Orgasm Overload

“You had an orgasm when I was pinching your nipples. Do you remember that?”

His voice is deep, amused, tender.

“No Master.” And I didn’t. There are vague memories of standing there, my back to His front, His hands gripping my breasts, squeezing hard enough to have me squirming and moaning, writhing around against Him. The memory of His voice, soft and innocent in my ear. “What? What slut? Hmmm?”

There was no “away” to get to, as He held me tight against Him. The only way to move, with His solid strength behind me, was forward. Yet, if I did, it would have meant pressing more of my tender tit flesh into His hands. THAT wasn’t going to happen.

No how, no way!

At last He relented and apparently, somewhere in there, I had an orgasm. I remember wetness on my thighs, gasping…then…blank.

Pure sensory overload.

I have little snippets of memories…the immediate attack on my clit comes to mind. Pinching and twirling, rubbing and slapping to be specific. It was…well…overwhelming. Good. Awesome. My clit throbs even now as I think of it. And yes, that made me cum too. And while I was in the throes of that orgasm, His fingers dive into my pussy, His thumb up my ass and I scream into an even more intense orgasm.

And apparently squirted all over His hand.


Nothing like pussy honey hand cream, Master. *laughing*

He has a double insertion dildo/vibe that He uses. It is fucking huge, and I always, always get up and over and into subspace when He uses that thing. Fingers working my clit, the vibe humming in my ass and cunt, His words dark and dirty.

It is the epitome of objectification as He watches with hawk-like eyes. As my holes open, squirt, drool. As my body arches, convulses. As my mouth whimpers, moans. I think about it, feeling embarrassed, and in short order, can’t think at all. All I can do is submit…and feel.

That sudden launching into subspace…brought there via sex and orgasms rather than pain…was startling. Oh. I didn’t know that would happen!

Our time together was short–for a variety of reasons–but of immense quality. This one day a year when He can be here with me in my home, in my spaces, is incredibly precious to me. I hold the memory of His presence here in my heart all year.