sex « Heartbreak Nymphomania

25Aug/102

Correspondence

L sends some of the best emails. His words can make me swoon. Here's one of the awesomest ones for your reading pleasure; on fucking in public at our college, among other things.

Let's... make this legendary. There shall be a new challenge. Nous nous baiserons to an unprecedented echelon of debauchery. We will set the boundary for all collegiate libertines to set foot in those hallowed halls; a milestone for those Bacchus-led, lustful revelers. We shall make palpable those words spat forth from Hell's own cartographer, speaking of our model, Egypt's Semiramis, broken by the carnal: "A vizio di lussuria fu sì rotta/ che libito fé licito in sua legge,/ per tòrre il biasmo in che era condotta." It is no coincidence that "carnal" and "carnage" derive from the same root; those Latinists fish from a pool of sexual ardor and fleshly anger, their script merely approximations of the fury that trembles around the core of their passions. Our words are reflections of this Greco-Roman obsession; our actions their seductive manifestations. We are art personified. Each thrust an Impressionist stroke melded into a maelstrom of feeling, twisted into a hurricane of fingers and hair and fleeting glances of serious eyes. Through less solemn eyes (which we have always worn), the description rends our hearts asunder, razes the comfort in our bosom, but thrusts us into a crystalline, fiery realm of pure, ecstatic release; a garden, neither Heaven nor Hell, where flora and fauna flaunt broken limbs with fervor, where Venetian fevers whisper themselves into being, giving tremors that were never told...

"La bufera infernal, che mai non resta,/ mena li spirti con la sua rapina;/ voltando e percotendo li molesta."

And yet it is still said that Jesus wept. He is a sailor, yes, but when we walk on the waves, we sink. How he wishes he could.

Note: Quotes from Dante's Inferno

Filed under: L, exhibitionism & voyeurism, guest post, sex 2 Comments

5Aug/105

Temple

I'm bracing my hand on your chest, using you for leverage in all reasonable respects. Now and again my fingers ghost towards your neck; my nails dig into the muscle that slopes down from your neck to your shoulder. I'm pulling you into me; quick and shallow and then lingeringly, so slow that you can feel all of me. As I stare openly at you, it occurs to me that your cock only makes sense when it's inside me. When you enter me I feel as if my cunt is a temple; a sacred place of transformative power; a place that can change your genitalia from something absurd and nonsensical into something... focused. Directed. Pleasurable. Dangling between your legs, your cock is soft and out of place and silly and only causes you irritation. Does it not? But trapped between my legs, it becomes instrumental to your gasps, to the convulsions that sweep through your body.

---

You tell me that once you pass a certain threshold of your arousal, you cease to think; you fuck me with abandon, thinking nothing of me and only of your own pleasure.

That's the way it should be.

I want you to pin me down, grab my hips, spread my legs and sink yourself into me. I want you to hold my shoulders and pull me hard and jarringly back against you. I want to say, "this is your ass, your cunt, so take it, take them."

Fuck me until you've had your fill.

Filed under: BDSM, Domme, Erotica, L, bottom/object, journal, sex 5 Comments

20Jul/102

Subspace

I have him naked, with his ass up and his face in the pillows, red stripes down his pale back where I'd scratched him, and his wrists and ankles cuffed, each wrist connected to the corresponding ankle. I'm rummaging around in my backpack for lube and a plug. When I find what I was looking for, and turn back around to face the bed, I see that he had twisted himself around so that he could look at me. The sight of him exposed, with his face terribly lustful and hungry, was, cliche as it sounds, breathtaking.

I return to my spot behind him, lubing up my fingers and pressing one into his ass, then two, using my other hand to squeeze and pinch his hip. He is making the most wonderful, breathy noises, jerking forwards slightly every time my fingers move inside him, searching, feeling the plush press of warm flesh. His entire body quakes. I am kneeling between his spread legs. One of his hands inches towards my left knee, he finds and squeezes the flesh just above the joint, squeezes every time I push in, hard enough to make me gasp. Every pump of my fingers equals one jolt of pain for me. He has told me that being penetrated is intense, so intense that he has to hold my body in his hands, take handfuls of me and crush me as hard as he can.

Eventually I lube up the plug and slide it in. I ask him to turn over, and he maneuvers himself so that he's on his back. His skin is pale and his lips, nipples and cock are a soft pink. I suck on his cock for a moment before rolling on a condom and unfastening the cuffs so that his hands are free. He doesn't miss a beat. His hands find my hips as I slide him into me, both of us gasping.

I want to fuck him quickly and erratically, like two teenagers in the back of a car whose orgasms are clumsily reached, and over way too suddenly. I want to move on his cock until I come, but he's making me go slow, tantalizingly, letting himself be very nearly engulfed before distancing himself again. He is subtle in all the ways that I am crude.

Sometimes, while I'm above him and making him feel, he does things that completely derail me and make me want to go limp. Things like: put his hand on my neck, bite me, push his fingernails into my skin. He does this now: he digs his fingers into my waist, and pulls me down hard on his cock before lifting me up again. I feel my face contorting into this strange combination of wincing, being about to cry, and desperation. It hurts. It hurts and I feel controlled and the two sensations transform into pleasure almost instantaneously. A switch goes off in my head. Just a while ago he was restrained and I was in control, but it takes only one gesture to make me need him to control me, instead.

We switch positions so that I'm on my back. He tells me to spread my legs, and I hold them open for him. He enters me again, fucking me slowly and exquisitely. I want to watch his face, but at the moment I need to keep my eyes closed. The feeling of being possessed and fucked is too much. I need to focus fully on the tactile and let it sink in.

"I want you to imagine," he says, "that there's a person standing to your right, watching us. Every so often I want you to imagine yourself catching his eye."

As he thrusts into me, I do: "I'm thinking of them touching themselves..."

"Yes; getting so turned on by watching us..."

The person watching is dark and has serious eyes. I sigh and let my head roll back, and I let myself fall into that comfortable space deep in my mind that rocks and lulls me into a calm containment. The space that he has taken me to. I want to ask him to slap me, but I'm losing my ability to speak. All I can do is feel him fuck me, feel him close his fingers around my throat. All I can do is savor.

"I want you to look at me when I come," he says.

I open my eyes. He's fucking me harder, now, more earnestly. As the urgency of his actions builds, then releases, I feel him tense as it rolls over him, his eyes wide almost in shock. His cock twitches in my cunt.

For the next ten minutes after he pulls out of me, I lay there. I want to open my eyes. I can feel him hovering over me, watching my face and the pulse in my jugular that's fluttering like a bird. I want to see him, speak to him, but all I can do is lay limply, sprawled out and utterly useless. I understand why they call it flying. I am soaring. I am no longer a person, but a rag doll, a thing that does not speak or move or take, but is used purely for the sake of my loved one's pleasure.

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, L, anal play, bottom/object, journal, sex 2 Comments

13Jul/102

Review: Lelo Bob

When I first held the Lelo Bob in my hands, I knew we were not meant to be... because the toy had been mailed to me to use as a prize in a contest I was holding. Nevertheless, I had carefully snuck a peak into the box, and I liked what I saw. Much like Lelo's ad image for Bob, looking at it made me think I was carefully unwrapping an expensive, fragrant cigar. The Bob, despite its decidedly unclassy name, was sleek and gorgeous, and I knew I'd eventually want to try it out myself. Unfortunately, when I did, I realized that Bob's functionality wasn't quite as up to par with its attractive appearance.

As with all Lelo toys, Bob is presented beautifully, and comes with a satin drawstring bag and one-year warranty. It's also made of the smooth, hard silicone that is typical of Lelo.

Due to Bob's small size, I was able to slide it in very easily, and then... I could barely feel anything. I could feel it when I clenched around it. It felt very thin and unsubstantial. I don't even use large plugs regularly; my go-to plug is the njoy pure plug medium. While a beginner couldn't take the pure plug without using something smaller for a while first, it definitely isn't size-queen material either. Bob is very comfortable, definitely, but part of the point of wearing a plug, for me, is feeling it, if only a little bit.

On the other hand, there was a part of Bob I definitely could feel, lodged between my cheeks: the handle. I've read some reviews that criticized Bob's potentially unsafe base, and though I could definitely feel it, it also didn't seem enough to prevent the entire toy potentially slipping into my ass, especially when I was sitting down. I was paranoid about the Bob being pushed in somehow, since the handle is round rather than phlanged and it seems like it could be pushed in with a little force, especially if you've used larger objects in your ass.

Bob, while usable by people of any gender, is essentially designed for people with a prostate, and I was fortunate enough to try it on L. He had it in while we 69ed, and here the handle was a plus. I very much enjoyed putting my finger through the loop and pulling it in and out slightly while I blew him. Afterwards, he told me that he could also feel the handle very obviously, and that the plug felt more noticeable in his butt (than, say, the Bootie), probably due to the plug's length. He didn't see himself wearing it for long periods of time, but definitely liked fucking me with it in.

As for cleaning: Bob is made of silicone, which is body-safe and non-porous, and can be shared after being sterilized. To sterilize the plug, you can wash it with 10% bleach solution, put it in the top shelf of the dishwasher with no soap, or boil it for at least 5 minutes. Also, silicone toys are not compatible with silicone lubes.

So, my verdict? Bob, while quite the looker, was just not for me, although I can see plenty of people, most probably anal beginners, enjoying it.

Specs:
- Type: Anal Plug
- Material: Silicone
- Length: 3.75"
- Width: 1.25"
- Colors: Bordeaux / Deep Blue
- Price @ Vibrator.com: $45

Filed under: L, anal play, anal toys, sex toy review 2 Comments

25May/103

Please, Sir (Virtual Book Tour)

If you ask me, submission is an art form. It requires dedication, focus, commitment and desire, and there’s no single way of doing it. It’s about unlocking something within yourself so you can reach beyond your normal limits, exposing your body and soul in order to go somewhere you cannot get to alone.

The lesson there, and in all of these stories, is that there is risk involved in submission. I don’t mean the physical risks, but the emotional ones, the ones that require a leap of faith, a knowledge that what you are doing may unnerve you, confuse you and scare you, even while it makes you wet and eager and ready for more.

[Excerpt from Introduction: Risk and Reward]

Rachel Kramer Bussel so wonderfully expresses one of the aspects of BDSM that draws me to it the most - and keeps me coming back.

Lately, I have been antsy. My workload has increased and I've spent hours and hours tutoring students. Last night, I came home and wanted nothing more than to abandon my mind and dedicate myself to something mechanical and pleasing to someone else. I ended up cooking, but the dish didn't come out right, and it didn't quite assuage the restlessness that I was feeling.

My lovers are vanilla at the moment, and I've no foreseeable possibility of a kinky encounter. Submissive energy has entered my fantasies, and my mind is plagued with cravings that I picture while I'm getting off:

---

The first fantasy is all about pain. He places me over his lap, lifts up my skirt, and yanks my panties down to my knees. He starts out with his hand - his hands are always large, with wide palms. I am not allowed to kick or move my legs. He wants them straight, flat against the couch, and slightly spread so that he can access me whenever the fancy strikes him. I curl my fingers into the upholstery; trying not to cry out, but feeling the noise welling in my throat regardless. After I've been thoroughly warmed up, he switches to the hairbrush. The hard wood results in a new, sharper pain, while waking up the duller pain left behind from the spanks with his hand.

A few minutes in, the tears come. My thoughts are filled with nothing but: pain, don't move, and why? Eventually he makes me stand up. My face is contorted and streaked with tears, which embarrasses me more than my recent position over his lap.

He gestures for me to bend over the back of his desk chair. Same rules: spread my legs, and keep them still. He finishes with several strokes from his belt. I hear the leather whistle through the air, and crack across my already sore flesh. This time, I scream.

He doesn't stop until my ass is blistered red and I can no longer control my sobs. He brushes his hand lightly over one cheek, which makes me flinch. I already know I'm dripping. He grabs my hips, thrusts into me without any preamble, and his hipbones press into my roasting flesh. As soon as he enters me, my orgasm rolls over me in a wave, but he keeps going.

I think to myself: I'm glad I didn't move my legs the entire time, like he wanted.

---

The next fantasy is about servitude. I picture myself living with someone who works hard every day and comes home tired. Before he comes home, I cook one of his favorite dishes. From scratch; an authentic recipe I learned and then added my own flair to. I serve the dinner and clean up; after dinner, we go to the bedroom and strip down. He lays down on the bed and I oil my hands, rubbing the tension out of his sore back and shoulders. I am naked because he likes the feeling of my breasts and cunt brushing against his body. Once he is relaxed, he rolls over and pulls me on top of him, entering me in one swift stroke.

---

The fantasy after that is about uncontrol. I'm spread-eagled and restrained on the bed, with my legs bent at the knee. He's fucking me with a toy that's designed to hit my G-spot, and it feels wonderful. He fucks me so hard and irresistibly that my orgasm hits me before I'm even aware that it's happening; and he continues until I have another, and another, and my body is spent. I can barely move, or think...

---

The final fantasy is about possession. We're in bed, naked, in the dark, and he fists his hand in my hair, pulling my head down to worship his cock. I use my lips, throat and tongue to the best of my ability, shutting down my mind and letting his cock hit the back of my throat. I gag, once; a stream of spit surges out of my mouth and down his shaft. He pulls my head away and tells me he wants to finish in my ass. I position myself; face in the pillows, on my knees, ass and cunt in the air, presented to him. He fingers my ass until I'm moaning, and then pushes his slick cock into me easily. I moan, and whimper, his cock hitting something inside of me that makes me see stars. When he's done, I lay face down for a while, reveling in the feeling of being nothing but his object of pleasure; the receptacle for his come.

---

Please, Sir speaks to all of these fantasies of mine, and has definitely helped fan the fire of my submissive cravings.

Submission is so many things to me: trust, expression, abandon, servitude, skill. Above all, though, it's knowing that I'm pleasing my lover by giving myself over to him. One of my favorite stories from the anthology displays this perfectly:

Sometimes, a few hours after she has fallen asleep, Veronica feels her husband climb atop her, his cock hard and insistently throbbing against her thighs. She knows what to do. She spreads her legs, wide. As Vince buries his cock inside his wife, stretching her open, she moans drowsily. She doesn't have to move or groan or call out his name. She only has to allow herself to be used. It turns her on that in the dark of their bedroom, their bodies heavy with sleep, she is just a tight warm space from which her husband will extract her satisfaction.

...

Vince said, "I'm not looking for a maid. I'm not looking for a mother. I'm looking for a body. I also know how to appreciate that which I am allowed to take."

On their wedding night, Vince told Veronica that he didn't believe in punishment. He believed in discipline. Then he taught her the difference. For a long while, Vince stood behind his new wife, inhaling her scent, letting his hands memorize the contours of her body. She shivered. Vince smacked her ass, smiling as her skin rippled beneath his hand. A blush of red quickly appeared. He smacked Veronica's ass again, harder this time, his hand stinging as it rebounded. "Discipline," he said, "is a reminder."

...

Veronica looked up at Vince and saw unexpected kindness in his eyes. "Have I pleased you?" she asked. Vince reared back, holding the tip of his cock at the sensitive, quivering lips of her cunt. He squeezed Veronica's throat harder, and she wrapped one hand around his wrist. Vince thrust forward. Veronica cried out again, feeling a blade of pleasure so deeply, she thought her bod might split at the heart. Finally, he said, "Yes."

[Excerpt from Veronica's Body by Isabelle Grey]

You can order a copy of the book from Amazon.com.

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, anal play, books, bottom/object, fiction, pain, sex fantasy, sex toy review, spanking 3 Comments

26Apr/104

Choke

Sir has been on a bit of a choking kick lately.

He's never really mentioned choking before, but since I started subbing to him he's brought it up quite a bit.

Today, Sir granted me two jack-off sessions. The first was while I was videochatting with him. After telling me to strip off each piece of my clothing until I was naked, he gave me a choice: to come on camera, or off camera. After some initial nervousness, I felt comfortable enough with myself to choose to come on camera. I lay back, adjusted the computer so he could see, closed my eyes, and went at it. I knew Sir was naked, jerking off at the same time, and I wish I wasn't so self-conscious so I could look into the camera, and watch him.

Maybe next time.

Afterwards, Sir told me how much he enjoyed seeing me. He's trying to make it so that I'm comfortable enough to perform for him. I'm surprised at how quickly I felt at ease with being naked, and then getting myself off, in front of him.

My second session came with a condition:

Since you did so well with your performance art - you are due for a reward. We will focus on your traditional pleasure points. Toys are permitted. but you are required to do this in a way that pleases me. you will be fully naked, lying on your back. There is one key - you need to loop a belt around your neck, and pull it just slightly tight as you do this. Cut off no oxygen, just make it slightly harder to breathe. I wnat you to be able to come through this sensation... and hopefully love it.

Initially, I was at pains to figure out a way to keep the belt around my neck hands-free and without hurting myself. Finally, I looped the belt around my neck, used a rubber band to mark the point where I'd want to add a new hole, and made a new hole in the belt with a craft knife thing I'd drunken-kleptomaniacally taken from Zeta Mu one night (I should probably return it). The belt itself, interestingly enough, is from my first boyfriend. He left it behind, and I kept it, but it actually doesn't fit me. I used it to belt Christopher once, and hopefully will use it again.

Anyway, the belt made it more laborious for me to breathe, but didn't actually deprive me of air or make me feel lightheaded or anything, which I assume was the point. Feeling the leather and metal tight around my neck, and having to alter my breathing, added to my arousal almost immediately.

I used my trusty Lelo Ina and came ridiculously quickly.

I'm looking forward to the day that Sir will be the one wielding the belt.

---

Note: I only had the belt around my neck for a 10-15 minutes, but I wonder if doing this multiple times would damage my neck. I feel like it's the same as wearing a collar tight around your neck, but maybe I'm wrong. If anyone has any advice about this, please let me know. Also, ideally I would have wanted to do this with somebody else, maybe one of my roommates, knowing what I was doing so they could come check on me, just in case.

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, asphyxiation, bottom/object, exhibitionism & voyeurism, journal, long distance, the Inventor, wanking 4 Comments

25Apr/103

Voice

This post is the result of a task Sir set me yesterday. His prompt:

I want you write a story about being fucked by me. Assume your wrists will be bound, and that I will have freedom to roll you on your knees or your back. This story should be full of explicit detail, and focus on how your body and mind feel through the experience.

Once written, I want you to make an MP3 of you reading it. GarageBand on your computer will do the recording for you. Depending on the quality of your performance, I will give you some sort of reward session.

Recording this was interesting. I felt so awkward at the beginning, and I hate my voice, but as I read more, I started to feel weirdly liberated. I started owning the words that came out of my mouth and enjoyed saying them.

---

The tension had been building up all day - from the moment you'd met at the bus station and exchanged conspiratorial smiles. And then there was all the "accidental" brushing up against each other at the restaurant; your toe stroking his ankle briefly under the table, spooning ice cream into your mouth, your eyes twinkling.

When you arrive at the hotel room, he didn't waste any time. He tells you that he wants you naked, and you comply, nervously stripping off each piece of clothing and piling everything neatly on one of the armchairs.

"Stand still," he says. He comes up behind you and slips something silky over your eyes and around your head. His tie, probably. Then: nothing. You can feel his appraising gaze on you. The room is not at all cold, but your skin is chilled and prickling with goosebumps.

When you feel his hand on your wrist, you almost jump out of your skin. The sound of velcro separating licks through the quiet room. He puts your hands behind your back and cuffs you.

More nothing: just rustling, then the unmistakable clink of a belt buckle. You swallow, wondering what he's going to do next.

Soon, he returns, standing in front of you.

He tells you to kneel. You do, feeling the soft carpeting against your knees, being careful to keep your balance. You begin to feel yourself fall swiftly and irresistibly into that comfortable, confined space in your mind.

"The thought of fucking my pet has made me hard."

He fists his hand in your hair and yanks you forward. You can feel his hardness against your cheek: warm, already leaking pre-cum that smears onto your face.

"Do you want me to fuck you, pet?"

"Yes, Sir. So badly."

"In time. First, you'll take my cock in your mouth. And if you please me... I'll fuck you." His fingers tighten in your hair.

Doing this without your hands or sight is more than awkward. You touch your nose to the side of his cock, put our your tongue and lick along the underside, then wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue, and swallow.

You want to take all of him in, know that you can't, but try anyway. Your throat makes embarrassing, crude sucking noises, and you gag around him. You try to relax, willing your body to accept his cock, wanting to accept his cock, and that makes it easier. He keeps his hand in your hair, moving you to the rhythm that he wants. After a while he releases you. Your lips are covered in saliva and it's threatening to drip down your chin, but you can't wipe it away. You lick your lips instead.

"Stand up." His breath is ragged. It makes you want to smile.

You wobble to your feet and he plucks your small body up into his arms, and sets you back down. You're face down on the bed.

"Get on your knees and bend over."

You tuck your knees under you, pushing your face against the sheets to get into position. You can feel him looming over you. He smooths his hand over one asscheek, and then his fingers find your cunt - your sopping wet cunt. You whimper. He chuckles. He fingerfucks you, fast and hard, gradually adding more fingers. When you seem to be on the verge of coming, he derails you with a well-placed spank.

He withdraws his fingers and you feel a new pressure on the bed. He rests his hands on your hips.

"I'm going to fuck you, pet. You're not allowed to come until I tell you to."

You groan. You feel him pause at your entrance for a split second, before he plunges into you, making you gasp. He pounds you, there's no other word for it: his cock filling you, his hips bumping against your ass, his fingers pressing into your hips so hard there's sure to be bruises later.

He pulls out of you suddenly and flips you over.

"I'm going to cut off your air for ten seconds," he says; breathless himself.

You nod. He enters you again. At the same time, you feel his hand clamp down around your throat. The lack of air and intense fucking make you feel light-headed.

The ten seconds stretch out forever, but eventually he releases you.

"You may come."

His hand moves from your neck to your clit. He starts pounding you in earnest, and you come almost instantly: screaming out your orgasm so loud you swear the entire floor can hear it. After a few more strokes, he follows you over the edge, groaning against you, flooding you with his come.

A moment of inertia: the both of you panting, hearts beating a mile a minute. Then he sits up, gathers you in his arms and removes the cuffs and the silk tie. And all you can think is: I screamed. I didn't think I was capable of it, I didn't think I could contain that much sensation. But I did scream, and he made me.

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, asphyxiation, bottom/object, fiction, long distance, sex, sex fantasy, the Inventor 3 Comments

22Apr/107

Pet (HNT)

It's only been about a month since me and J broke up, and already I'm back up to my old tricks.

A few days ago, I was venting to an online friend (who I will refer to from now as the Inventor) about the breakup. He consoled me, and after a while the conversation somehow segued to the topic of BDSM.

He asked if I wanted to submit to him.

I said yes.

For the past few days, he has given me numerous tasks to do. Some highlights: go without underwear for the entire day, expose myself and take a picture (he gave me permission to post it ^ ), & wear a plug for at least an hour.

He requests that I call him Sir, and wear my amethyst & silver bracelet (the one I used last time I was subbing for someone) when serving him. He let me choose my own title. I find most submissive titles somewhat obnoxious. I couldn't really settle on one I loved, but I went with one that sounded less obnoxious than the others - pet. The more he addresses me with it, the more I grow to like it.

He knows I'm inexperienced, and so is doing his best to build me up without causing me (too much) discomfort. So far, I've given up quite a lot of control to him already. I cannot touch myself or orgasm without his permission (excluding sex with other people), and starting from tomorrow he will be picking out clothes for me. (I sent him a list of most of the clothes and shoes I own. God, that was a long list.) Interestingly, I think the clothing rule will be more difficult than the orgasm rule, because clothes are such a big part of my self-expression. But, then, that's also part of the reason why I like that rule so much. Having someone control my behavior, even though it may be in seemingly inconsequential terms, is such an exciting act to me.

He also wants to make a point to get me to get over my aversion to verbalizing my thoughts and wants. If I'm IMing with someone, or writing, the dirty talk will just come pouring out - I've even started narrating sex in my head sometimes - but when it comes to saying it out loud, I freeze up. He knows this about me. He also wants to get me to be more comfortable with "performing" on cam for him. (And he knows me well enough to explicitly forbid any form of "liquid courage" while I'm camming with him. Damn.)

Yesterday, we were camming and he was telling me how hard he was at the thought of fucking me. Seeing his face and being able to put his facial expression to the words was exciting enough - I mostly just IM with him, and have spoken to him on the phone a couple of times, but never cam with him. Then he panned the camera down to show me the unmistakable bulge in his jeans. I bit down on my lip; on the tips of my fingers.

He said I might get to see more if I did something else for him. He wanted me to say, out loud, how much I wanted to fuck him. And to call him Sir. Nicely.

Part of me hates calling people "Sir" out loud. The word just sounds out of place; like I shouldn't be using it.

But I did it. I fumbled around awkwardly in my seat for a minute, and then I did it.

He rewarded me by letting me watch him take his cock out and stroke himself, slowly. I stared. I wanted so much to take him in my mouth...

After I got over some of the initial nervousness and shyness, I began wondering how I could make things even more interesting. Like a child with a new schoolteacher, I started thinking about loopholes, margins that I could play with. D/s is interesting because it's basically mutual manipulation, except both parties know exactly what's going on. I wouldn't want to do enough to anger or disrespect him, but I'm curious about what a little struggle could do.

I got an answer today. Last night, I got drunk at Zeta Mu and couldn't find this one person I'd been looking to hook up with (again). I went to bed drunk and sexually frustrated, and ended up putting my hands into my boxers and touching myself for a few minutes before drifting off to sleep.

I confessed this to him today, while I was at work, actually. He told me to find a private place, expose my ass, and spank myself hard enough to leave a red mark. I very self-consciously went to the restroom and did so. I knew that my hand would not be enough, so I ended up using a letter opener. Talk about creative use of office supplies.

I came back to my desk feeling embarrassed and obedient, with the sting of the letter opener slowly fading away as I sat.

I've been brought to such a heightened state of sexual tension that it feels like my entire body is thrumming. I think about fucking him while I'm at work, and while I'm doing my daily errands. I picture him taking me bent over desks, surreptitiously in darkened hallways, and on sumptuous bedsheets. I picture him biting me, fucking me hard and kissing the breath out of me until I'm too spent to move or speak after he's done.

Naturally, I hadn't done anything sexual for about a week beforehand. He has only granted me one orgasm so far, so I savored it. I made myself come like I hadn't in a long time: only with my fingers, slowly circling my clit and exploring my folds, while imagining him throwing me over his lap, spanking me and making me whimper, before brushing his fingers, oh so softly, over my wetness.

He has wonderfully large hands. I know that much.

This is re-opening parts of me that had been temporarily closed off. I'm writing erotica again; feeling my sexual energy again. I didn't realize what a big part of my sexuality kink was. I don't need it all the time, but it was definitely difficult being with a purely vanilla partner. I love vanilla sex as much as anyone, but so often my mind would naturally edge towards biting, scratching, slapping, serving and kneeling. Not being able to express my sexuality that way made me kind of boring.

I'm grateful for what he has done for/with me so far. And I'm looking forward for what is to come.

hhnt~

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, HNT, anal play, bottom/object, cybersex, journal, long distance, sexual frustration, the Inventor, wanking 7 Comments

21Apr/101

Claiming (4/4): A Postscript on Power

This is a series I started a while ago, around October 2009, but never finished. It's kind of stale now so I don't want to continue it. I wrote this post as a planned ending, and I'm posting it now because I think it's important for me to say it, though I didn't actually write the rest of the planned posts. Also, it's less awkward to post this now that I'm not seeing someone else.

Read part 1, part 2 and part 3, if you want.

[a scene from the movie Secretary]

I believe that if you have an interest in D/s, power probably has some sort meaning in your life.

Of course, power effects everyone in some shape or form. It underlies every area of life. But if you're into D/s, it's different.

Power means something special to you.

Well, at least, it means something special to me. I'm fascinated by it. I write about it, both in erotica and regular fiction. And sometimes I crave it. Crave to at least pretend that I have it, that I have power over something or someone else. Crave for it to be taken away from me and given to someone else.

Power says something about me - about my personality. About my background. About the experiences that formed the person I am today.

I'm not saying I'm some kind of rape or assault survivor. Nothing as severely damaging as that. Much less harmful. Some things, that I don't even understand enough to talk about here, aren't harmful at all.

But still. Doesn't have to be big to be meaningful.

---

While I was doing those things for Sir, I felt familiar emotions come over me. Familiar, but not the same as I remember. You see, I've been in a number of emotionally abusive friendships in my lifetime, in the sense that I was too giving, and they were assholes who took advantage of it. At least three of my closest friends were people who also demanded a lot of me.

Best Friend #1 would criticize me for very small things, intensely and spitefully enough that it made me terribly upset. That's when I started scratching myself. She got me to do things for her, like help her with her homework, keep her company, wait for her when she had things to do after school, but at a detriment to the things I had to/wanted to do for myself. And she would get really angry if I said I couldn't do them. I was friends with this person for four years. I think it's a large reason behind why I struggle so much with having low self-esteem now. We still actually keep in touch, although our friendship dynamic has changed: now she treats her boyfriends like shit, not me.

Best Friend #2 was very needy. He had a lot of issues to work through. For a while it was almost like I was his counselor/personal assistant. I'd wake him up and try and get him out of bed if he asked me to. I stayed up late with him when he wanted me to (I think the latest I stayed up with him was until 8am on a school night). I talked through his schoolwork with him when he was having trouble with it, and skipped social events I wanted to go to for him. This friendship was unlike the first: I really don't believe that he purposefully set out to hurt me. I think he was just going through a very bad time and really needed someone to be there. And another difference: this time I tried to struggle. Sometimes I'd try to turn my back on him, but he made me feel so bad about it and guilt-tripped me so badly that I ended up giving in anyway.

The bottom line, though, is that a large part of me very much enjoys, and needs to, help the people I care about and do things for them. They were being selfish, but in a way I was being selfish too, because I needed to be needed. I like being needed. Often, I care more about the things I'm doing for other people than the things I'm doing for myself. (Which I know is not healthy - I need to care about myself too, just as much as anyone else I love, and I am getting better and better at doing that.) But I made it too easy for people like #1 and #2 to take advantage of me. I didn't take care of myself enough. I let that be their responsibility instead of my own - and so they walked all over me.

I felt myself falling a little bit back into that mindset with Sir. Wanting intensely to do exactly what he wanted me to do, feeling anxious when I wouldn't be able to. But it wasn't exactly the same as before: it was better. It was so, so much better. Some people still mistakenly believe that BDSM is abuse - it's really not. With Sir, I didn't feel panicked or scared or sad. On the contrary, the experience made me feel happy and fulfilled. The few times that I started to panic about not being able to do something, Sir realized this and calmed me down. He took my feelings and my needs into consideration every step of the way. In many cases, it was more like Sir was doing things for me, giving me chances to indulge in the fantasies that I had, instead of the other way around.

Most importantly, I chose to submit to him. I wasn't forced to. It wasn't like he threatened to end our friendship if I didn't do this with him.

Consent and consideration. A person who says s/he's a "dominant" and ignores those two basic principles is a dick in dominant disguise, or else a really bad dominant.

Filed under: BDSM, Sir, bottom/object, in retrospect, intimacy, reflections, relationships, sex 1 Comment

19Jan/103

Claiming (3/4): “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.

[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...

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, Sir, bottom/object, in retrospect, journal, long distance, relationships, sex, sex in odd places, wanking 3 Comments

Older Entries »

This blog contains adult content.

Wilhelmina Wang. Queer, female college student with her mind lodged firmly in the gutter, seeking genderbenders, lessons in BDSM, a meaningful fuck, and a point in life.

Here's where her mind is spilled like the proverbial guts.

Protected posts: Of a more personal nature. Contact me for the password.

Follow Me: