I want to tell you every detail. I want to hold it all close to me and keep it private. Such is the quandary of a sex blogger! We have a good fucking time and want to
brag about share it, yet it is also SUCH an intense experience that sharing it seems too personal, too private.
Yet this IS what I do. (You know, since I hadn’t had much inspiration for writing fiction lately!) So here’s another snapshot of our time together.
I was blindfolded. I have a love hate relationship with it, that blindfold. I want to see what’s coming at me…yet I love the “fear-turn-on” of not knowing. He taps my thighs, my calves with the fucking cane. I sincerely hate that fucking thing. Yet when it hits my tits? It makes me fly…so deep into subspace that I can’t think. And here I was, worried that I couldn’t handle the pain, that I’d “fail”…right. There is no “I can handle it”–That’s just not how this D/s dynamic works. Rather, it’s “you must take this, slut”. Such a silly thing for me to worry about (yet worry and fret about it I did…) Not only did I “take it”…oh now..I took it, and it was good. And it was right.Aand it was….orgasmic. (That’s the braggy part. Sorry for boorishly bragging. . . . Okay. Not really.) 😀
I even survived that fucking pink brush. Geezuz but I DOUBLE-HATE that thing. Yes, it is even worse than the cane. The pain is…it’s a thin, hot envelope that circles my entire body, then centers deep right where He has just smacked. It throbs. It burns. Hot licks of “fire” swirl around the blow-landing-site. The pain of it steals my breath. It spun me around in a circle as I took that first blow, made a silent “O” of my lips, made Him laugh as I reacted silently but physically to that first blow.
OH, how it hurt.
“Oh, nilla, I know how to help that,” He says…and before I can say no, no…He starts whacking that same spot with the cane. I feel Him bent over behind me, whaling on that same fucking place.
I’m moaning, whimpering. His hand holds me still, not letting me teeter away (blindfolds and 6.5 inch stiletto’s …oh maaan…do not make for a good “getaway” pairing!) from the blows landing one after the other after the other. Short, hard raps against my already screaming flesh.
His hand moves quicker, I can hear the ‘swoosh’ of the cane behind me and start keening.
Finally He lets me go and I stand, quivering and near-to tears.
“That helped, right?”
I shake my head, my hand caressing my butt.
“Oh, stop your whining,’ He says, smacking it with His palm…
*lost in a space-time continuum*
And somehow I’m laying over His lap, my ass already throbbing. He sits on the edge of the bed, palm stroking the hot flesh there. The first slap is gentle, nearly a caress, as are the next few, before the hand gets harder, heavier, thuddier. He hits the same. fucking. place.
Again. Repeat. Until I’m pulled out of my reverie and start to squirm.
My back arches as I cum, even as I cry out against the steady thwacking on my butt.
“Put that fucking leg down,” He barks at me, and I’m shifting in my head between pleasure and pain, and the sudden shocking sound of His voice, stern. He stops spanking and I feel the hard kiss of the cane on my calf.
My head pops up from the bed as I wail. OH! Such a different pain. HURTS! Sharp stings, like a line of wasps across the muscle on the back of my leg.
“I said,” He says, His voice stern and firm, “Put your fucking leg down.”
My toes come in contact with the floor and the cane stops. Once more there is the steady thud of His palm on my ass…
Much later, days later, He explains. I barely remembered the incident, but he mentions it and it floods back…
“So there I am spanking you, nilla, and I see your heel coming up at me. Not that I mind seeing the heels–not by a long shot–but heading for my head? Not so much.”