Tormentor and Protector

One of the things that I appreciate most about Mr. Envelope is the level of care that he puts into hurting me.  As he wrapped lengths of rope around my legs, binding me to a spreader bar to keep them open, his touch was sensual, deliberate.  I lay on the bed with wrists cuffed to each corner, blindfolded and ballgagged as he took his time to ensure that my legs would be immobile and spread.  Gentle strokes of my skin as he wound the rope reminded me of his appreciation for me submitting my body to his will.  Tight knots in the rope reinforced his control over me. 

When he was finished, I felt him watching me test the limits of the restraints, finding them to be very binding.  He said nothing, standing quietly as I tried to quiet my mind.  I squared my shoulders, taking a few deep breaths to center myself- I couldn’t see or move, knowing whatever was coming next was not up to me.  Just as I was starting to feel grounded, I felt the sharp sting of a leather flogger- just once, very hard- between my legs.  I yelped in pain, the spreader bar and rope preventing me from closing my legs to protect myself.  I tried to steady myself for his attack, but the shock and pain from the first one was still reverberating through my body.  He resumed his silent stance, his inaction almost worse than another blow. 

The next blow didn’t come.  Instead, I felt the sharp bite of a clothespin on the side of my breast.  I winced, the familiar pain somewhat welcome- at least it was tangible.  The next clothespin attached to my nipple, the sensation more acute.  Another to the other side of my breast, and then the pattern repeated on the other one.  I could feel a rough string connecting the six clothespins across my chest.  The next pinch came between my legs, and was followed by more- I lost count of exactly how many- as he lined my labia with connected clothespins.  Each bite drew a gasp from my lips, but I was able to compartmentalize and breathe my way through it.  I was grappling not with the pain, but with what the string connecting everything together meant for me.

His voice finally broke the silence.  “Do you remember the game that we talked about a while back?” he asked, the deep and slow cadence making my pussy immediately damp.  I searched the reserves of my reeling mind for an answer, but came up short- not that my ballgag would have permitted me to articulate a response anyway.  I mumbled a no as he continued, “I am going to set a timer, and you are going to count the minutes until we reach time.  You will tell me when we have reached it, and if you are right, you will get a reward.  If you are wrong, I am going to pull these off of you- violently.”  As it turns out, I did remember the conversation about this particular game, and was immediately focused. I do like a challenge, and was excited at the opportunity to prove myself.  The clothespins were nagging at me, but I was quickly compartmentalizing in order to prioritize the task at hand.  “I am going to set the timer for 10 minutes,” he continued, which was interrupted by a groan from me.  Ten minutes?! First of all, that will be nearly impossible to accurately count.  Secondly, that means that these clothespins will all be on me for ten minutes- oof.  “Yes, ten minutes,” he repeated, clearly delighted in my anguish.  “Now remember, tell me when we get there.  If you are too early or late, these come off.  I am not going to touch you, and I am not going to speak.  All you have to do is count.  Ten minutes.  The timer starts now.”

I took a deep breath and started counting.  I filed the pain in my breasts and pussy away, focusing instead on my breath and the pace of the seconds.  I was worried that I would count too quickly, so I made an effort to be deliberate and maintain an even pace.  I counted the minutes on my fingers, trying to quell the panic that I could lose count at any second.  The experience of counting was a new level of mindful practice.  On the whole, it isn’t a difficult assignment- I have known how to count for a very long time.  Sixty seconds in a minute times ten minutes- the task is simple.

The task is made decidedly more complicated with the layers of the situation.  First, my overall internal monologue needed to be focused.  Now was not the time to think about the 57 emails in my inbox, whether I had fed the dog, or how great that song was that I heard this afternoon.  Focus on the task at hand.  Then, there was the pain from the clothespins.  I am an experienced submissive, so I know how to channel it- that was taken care of, dulled to a distant buzzing.  Next, layer on Mr. Envelopes silent presence.  I know he is there, I could hear his even breathing.  What is he seeing? What is he doing? I had to push those thoughts out of my mind- I couldn’t concentrate on him and the counting.  It was raining; the sound intensified during a couple of points, pulling at the threads of my attention- was I at thirty five or forty five? Fuck. Now what?! After that, there’s the timer- where is it at? Am I on pace? Are we close to ten minutes?

The closer my internal count got to ten minutes, the more and more anxious I became.  During our debrief, he said that my entire body began to tremble around the 8-minute mark- I don’t specifically recall this, but based on where my mind was at, it makes sense.  When my count crossed the halfway point, the impending ten-minute deadline became more and more daunting.  I had no idea whether I was on pace, but felt confident enough that all was not lost that I maintained count. 

I was at 8:36 in my head when the fiery pain consumed me.

First thought: Shock- what the hell just happened to me?!

Second thought: Pain- holy fucking Christ that hurt.  What hurts? Everything.  The pain started at my nipples, and tore through me in a flash- it was over before it started, but the pain reverberated through me enough to tense my whole body and make me scream. 

Third thought: there was absolutely no way that was 10 minutes.  No way. I didn’t expect to be right on target, but I didn’t expect to be almost two full minutes off pace.  No way.

Fourth thought: Fucking ouch.  I could still feel the kiss (bite) of each clothespin, my body desperately fighting against the restraints to self-protect.

My fifth and final thought was of him- I felt his presence beside me, and tensed against the ropes, dreading what he had in store next.  He said nothing, laying beside me.  I braced myself for a hard pinch of my nipples or a slap to my exposed pussy, but instead felt strong hands envelop me and hold me still.  He wrapped himself around my bound body, holding my head still while stroking my face. 

My tormentor became my protector.

It took me a few beats to trust it, but his strong presence slowed the roller coaster in my mind and allowed me to de-escalate.  I took some deep breaths, melting into him as he stroked my hair.  He held me firmly- there was nothing gentle in his embrace- but it was exactly what I needed to re-center.  He untied my blindfold and ungagged me, allowing me to come back to him gradually.  I hadn’t realized just how consumed my body and mind was with the task until it was over.  I felt nothing but gratitude and safety in that moment- a stark contrast to the fear and pain he had inflicted on me moments before.

When he could feel me come back to earth, he untied my wrists and sat me up.  He instructed me to undress him, which I did with shaking hands.  He is always dresses thoughtfully: vest, dress shirt, tie.  The dexterity required for so many buttons left my body at about the time the clothespins did, but after some effort I succeeded.  I ran my hands over his body, appreciating his warmth and ogling at his hardening cock in front of me.

He held a length of red rope in his hands and settled in behind me on the bed.  His gentle fingers brushed back my hair, running over my back and shoulders to assess his canvas.  He bound my arms behind my back, crafting a harness with the rope over my shoulders, my hands clasped together.  I was absolutely trapped, the tension created by my arms against the rope holding me in place.  He cuffed my wrists together for good measure and stepped back to admire his work. 

My legs were still bound open to the spreader bar, my arms fully immobilized with hands clasped behind my back.  He helped me off the bed and onto my knees, placing his cock in my eager mouth.  I started to suck, the excitement building in him translating to butterflies in me.  He let me set the pace for a while, and then gently moved his hands to my head.  His fingers laced into my hair, reminding me of his Olympic level scalp massages.  This relaxed me, until his fists tightened, holding my head steady as he started to thrust into my throat. 

He held my head on his cock, letting me feel it pulse in my throat before I came up for air.  After a quick breath it was back in my throat, thrusting in and out until I gagged.  He forced and held it in deeper, holding me on him while I struggled, demanding an extra few seconds of me each time before he relented.  I was quickly covered in spit, any modesty long replaced by just trying to hold on.  He smeared his cock over my face, smudging my lipstick before forcing himself back inside me. 

When he had had enough, he helped me back onto the bed, watching me struggle to follow his direction to get onto my back.  He teased my exposed clit with his cock, making me moan in desperate need.  He flipped me over, and I finally felt his cock slide inside me, engulfing me in a wave of pleasure.  His thrusts were even and hard, and it wasn’t long before I was asking to cum.  He mercifully granted his permission immediately, and I all but leapt over the edge.  My orgasm was intense, the restraints on my arms and legs giving me something to push against as I was consumed by ripples of pleasure. 

While I was blissfully engaged, I was vaguely aware of being flipped onto my back.  My head hung over the edge of the bed as I tried in vain to find a comfortable position with my bound arms underneath me.  I lowered my shoulders as much as I could, dutifully opening my mouth for his continued assault. 

This angle allowed him to hold my throat while he thrusted into me, further restricting my breathing and giving him ultimate control over my mouth.  He took his time, feeling every sensation of my lips, mouth, tongue, and throat while he explored various paces and depths.  I coughed, gagged, sputtered, and spit as he used me, my bound body futilely convulsing against my restraints in an effort to regain control. 

A funny thing happens with this intensity of face fucking.  When you are completely at someone’s mercy like that, you don’t have control over your own breath- you depend on them to allow it.  It creates a frenzy- physically and psychologically.  Your body tenses, convulses, screams; your mind panics, begs, and spirals.  His body is unrelenting, his pleasure rippling through both of you.  And then, all of a sudden, if you let him push you hard enough, everything stops.

My body continued to respond, his body continued to assault, but my mind was completely clear.  The only thing that I was thinking about is the next breath that I would take.  I lost perspective on the spit, the gagging, the cock in my throat.  The only thing in my mind is the next opportunity to fill my lungs.  I am completely his, fully surrendered to my fate.  All I am in that moment is breath- there is no room for any other thought, conscious or otherwise.  People often ask me what it is that I like about being face fucked, why I would ever ask for it- this is why.  This moment, when my mind is clear, quiet, almost serene- this is the escape that I crave. 

When he was ready to finish, he sat me up on the side of the bed.  I was a shell of a person by that point, spit covered and gasping, mind floating somewhere above us.  He grabbed me by the hair and slammed his cock into me over and over, my body no longer resisting.  He pinched my tortured nipples with such ferocity that tears sprang to my eyes, which I didn’t realize in the moment but he commented on it afterward.  I screamed and moaned, but the pain didn’t connect with my consciousness- I was still consumed with my breath.

His cum was hot in my throat, my jaw remaining relaxed as he filled my mouth.  He instructed me to swallow as he painted my tits with the rest, letting it drip down me as we both tried to find steady ground.  He deftly untied me, his strong protective arms once again enveloping me in a cocoon.  He spoke to me gently, telling me how well I had done.  I melted into his words and embrace, consciousness floating over us as I marvelled at the way he made me feel.  My tormentor, my protector. 

Like Mr. Envelope’s style? Read more of his stories here.

Mr. Envelope

Introducing Mr. Envelope: intelligent, deliberate, self-aware, unassuming.  My height, slim build, strong hands.  He likes to play with rope, take photos, and explore boundaries when it comes to pain.  He does with a great deal of care and, ironically, gentleness.  I would describe his style as two parts sadism, one part sensual, and eight parts psychological torture.  Case in point?  Let me tell you how he got his nickname.

The first time I ever played with Mr. Envelope, he came to my house.  We started slow, him testing the depth of my submission, me working to understand his style as a Dom.  The play was a lot of fun, involving some bondage, a bit of impact play, and a whole lot of forced orgasms.  We spent a lot of time debriefing, both learning from each other’s observations.  His aftercare was exceptional, until he completely ruined my night.

As he was packing up his belongings, he handed me a white envelope.  “Oh, here- I almost forgot to give you this,” he said, almost as an afterthought.  I looked at the envelope- blank on the outside, sealed.  I flipped it over in my hands, feeling the outline of something inside.  My eyes lit up, excitement building- who doesn’t love a present? “Oh, no- you can’t open it,” he said, a smirk dancing across his lips.  I pouted, demanding to know when I would be allowed to.

“Never,” he said easily.

The indignation that I felt in that moment is without measure.  I looked at him, shocked and immediately irritated.  “Never?” I said in disbelief, willing him to reconsider.

“I know that you don’t do the 24/7 submission thing, and I would never ask that of you- but this will make sure that I cross your mind every now and then and remind you who you’re dealing with.  That envelope will sit in your bedside table, unopened, indefinitely.”

As someone who never hesitates to peek at her Christmas presents, I fucking hate that envelope.  There are times when I forget about it, thriving in blissful ignorance as I go about my week.  Then, when I need some lip balm or reach for my favourite vibrator, my hand will graze a piece of paper.  The weight of that envelope then crashes down on me- the irritation, curiosity, frustration, and fury that something so trivial can be so impactful.

Why don’t I open it? It isn’t because I fear the promised consequences.  I have no doubt that they would be brutal, but that isn’t what prevents me from doing what I want.  I could open it, accept the consequences, satisfy my curiosity, and- most importantly- remove this leverage he has over me, all in one fell swoop.  The thing that keeps that envelope sealed is that I absolutely cannot let him win. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of breaking me using something so trivial. 

So the envelope sits in my bedside table drawer in perpetuity, taunting me and eroding any pleasant feelings I may feel toward him.  His smugness is palpable, even over text let alone in person.  I would hate him forever if he wasn’t so damned good at what he does.  You see, the envelope is a symbol of his overall approach with me.  He knows I can handle almost anything physical that he were to dish out.  That’s not to say it isn’t challenging, but pain and pleasure is a language that I have learned to speak well.  Instead he attacks my mind, building in a psychological element to our play that demands more of me.  It isn’t enough for him to occupy my body, he needs to own my mind as well- it’s a constant tug of war.

So far, he’s winning. 

Like Mr. Envelope’s style? Read more of his stories here.

The Practice of BDSM (and how it compares to Yoga)

Under the umbrella of BDSM there is something for everyone- there is no shortage of opportunity to explore, learn, and grow, if that’s what you’re into.  Those who want to dip a toe into the pool might find a new favourite toy or fetish, while those who dive in may find identity and belonging that was previously elusive.  New experiences will shape likes (and perhaps dislikes), and there is a vibrant and diverse community to learn from. 

I have practiced BDSM for about six years.  I use the word practiced intentionally, because I think of my BDSM journey as akin to a yoga practice.  To me BDSM is a journey of discovery that could (and in my case likely will) last a lifetime.  There is so much to explore- personal limits to push, new kinks (and partners!) to try, and a good amount of skill to build.  BDSM is something that, for me, warrants investment- and pays dividends. 

My main area of focus in BDSM is submission; I gain an immense amount of clarity and release from surrendering to my partner.  Like yoga, within submission there are many areas to focus and develop.  Someone practicing yoga may be working on breath practice, posture, or mastering a particular flow.  They may be pushing themselves into trying yoga at different temperatures or in different locations, or maybe comparing restorative with more physically demanding approaches. 

There are tons of different specializations or areas of focus in BDSM- there is an opportunity for anyone to learn a new skill, or further their own practice- from shibari to restraints to sadism to humiliation and beyond.  Specific to submission, I have found endless opportunities for focus and development.  Early in my practice, I focused a great deal on orgasm control.  I worked with my partner to learn how to have multiple orgasms, and how to hold myself on the edge without falling over.  From there, my focus changed to learning more about the relationship between pleasure and pain (that was a very interesting transition- I will post about it in the future). I worked to increase stamina and tolerance, partnering with a sadist to try various methods and approaches to pain. 

In a similar vein, I have worked with various partners whose approaches to Domination differ.  Incidentally I learned that different approaches to Domination provide me with different kinds of release.  Much like the difference in Bikram, Hatha, and Restorative yoga sessions, I get very different things from specific approaches.  Just as someone may go to different yoga classes to achieve their desired outcome, I tailor my BDSM sessions (and therefore sometimes partners) to my needs. For example, the Daddy Dom approach and a more formal protocol-oriented approach are both unique experiences for me as a sub.  I find the gentle, caring approach of a Daddy Dom can help me get further in a pain session, whereas I prefer a protocol-heavy session if I am looking for a more push-pull dynamic. 

A final similarity I will highlight is in the area of mindfulness.  Yoga is a very mindful practice; focusing on breathing, being within your body, meditation- the list goes on.  Submission achieves a very similar goal for me.  It requires me to be fully present, and I have to constantly work to ground myself and remain aware of my mind and body.  For example, in an impact play session I employ many of the same breathing techniques as I would in a yoga class to keep my mind clear and my body grounded- this helps me to absorb the impacts more effectively, and push further into my limits.  The physical exertion of the pain coupled with the full occupation of the mind provides a release and a relief to me that I don’t get anywhere else.

Currently, I don’t find myself with a particular focus.  I would say that I am maintaining my practice; I play with three Dominant partners regularly, dynamics that I have been in for years.  Within each of those we have goals and continue to explore new things, but for me it is more of a situation/scene-specific conversation than an overall plight.  I am interested in being photographed more, and have also begun to dabble in scenes with multiple partners- which is proving to be a lot of fun- more on that later.  I am confident that my practice will continue to evolve throughout my lifetime, no doubt shaped by romantic relationships, life factors, priorities, and who knows what else.  The beauty of BDSM is that it will always be there, waiting to bring your next dirty thought or impulse to life.


Perfectly Painted

In an effort to get my head on straight before going back to work after the holidays, I invited Mr. Intensity over for a play.  His plan was to use me as he saw fit, and leave it at that- a plan that he executed flawlessly.

He arrived, and we caught up for a bit- it had been a while since we had seen each other.  Eventually, after trading holiday stories and COVID thoughts (typically conversation fodder this time of year), he said “let’s get upstairs and get your pants off,” which proved to be a fairly effective transition.

I obliged, receiving a most excellent tit groping right off the bat.  He didn’t bring rope with him this time- a deviation from his usual.  He blindfolded me as always, turning my world to black in favour of relying on other senses and sensations.  I was instructed to lay on my back on the bed, and felt his hands, rough and playful, kneading and pinching my tits.  It felt good to be handled this way, his hands groping handfuls of each breast while his mouth teased my nipples, sucking with a ferocity on my skin to leave marks.  He painted a picture on them, leaving me with marks- subtle and non- all over the soft skin. 

He then sat on my chest, rubbing his cock between them, spitting into my cleavage for lube.  He instructed me to sick my tongue all the way out, and keep it out- he rubbed the head of his cock up and down my tongue as he fucked my tits, every now and then working it into my mouth and against my throat.  He spit on my tongue periodically for extra lube (and of course to send a message), while my only focus was to lay still and keep my tongue out- to let him use me. 

When he had had enough of my tits (for now), he turned me onto my stomach, cuffing my hands tightly behind my back.  I did my best to relax into the mattress, knowing that it was time for some impact play.  One of my favourite things about playing with him is his ability to make it feel like he has four or five hands- he scaffolds the impacts, punctuating them with featherlight touches, in a truly expert way to keep me guessing throughout.

He started with his hands, kneading my ass much like he did my tits- firm, greedy handfuls, massaging deep into the tissue.  The riding crop was first, testing my reactions.  After a few firm slaps, he brought it gently over my ass, down each leg- the anticipation mixed with the teasing sensation was almost too much to bear, and I focused on staying relaxed in anticipation of the inevitable next blow. 

The next few blows came from his hands, with enough force to make me yelp.  He worked at warming me up with each slap in a different place, intermittently tracing his fingertips over his handiwork, leaving fire in their path.  He then switched tools, bringing out a flogger made of tiny chains- it sounded like a slinky, or a delicate wind chime.  It felt like the sting of a bee.  The pleasant tingle of metal on metal was a decided contrast to the whirlwind of biting stings on my ass.  He whipped it around in circles, allowing only the ends to connect sharply with my body, forcing me to breathe deeply and moan to absorb the sensation.  My bound arms ached, but that was nothing compared to the constant and continued assault of my ass.

When he was satisfied, he applied a few more slaps for good measure before escalating to a heavy, knotted leather flogger.  He once told me that it hits like a ton of bricks, and he isn’t wrong.  Each blow stings, but the pain burrows in deeper than the surface.  I could feel each blow long after its delivery, my body automatically tensing each time.  I breathed deeply, making a considerable effort to ground myself each time. On his last strike, he made me ask for it.

I took a deep breath afterward, allowing relief to infiltrate my body as I thought we were done.  I then felt the cold kiss of a titanium rod resting across my ass.  I braced for impact, but he left it there, hanging in the balance.  He told me that if the rod moved, I was going to be hit with it.  I gulped, knowing that its bit was worse than anything I had yet experienced.  He alternated between various implements and his hands as he tried to get me to flinch.  I have not concentrated on anything that hard in two weeks.  Deep breaths, trying to compartmentalize the sting in my body to a far off place in my mind, not allowing myself the normal reactions to self-protect.  The bit of leather and the slap of hands was consuming, but I stayed just relaxed enough not to let the rod fall- despite a few close calls.  I managed to impress him, which with this particular partner is a feat worthy of just a touch of smugness.

In the end it was he who knocked the rod off of my ass in a flurry of slaps.  He did hit me with it, but only once- enough to get a scream out of me.  Oof.  He admired his work, the bruises from a few key blows already beginning to form.  My ass was tender and red, with some deep tissue soreness that I know I will feel for days.  I felt calm, grounded, and completely relaxed.

He uncuffed me, rolling me back onto my back.  He took some time to marvel at my bruising tits before sitting back on my chest, rubbing his hard cock between them yet again.  He used my tongue and mouth as he saw fit, alternating between instructing me to suck, and to leave my tongue out.  The first rope of hot cum hit my face, the next hit my throat, and the next hit my tits, finishing his perfectly painted picture.

Like Mr. Intensity’s style? Read more of his stories here.

Mr. Intensity

I am not easily intimidated. I have a bit of a superiority complex, and I am fairly self-assured. Every now and then, though, someone comes along to make me doubt whether I might be the smartest person in the room. I don’t particularly care for the feeling, but it is a surefire way to get (and keep) my attention.

Mr. Intensity intimidates the hell out of me.

His quiet confidence is a thing to behold. He doesn’t flaunt his experience nor his intelligence, and keeps his physical stature fairly unassuming. It is these qualities that make him such a force. I wouldn’t call him guarded, but he is layered- just when I feel like I have him figured out, he adds another element to the equation to keep me guessing. He would call himself a simple person, but it’s the deliberate and (literally) calculated way that he approaches everything that makes me see him as intense. While he may be predictable to some extent, he is anything but simple.

He is a very experienced Dom, and has a wickedly creative mind- we’re talking hooks in the ceiling and power tools. He talks of his encounters as if recounting a walk in the park- no need to embellish, no need to perform- that’s just what happened. He gets the bulk of his pleasure from the pleasure of others, making him a complete enigma when it comes to style. With me, he focuses a great deal of attention on impact play and bondage. He has an absolute gift with rope and rigging, and ties my tits with the attention, appreciation, and talent of a world class sculptor. His (literal and metaphorical) bag of tricks seems limitless- I never know what to expect.

Beyond that, though, he challenges me to step outside of my comfort zone. When I meet people who intimidate me, I have the overwhelming urge to impress them. The praise kink is strong in me, and it means a hell of a lot more when the praise comes from someone whom I respect. Mr. Intensity has put me in situations that I never thought would happen; not only did I go willingly, but I went eagerly- chasing the high of eliciting a “good girl” from his lips.

He has pushed the lines of my exhibitionism. He creates challenges for me to overcome. He demands a higher pain tolerance. He is also responsible for my first true foray into watersports. The thread in common throughout all of our sessions is the intensity that radiates from him. He knows exactly what he’s doing- every hit, every word, every instruction. When he grazes his fingers over a steadily forming bruise, wraps his rope around my body in a work of art, or leads me around the backyard on a leash- he puts me through exactly what I sometimes don’t even know I need.

I feel pride when I impress him, or when I push through a boundary that I wasn’t sure about. His casually given compliments fuel my sense of obedience- and adventure. We have a strikingly casual relationship outside of a session. He unceremoniously throws me off of my game in new ways each time we play. He is definitely more knowledgeable and experienced than me in most things, which makes learning from him- in BDSM or otherwise- such a rush.

Like Mr. Intensity’s style? Read more of his stories here.

Dominant Partners: Cast and Crew

Over the next few weeks, I am going to introduce you to some current and former partners. Every Dom’s style is different, and I have had the privilege of learning from some incredible people. I don’t submit casually; while I do immensely enjoy casual sex, the D/s thing requires a whole lot of trust and rapport to make it worthwhile (and safe) for me. I certainly enjoy exploring elements of BDSM with casual/romantic partners, but submission is a level of intensity and intimacy that I don’t enter into lightly.

There have been times that I have maintained one D/s relationship, and other times when I am involved in a couple of dynamics. Of course there will be some Doms out there who insist that “real” subs only serve one master, but that’s not how I see it.

For me, it’s important that I am able to invest in each partner, and they in me- that doesn’t mean daily text messages or romantic advances, but rather that we make an effort to get to know one another and stay involved in each other’s lives. A Dom partner should know what is happening in my work and personal life before a session, so that they know what I need to get out of it. I should know what makes them tick and what they are going through, so that I know how to please them. This investment takes time and commitment on both of our parts, so the number of dynamics that I choose (and am able to) maintain at once is low. Typically the dynamics last a year or more, and end when it’s time.

I currently have three Dominant partners. You will see that each of them has a different style- each of them scratches a different itch. I have friendships with all of them, and we work together to push each other and develop our respective approaches and practices. While I exploring bondage and restraints with one, I explore the limits of my pain tolerance with another. While one person’s approach may be gentle and encouraging, another is intimidating and threatening. Variety is the spice of life, you know.

I intend to sort many of my (true) stories by partner, so that if there is a particular Dom’s style that resonates with you, the related content is easy to find. This approach should also eventually weave a thread of development and growth for me as a sub, if you’re interested in such things. Stay tuned over the next couple of weeks as I introduce you to the cast and crew 😉

Mother Knows Best (Excerpt): Chapter Six

Read Chapter 4 or get the whole series on Amazon.

Lexi squeezed my hand, obviously humiliated.  “Mom, please stop…I don’t want to talk about this with you,” she pleaded, bringing her knees up to her chest in modesty.  “Oh, honey, come on.  I am already here; I have already seen you.  If you two are going to fool around in my house, you can’t expect privacy.  Now, show me what you were up to.”

“Oh my GOD Mom stop it!” Lexi cried, face as red as mine felt.  Crystal leaned forward in her chair, opening her legs slightly.  I could see bright blue panties up her skirt; not that I was looking…or maybe I was- I don’t know, there was a lot going on.  “Come on, baby- show me how you make your boyfriend happy.  Show me how you suck that gorgeous cock.”  Crystal licked her lips, clearly not backing down.  When Lexi didn’t move, Crystal’s tone of voice changed to what could only be described as a “mom” tone.  “Now, Lexi, or I will,” she said firmly. Lexi looked at her mom, no doubt gauging whether she was actually serious.  Clearly she wasn’t ready to take the risk, and Lexi spurred into action. 

Lexi dropped my hand, turning her body slightly toward me.  She wrapped her hand back around my cock, which came right back to attention despite the bizarre circumstances.  She looked me in the eye as she started to stroke, the moment charged in a very different way than it had been earlier.  Crystal made no more noise, but I could still distinctly feel her presence in the room as her daughter lowered her mouth to my cock. 

Lexi worked her magic on me, forcing out a moan as I felt her tongue flick the tip of my cock as her lips closed around me.  She held eye contact, each of us focusing on the other in an effort to drown out the additional presence in the room.  It almost worked, until we heard Crystal’s voice: “Nice work, Lexi- you’ve got him squirming.  Now take him all the way in.”

To Lexi’s credit, she tried.  She forced my cock as far as she could into her throat, her nose almost touching my body before she coughed and gagged it up.  She sat up, eyes watering. 

“Oh, come on baby, you’re better than that.  Again,” Crystal chided, moving her chair closer to the bed for a better vantage point.  “Mom, please- stop it.  Just leave us alone,” Lexi begged, wiping the tears from her eyes.  “Again, Lexi, and this time get it all the way in.”

Lexi bent back over my cock, determination in her eyes.  I laid there silently, unsure of how to help her or of what to say to Crystal.  “Spit on it baby, it’ll help,” Crystal suggested.  Lexi did as she was told, trailing a line of spit from her gorgeous lips onto the head of my cock.  She sucked on me again, working her way up to my full length.  She tried a couple more times, failing to press me down her throat. 

“You need more spit baby,” Crystal said gently as Lexi came up gagging for the fourth time.  Before I knew what was happening Crystal stood, pulling her miniskirt down over her generous thighs.  She leaned over my cock, staring at me as she donated her own spit to the tip of my cock.  As I watched the trail of spit leave her mouth, I could feel my face- and maybe entire body?- flush crimson.  “Don’t be embarrassed, Shane, you certainly win in the end.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I chose to say nothing at all.  I looked at Lexi, both of us incredibly embarrassed at her mom’s brazenness.  “Try again, Lexi,” Crystal demanded, this time remaining standing over us beside the bed.  Lexi reluctantly put her head back down, no doubt humiliated by her mom’s patronizing intrusion.  My cock was soaked in spit, and her mouth slid easily up and down it.  I felt the back of Lexi’s throat again, but this time when she gagged her head didn’t lift.  It took me a beat to realize that it was because Crystal was holding her daughter’s head down on my cock.

Read Chapter 9 next, or get the whole series on Amazon.

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Mother Knows Best (Excerpt): Chapter Four

Lexi kissed me deeply, angling her perfect body so that she was back on top of me.  Seeing her glorious tits hanging over me as she bent over for a kiss had my cock rock hard, desperate to be freed from the confines of my jeans.  I thrust my hips up into her as her tongue touched mine, the passion in her kiss mirroring my own.  Her slim fingers undid the first three buttons on my shirt, enough for her hands to touch my chest. 

When her need outweighed her patience, she ripped my shirt open, sending buttons scattering along the floor.  I gasped at her impulsiveness, smirking slightly as the reality of her ripping my shirt off was so much better than my fantasy.  Her hands covered every inch of my chest, creating a path of fire everywhere she touched. She nibbled on my earlobe as I sat up slightly to take the rest of my shirt off, moaning at the feel of her delicate mouth on such a sensitive area.  “Lexi,” was all I could get out before her mouth crushed mine again.

She kissed down my neck, covering my chest in licks, nibbles, and kisses.  As she neared the waistband of my jeans I was sure that I was going to burst into flames.  I concentrated every spare brain cell on not cumming; I was pretty sure that I would agree to never cum again if it meant that this feeling could continue forever. 

I felt her fingers dip under the waist of my jeans just before she undid the button.  My cock was rock hard under them, barely contained by my boxer briefs.  She made quick work of my jeans, pulling them off of my long legs and tossing them carelessly aside, her attention fixated on the bulge between my legs.  Her eyes sparkled in anticipation as she licked her lips, fingers tracing the outline of my cock through the thin fabric.  “Lexi, please,” I said desperately, the teasing already bringing me to the edge.  “Oh, come on, Shane, let a girl have a little fun,” she smirked, bending to lick my cock through my boxers.  She breathed hot air on me as her hands mercifully started taking off my boxers.  She put her face against me as she freed my cock, close enough that my 9 inches jumped up to slap her cheek.  I swallowed my apology as she smiled in delight.

I could feel myself flush self-consciously as she ogled my nakedness, taking her time pulling my shorts off the rest of the way, remaining perched on her heels to take me all in.  She kissed up my leg, inside my thigh, almost to my package- and then switched sides to do the same to my other leg.  When her mouth finally got back between my legs, I yelped as she bit the inside of my thigh.  “Just making sure I have your attention,” she said, as if I could pay attention to anything else.  The house could be burning around us, and I would still be focused on her. 

I felt her breath on my balls before her lips gently wrapped around them.  I moaned in satisfaction, feeling my body melt into the mattress as her lips and tongue tickled me.  Her hand wrapped around my throbbing cock, gently starting to stroke up and down as her mouth worked my most sensitive areas.  The sight of the girl of my dreams between my legs with her hand wrapped around my cock was almost too much to bear.

Her mouth eventually worked its way up, licking me from shaft to tip before she made eye contact with me.  Her eyes held mine as she flicked the tip of my cock with her tongue, each contact sending a jolt of electricity through my body.  I focused on her eyes, framed by long blonde hair and deep enough to get lost in.  I longed to see her lips wrapped around me, but as she started licking my cock like a lollipop while holding eye contact, I forgot all about that.

At long last she sat up, flipped the pink ends of her hair toward her back, and squared her shoulders.  She bent toward my cock, holding eye contact with me as she wrapped her perfect lips around my head.  Her mouth felt amazing; warm, inviting- like home.  My whole body clenched in an effort not to explode right there.  She moved her lips around me, soaking me in spit as her tongue swirled circles around my head.  I moaned, looking into her eyes, willing her to never, ever stop. 

She started bobbing her head up and down my shaft, taking the first couple of inches into her mouth.  I could feel the back of her throat, but she didn’t press me into it.  She could fit about half of my shaft in her mouth, which was absolutely fine with me.  Her hand worked the base of my cock as her mouth did things to me that can only be described as magic.  If she had any hesitation when she began, it quickly disappeared as she licked and sucked and swirled me into a frenzy.

Emboldened by my moaning and squirming beneath her, she took more and more of me into her mouth.  I could feel the tip of my cock resting at her throat as she took tentative movements to get me further and further in.  She tried pressing me all the way down her throat and gagged instantly; watching her gorgeous eyes water from gagging on my cock was probably the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life.  She looked up at me sheepishly, delicately wiping spit from the corners of her mouth before saying “Shane, you’re huge.”

I smiled.  That wasn’t the first time I had heard that, but it meant so much more coming from her lips.  “You’re incredible,” I countered, earning a smile from her.  “I want to get you all in my throat, but I don’t think I can,” she said, the first traces of self-consciousness that I had seen all night playing across her features.  “Lexi, you are absolutely amazing- you have had me on the edge of cumming this whole time- you absolutely don’t have to take all of me in,” I said gently, really meaning it. As hot as it was to see her gag on me, I wanted her to feel comfortable.

“Thanks, Shane,” she said shyly, “maybe it’ll be something to work up to.”  Her mischievous grin reappeared, and she went back to work on my cock.  She found an expert rhythm, sucking, swirling, and stroking me with her hand and mouth.  Her other hand cupped my balls, and every fibre of my being was focused on not exploding into her mouth.  She was really into it, every now and then sneaking my head into her throat and gagging, just to test the waters.

Every time she gagged on me she looked up at me, tears glistening in her eyes at her effort.  I was enamoured- head over heels in love- with her.  Her sucking noises got louder, as did my moans- we were one being, a mixture of sensation and need, giving each other everything we had to give.  It was during one of these moments- her gagging on my throbbing cock- that her mom walked into the room.

Read Chapter 6, or get the whole series on Amazon.

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New Protocol

The thrill of a new partner is always such a high- the way his energy consumes a room, his smell enveloping you before his hands even touch you. The feel of new hands dancing along your skin, that first tentative crush of lips together. Last night, I played with a new partner- and it did not disappoint.

We had met for a drink previously- assessing each other, discussing kinks and life, seeing if there was any chemistry and alignment worth pursuing. I found him to be self-aware, philosophical, and experienced- my kryptonite trifecta. At the end of that meeting, we both decided that we wanted more. We spent the entire day of the scheduled playdate messaging back and forth, trading information on limits, safe words, protocol, etc.- I was given a few instructions to start out.

  1. Be waiting for him kneeling beside my bed, arms behind my back
  2. Have the toys that I am okay with him using nicely displayed
  3. Wear babydoll type lingerie, lace panties, hair down
  4. Address him as Sir
  5. Do not speak unless/until spoken to
  6. Maintain good posture
  7. Speak in the third person (ie. Sir, your sub needs to cum now)

Ever the good slut, I endeavored to fulfill all of his requests. I would say that my experience with protocol is average; it is certainly one of the elements of D/s that I am interested in pursuing further. The thing about protocol that I find interesting is that it is often very simple to follow, but sometimes not intuitive. It is easy to forget manners or posture when your mind is otherwise occupied, and I find it irritating to be called out on it. It presents an interesting challenge for me, which of course I can’t get enough of.

Now on to the good stuff.

I did exactly as I was told; purple lace babydoll, black lace panties, long, blonde, curly hair down my back. I took my time on my makeup, hoping (knowing) that it would be ruined by the end of the night. I chose my favourite perfume, and then headed to my bedroom to wait. The anticipation built as I knelt on the floor and worked to quiet the butterflies throughout my body- breathing deeply, eyes closed, listening to my heart beat. Getting as grounded as I can before someone comes to challenge me.

I heard the door open and close, and the lock latch into place. I heard him leisurely take his coat off, taking his time to climb the stairs. By the time he got to the top I was ready to jump him. We made eye contact, and I resisted the urge to greet him with words- my smile would have to do. He got settled and oriented in the room, browsing the toys I had left out, and adding a few of his own. My skin started to crawl- I just wanted- needed- him to break the ice…touch me, anywhere. He came over to me, running his hands through my hair, tilting my chin up before complimenting me on my appearance. “Good girl, you clean up so nicely,” he purred as he circled me. He came back to my face, leaning to smell my perfume before his lips touched mine.

I melted into his kiss, relieved and excited by the stimulation, and by the fact that the chemistry from our conversation definitely translated physically. Definitely.

He took his time, devouring and exploring me like a five-course meal. I remained kneeling, hands firmly gripped behind my back. His hands roamed my face, neck, and shoulders, down my hips, over my thighs- a whisper between my legs, so swift that I wasn’t even sure it had happened. Down my back, over my ass- briefly pulling the lingerie up to appreciate my panties. His lips followed, punctuating the trail that his hands left. He finally came to sit on my bed, levelling his gaze with mine as he teased my nipples through the thin lace. That earned him his first moan from my lips as my nipples hardened even more under his touch.

At long last he popped my breasts over the lace, allowing them to spill out into his hands. He kneaded, palmed, flicked, and pinched me into an absolute frenzy. He tested me, gradually pinching each nipple, offering a twist at the end to see when I would flinch. After a sharp moan of surprise, I was able to breathe through it- his growl told me that I had impressed him, which of course made me smug.

With one hand still on my breast, he moved his other between my legs. He told me that my panties wouldn’t come off until they were soaked. As he dipped a finger between my lips, he smirked as I moaned- “I guess that won’t take long.” He brought his dripping fingers to my lips, allowing me to suck my juices off them. He slid them back along my tongue, a gentle test. He held them in my throat, waiting for me to gag- I didn’t. He muttered his approval as he tested me a few more times before returning his fingers to my throbbing clit.

He rubbed my clit, fingers sliding ever so slightly inside me every now and then, until I was more than ready for release. He then stopped, bending me over his lap. I was still reeling from the edge that he had put me on when the first slap came down on my ass. “This isn’t punishment,” he said gently, “you have been a very good girl. I just can’t resist seeing what I can do to you.”

Another slap landed, and I moaned in pure ecstasy. He focused his full attention on my ass for quite a while- spanking, adjusting and moving my panties to hit different spots, pulling them tight between my lips to ensure that the lace was as soaked as my pussy. I could feel myself starting to drip as I relaxed over his legs, leaning into each sharp sting. I could feel his enjoyment radiating through his hands, and it fuelled mine. I was in such a state by the time he allowed me to sit back up on my knees, that when his fingers gently stroked my clit my body crumbled into him.

He pulled back again, this time coating my sensitive nipples in my juices before paying them more attention. He took his clover clamps out of his bag, my body tensing at the sight of them. His touch was impossibly gentle as he attached them to my nipples, a stark contrast to their inevitable bite. I winced and cried out, trying to breathe through the initial pain. I came close to calling it, but I didn’t want to disappoint him- my desire for praise allowed me to compartmentalize the discomfort, eventually pushing it away to focus on his finger that had returned to my clit.

I was desperate to cum. The pressure of his relentless finger on my clit paired with the pain shooting through my nipples was too much to bear. I began trying to think back to the protocol around such things- oh, right- third person. “Sir, your sub needs to cum!” I said urgently, followed by a chorus of “Please, please, please Sir” as I desperately tried to hold on. He toyed with me for a few beats, no doubt revelling in my desperation, until at long last he said “Please? Okay, sub- cum for me.”

His words were like a trigger- my body convulsed before my brain was even able to catch up. My orgasm washed over me, pulling me into him, lips hungry for kisses, finding his neck as my hips and legs convulsed around his fingers. My hands grasped at anything to steady myself, voice lost in the moment. His fingers eventually relented, coaxing the last few shudders out of me before his arms wrapped around my crumpled form, pulling me into him. I tried to regain composure, righting my posture and fixing my tousled hair, meeting his eyes with a look of what I am sure was surprise, gratitude, and adoration. The man is good.

He allowed me a short reprieve to re-center, not nearly long enough to catch my breath. Before I knew it, I was bent over the bed, still kneeling, ass pointed toward him as he finally removed my soaked panties. I could hear his approving murmurs as I tried to breathe my way to center, clamps digging into my nipples as I pressed into the mattress. The pain in my nipples dissolved as his finger entered me; my body sighed in relief as he penetrated me, gentle yet demanding. His fingers curled into my G spot, building a sizzle deep inside me that begged to be set free. I begged him to cum again, dutifully following his protocols, craving his praise for my obedience. He granted my wish easily, and my body bucked against him roughly before I pushed off the mattress, lowering my body further onto his fingers as he continued to pull my orgasm from me. I felt wetness squirt out of me, finally collapsing me back onto the mattress, the faint tug of the nipple clamps no match for the ecstasy that I felt.

Before I could get my senses about me, I heard him rummaging in his bag. I then felt the cool pressure of a glass dildo rub my slippery slit as he warmed me up for another round. I mentally applauded his relentlessness despite the apprehension that I felt in gearing up for another orgasm. When he slipped the glass inside me I shivered head to toe- it felt exquisite. He angled it just right, having felt his way with his fingers just moments before. It wasn’t long before his repeated strokes had me on the edge again. He chose to edge me a few times, delighting in my moans of protest and desperation. As I begged him to cum, he challenged me with a “Why should I? I don’t think you thanked me for the last one.” I groaned, irritated by the fact that I forgot my manners- and that he picked up on it. He let me stew in that for a while as he kept me on the edge. I quickly fixed my mistake, begging for forgiveness. He then told me that I was going to be allowed to cum, but as soon as I had I would need to show my appreciation and apology for my lapse in manners to his cock. I eagerly agreed, and my pleas were finally heeded. I came hard and fast- the dildo coaxed another wet stream out of me, making a mess of his hands as he fought to keep the dildo inside me.

As I came down, the throb in my nipples became more acute with each breath. He allowed me a moment to sit back up, while I made sure that my posture was straight despite my overwhelming desire to curl up into a ball. The chain from the nipple clamps dangled, and he pulled on it slightly to elicit something between a scream and a moan. He removed his pants, my eyes hungry for the first glimpse of his cock. His tall frame put his cock at exactly mouth level, and I got right to work showing my gratitude.

I started gently, licking him from tip to shaft, tasting the salty precum before wrapping my lips around him. I ran my tongue along him as I sucked, taking care to flick and swirl the tip of his cock as I moaned with enthusiasm. I felt him harden in my mouth, giving me the opportunity to take him deeper in to my throat, holding him until I needed to breathe. I made sure not to forget his balls, taking them into my mouth, soaking them in spit and feeling them contract in my mouth as I sucked. His hands tangled in my hair, not forcing my mouth onto him, but also not letting me pull too far away. His quiet expectation fueled me as I enthusiastically sucked him until he pulled me back by the hair.

He praised me, and then pulled again on the clamps, asking me if I wanted them to come off. I immediately answered yes, but then remembered that the removal would hurt ten times as much as leaving them on. Then again, the longer they remain on, the more the removal was going to hurt. I was stuck in a sort of purgatory, damned if I do and damned if I don’t. I finally repeated my consent with more assertiveness, and he removed the first one while I screamed in agony. The second one came off directly after, the rush of blood to my previously clamped nipples far too much for me to bear. I gasped and breathed through it, trying to re-center myself as his fingers gently stroked my screaming nipples. Each touch of his finger was like a flame- red hot and burning all the way through me. His touch eventually became comforting, coaxing the blood to fill my now swollen and delicate nipples.

I thanked him profusely, and in response he gagged me with a ball gag before pushing me back onto the bed, bent again at the waist with my ass pointed toward him. I worked my tongue around the gag, finding it to be tight and restricting, spit already pooling at the sides of my mouth. I laid my head on the mattress, steeling myself for another assault- and he did not disappoint. I felt the familiar glass dildo, smiling at the pleasure that it dealt. He didn’t let me enjoy it, though, instead opting to thrust it inside me a few glorious times, and then abruptly stop before he found a rhythm. He did this again and again, teasing me with what could be, never letting me realize it. The ball gag prevented me from adequately expressing my frustration, so I was left to inarticulate moans while I tried to grind myself onto the unreliable thrusts. He then stopped altogether, turning my moans into whimpers.

He went back to his bag of tricks, busying himself while he ignored my garbled pleas for stimulation. I finally felt the relief of the glass dildo back inside me, followed closely by the sound of him turning on my magic wand. I shivered in excitement, then gasping as I felt a second dildo enter me, this one vibrating. It took me far too long to deduce that he had attached the wand to the second dildo and was now penetrating me with two. My orgasm-addled brain finally caught up, and I was moaning in…agony? pleasure? both? I felt impossibly full, particularly when I felt the squirt of my orgasm before I had even asked permission to cum. Whether the ballgag relieved me of that expectation, or he was trying to cut me some slack in the punishment department as a new partner I don’t know, but mercilessly he didn’t elect to punish me for my failure to ask permission. My orgasm ripped through me, the sound of my squirt muddling the steady hum of the vibrator, intensifying an already electric moment.

I expected him to lay off on the sensation, giving me an instant to catch my breath, but he didn’t. He continued thrusting the two toys inside me, stretching me around them and filling me up to the point of overflow. I felt him sit on my back, leaning over my ass to get more leverage to keep hammering the toys into my soaked hole. My body was pure sensation, unable to process any other thoughts or feelings. I belonged to him in that moment, fully and completely.

From there, I honestly can’t tell you how many orgasms I had- frankly, I am surprised I was able to recount the moments so far so accurately. I became a cum-soaked (literally) blur of a person, unable to discern between sensations and orgasms. At some point I felt him stuff my panties inside me, adding a roughness to the thrusting as he pressed them into me with his fingers and the toy. The dildos were relentless, his strong arms keeping an impossible pace. The vibrator hit my clit every now and then with expert precision, adding an entirely new layer to the torture. I don’t know what made him stop, or even when he stopped, but finally at long last it was over.

My last orgasm was intense- there was screaming, of that I am sure. My spit through the ballgag had soaked the sheets, to say nothing of the mess that I am sure I made under me. He laid on my bed, watching me try to fight my way back down to earth. With a giggle, he said almost to himself, “Not sure if I mentioned, but I really like forcing orgasms.” I laughed, popping the ballgag out of my mouth and realizing that trying to fix my hair or otherwise compose myself was a losing battle. He invited me into his arms, holding me as I tried to right my ship.

His embrace was grounding, as was his voice as he talked to me. He told me that I had pleased him, which propelled my already high high into the stratosphere. I took my time coming down, stretching my used body and nuzzling deep into his embrace. His strong arms felt protective when a few moments ago they had been relentless.

We stayed like that for a very long time, talking about life, love, and the meaning of. We covered a lot of ground- he is quite unintentionally funny- he makes me laugh- like, belly laugh- which is a nice way to regroup after a scene. The talking eventually led to a very steamy makeout- he made me want to crawl out of my skin. His lips know exactly how much to take, his hands complement in a way that just melts me. He oscillated between tender care, with hands gently on my face and back, to more demanding need, hands gripping my chin or neck and body grinding into mine. I wanted to give him everything he demanded, and everything I had. This desperate desire to please led to my hand stroking his hard cock, which of course then led to him taking a handful of hair and guiding my head down between his legs.

I eagerly thrusted his hard cock into my throat, showing off as I relentlessly pushed him back over and over again. I then held him as long as I could, which proved to be long enough to get an appreciative moan from his lips. I had my fun, tasing, stroking, gagging, swallowing- soaking him in spit, smearing it around his balls. My hands and mouth worked together, making him squirm under me and thrust up into me. His hands held my hair, holding my face as he fucked it, moaning at my obedience in taking his cock as far as he wanted it to go. I could feel tears running down my spit-soaked face when he pulled me back to eye level, keeping my hand squeezing and stroking his cock as we made eye contact, kissing me before he thrust my face back down to swallow his cum.

He exploded into my mouth, salty sweetness coating my tongue before I swallowed it. I relaxed my mouth, gently sucking and stroking the very last drops out, feeling him melt into me as he came down.

The look of appreciation on his face when I came back for a kiss was the absolute crown jewel on an otherwise exceptional night.

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The Long Game

We’re having dinner at my sister’s place. Everyone is standing around the kitchen chatting away, kids and dogs are running around. Comfortable chaos. He sees my wine glass is empty, offers to refill it. I follow him to the counter, a bit away from everyone. When he hands me my glass, I give him a kiss- chaste, the way you do in front of family, but I linger for a millisecond. I look at him and smile, and then lean in quick- kiss his cheek, and whisper- “I’m going to gag on your cock later…”

His eyes immediately light up, but I don’t even see- I’m already headed back across the room, teasing my niece. We have dinner, and I start to do the dishes. He comes to dry them; there’s lots of incidental touching- hands collide, my tits graze his back as I scooch by. Normally these touches wouldn’t be noteworthy, but all he can think about is what I said earlier, and how good my lips are going to feel wrapped around his cock.

We start playing cards; he and I are euchre partners. My brother-in-law is telling jokes, has everyone laughing. I’m talking trash at cards. His phone is on the table, because he took a photo of me holding the baby earlier. I take an opportunity. I send a text- I want you in my throat. Your cum is going to taste so fucking good. He sees his phone light up but is focused on cards. We win the hand, and while the cards shuffle he checks his phone. He sees my name- confused, then intrigued. He reads it, and smiles guiltily, and quickly pockets his phone. He feels my eyes on him across the table; he looks up and I’m staring right at him, smirking. I bite my lip, so quick maybe he imagined it, as my wine glass heads to my mouth.

We finally say our goodbyes and get in the car. I babble on about innocuous things- funny things my niece said, what we are doing for the weekend, etc.- the whole time he is half listening, focused on what I had promised, wondering if I’m going to take his cock out in the car.I am the picture of nonchalance- he’s beginning to wonder if he dreamt the whole thing.

We get home- drop keys, shoes, etc. He sits down on the couch- I know his skin is crawling. I stand in front of him, and then straddle him. Kiss him like I mean it, grind my hips into his lap. I toy with him a while- I love making out. I kiss us both into an absolute frenzy- alternating soft and hard, licking lips and biting, tongue and breath. I can tell he wants to rush it- at this point he just wants to thrust his cock into me- but I’m setting the pace- and I’ve got him right where I want him.

I stand up. He stands with me and follows me upstairs. I walk slowly, swinging my hips just so. His hands are all over me, greedy. I relieve him of his clothes, and he returns the favour. He is used to taking control, and assumes old habits. I resist, pushing him down on the bed instead. I climb between his legs, clearly ogling his now hard cock. I look up at him- “Finally,” I say, as I take him in my hand. My hand moves slowly while my tongue starts to lick- just the tip, light flicks. “I’ve been thinking about your cock all night,” …flick… “how badly I want it in my mouth,” …flick… “in my pussy,” …flick… “in my ass”…flick. “I can’t wait to swallow you,”…flick…”gag on your cock.” One more flick, followed by more tongue to soak his cock, slowly letting a trail of spit fall on the top. “Now lay back and enjoy the ride,” I say through a smile.

Without breaking eye contact, the flicks turn into licks, coating his cock in spit. He feels my lips, mouth, tongue- one at a time, and then all at once. I find a rhythm, and when I feel him settle into it, I open my throat and thrust him back- just once- and then go back to the steady rhythm. Repeat- mouth, lips, tongue- swirling, spitting, sucking- then throat- thrusting, holding, gagging. I hold his cock down my throat until I need to breathe- swallowing, showing off. I gag on it, then take it back in. I pick up the pace, cock hitting the back of my throat harder and harder. He hears spit, sucking, and gagging. Then it stops. I lick under his cock from the base to the tip, sending a shiver all the way through him.

I look up at him- I know this is torture, and I know how to make it worse. I lick his balls, already soaked in my spit- taking one at a time into my mouth- gently swirling, sucking. He moans, and I bite his thigh- just to make sure I have his attention. I go back to his cock- I’m done playing- I want cum. I slap his cock on my tongue, and then slam it into my mouth. I suck like it’s oxygen- never breaking eye contact. My eyes water, spit all over my face. I can feel his balls tighten in my hand as I roll them together, and I know I’m about to get what I want.

I consider edging him, but he’s waited so patiently. I drive him into my throat, over and over- tongue swirling, gagging, desperate for cum. He finally lets go, and I feel the hot spray at the back of my throat. I lighten the pressure, but don’t stop the motion; my mouth softens, coaxing every last drop of cum out of his cock. I keep sucking until he can’t take it anymore, and grabs me by the hair, roughly pulling me up for a kiss. He kisses me, my face covered in spit, mascara running down my face, feeling like queen of the universe. I smile- “Thank you, Sir”.

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