Beyond Bliss

We met midday, and talked. It was a face to face catching up time for us both, and time for Him to see some changes that I was worried about, namely the fairly new blonde streaks (he is NOT a fan of blonde in the least, yet he was kind enough to say it looked okay, but he really prefers it the other way.)

And then it was time to drive to the hotel.

I’ve been off again/on again nervous. It’s been 8 months after all, and neither of us are young. I didn’t know what to expect. Of course, I never do with him anyway…he’s always changing things up.

We only had 4 hours of playtime…we both needed an early return to our vanilla lives. But beyond the sex, and the blowjob, and the beatings, there was just us.  Time between to cuddle up and talk about our lives. Time to be held, to touch one another, to just be.

It was a precious time.

And yes, there will be sexy stuff to come, I promise. He came, I came, (and came and came and came as he tormented my poor aching pussy), he beat, I moaned.

There was one funny moment. (okay there were plenty, but this one is the one springing to mind just now)

I’m laying, bound wrist to ankle, blindfolded.

“What am I forgetting,” he says to himself as he (finally!) stops pinching my belly, ass, thighs and tits.

Sagely, I kept quiet.

(I know, right? A modicum of self-preservation at last!)

“Oh, yes,” he says, moving away. “nipple clamps”

“I brought mine, Master,” I offer.

“No, don’t need ’em. I brought my own.”

WTF, I think. He brought his own? He doesn’t have his own…*I* have his…


“How’s that?” he inquires. His voice…oooh, it’s smooth as silk, kindly and sweet, like a person asking if you’re warm enough while proffering his coat.

Meanwhile, back on the bed, my back is arched, my mouth is open, and I can barely catch a breath.

“Owwww….fuuuuck,” I manage.

“Oh.” I think I hear a smirk in there, but I’m not sure, since, you know, blindfold. The side of the bed moves as he gets up.


yeah. Definitely a smirk there.


OH HOLY FUCK!!!  I’m just getting used to the first one, and now the right one goes up in flames. HOLY FUCK!

“Hurts?” he asks solicitously.

That’s the truly evil part of his sadism, the kindly-old-gentleman voice he uses to see if you’re really hurting.

I can’t speak. I’m literally drawing breath through the walls of fire that emanate from my right nipple.  I nod vigorously.

He flicks the clamp.

“Oh, gooooood,” he says. And he slaps my pussy.

And laughs.

So yeah, he brought his own clamps! Later after he finally removes them (torturously, of course), he shows them to me. The wired, French clip style clothing pin. They were very tightly sprung, way more tight than regular wooden clothes pins.

“I do like finding little gems like these when I’m out and about,” he says, a boyish grin on his face.

“Uh huh,” I say, unamused.

“Wanna try ’em again?” he says, opening and closing the peg in front of my face. I clap my hands over my tits, and shake my head.

“Gee thanks, but no, Master,” I say.

He grins.