He tickles and He slaps. He kisses softly, sweetly, while pinching hard enough to make me think He’s going to tear off a hunk of skin. He hurts me roughly, while ever-so-lightly trailing his tongue down my neck.
The juxtapositions are endless.
And yet there are always times of gut-busting laughter. Something…happens. A release inside me, of joy.
It doesn’t come right away. First there’s the hard shove into the corner of the room, a perfect niche for holding a slut, he says. A blindfold over the eyes, a thick band fastened around my waist. One wrist tugged into the cuff that is part of the band, then a brief tussle when I tried to avoid the second cuff.
No surprise there that I lost, and was firmly reprimanded, wordlessly, as he grabbed my nipple and twisted roughly. It takes less than 10 seconds of that before I thrust my wrist at him, giving up the idea of trying to grab his little man nipple. (Can’t blame a slut for trying!) He holds my nipple a moment longer; if I could have fallen to the floor without ripping it off, I would have. Oh, the pain. And then I’m secured, twirled, and shoved unceremoniously back into the corner.
i forget, I mutter.
“What?” He says.
i forget that no matter how much I love the highs, getting there…well…hurts.”
“Silly slut.” I can’t see him, but I imagine he’s shaking his head at my folly. He loves to hurt me, and I love to be hurt. I love the pain (eventually), and the high that comes zipping up behind it.
He hits my capacious ass. I have no idea with what, he’s not playing that game, just sizing me up. And okay, it’s been half a year since our last playtime. His shoulder hurts, and I’m *seriously* out of practice. He goes easy on me. Well, as easy as one would expect, I guess. I have two ginormous bruises on my ass, and a raft of them all over my front. But the ass bruises mean sitting is…uncomfortable. Still. And it’s been two days. He swats at me, taps my thighs, my lower back, my ass. There is no pattern, no reason, just because he can, you know?
And then he stops. He grabs my hair, my arm, turns me. I know I’m heading for the bed, and in seconds my legs bump the mattress.
“On your knees, nilla. No, no. ON THE BED, NILLA”
His command turns to laughter as I fall forward into a graceless face-flop on the bed.
“On your KNEES, slut.”
Yet try as I might, I can’t get my hands to push me up. Maybe because with my wrists attached at my waist, I look like this:
You know T-Rex was an epic failure at push ups, right? Imagine a slut with short flappy arms like that. Oy yeah. That’s what I looked like, except with my boobs all shoved up in there someplace, too. And that’s when the hysteria set in. I knew I had to look ridiculous. My big, bare bottom, bruised and reddened flapping around in the air, flopping over on the bed. My face buried in a pillow, laughing like a hyena, until I was crying behind the blindfold, laughing so hard the bed was shaking.
And Himself behind me laughing in disbelief, yet catching the humor of it too.
I told you long ago, we match each other amazingly well in our sense of the ridiculous. This was ridiculous risen to EPIC proportions. Finally, he holds onto my flailing hips and says ‘stop’.
I stop, but still giggling helplessly. He, too, is still laughing.
“Jesus, nilla,” he says through laughs. “You can’t even fucking kneel on the fucking bed?”
He shoves me around until I’m laying on the end of the bed, ass hanging off, not kneeling (my knees didn’t reach down that far!), but toes digging into the carpet. The pillow is positioned under my chest to let me breath, and finally, finally, I’m in a position that makes him happy.
Not laugh-happy, just Dom happy.
What happens from that point on is a bit of a blur, still. Being fucked, spanked, anal insertions, pussy slapping, squirting on my own legs, the bed, the floor, on him. Coming so many times my legs shook. But nothing surpasses the hilarity, the free-falling laughter, the truly klutzy wierdness that is me…and the giggles it gave us both.