I’m writing, I promise, working on several stories at the moment. When I’m on a writing jones I have to stop occasionally and read other blogs for a breather. While on such a break, I happened across a few blogs that talk about the “mmmmmmm” of hair pulling. And it reminds me of the many times He does it to me.
He doesn’t just wait until we’re together behind closed doors….however it is a major part of our playtime when we are. He has pulled me across the room by His fist tangled in a handful of my mane, He’s used it to tug me “into position” on the Wall, He lies on it to immobilize me, and He tugs it to get my attention. Then there’s the obvious “handle” usage for face fucking.
All of these I love.
All of these are some kind of objectification, aren’t they? Being held, being moved like a ‘thing’ instead of being asked/told to move here, go there. Just picked up by my handle and ‘placed’.
Gawd, just writing that makes my pussy ooze.
It’s been a LONG time since playtime for nilla and Master, long ago in March.
*sigh* (okay, ignore that little sigh. Itiswhatitis. I need that on one of those rubber bracelets ~ IIWII)
But….He doesn’t only wait for behind-closed-doors playtime to show me that He owns me, no matter where we are. There was that time in Starbucks where I plugged in His computer, and He held me, kneeling at His feet, with His foot on my hair. I almost had an orgasm, right there.
He’s pulled my ponytail at another Starbucks we frequent, tugging me into His lap, or to His side, or leaning against the table. It’s a handle, and an instant turn on for me.
Sure, it hurts. He’s a forceful Bastard. But it *always* makes me wet. He watches me like a hawk, stabbing His eyes into mine, reading me like a dime-store novel, warning me not to cum. He can see it, feel it.
It’s not just His delightful hands on my body. He is a wicked pincher, as you saw a few weeks ago. Those bruises are fading, almost gone. But it’s His hand in my hair that affects me in the most dramatic way.
His fist in my tresses, His fingers coiled around my braid, the gleam in His eye as this single grasp of ownership –all serves to tilt me out of vanilla as I slide right into submission. He doesn’t give a fuck who is there, it is just a little bubble that surrounds us.
Maybe it’s apparent that it’s consensual. It MUST be obvious that I enjoy it, even as my cheeks glow. I think all of me glows, in a heady mix of embarrassment and arousal.
Because really, even though I’m embarrassed, I don’t really give a fuck who’s there watching either.
We’re a pair, aren’t we?
So what do you think? Does your Master do “hair play” with you? Is it hot? (in here…or is it Him. 🙂 )