Heartbreak Nymphomania
19Jan/102

Claiming (3/?): “Go pantiless after.”

I suppose I should finish what I started... wrote most of this a while ago.

These events occurred circa. October 2009. Read part 1 and part 2.

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[via Maria's Photo]

Day #2, continued.

The first thing he wanted to do was make use of me being so turned on. We had moved back to email now, and I sat there, waiting eagerly for him to tell me what he wanted me to do.

I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped when I read his next message: he wanted me to find a restroom to masturbate in, and wanted me to go pantiless after I was done.

Just picture it, will you, for a moment? Me, unassuming in my grey puffball dress, walking through the library - which was silent except for the occasional rustle of pages, filled with students intent on their work. Me, filled with so much nervousness and excitement that I was practically sizzling with emotion...

I went down the stairs, floating in a dizzy haze, and found the restroom. I entered the biggest cubicle, took off my boots, took off my leggings, finally took off my panties. I folded them nicely and set them down, then set about getting myself off.

It didn't take me very long. I was already soaking wet and had mental fodder enough... but the thing that kept playing over and over in my head was the word used. How Sir wanted to use me, how he wanted me to feel sore and exhausted and worn out and used, used, used...

This library was one of the less "popular" ones, and so the restroom was completely empty, and also silent. Every breath, every slide of my fingers inside me and back out were clearly audible, and I hoped and hoped that nobody would walk in until I finished.

I was lucky. Just as I felt my orgasm begin to swell, somebody loudly pushed the door open.

I gave myself a few moments to calm down before I pulled my leggings and boots back on and tucked my panties into my jacket pocket. My leggings were made of silk, and I could feel the material against my damp pussy - cool and soft.

I walked slowly and self-consciously back to my spot. I sat down and immediately sent Sir a message, telling him I had done what he asked.

His next demand was that I take a picture of my panties with my phone and send it to him. I considered walking back to the restroom and taking the picture there, after a quick look around I realized that so few people were in the library that no one would notice if I took the picture right where I was. I quickly took my panties out of my pocket, crunched them in my hand, and shoved my hand under the desk. I opened my hand, clearly displaying the panties (unfortunately, white with bright pink stars and, for some reason, Superman logos on them) and snapping a picture.

He had a few more instructions for me for the rest of the day. He wanted me to find a collar or choker of some sort that I could wear when I was doing tasks that he set me. I had a cloth choker, which he told me to use. He asked me what the rest of my day looked like. I didn't have anything to do except go to dinner with a friend. He told me that I had to excuse myself during dinner and bring myself off again.

Shortly before dinner, I went back to my room to look for the choker, that I hadn't worn at all before this. I couldn't find it in my dresser or among my clothes. I took down the storage boxes from the top shelf of my closet, and rifled through them, then grumbled loudly in frustration.

The choker wasn't there.

I checked all the drawers and boxes over again. I was so frustrated. Sir wanted me to use that choker, and I wanted to use the choker, but the choker was not there. I wanted to try my hardest to do what he wanted me to do, but I couldn't, since I guessed that I must have left it back home, halfway across the globe. (An email to my sister asking her about it later confirmed my suspicion.)

I apologetically told him about what happened. He immediately reassured me, and asked if I had anything else. I was relieved. He knew I don't like being talked down to or humiliated, and I'm glad he remembered and didn't do either of those things. He ended up choosing a simple bracelet - silver with a plain amethyst clasp - for me to wear when I was submitting to him.

Soon I had to go to dinner, so I put on the bracelet and went over to my friend's place... It soon proved that excusing myself to get myself off would be difficult. My friend wanted some advice on a problem, so I felt bad about interrupting her. Eventually our conversation wound down, so I went to do what Sir had asked.

My friend didn't live in a dorm, she lived in an off-campus house. She directed me to the bathroom... it was right next to the kitchen, and the door didn't lock. Great. I had to hold the door shut with one hand, and I could hear everyone talking and hanging out in the kitchen. Using my fingers against my clit, there was no way I was going to come, I was too distracted.

I had come twice that day already, but Sir wanted me to have come three times. He'd be making me pay for that transgression later...

To be continued...

30Dec/091

A Guiding Hand

Hey, so, Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it) and happy holidays and such. :) I've been spending a lot of time hanging out with family and friends and such and oddly haven't been in the mood for blogging, until now. Being apart for a month can do that to you, I guess.

I'm quite aware that this post is about topping from the bottom. But you can't exactly get a person to start hitting you. You have to start somewhere. I wonder when I'll work up the nerve to ask that first question? We've both very sexual people, but I have a feeling that sex means so many more things to me than it ever will to him.

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[via jkrabbit]

Would you like to try pulling my hair?

No, don't pull the tips; everyone does that, and it doesn't feel good. Put your hand here, close to my scalp, and grab a big handful. Feel free to yank; it's okay. Yes, just like that. Hold me against the wall; bite my neck, my shoulders. Can you feel them - my muscles, my pulse - under your teeth? You could be gentle, or bite down hard enough to draw blood - neat, red pinpricks - like this. Don't worry, I'll tell you if it hurts too much.

Hold me up against the wall. Kiss down my body; hold, grab, squeeze my tits; pinch and twist my nipples between your fingers, until I can't keep quiet. My arms are folded behind my back. You didn't ask me to put them there; but it feels right. I'll keep still if you want me to. You're so good to me, so patient with my nonsense; I want to do something for you now; I want to make you feel good. You never ask for much, but that doesn't mean you don't want. I'm learning you more and more as time passes; I notice the hitches in your breathing and the way your voice gets soft and husky with desire, even if the words you say are few.

What would you like me to do for you? Please, tell me. Tell me how you want me. I'll suck your cock, lave you all over with my tongue, soft and slow and not leaving a single part of you untouched. I'll bend over, good and obedient, ass high in the air for you to use; a warm hole for you to come into. I won't move. I won't touch myself. Not unless you want me to. Or you could shove my face into my pillows; hold me down and leisurely touch and tease and explore me until my entire body is thrumming like a wire highly charged with electricity.

We could do all of these things, and more. But, for now, we'll begin with you yanking my hair.

28Nov/092

Claiming (2/?): “Assume the position.”

These events took place circa. October 2009. Read part 1 here.

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Day #2

Two days later, on a typically doleful Monday, I was at work when Sir emailed me. He was at work, too, and was having a stressful day. He asked me if I was up to helping him "relieve himself." I agreed at once - both excited to see what was to come and glad to escape my own humdrum day, if just for a little while.

He asked if I had done anything to warrant a spanking, and I told him a few "bad" things I had done over the past few days. Slept through class. Behind on work. The usual transgressions. He said that I should take my academics more seriously, and then asked that I "assume the position": all fours, face down. He wanted me to feel vulnerable. I was familiar with how that position felt - it made me feel exposed - but tantalizingly so - imagining the gaze of my lover wandering down my body, taking in everything.

Sir started spanking me, again: harsh swats that stung and reddened up my skin. He built up a rhythm until he was happy with the hue of my behind, then soothed my burning skin with his hands.

At the library front desk, I bit my lip and shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in my seat. My eyes were fixed on the computer screen - utterly intent on it. I hoped that the head librarian wouldn't suddenly come by to fetch something, as she sometimes did, because I didn't want to interrupt our session by having to hurriedly minimize my email in order to hide it.

He resumed spanking me, letting his fingers land between my legs, moving on to heavier blows... I let him know how turned on I was, and imagined what I'd do if this was really happening - gasp, squeal, half-attempting to escape from his blows and half-arching towards his touch; wanting and detesting the mix of pleasure and pain at the same time.

By then, my work shift had come to an end and I had to leave to do some errands. I told Sir, and so we switched to text messages. It was so unbelievably hot to do something as mundane as stand in line to pick up some packages, but with my thumbs flying over the keypad of my cell-phone, attempting to settle my facial expression into a non-incriminating configuration that did not betray what I was doing, heat pooling at my clit...

Sir began probing me, pressing his fingers inside me as he continued landing slaps all over my behind. I was both embarrassed and intensely aroused, groaning, overwhelmed with sensations. He rocked his hand as I rocked back into him, then pulled his fingers out and rubbed my clit, using his other hand to pull my hair so my head snapped back uncomfortably.

And then he took his cock out, the cock that I had never seen but knew was thick and substantial, according to what he had told me, and that I knew would stretch and fill me wonderfully... He pulled my body towards him, sinking himself into me. I tried my muffle my moans until he asked me to stop... half-reluctantly I took my knuckles out of my mouth and let my moans and choking cries fill the room. He pounded into me until he was about to go over the edge... then pulled out just as he came, spurting his come all over my back, leaving me limp, shuddering, and sated...

The end of our tryst found me in the library again, this time getting ready to do some homework... but so wet, bothered and distracted that I could barely even focus on the readings in front of me; my mind filled with gorgeous, filthy images as a result of what had just happened between us.

But things did not end there - Sir had more in store for me: he wanted to stake a claim on me. It was early afternoon and the day still stretched on before us, and Sir gave me a list of things that he wanted me to accomplish before going to sleep.

To be continued...

25Nov/093

Claiming (1/?): “I want to brutalize you.”

These events took place circa October 2009.

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Recently, I found a hot new person to play with. Well - "new" is not entirely correct. We've known each other for quite a while, but this is the first time he has expressed desire for me. Sure, we flirted casually with each other in the past, but I never thought there was anything behind the words. (I suppose it didn't help that both of us were dating other people at the time.)

But apparently there is.

There is something so intense and exciting about interacting sexually with someone who you are emotionally connected to, but have previously only been platonic with. Typically, I do hook up with people I know, at least, and then get to know them better after hooking up with them because, well, I prefer to have some kind of relationship with the people I'm hooking up with, but I rarely have been close friends with someone and then added a sexual dimension to our friendship.

And, obviously, I've wanted him for quite a while. Which makes this even better.

But this is also a little aggravating.

Because he graduated a year ago and no longer lives here.

In fact, he lives far, far away, and I don't even know when we'll be in the same place again.

Why does this always happen!?

...Anyway, the fuzzy, good feelings definitely outweigh the bad. Knowing that someone I want, wants me as well? And actually has wanted me for a while? That is pretty damn awesome.

I ended up long-distance subbing for him for one short, but wonderful, week. Only a week because he ended up not having enough time to put into it as he wanted. He does have a job and a life, after all. I was disappointed, but glad that anything even happened between us at all...

---

Day #1

It all started when I sent him an email saying that I had had a sexy dream about him. Which wasn't really anything more risque than anything we had said to each other before. But later, we found each other on IM and he told me what an ego-stroke that email was.

I elaborated for him: I dreamt that I was naked; he pushed me over the arm of a couch, spanked and groped me, and made me get him off.

He told me that that sounded like something he would do. Except he'd probably jerk off on me instead. Or fuck me, because he has never fucked me before.

Hmm. This was a change. Sure we'd "talked dirty" a little to each other before, but it had never gone on for this long, or gotten this far.

Soon, he was reddening up my ass and scratching over my back. He shoved my head into the couch cushions, held me down, took his cock out and started touching me.

Gulp. It was at this point that I reached into my shorts. And realized that I was dripping wet.

He told me how much he loved my shapeliness - my ass and my narrow waist; how he wanted to brutalize me and leave me bruised; how he wanted to pull my hair and force me to my knees and have me worship his cock...

"If you're good," he said, "you get to put it in your mouth."

This was a change for me. It's not often that I get turned on by being talked down to. Most of the time it actually pisses me off. But this was different, this wasn't some guy, this was him, and I surprised myself by how much I wanted to please him; how much I wanted to suck his cock...

Then he pushed me over, fucking me hard from behind, not trying to get me off, but wanting to make me feel owned... If I began to come he'd interrupt it with a scratch or spank. "You need to feel used up," he told me.

Our conversation shifted to other things then, and after a while I had to go offline because I was going to visit a friend.

But one important thing I gleaned from this was: he really wanted to fuck me. He desired me. What a good thing to know.

I had been touching myself the entire time we were talking. I thought that the conversation was a one time thing, a result of chance and mutual horniness, but it would turn out that I was wrong...

To be continued...

25Sep/093

Thing

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She is tied to the bed. Arms over her head; legs pushed up and back, naked. She's almost folded in half.

No, not 'she.' 'It.' He is calling her 'it.' Or 'this.'

Her eyelids flicker open and shut, eyelashes brushing against the blindfold. Tongue curling against the bit between her teeth.

Her senses tell her: darkness. Breath. Hands brushing leisurely over her thighs. A deep voice chuckling. Her cunt beginning to drip... drip... drip...

His hands are hard and rough; feeling, squeezing and touching as if she were literally a piece of meat; simply nothing; an object whose quality he is currently evaluating.

All of a sudden she feels his thumb rub over her folds, her clit. She squeals. Her heart thumps. The man ignores her. Pushes one, then two, fingers brusquely into her, fucking her casually for a couple of seconds. She hears: schlick-schlick sounds.

The man says: Hey, you should come try this pussy. Feels amazing.

She gulps - the saliva pooling at the back of her throat and rolling down it.

Another voice answers, clearer and higher than his, but undoubtedly male. Younger, perhaps. And more nervous.

Her body is shaking. Who is this person? The man's hands leave her, to be replaced by the newcomer's. Longer fingers, more slender. He explores her uncertainly. Sighs.

The man says: Go on, don't be shy.

The second man says: Mmm.

Zipper-sound, and a warm cock-head rubbing against her. She moans behind the gag; half afraid, half dizzy with desire.

He enters her swiftly, cock long like his fingers, places his hands just below the creases of her knees, and crudely ploughs her - no consideration, no pretense, just pure lust.

The man is watching her face, she can tell. While the other man pushes against her legs more urgently and his breathing becomes heavier, the man puts his hand under her chin, tilts her face up, turns it this way and that. She bites down hard on the bit; closer... closer... She imagines the man's eyes riveted on her as her face contorts and her body spasms in pleasure.

The other man thrusts hard twice more and freezes, and the heavy, sour smell of his come hits the air.

The other man says: V-very... very good. It feels very good indeed.

They both leave her then. Muffled conversation. He leaves her there for what feels like forever. The semen drools from her entrance. She starts twisting uselessly against the rope.

Finally the man comes back. Says nothing, just starts untying her quickly and efficiently. Then the bit is gone. Then the blindfold is off. And they both look at each other, smiling madly, and then she laughs and he wraps her naked form in his arms and kisses her.

25Jun/090

Some ruminations on roles

Having more experiences with different lovers, researching a bit more about BDSM on Fetlife and starting Jay Wiseman's "SM 101" has lead me to start thinking about my (very, very slowly) emerging BDSM identity, again. Granted, labels are only of a very basic use here; in fact I'm highly tempted to conclude that my identity in regards to BDSM will continue to be in flux and fluid.

I'm always slightly bemused by the large number of people (close friends and acquaintances) who have me clearly pegged as dominant. It's not like people's opinions necessarily have any bearing on reality, but it's still interesting to make a note of them.

If I were to be most truthful, I'd have to declare myself as either a switch, or unsure. In my head, though, I'm most inclined to think of myself as a Domme rather than a switch or a submissive - yet the amount of time I spend in a dominant role during sex is probably only a tiny percentage. I suppose I just want to become that in a more permanent way, in contrast to the other roles/identities.

Lots of things stand in the way of me growing into a Domme identity, or make me hesitate to claim that identity outright. I'm a pretty insecure person. I second guess myself a lot. I'm easily embarrassed. I'm almost never able to bring myself to do something to a person that they might not want or that might be humiliating for them, or "force" them to do something that I want. I have a hard time expressing my desires and asking for things. Sometimes I'm not even sure what my desires are. Most of the time I can't even approach people I'm attracted to unless I'm fairly certain that the feeling is mutual. All of those things don't seem to be good domly qualities, even though I know that all sorts of people can be dominants, that dominants can be insecure, and that people can be very different in the bedroom than out of it.

But then there are times that I get a crystal clear picture in my head of what I want to do to someone. When those urges hit me, it's like an ecstatic rush to the head. I become so stuck on the idea that I can hardly think about anything else. I remember that one night all I wanted was to walk up to Girl and interrupt whatever she was doing by kissing her hard; and another night when I desperately wanted to 69 with the Professional, then bend him over and fuck him roughly in the ass until his orgasm came gasping and screaming out of him.

Whether or not I act on what I feel is another issue entirely. I very rarely do.

Sure, I've topped or bordered-on-dominated people before. Godamnit, I belted the Emperor in front of a huge roomful of people, and I've cuffed K to his bedpost and then breast-tortured him. The thing is that those ideas were fully theirs. I enjoyed the fuck out of it, but I was still the one following orders, so to speak. Most of the time, my wants or fantasies actually center around what a partner has already told me that they want done to them. It's almost as if I'm too afraid to even think beyond those things. My biggest fear when I want to do something to someone is what if the other person doesn't want that too?

In spite of all this, I've found that a few things that bring out the Domme side of me. The first thing is trust; when I'm so close to someone that I know they'll accept me no matter what seemingly bizarre desire I confide to them.

The second thing is brattiness. Mostly in hot, bitchy women. There was this girl in my fraternity who stands out in my mind very clearly. She was blond, slim, gorgeous, and perfect - like a doll. She'd act all cutesy and then turn right around and bitch you out from behind a serpentine smile. I can't remember how many times I wanted to grab her thick, blond hair in fistfulls, smudge her lipglossed smile off her face, and fuck her so hard that by the end of it she'd be boneless in my arms.

(Yeah, that obviously never happened. She's straight not to mention taken.)

The third thing is alcohol. Yeah... drunk dominance sounds like a horrible idea. Alcohol just knocks down the walls of my inhibitions like nothing else.

And while I have issues with dominance, I don't claim submissive or switch because... well. Let me put it this way. I want to be spanked, bound, scratched, roughed up, immobilized, and used. The first time I was tied up, in a completely non-sexual context might I add, I coasted down into sub/bottomspace so quickly it was like magic: I was fortunate enough to attend a bondage workshop given by Dov, and the night afterwards one of my fellow frat members wanted to practice tying a chest harness on me, so I let him. While he was binding me, I became very quiet and still, looking down at my shoes. Once my wrists were cinched securely behind my back, and pulled tightly upwards towards my shoulder blades due to the shortness of the rope he was using, I found myself in a secure, calm, comforting, almost Zen-like state. I stayed like that for a while. Then someone offered to untie me, and I reluctantly let them.

My point is, while I want all of that (and more), I'm not exactly very... submissive, per se. Case in point, when the Professional was spanking me, I lay face down on the bed for him, I immobilized my arms for him, I took every one of his swats without trying to escape, but when he tried to verbally embarrass or humiliate me, I didn't have any of it. I gave him snark and sass and started baiting him right back. In fact, if someone tried to sneer at me and call me their slut, I can see myself responding not obediently, but with an empathic "fuck you!"

One thing I can say for sure though (this is starting to turn into a rambly laundry list... forgive me) is that I'm definitely very comfortable in my bottom identity (clearly) and my top identity. God, I love topping people. Learning what turns them on and leaving them gasping for more, teasing and pleasuring and hurting and pushing them to sensory heights they've never felt before, playing their bodies like an instrument, knowing just the right buttons to press and the right way to fuck with their heads... it's quite wonderful.

My sexuality seems like it just continues to grow in different ways, and I'm excited to see what I'll find out next. Hopefully I'll find dominants who are empathetic, conscientious and strong enough for me to really feel their control (an interesting note: up until now the best dominance I've received has been from people who identify as submissive, i.e. the Emperor and the Professional), and submissives who I trust and whose psyches I can sink deeply into.

28May/0925

HNT: Spanked

WOW. I'm posting this the earliest I've ever posted any HNT... but I'm really excited about posting it. It's not the most creative I've done - in fact it's probably the quickest one I've taken - but personally I think it's pretty sweet.

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Last weekend, I got spanked for the first time.

If you've been keeping up with my blog/Twitter/anything, you'd know about how long I waited for this to happen.

"Lay down on your stomach," he said.

I was surprised - mostly because I thought he was submissive. I knew he liked me a very long time ago, but never acted on it. I wasn't sure how I felt about him. But tonight, I was sure.

I lay down, naked, on my stomach, with my face in my pillow. I wondered what he was going to do. The only two men who I'd trusted enough to confess my spanking fetish to, without being embarrassed, had failed miserably when they had attempted to inflict pain on me. And this man, who was primarily submissive...

Crack.

He was using my plastic, cheap Bank of America ruler on me. He taunted me as he did, calling my ass too white, trying to find excuses to punish me, asking me about my experiences with D/s. In fact, he was taking a lot of ideas from me, when I had dommed him just ten minutes before.

He varied his pace, landing several on me at a time, or taking it slow and tantalizingly, giving me time to catch my breath and let it sink in between strokes. My ass hurt but I still knew I could take so much more. I gasped, panted, and cried. He scolded me when I moved my hands from in front of me, so I crossed them underneath me instead.

Then he asked me to lay across his lap, and spent several minutes working me with his hand.

I fell into kink-love. He was the antithesis, physically, of what I was typically attracted to, but the things he wanted to do to me, and the things I wanted to do to him... it was a match made in heaven.

When I woke up the next day, I saw that numerous pieces had snapped off of the ruler while he was using it on me, and now lay across the floor.

The day after that, I had a small red blush across my ass where he'd hit me. It stung when I sat down, or when my backpack pressed against the spot.

It felt wonderful.

The day after that, a bruise began to form, and I stared at it, fascinated, in my bathroom mirror.

Please. Give me more bruises.

HNT_1

15Jan/098

HNT: Collar Me

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I've mostly understood bondage as a practice that's pleasurable because it enhances sexual acts. Being restrained and spread eagled on a bed, ready to be fucked... Mmm. I've definitely read other blogposts before where people discuss their need or desire to be bound, but I can't say I've been able to understand it before.

Until now, that is... I'm wearing a lovely choker that F recently gave me (it used to be hers, but she doesn't like it anymore because one of the spikes fell off). No, it's not an actual collar, it's purely decorative. Still, when she snapped it around my neck, it felt... nice. Probably because I have a very sensitive neck, but it was even more than that - I felt an inexplicable sense of security.

Then one day I was procrastinating and surfing SexToy.com. And I found two armbinders that I fell completely in love with (here and here). Imagining myself naked, with someone (mostly Christopher, I have to admit) gently pulling my arms around my back, lacing the ties up or buckling the cuffs... the leather fitting snugly around my arms/wrists...

And, as I imagine, security and trust and need wash over me.

So, now I guess I understand what it's like to want to be bound for no other reason than simply being bound.

Of course, after I was bound and someone was to run their hands over me, and explore my prone body, well... I probably wouldn't complain.

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Oh I also really want this. (Spanking someone and having it result in "bitch" imprints? How can I resist?) And the Actor took my Leo dildo (that he paid for, granted) and my Jaguar harness might be lost, so I want to replace those too. Why do I have to be so broke? =(

HNT_1

26Dec/087

“Body like a battleaxe”

Remember when I said that the Emperor sent me a series of hot emails that I very much wanted to post, but decided not to? Well, I think I can get around the whole consent issue by writing the imagined scenario from my point of view instead.

---

[via Viviane]

"Were I to dom you, Wilhelmina..." he said in his email...

We're in that room, in the basement. I'm sitting in the middle of the floor on a stool with my hands on my knees; and even though I'm fully clothed I feel completely naked. You're circling me, slowly, and I know you don't want me to move so I'm trying not to, but it's difficult. Your gaze is so intense and it makes me feel self-conscious. I want to look away, but I can't...

Finally you say something.

"Close your eyes."

Relief. My eyes flutter shut but almost immediately I want to open them again. I want to know what you're going to do. But I make myself keep them shut; I make myself obey.

I gasp in surprise when I feel your fingertips lightly trace along my shoulders and up my neck. You're barely touching me but every movement is electric. I can hear you breathe now, as you bring your cheek close to mine. Not even skin brushing skin. Merely the fine hairs on your face displacing mine.

I'm tense. I want to move but I'm utterly unable to.

And then you're dipping your hands under my shirt, easing it up my body and over my head. My bra soon comes off as well. A few seconds of breathless nothing - I can feel your gaze raking over my naked back - and then you're sweeping my long hair over my left shoulder.

My eyes are still clamped shut when I feel your mouth on the small of my back. I yelp. Your soft, warm lips and sharp teeth graze my skin all the way up my spine until you reach my neck. At which point you bite and suck hard at my tender shoulders and throat. Tasting me.

I groan, letting my head tilt back ever so slightly, feeling myself start dripping. God, I want you so bad, and I want to tell you as much...

Then your hands. They press against my quivering thighs, run over them and my hips, my stomach and stop at my naked breasts. You tease my nipples between... your thumb and forefinger, probably... so lightly, while you continue to bite me roughly enough to make me cry out.

"Are you aroused?" Your voice is velvet and liquid sex and dark, dark chocolate.

"Yes," I mutter. You pull me to my feet briefly to ease my skirt and panties off.

"Then touch yourself - tease your clit out. Don't masturbate. Just make yourself ready."

My mouth is a thin, straight line. I've only touched myself in front of another person once, and that was only for a few brief seconds. Nevertheless, I move one hand from my knee to reach in between my legs and rub myself. Soon I'm swelling, standing to attention. Meanwhile, you're moving my legs, spreading them apart, and tying my ankles securely to the back legs of the stool.

You're in front of me; I can feel it. The silence twists itself around us like a snake. My eyelids have flickered so many times since you told me to keep them closed but I've managed to not fully open them. Yet.

I feel your hand at the small of my back, your breath on my vulnerable chest and then - god - your tongue on my nipples, laving one, then the other, and then your lips wrap around it instead. Sucking. I try hard not to whimper, biting my bottom lip hard.

You stand back up again and I'm panting and you're pulling my hands away from where I was still caressing myself. And you bring my arms behind my back, tying my wrists together as firmly as my ankles. Before I can even hazard a guess at what's going to come next I feel your tongue, again - on my clit now - slick and wet and quick and maddening. I swear you're making figure-eights with your tongue. (If you're supposed to be domming me, why does it still feel like I'm being serviced?) I want desperately to thrust against your face but I can't because of the rope, the damn rope.

I'm panting hard when you withdraw again and almost shriek in frustration.

I give a wholly different kind of shriek when the first blow from the riding-crop hits home.

You strike my breasts, my sides, my pussy with sharp, smart thwips, and with every strike I have to press my lips together harder to stop the cries that threaten to escape. The crop stings when it hits my sensitive folds, but then why - why - am I getting closer and closer to coming?

You rip my orgasm away from me when you stop spanking my pussy and instead move behind me. You make sure to move my arms further up my back before raining blows onto my lower back and ass. You're not holding back now. I can tell. Each strike has a crisp, audible slap to it, and feels like fire. My jaw is slack - my mouth is open and wordless and I can practically feel my skin rising into red welts all over.

After what seems like hours, you stop. I hear the crop falling to the floor and a soft bump as you fall to you knees behind me. Your hands are at my hips, and you ghost light caresses over me - caresses as light as your blows were rough.

I assume that you're done and I let myself relax. Big mistake. Before I'm even aware of what's happening, two of your fingers are deep inside my dripping cunt. You hook your fingers, pumping me, your fingers banging hard against my walls. And I'm moaning. My eyes are open wide and I'm hoarsely moaning. You're standing now and I can feel your ample breasts against my back. Your breath is hot in my ear.

Yes. Yes. Yes. More. You continue pounding me relentlessly and when I finally come, I scream.

A few fuzzy moments later your hand is in front of my face and I'm licking it clean. And then you come in and kiss me properly.

Me: "That was... wonderfully hot. And so, so perfectly fitting. And I'm going to be horribly distracted for the rest of the evening"

Him: "Always glad to be of service."