't you? Won't my sub obey what her Master says?"

I gave a choked cry and swallowed hard, sucking in a deep breath before I answered. I was trembling right on that knife's edge, right there, and I was afraid I would not be able to hold off any longer. But before I could get a word out, he was speaking.

"And since I do own you, own this body, I can do with it as I please, correct? Use it, mark it, bruise it, share it, isn't that right?"

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. SHARE it? No. No no, no. We have had this discussion before, and no. I am vehemently opposed to the sharing of this body. I have said, over and over, that I will not be passed around like a bag of chips at a party, thank you very much. I am willing to be a whore to him, but only to him.

I can only describe what happened next as, I lost it. Big time. Instead of respectfully voicing a concern, and waiting for acknowledgement of a legitimate objection,  I dared to knock his hand away and scramble off the bed, then stood there, panting, all angry and defiant.

"Absolutely not! Not gonna happen." And I went so far as to cross my arms and glare. 

Oh, boy. Big, BIG, mistake. He lunged up, grabbed my arm, and yanked me back down to the bed so fast I yelped in surprise. And then he leaned over me, and his face was so close, and so thunderous, that my heart began to pound in fright. For the first time, I was afraid of him. He was furious with me.

"Don't you ever, EVER, do that again, do you hear me?" he hissed. I could only stare at him, wide-eyed, my heart beating frantically. "If you have a concern, you bring it up in a respectful way. Was what you did respectful?"

I swallowed, then shook my head. "No, Master," I whispered.

"No, it was not," he said. "You chose this, don't forget. You willingly gave yourself to me, and you asked me to teach you."

I nodded, ashamed of myself. Yes, I could have - and should have - waited to address my objections. Instead, I was a brat. And I am in big trouble. I drop my eyes, and twist my head to the side. 

"I'm sorry, Master," I said, quietly. "We have been over this before, and I was angry that you were forcing it on me."

"Angry or not, you behaved badly," he said. I could only nod and apologize, again. We stayed in silence for several  minutes, perhaps 10, maybe as many as 15. It grew uncomfortable, but I didn't dare say anything.

"We will definitely be discussing this, have no doubt," he said. I nodded, again. I was beginning to feel like a bobble-head doll. Now that my initial anger and outrage were fading, I felt like a fool. I'm a grown-up, for God's sake; I don't have to throw a tantrum to be heard. 

He pulled away from me a little bit, pinning me with his eyes. "You do realize you've earned a punishment, don't you." It was not a question. Oh, yes, I know.

"Go retrieve my cane."



And so here we are, halfway through my punishment of 12 lashes. I am in Position 3, standing with my back to Master, while he lets the cane fly and lays stripes on my ass. Now to be very fair, he is not just beating me; he has promised to never cause me true harm, and I have not lost that trust in his word. He IS, however, making very sure to let the heavy sting of the rattan strike me in the most tender of places. God, this hurts so much! And I brought it all on myself. 

Thwack! There's number seven. I flinch and groan, but I don't break my stance. I have 5 to go, and I am determined to accept my punishment with grace. It's difficult, though, when my ass feels like it's on fire, and the burning shame of his disapproval hurts nearly as much as my bruising flesh. With the next blow, the tears come faster, flowing down my face to drip from my chin. My nose is starting to run, too, which just adds to my misery.

Two more blows assault my skin, and I am sobbing in earnest. This is so, so hard! Two to go, I tell myself, but it is small consolation at this point. I want nothing more than to curl up on my bed and cry. The eleventh stripe lands on my upper thigh, and I shriek, because fuck, that hurts so much. I bounce on my toes a little, wanting him to just hurry up and be done, already, please. And then, finally, at last, the twelfth and final strike lands, crossing at least one earlier stripe, and I drop my head to my chin and just cry and cry. 

His hand touches my ass, and a flare of such pain courses through me that I flinch violently, almost losing my balance. He tells me to relax my stance, and turn to face him, so I drop my hands to my sides and turn, slowly, to stand before him, chastised and sore and repentant. I scrub at my face with my hands to wipe away the tears, and sniffle. 

His voice is gentle. "Look at me."

I very nearly can't; I am so ashamed, and in such pain, and feeling so very small and stupid and wrong-footed. 

"Are you done with this behavior? That -" he indicates the cane, now lying innocently at his feet - "that was not fun for me, either."

I have no response for that, so I remain quiet, and sniffle again.

"This cannot happen again, do you understand me?" He is not threatening me, just very matter-of-fact. I know I was out of control, and I feel so lost and uncertain. And then he takes my hand.

"It's over now," he says. "Come lie down, and we'll see where we go from here."

I walk, slowly, gingerly, to the side of the bed and carefully position myself on my side. He reaches over and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, and I take his hand, and kiss it. We will get past my misdeed, and I have learned a lesson. I have no doubt we will disagree in the future - it's inevitable - but I know what will happen if I act out instead of being respectful and courteous. It's a painful lesson, to be sure, but one which I will remember for a very long time.

 

 

Just Between You, and Me – and Her

---- explicit sexual content ----

It’s almost time, now, and I’m nervous. I can’t help it, despite Sir’s reassurances and his promises and his surety.

I’ve been in Sir’s room for a couple of hours now; we have spent that time reaffirming our bond and my obedience and his mastery and yes, we have been naked and had sex and so much more than sex.

And I want to believe him, I do, but there’s a part of me that just cannot wrap my head around what he wants, and I’m struggling with it.

As the clock ticks on, I grow more nervous and jumpy and distracted, and finally Sir has had enough of my wandering attention.  We are on the bed, lying quietly, when my fidgeting gets the better of him. In the space of a heartbeat he is leaning over me, his hand wrapped around my throat, startling me into shocked stillness. I look up at him, and he speaks, his eyes fierce and determined and compelling.

“I know you are nervous, Kitten,” he begins. At least he’s calling me Kitten. That shows he’s not too angry with me. “I want this, and I want you to share it with me. And that’s what it is – a sharing. Not a replacing, not a substituting, not a comparing. Do you understand?”

Not really, I want to say. But that would be beyond stupid, and so I hold his gaze and merely nod the best I can with his hand pinning my neck. He relents, then, easing his hand away from me and pulling back a bit. But only a bit.

See, Sir has planned that today, we will be joined by a third party, another woman. And I’m not keen on the idea, but Sir wants it, and so here I am. And my own fears and insecurities are what’s driving my reluctance. I’m not opposed to the idea of homosexuality, or of threesomes, in general. I just never thought I’d be participating. And I’m not comfortable. But Sir has held off on this for more than a year, now, and I feel like I owe him my best attempt at giving him this wish.

But oh, how my heart is racing, and I’m frightened. Not of the woman he’s chosen, though I do not know her. I trust that Sir would never allow me to be harmed, ever (notice I did not say, Sir would never allow me to be hurt, but even then, it’s only by his hand, and of very brief duration, and spoken about beforehand). No, I’m victim here of my own insecurities.

When we first discussed the idea of a threesome encounter, Sir made it very clear that he was not looking to replace me – a huge fear of mine. I have no illusions about my appearance; I’m not quite so young, any more, and I can’t help that my hair shows traces of silver, and my waist is thicker than it used to be. And in my head I am convinced that our soon-to-be partner will be young and nubile and much more flexible, and she’ll be the perfect compliant submissive, and I know that comparisons will be made. It’s human nature. But I am so, so afraid of being found wanting, and being told (no matter how gently) that it’s just not going to work out between us anymore.

And Sir has done his absolute best to convince me that I am wrong. But my fear persists. And it is getting in the way, now, and I’m allowing it to create a wedge between us, and I feel helpless.

But anyway, it’s too late – there’s a knock at the door.

Sir tells me to dress, and I quickly pull on my cotton panties and tank top, and follow him to the door. My heart is racing, and my mouth is dry, and – oh God, should I have grabbed a breath mint?

In my panic I almost miss it when Sir opens the door. He steps back to allow her to enter, and I can’t see her yet, and I’ve stopped breathing.

Then she steps to the side to allow him to close the door, and I get my first glimpse.

She’s younger than I am (I knew it, I knew it), but my next glance shows faint lines at the corners of her eyes, so perhaps she’s not as young as I first assumed. She has dark blonde hair, falling in a soft straight curtain to sweep her shoulders, and she’s a bit taller than I am.

But then I see that she’s of a similar body type as I am, and I start breathing again. Maybe, just maybe, this might not be the break-up set-up I keep envisioning. And the rational part of my brain smacks me upside the head with a smug I told you so, but I can’t deny the relief I feel. And it’s ridiculous, and irrational, and Sir has told me often enough that he’s not getting rid of me, but now for the first time I actually allow myself to believe it.

Because I’ve been Sir’s sub for a few years now, and quite honestly, I’m not ready to not be.

So I smile when Sir introduces us, and hold out my hand for her to shake without it trembling, and meet Sir’s questioning glance without flinching. And when Sir beckons me to show her to the bedroom, I ask her, politely, to please follow me, and lead her down the hall.

And then Sir takes charge, and I do my best to lock away my lingering misgivings, and train my attention on him, the way it should be. And I know that he sees me trying, and a brief smile crosses his face.

“Make our guest comfortable, Kitten,” he tells me, and I lead her to the chair tucked under the window, near the bed. Before she sits down, though, I reach for the button and zipper of her jeans, and she glances at Sir to see what she should do. He merely nods, and I undo the button and slide the zipper down, then tug the jeans down over her hips. I sink to my knees and grasp one foot, then the other, sliding off her sandals and placing them neatly to the side. I pull her jeans all the way down and slip them off each foot, then fold them neatly and place them atop her shoes. Her panties follow next, and again, I fold them and place them on her jeans.

I ask her to sit, please, toward the front of the chair, and when she does, I draw in a deep breath, closing my eyes and gathering my courage and obedience and my will. I open my eyes and lean forward, bracing my hands on her knees and gently pushing them apart. She’s tense, I can feel it, and I realize she is nervous, too. Somehow, that makes it better. A little.

My tongue comes out and licks up her inner thigh, and she draws in a breath and holds it. At the joint of her hip, I pull a tiny bit of skin between my teeth and nip her, very gently. She lets go the breath she’s holding on a sigh, so I choose another patch of skin and nip her again. I pull back and lick my way up her other thigh, and I feel her start to relax a little. This time, there’s a hitch in her breath when I nip her, and I lean in closer still, and duck my head, and my tongue sweeps lightly over her clit. She leans back in the chair with a soft sound of surprise, opening her legs to grant me access, so I follow that first sweep with a second, and then a third, and the sound she makes now tells me she’s enjoying it. I’m glad for that – I’m not really comfortable doing this, not even for Sir, but at least she doesn’t hate my clumsy efforts.

“That’s enough,” Sir’s voice rings out, and I pull away and sit back on my heels.

He tells me to get on the bed, and as I do, he tells her to strip off the rest of her clothes. I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch. I hear him cross the room, and then I’m startled as a soft strip of cloth covers my eyes. Oh, a blindfold. Hmm. He has me tilt my head so he can fasten the ties, then tells me to lie on my back. I’m still clothed, if you can really call panties and a tank top “clothed”, and somehow, the knowledge that she’s naked while I’m not makes her seem more vulnerable, even though I can’t see her.

Sir tells me to raise my hands over my head, and I feel him binding my wrists with some kind of soft rope. Ooh. I like this, yes, indeed. He bends down close enough that I can feel his breath, warm on my ear.  “Mine,” he whispers, and I cannot stop the shiver that goes through me. I am his, yes, and he well knows it, but his declaration is reassurance, and I feel some more of my hesitance and reluctance melt away.

His mouth fastens on mine in a searing kiss, while his hand works underneath my tank top and rests on my breast. He plays with the nipple, his fingers teasing and rubbing and twisting, and a spike of desire shoots through me. I shift and moan into his mouth when he pinches the nipple, and he swallows my needy sound. His hand leaves my breast and I arch my back, blindly trying to follow his hand, but he grasps the bottom of my tank top and hikes it up, and up, and over my head and off my shoulders, until it’s bunched up around my bound wrists. I shiver, again, from the coolness of the air, and then his mouth fastens over my breast, his tongue hot and wet and rasping over my nipple, and I’m moaning again because it’s so, so good.

And then I feel a second mouth closing over my other breast, and I freeze in surprise and apprehension. I hadn’t heard her move, nor paid attention to the way the bed dipped when she climbed on. Sir reclaims my attention by nipping me, and I shudder and say, “Ow,” even though it doesn’t really hurt, it just caught me by surprise. He soothes the tiny sting with his tongue, and I whine in my throat at the way his mouth suckles me, pulling the nipple between his teeth and then swooping in to suck on it again. God, that’s delicious.

I admit, I never really thought about what it might feel like to have two mouths working on me at the same time. I can tell the difference, of course; her hair is long enough that I feel it sweeping across my skin as she moves. Her mouth is smaller, and she doesn’t suck with the same rhythm or strength, but wow, it’s quite a bit more exciting that I would have believed. I’m losing my reluctance, to be honest, even though I have to deliberately shut off the part of my brain that’s screaming That’s a girl! And you don’t even know her! And hello – that’s a girl!!

Sir nips me again, pulling my focus back on him, and I tilt my head in his direction. I arch up, trying to get him to take even more of my flesh into his mouth, and I am aware, now, of moisture between my legs. Sir has always, always made me wet, made me want him, coaxed my body to respond to him, and now is no different. I unconsciously open my knees, and his hand is there, stroking the skin of my leg, building the desire I’m starting to really feel.

I shift on the bed, wordlessly encouraging him to touch me, to caress and stroke and tease me, but Sir will not be rushed nor coerced, and he takes his sweet time in tracing little patterns on my thigh with his fingers. His mouth leaves my breast, then, and I whine loudly in disappointment, and a moment later her mouth is gone, also. He must have signaled her or something, because no words were spoken.

In the next moment, two mouths are on my thighs, licking and nibbling and nipping, and I gasp in surprise at how good it feels. I know I love it when Sir builds me up like this, taking his time in sweet suspense, his lips and teeth and tongue scorching trails of heated desire on my skin, but I never suspected how much more it would be with two.  There’s nowhere to go, no respite from sensation the way there is with one, switching from leg to leg. It’s just constant stimulation, and there’s nothing even that sexual about it, except that I am totally turned on and my juices are flowing freely. My whine this time is a plea; for what, exactly, I’m not one-hundred-percent sure, myself.

But Sir understands, in that way that he does, and his tongue leaves my thigh and sweeps over my clit, and I buck and moan and seek more, and more, and he nudges her aside so he can settle between my knees, and buries his face in my pussy. God! I love, love, love this, and I’m grinding into his mouth, and tossing my head, because yes, this is what I need, and I want it. I feel his fingers probing, and I open my legs wider as he presses two fingers inside me. I suck in a breath and release it on a long moan, and it’s so, so good, and he finger-fucks me, and his mouth is doing amazing things, and I can feel my approaching climax like a knot low in my belly, tightening and pulling and building…..

And then her mouth closes over my breast as her fingers reach to play with my other nipple, and I arch involuntarily and moan, again, a long spiraling sound. Sir’s tongue lashes my clit and I writhe underneath him, seeking my release, the inevitable end to this achingly sweet torture. His teeth close down on my clit and his fingers push in deep, and I shriek as that coil finally snaps. My climax crashes over me, intense and burning, and I flood Sir’s mouth in a rush of liquid. My wail is cut off abruptly as her mouth covers mine, and she swallows my cry, her lips sealing over mine, her tongue plunging into my mouth. I am rocked by waves of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful, and it goes on and on, since Sir hasn’t let up yet, his mouth and his fingers still working, to wring out every last drop I can produce, I think.

Finally, though, I wrench my head to the side and gasp for air, my legs shaking, and I shift, to let Sir know that it’s too much, now, too sensitive, and he eases back and slowly pulls his fingers free. And even though having those fingers inside me was too much, I whine at their loss, and Sir laughs at me. His wet fingers touch my lips, and I open my mouth so he can insert them. I clean his fingers for him, running my tongue over them and sucking all traces of my release from them.

He kisses me then, deeply, and I taste myself on his tongue, blending, mingling, and it is glorious. He reaches up and pushes the material of my tank top out of the way so he can untie me, and as he leans over me, he whispers into my ear – “Good girl.”

But when I reach up to remove the blindfold, he tells me to leave it alone. I frown, but obey. And then he tells me to get on my hands and knees. I roll to my side and then push myself up, his hands on my hips tugging and pushing and placing me where he wants me. When I am settled, he tells her to get back on the bed (I didn’t even realize she’d left it), her back against the headboard, her legs open. And then I understand.

He comes around behind me and leans over my back, and instructs me to finger her. It’s a little awkward, to be honest, because I can’t see where she is, exactly, and my hand is trembling a bit. But then I touch her leg, and follow it up to her core, and I use two fingers to explore her folds and find her entrance. She is warm, and wet, and even though God knows I have fingered myself plenty of times, it is not the same. The angles is different, the smells and sounds are different, and I press my fingers deep inside her, then pull them nearly free before sliding them back inside again. I can feel the inner walls clenching around my fingers, pulling at them, hear her sighs and little moans, and in the privacy of my head I thank Sir profusely for leaving the blindfold on me, because I don’t think I am ready to see her staring at me while I explore.

After a few minutes, she’s moaning more loudly, and Sir leans over me once more.

“Go ahead, Kitten – taste her.”

Thankful that Sir can’t see my grimace – and not caring all that much if she does – I obediently bend my head and lick at her, tasting the juices running from her pussy. Eh, not too different from my own, I guess. I’m glad she’s happy, and glad that Sir is happy, but in and of itself, I’m not all that thrilled by the experience. Still, she did play her part in my pleasure earlier; I suppose it’s only fair that I do my part.

And then Sir ups the ante… I feel the head of his cock pressing between my legs, and I shift my knees apart to give him access. Ah, yes, there, and the head of his cock breaches my entrance, and bit by bit, he eases all the way inside me. I shiver, it’s so good, and I push back against him in an effort to get him to move.

He sets a slow pace, languid, easy, no hurry, and his cock slides in and out, in and out, and even though I’ve recently cum, and even though I’m still slightly sore, I want more, dammit, want him to pound into me and fuck me and own me, and I give an impatient growl when he refuses.

“Now, now, Kitten,” he admonishes me. “You cannot cum until our guest does.”

Oh.

Oh.

I set to work in earnest, then, and in the back of my mind I admit I’ve been less than gracious about it. I’m still glad to have the blindfold, but I can tell my touches are more meaningful, now, less mechanical and more present. She shifts and sighs, feeling the difference, and Sir rewards me by picking up the pace a little.

And now I can feel the way her body responds to me, feel the way her juices flow and coat my fingers, feel it as her clit swells and becomes more and more sensitive. She moans with every lick, and then rocks her hips, catching me unawares and bumping my chin.

“Oh, you like that,” I say, surprising myself, and then I lick her again, causing her to rock her hips once more. And then Sir starts to fuck me, finally, slamming into me and rocking me forward, and my fingers end up really ramming into her, and I freeze because I think perhaps I’ve hurt her, but she grabs my wrist and pants, “No, please, don’t stop, please.”

Well, all right, then. I work my fingers faster, harder, thrusting them in deep and pulling them out, over and over and over, and all the while I’m licking her clit as best I can, and Sir is fucking me, hard, the way I love it, and I am having trouble timing my fingers and tongue with Sir’s pounding of my pussy. I’m squirming, and panting and moaning, myself, my voice blending with and then competing against hers as we both strain toward climax. I hear Sir’s voice in the mix, now, his grunts and groans telling me that he’s close, too, and I find that I want him to cum, badly, want his cum to coat my insides, want his essence filling me, marking me as his.

I can tell by the way she trembles, and the way her inner muscles start grabbing at my fingers, that she is close. So I finger fuck her faster, ignoring the ache in my wrist and the way my other arm shakes with the strain of holding myself up, and drag my tongue firmly up over her clit, and then pull that swollen nub between my teeth and gently bite. She flies apart, screaming, and she grabs my head and thrashes and rides out her orgasm, relaxing back as it passes, and panting to catch her breath. I ease my fingers out of her body and brace myself more firmly on the bed – easier now that I have two arms available. 

And Sir is buried as deep as he possibly can go, fucking me hard enough to rock my body forward with each thrust. I rock back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, and I can feel myself bearing down on him, my pussy clenching as my climax grows closer. He leans over me and growls out, “Who owns you? Who is your Master, huh? Who owns you?”

“You do, Sir! Only you!” I gasp out, and then he reaches around my hip and rubs my clit with his fingers. I explode, then, cumming so hard I literally do not have the breath to scream, shaking and moaning, my muscles locking while the waves crash over me and carry me away. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids, white and bright and all-consuming. Moments later, Sir stiffens and groans and rams himself in deep, and deeper, and I feel his legs shake as he empties himself in me, filling my pussy with his hot cum. It is beyond glorious, truly.

He holds me in place until his cock is completely spent, then gently eases back and pulls out of me. I can feel the way he settles, lying back on the bed, and I reach up and rip off the blindfold, blinking in the sudden brightness. But my vision quickly clears, and I find my prize: I scoot around on my knees, lean over Sir, and pull his cock into my mouth. He shudders, and moans, and I clean him carefully, thoroughly, licking his shaft and gently sucking him, catching all traces of his cum, tasting him mixed with my own juices. When his cock is completely clean, I collapse to the bed at his side, panting harshly, feeling his cum leaking down my thighs, and happy about it.

She slides down the bed, too, finding a more comfortable position to relax in, and slips into a doze – I can tell by the way her breathing evens out, and she snores, very quietly. I am sleepy, myself, and feel myself melting, the world fading away. Before I succumb, though, I grasp Sir’s hand and raise it to my lips, kissing it, slowly, reverently.  I may not have been happy with Sir’s plan for today, but I made it through, I obeyed, and I managed to enjoy it. I’m sure Sir is pleased with me, and that’s the most important thing.  

He touches my head, and I look up and meet his eyes. “Mine,” he says quietly.

“Yours,” I agree. “Thank you, Sir.”

A Sub's Journey, thus Far

--- frank sexual discussion ---


I think it's time for me to blog about where I am in this journey toward submission. I've been actively seeking out and learning how to become a sexual submissive for about a year, give or take, and in that arguably short amount of time, I can see that I've come a long way - but there is still a long way to go on this, my chosen path.

I suppose it's fair to say that I've always had submissive tendencies. By that I mean, I tend to surrender in an argument, to avoid too much conflict; I rarely have a strong opinion on where to go eat or what to go do or what movie to see. I "go with the flow." I've always been a follower.

It's only been in the past several years that I felt drawn to exploring those submissive tendencies in a sexual way. And it's only been in the past couple years or so that I've been able to actually act on some of those wishes.

One thing I would like to say, right up front, is that I am not a slave. I am a willing submissive, yes; and I strive to comply with my dominant's orders to the best of my ability. And when in session with my dom (I refer to him as Sir, or Master, depending on his mood) I do surrender control to him. He sets the pace, he sets the tone, he chooses what we do and when we do it. However - and this is, for me, the crux of it - I still do have input. There are boundaries in place, which have been agreed upon in advance. I have a safe word, a specific word I can say to immediately call a halt to an activity or situation I feel seriously threatened by, or if I feel I am in peril. Thankfully, I have never had to use it. I have, however, been pushed past a breaking point, and Sir is in tune with me such that he realized it and ceased the activity before I had to utter the word. 

That relationship is key - a sub has to be able to completely, totally, and utterly trust the dom.  The sub has to know, to feel, to believe, that the dom is not only concerned with his (I use the masculine here only because that's my situation; the trust factor has to apply equally in any situation) own pleasure, but in ensuring that the sub is pleased as well. The sub has to know that the dom will not allow harm to befall her.  

For me, then, submission is as much about me getting what I want and need, and in exchange, I give my Sir what he wants and needs. (That's true of any healthy relationship, is it not?) Following Sir's commands, and placing myself in his hands, literally, frees me from the burden of being in control and having to make the decisions. And I find that I enjoy that sense of freedom. I don't have to plan, I just have to feel and experience and be. It may seem contradictory, but I feel freest when I am bound to a bed. I am most liberated when kneeling at his feet. And honestly - when he is fingering me, and ordering me to hold off from cumming, even though I'm right there and I want to cum, regardless, he is fully focused on me, fully engaged with me, and I have his full attention. And I really like that.

Now - I am definitely not saying that submission is easy. It is not a simple matter to trust someone enough that I can place my whole self in their care. And I do think, if the sub is not a strong person to start with, it could be too easy to cross a line where a selfish dom can take advantage of the sub, to the sub's detriment. For me, though, sexual submission is a continuation and an expansion of my natural tendencies. It does not make me a door mat, nor a plaything, to be pulled out for the dom's convenience and then shoved aside once he's had his fill. There are all kinds of unbalanced, abusive relationships out there; my sex life is not one of them. 

Feel free, dear reader, to comment or ask questions, if you like. I can only attest to my own experience, but I will answer if you truly wish to know. 



 

Realizations

----- frank sexual situations ------



He comes to me in secret, sometimes, in dreams, in fantasies. He is larger than life, more demanding than I thought I could accept, more selfish in some ways than I am truly comfortable with, and then again, more giving in some ways than I think I deserve.

I prefer our encounters to be more or less spelled out for me, so I know what to expect and can prepare for it. He prefers to keep me clueless, so that I am surprised and off-balance and more genuine in my reactions. I say I am more fearful of the unknown, trying to persuade him to my point of view. He merely laughs and tells me to trust him, and not to worry.

Right.

He comes to me, then, right up behind me, where I am standing at the kitchen counter. He presses up close to my back, his hands coming up to cup my breasts, his head bending down so that his lips caress the side of my neck. And already, I shiver, and relax into him. He bites me then, his teeth sinking into my shoulder, drawing a cry of pain from me. I had not expected that, certainly not so early in our encounter. Already I have been marked, already I bear the pain of his ownership.

But I like it, too. Not the pain - he will argue differently, but I'd like to think I know my own self at least a little - but the mark of ownership, the bruise that declares me as his. And it sets the tone of this session; i am going to be marked and used and hurt, a little, and owned. And while I will not deny that I am a bit apprehensive, I am also looking froward to seeing what marks I will bear when this is over.

He releases me then, and nudges me toward the bedroom. I do so like a soft bed beneath me, so I willingly comply. When I cross the threshold, though, he tells me to assume Position One, and I shed my clothes as quickly as I can, then kneel before him, my head bowed, my knees apart, my hands resting palms up on my bent knees. I close my eyes, and wait. 

In the silence that follows, I feel my heart beating strongly, my breaths filling my lungs, my tight muscles beginning to relax as the apprehensive tension begins to bleed from my body. He steps behind me and fastens a strip of cloth over my eyes ..... ah, a blindfold. My breath quickens in anticipation; I do like to be blindfolded. And he knows this, of course, he knows this, like he knows so much more about me than even I do. At times I believe, in the privacy of my own head, that I have given him far too much ammunition, as he knows what I respond to and what he can coax from me, and any protest or objection I may have is over before it truly starts. 

And I wonder, sometimes, when he's shaped me into his perfect little submissive who obeys without question or hesitation - what will be left of me, then? And will I still hold his interest? Or does he prefer the process of molding and bending and shaping, and then become bored with the smooth-running result of his handiwork?

But such questions are not for now, for now is about his will and his sub, wearing his blindfold, feeling his fingers forming a knot in the cloth at the back of my head, aware of (but not consumed by) the aching in my shoulder where his teeth have left their imprint.

He tells me to stand, and assists me as I grope for the end of the bed to steady myself. I rise to my feet, shaking out the stiffness in my legs, and at his command, I move into Position Three - feet apart, face forward, hands clasped behind my back. He steps in front of me, whispers, "Good girl," which makes me smile, then cradles one breast in his palm - and delivers a terrific smack to it. I jump, of course, and hiss between my teeth, and he does it again, and I wince at the sharpness of the pain. That's going to bruise, for sure. He lets my breast slip from his fingers, and cups the other breast, and this time I tense in anticipation, because now I know what's coming.

Smack! Yes, he slaps it, hard, hard enough that I feel the residual pain from the blow tingling through my tender flesh, and with the second smack, I flinch and moan, because it hurts. A deep ache blooms in the tissues and makes my breast feel like it's throbbing, and yes, that will bruise prettily in a matter of just a few moments.

He must be satisfied with his work, because he steps back and for a few long, drawn-out moments, there is silence. I don't do well when he is silent, mostly because I always assume he's quiet because I've made a misstep, or failed to please him, and that makes me anxious. But no, thankfully, he murmurs another "Good girl," to me, and that eases my apprehension. And then I realize that he has more in store for me, as he tells me to open my legs farther apart. I feel him reach his fingers to touch me, drawing them over my pussy, testing my response to his attentions thus far. And he finds that I am wet, and willing, and ready for more.

His fingers slide inside me and pump a few times, languidly, his fingers well-coated in my juices and making a squelching, sucking sound as they move within my body. I am swaying on my feet, trying to ride his fingers, but he persists in his maddeningly slow pace. Then he pulls out entirely, and I whine in protest, but he merely chuckles and touches my lips with his wet fingers. I open my mouth and suckle them clean for him, rolling my tongue over his digits, sucking away the fluid evidence of my desire. He reaches down with both hands, then, and I moan in my throat when I feel him attach a clothes pin to my pussy lip. And where there's one, more will follow, and I whine or moan or hiss as each pin - 6 in all - pinches my tender flesh. Ow, ow, ow. My legs are trembling, I can feel them, and the pinching pressure of the clothespins is taking over my senses. And then I am rocked forward on my toes as he slaps my ass! What the HELL, I think, but thankfully, all I actually say is "Ow!" 

"Ow?" he repeats, as though he can't believe I would find that painful. 

"Ow, Sir," I respond, and I know I'm being a smartass, but dammit, that's not fair, smacking me like that when I'm already wearing the clothes pins. And thinking of them has the pinching pain roaring back, and my breathing speeds up and I start to lose myself again. 

And he smacks my ass again, and I flinch forward, which causes some of the clothespins to clack against each other and pinch me even more. Damn! I hiss loudly with the pain of it, and twist my fingers together, as they are still held behind my back. It's self-distraction, a way for me to try and forget about the pain I'm feeling, but I'm barely conscious of the way my hands twine together.

He must decide I've had enough, because the next thing I know, one of the clothespins is being removed. And he's not exactly gentle about it, either; instead of opening the pin, he just pulls it off, and it pinches me cruelly as it forcibly parts from my skin. I jump and cry out, because that fucking HURTS, and then I have to endure it five more times as he just yanks each pin free, in succession. I am trembling and gasping, and there are tears leaking from my closed eyelids and dampening the blindfold.  

And then he is rubbing my back, and whispering in my ear that I have done well, and he is pleased, and I am a good girl. And I lean into his touch, even though he is the one who caused me the pain in the first place, taking great comfort in his praise and the tender way he is touching me.

He grasps my elbow, then, and tells me to climb up on the bed and lie on my back. He has to help me move around to the side of the bed, and he nudges me to lie back with my legs slightly parted, my arms loose and down at my sides. I hear him walk away from my side, around the end of the bed, and up the other side. The bed dips down - he must be sitting next to me, near my hip - and then I jump and gasp again, as a dribble of hot wax splashes the bare skin of my stomach. Yes, it's hot, and yes, there's a slight burn, but this is a friendly pain, a welcome pain, a mere shadow of what I've already taken (and am still feeling the effects of, quite frankly - my pussy is feeling quite sore indeed). 

The drips and dribbles and trickles of the wax seem random to me; I cannot tell if he is creating a pattern, or merely criss-crossing random lines and swirls, but I like this pain, I enjoy it, even, and my pussy responds by growing wet again; I can feel the moisture between my legs. I hiss and squirm, and I swear I can hear his smile when he sees the way my body relishes this. I give myself up to it, the burn and sting of the wax, and the thrills of desire and pleasure shivering through my body. 

He shifts, and I'm guessing he puts the candle down, and the next thing I feel are his fingers breaching my pussy, rubbing briefly over my clit and then plunging deep inside my body. My leg fall open, my back arches, my hips try to rock, and I cry out, in surprise and pleasure, not pain, this time, and he starts to finger-fuck me, slamming his fingers inside me and pulling them almost out, again and again, building a wave of desire and need that is coming upon me too fast, too soon, too intensely. I toss my head and moan out a series of "no, no, no," but he leans over me and says, very firmly, "Yes, yes, yes," and then fastens his mouth over my nipple and sucks, hard. 

I give a choked cry, because I'm cresting the wave already, and I am going to crash and burn when it breaks, and there's a sob in my voice when I moan, because there's this intense and confusing mix of pleasure and pain and I'm afraid of it, but helpless to stop it, and I'm struggling. He pulls his mouth from my nipple, and asks me - well, demands, really - 

"Who are you?" 

"I am your sub, Master," I choke out.

"And who owns you?"

"You do, Master! You own m-me."  I can barely force the words past my lips.

"That's right," he says, and his voice is low and intense. "I own you, I own your body, and I am your Master. So you will do what I tell you, won't you, Kitten?"

It is not a question, it is a command, and I nod and whisper, "Yes, Master."

He leans back over me, and his breath is hot on my breast, and he says, "Cum for me. NOW." His teeth nip my nipple while his thumb brushes over my clit, and I crack. My body convulses and I cum, hard, my back arching, my inner muscles clamping down, and I shriek with the force of it. It is so strong it hurts, it hurts, but in the next instant it's just a glorious haze of intense pleasure sweeping through me, wringing me out and tossing me about, and I tumble into freefall. 

I am trembling, shaking, really, as my muscles try to recover from their sudden intense tension, and my breath is coming in huge gasping pants, and I am not sure if I want to laugh or cry or rage, really. And he is there to catch me, to calm me, to cradle me in safety while I recover and settle down and come to terms with what's just happened. It was  more intense than I had imagined, and a bit frightening, but he kept his word to protect and keep me safe, and I realize that I am well. I am fine. I am strong. I am safe, and I am content.

And I want more.

Training Day

--- frank sexual discussion ---


I have been tasked with three specific chores to complete today; two of them, I don't mind so much, but the third - ugh, the third. And it's not exactly a light day for me, either.

But I digress.

Task one is my usual morning task: I am to insert my two SmartBalls vaginally and wear them for at least 4 hours.  I actually rather like this one, so right after my shower I get them into place - I squat on the bathroom floor with my knees apart, and rub the end of the first ball across my pussy to get the juices flowing and lube the balls. Sometimes I do use a bit of lube to get things moving easier, but I have this weird sense of duty, or pride, or something, that means that 99% of the time the only lube I use is my own. So rubbing the balls over my pussy is important.

Once I can feel the juices start, I press the first ball into my opening, using steady pressure to push it inside. Then I line up the second ball and shove, sinking my finger deep inside to be sure both balls are well-seated, and only a small portion of the removal cord remains outside my body. Then I wash my hands, get dressed, and leave the house to get started on my day. I can feel them in there, to be sure, and I periodically squeeze my muscles, which means I feel them more strongly. 4 or so hours later, I retreat to the bathroom, wherever I may be at the time, to remove them. Many months ago Master had given me instructions on bearing down to expel them using my vaginal muscles, and I do that much of the time, grasping the cord and pulling only slightly as I work my inner muscles to push the balls out of my body. I can definitely feel them as they crown and then slide reluctantly from my vagina, leaving me very slightly sore and well-aware that those muscles have been worked. Cleaning them is a simple matter of soap and water, followed by a more thorough washing with toy cleaner when I arrive home. There - Task one, done.

My second task of the day involves nipple training. I take a couple of clothes pins and retreat to my room. I haven't done this much, so it takes me a few minutes to figure it out, but at last I roll my nipples in my fingers to stiffen them, then attach the pins. Ugh. It pinches, and then it hurts, and then I think I can't stand it, and then it eases to merely uncomfortable. After 15 minutes, I slowly release the pins, and have to rub my nipples briskly as they suffer a pins-and-needles feeling when the blood begins to flow. Ouch. OK, that doesn't feel too sexy, but Master will be happy to learn I have followed His direction. Two down, one to go.

My third task is the one I dread; Master wants me to start using an anal plug on a more-or-less regular basis. Training, He calls it. Torture, I think to myself. I do this task reluctantly, but at last, I can't put it off any longer. In the privacy of my bathroom I strip off my jeans and panties, then take up my red plug and my favorite lube - it is thick and smooth, and makes things a bit easier. I apply it generously to the plug, then get down on the floor on one knee, my other foot planted flat on the floor. I hold the plug in my fingers and reach between my legs, and back, pressing at my hole with the tip of the plug. I can feel my body clench down against the invasion, so I try to make myself relax. I admit I have a tendency to rush this, to go too fast just to get it over with, so I really try to slow down. But I hate it, and I just want to have it done with.

I work the plug into my ass with small little strokes, pushing forward and then pulling back, working to loosen the entrance and allow my body to accept the plug easier. It takes a while, as I am tense, but at last I can feel myself relaxing. The last bit is always the worst, in my opinion, where I have to force the wider part past the ring of muscle so that the plug seats properly and stays in place. It always stretches me, and hurts, it always hurts, and I always end up just shoving the plug in and squealing or moaning or crying out with the flare of pain that always accompanies it. And then, I spend a few minutes there, crouched on the bathroom floor, panting, while my body adjusts and the pain eases and my breathing settles.

I stand up and wince - I hate the way this feels, all full and uncomfortable and wanting to go to the bathroom to get rid of this pressure. I pull my panties and jeans back on and wander out to the living room, where I settle gingerly on the couch and pick up my Mac. I have 30 minutes to go, and I need to distract myself. I am very, very aware of the foreign body in my ass, and each time I shift my position the plug shifts and pokes me and another flare of discomfort shudders through me. I bring up a crossword puzzle and start filling in the letters, trying to ignore the pressure and discomfort.

I become an obsessive clock-watcher, however, and it feels like I spend as much time checking the digital clock as I do solving the crossword clues. As the minutes crawl by, I become more antsy, until I can hardly sit still to wait out the final couple of minutes. And when the time finally marks 30 minutes, I force myself up off the couch and head straight into the bathroom to remove this evil appliance. I shed my jeans and panties again, and sit on the toilet with my knees open. I reach back and grab the base of the plug, pulling gently but steadily and feeling it moving inside me, then there's the pressure and the stretching again, the slight flare of pain as the widest part pushes past the ring of muscle and comes free. The rest of the plug slides out easily, and I'm left with a slippery plug to clean. I wipe it off with the moist wipes I keep handy for circumstances like this, then toss it in the sink. I'll get to it in a few minutes.

I clean myself next, wincing at the soreness I feel, and I close my eyes with a grimace when the bath tissue comes away stained with blood. I bleed every time, every time, and it doesn't get any easier. I whimper when I pull my jeans back on, as the soreness isn't going away. I clean the plug thoroughly and put it away, then move back to my living room couch, where I lie on my side and feel a little sorry for myself. But I can cross all three tasks off my list for today, and I'm sure I will feel better tomorrow, and that is what's important.
 



 

A Night at Home

---- explicit sexual situations ----


I arrive home after work and kick off my shoes. I'm tired, and it's been a long week, and all I want to do is relax this evening.

I pad down the hall to my room, crossing to the attached bathroom, and sweep the shower curtain aside. I start the water in the tub, planning to have a nice hot soak. I leave the water running and head back to the kitchen, where I rummage in the cupboard for a stemmed glass and pour myself some wine. I take a sip as I head back down the hall. 

I check the water level in the tub - not enough yet - and set my wine down on the edge of the tub. I shuck my clothes, unbuttoning my blouse and dropping it to the floor, peeling off my slacks, and giving them a little kick to shake them off my foot. I turn off the water, then shimmy out of my bra and panties, and finally pulling off my knee-high stockings. My clothes are scattered on the floor in a loose and untidy pile, but I don't care.

I stick my toe into the water, testing the temperature, and I find that its just about right - hot enough that it's almost too hot, but bearable, barely. I have to get in quickly when it's like this, and get seated so that I can lift my feet out of the water and brace them on the cool porcelain tiles at the end of the tub. The skin on my legs has reddened already, and I feel sweat breaking out on my forehead. Ah, yes, that means the water temp is perfect. It takes a few minutes, but at last I am lying back against the wall of the tub, my shoulders submerged, my arms feeling nearly weightless as they float in the water. I close my eyes and relax, allowing the heat of the water to soothe my muscles and melt away my tensions. Mmmm.

I have no idea how long I lie in the tub, only that at last, the water starts to feel cool. I sit up, then, and pick up my wine glass, sipping the rich liquid, letting it trickle down my throat. No sense in wasting perfectly good wine. I drink about half of the glass before setting it back on the edge of the tub. Then I lean forward and twist open the hot water knob, rewarming the water so I can stay in longer. I love long soaks, have I mentioned that? With the water warmed again, I lie back and close my eyes. Just for a few more minutes, I tell myself.

It's longer than a few minutes, of course. When the water begins to cool again, I sit up, drain my wine glass, and wash up, then climb out of the tub and towel off. My skin is reddened and feels tight and dry, so I hastily towel-dry my hair and head into the bedroom. I climb upon the bed and retrieve my lotion from the night table. It's lightly scented with mango and tangerine, and it's a nice thick lotion, so it feels really good. I slather it on, starting with my feet, then my calves, then my thighs and hips and some across my stomach, and finally my arms. Then I think - Hey, my breasts are skin, too, and so I rub some lotion on them as well. 

Well, indeed. That feels quite nice, actually, so I rub them some more. Now I can feel something quite different - a slow building of what could be desire, desire for release, perhaps. I scoot down the bed so I can comfortably lie down, then I use both hands to play with my breasts, cupping them, squeezing them, rolling the nipples between my fingers. Oh, yes, that's very nice, indeed. I let out a sigh of pleasure as my fingers keep working, rolling, teasing and pinching. Of their own volition, my legs fall open and I squirm a bit.

My left hand keeps playing with one nipple, but I let my right hand trail down my body, my nails lightly scraping over my skin, and I shiver. Oh, I do like that. My fingers run softly between my legs, brushing my pussy, then ever-so-lightly ghosting over my clit, but it may as well have been a much harder touch, as my back arches and my voice moans at the gentle caress. I am so, so wet already - it has been a while, I admit, and my body is primed and ready to cum. I slide my middle finger inside my pussy, feeling how wet I am, gathering that slick moisture on my digit, then remove the finger and use it to lube my clit. Damn,  but that feels good. I slide two fingers inside now, and pump them, my hips rocking up to meet my shallow thrusts. My breaths are shallow pants, and my heart beat has increased. 

I bend my knees and pull them up, planting both feet flat on the bed, opening my legs even wider. My left hand leaves my sore but happy nipple, now, and I plunge two of my fingers inside my body as deep as I can. I toss my head back and groan, because it just feels that damn good, and the fingers of my right hand slide and rub and caress the nub of my clit. Oh, god, that's really, really good .... but it isn't quite enough. I roll to my side and clamber off the bed, nearly stumbling in my hurry to retrieve Jack.

Have you met Jack yet? He's my vibrator, a jackrabbit style, and he's very good at what he does. In fact, my Master used to say He hated Jack. LOL.

But I happen to adore Jack, and he is exactly what I need at the moment, so out of the drawer he comes, and into bed with me he goes. 

I resume my position - on my back, knees bent, legs open - and hold Jack in my right hand. I rub my clit with his tip, lubing him a bit and teasing myself at the same time. Then I slide him down, and down, and start to ease him inside me. He's cold, at first, and I use little pulses, short little shallow thrusts to push him past the entrance and start working him in deeper. My left hand comes up to start working my other nipple, rolling and pinching and pulling and rubbing. I swear, the pleasure waves travel down my body, making my pussy tingle. Oh, this is going to be a good one. 

I ease Jack in as deep as he can go, his little rabbit ears resting on my clit, and I use my thumb to switch on the vibrator ears. Oh, fuck, that's perfect, and I pump him in and out, shallowly at first, then harder, and deeper, and I can hear my juices making a squelching sound as I pull Jack free and then slam him home. I am so, so fucking wet right now, and my orgasm is hovering just there, just so close, but I'm staving it off to prolong it and savor the moment. My head is tilted back, my eyes closed, my right hand pumping Jack, fucking myself with him, the vibrator ears dancing over my clit, and then I reach the point where I cannot hold off any longer. 

My climax rips through me, and I shove Jack in deep and hold him there while my pussy clamps down on him, the ears still vibrating against me. It's a strong one, and I can't stop the cry that breaks past my lips, the utterance of ultimate pleasure and completion ringing in my own ears. My entire body shakes and trembles with the force of my release, and I couldn't remove Jack right now if I wanted to, as my inner muscles are holding him so tight. 

Finally, though, the vibrating ears turn from pleasure to annoyance, and my body relaxes enough that I pull Jack free, flipping the switch to turn off the ears. I'm panting, still, my heart pounding, and Jack feels warm and wet against my leg. I lie there, savoring the languid feeling in my muscles, enjoying the blissful contentment for a few minutes more. At last, though, the cum drying on my leg starts to feel cold and sticky, and reluctantly, I get up and head back into the bathroom. I use a washcloth to clean up a bit, and I make sure to clean Jack thoroughly, so that he's all ready to go for the next time. I scoop up my abandoned clothing and dump them in the hamper, then carry my empty glass back to the bedroom. Jack goes back in his drawer, and I pull on my standard relaxing-at-home outfit -- plain cotton panties and a soft wife-beater. I take the glass to the kitchen, setting it beside the sink, then grab a book and settle on the living room couch, fully intent on enjoying the remainder of my quiet evening.