I’ve been mulling over this…this freaky thing we do…questioning my needs. And then realized I don’t need to justify anything. Just like I have bright blue eyes, I am kinky. Just like I like chocolate, I like to be beaten. Just as I am…is fine. I’m not hurting anyone. Well, okay, myself, but in a postive way. It feeds me. I am so “clean” inside now. Not stressing, not fretful.
I wouldn’t trade that feeling for all the tea in China.
So, navel-gazing done, I decided to show a wee bit of His handiwork in granting my plea to “please cane my tits hard”.
…with the text “and don’t forget to bring the bag of Wolf’s special gifts to Me.”
I texted back some innocuous “okay” type of thing, but inside? Quivers. The header you see there? (last day for that as I have new shoes to show ya’ll tomorrow) That’s the contents of The Bag. And they are scary in the hands of a fucking mean Master. Okay He’s not really mean in the bad sense. But He is a Sadist and He doesn’t go at all easy with these things. There is no warm up. There just is *WHAM*.
And the thought of it, of packing it and bringing it and laying it on the bed for Him…
Well dammit it made me so wet.
Why why why? Coz I’m a masochist? Because I’m fucked up? I dunno. Just the way I’m wired. But it did totally turn me on. I was a hot soggy mess all that day, and the next. Every time I looked at that text I got a little pop of “turn on”. I’d try to not look at it, you know? Avoidance? Fear? Extreme excitement? But I’d always scroll back to read His order.
There is so much. So many pieces of this day. So many bits to linger over. The bruises, which I may or may not show. My tits are totally purple and pink and blue. He caned so wickedly. And I bruise so easily. I had bruises in the first 5 minutes of play. And just touching them, seeing them, running my hands over them, leaves me lost in memories.
I’m such a wicked girl.
And I like it.
We met for ice cream on Sunday night. Our favorite place is closing soon for the season and He invited me down for what might be our last two scoops until next year.
It was chilly. It’s 49 as I write this; I’m guessing it was in the low 50’s and falling fast as the sun set–and we were doubly chilled coz, you know, ice cream.
I suggested we move to my car (He is super fastidious and doesn’t like food in His car. Me? With kiddo’s? hahahahahaha…don’t be redunculous!
We sat there, much warmer out of the wind. And then He began. Pinching. Hair pulling. Trying to pop my ice cream on my nose. He made me giggle–and whimper. Oh ouch my arms! He pinches like a fucking lobster.
And He’s so fucking funny about it. His eyes heat up, His hands dart out, and then He’s frigging tickling me. Remember I wrote about those fucking tickles just yesterday? Gods, I laugh and squirm…
Finally we finish our cones, and He pulls me down across His lap with a fierce tug on my ponytail. And while there, slides His hands into my vee-necked shirt, pinching and pulling on my tits. Finding my nipples, He rolls them. Tugs them. Twists them. Pinches them.
I’m squirming, moaning, whimpering…and then crash into orgasm. Geezus!
He pushes me up, then attacks my arm and thigh again, pinching, pinching. His eyes shift to my tits.
I’m across the two seats again, head in His lap. I struggle, and try to pinch HIS nipples…He catches my hand, secures it, and proceeds to work my tits again. I’m gasping and breathing hard…it hurts a lot…but I’m also so turned on I’m about to explode…and He stops.
Just before I cum.
“Get up, slut.” And He pushes me upright. I slump against the door, panting.
“I was so close…” I moan.
“I know,” He says, and laughs.
There is more horseplay, more pinching, more tit mauling, and I cum again from His hands on my tits. (And today of all days I wore black undies..now all stained. Tsk.)
I’m bruised, and tired.
Filled with ice cream–and Him.
I’d say I’m sated, but that would be a lie…I’m never really sated with Him. I always want more.
I think He likes that.
We met at a small coffee shop. One of those hip, new-agey places that serves funky, delicious teas, and wonderfully decadent desserts. Funky and decadent being two of my favorite things, I fell in love with the place. It doesn’t have the slickness of Starbucks, and it is less crowded than Starbucks as well. In short, it was a lovely place to meet.
He came to stand behind me as I tried to connect to the internet link…it was a bit perplexing. And it took a long while to make it work. And the entire time, His left hand slid up under my arm and pinched the fuck out of my left side. Hidden by my arm, the sneaky Bastard got me good. Additionally, He would tickle the right armpit…so I’d squeal and giggle uncontrollably.
I’m sure we were disturbing the one guy sitting on our side of the wee cafe…but he didn’t leave so maybe not. Likely thought it amusing that this odd, older couple were having such a silly time of it. I didn’t moan and cry when He pinched me, not aloud. I know He knew how much it fucking hurt…I’d drop my head against His side, and quiver, breathing hard through it. And He’d laugh.
When He sat down, He “admonished” me for being such a bad girl in public…for being so wiggly and giggly. Told me I’d have to write you all a blogpost about being so naughty.
Of course He was smiling when He said it. And now I’ve done it, Master, told the whole sordid tale.
Oh! Almost forgot the picture…it is HNT after all!