Or: The “Porn” I consumed as a 14-year-old.

Disclaimer: I don’t profess to be an expert on this topic. As with practically everything else on this blog, it’s all drawn from my personal experience, and the examples I’m giving are in no way representative of the fandoms as a whole, since there are [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]>

Or: The “Porn” I consumed as a 14-year-old.

Disclaimer: I don’t profess to be an expert on this topic. As with practically everything else on this blog, it’s all drawn from my personal experience, and the examples I’m giving are in no way representative of the fandoms as a whole, since there are millions of works out there and I’ve probably read a tiny handful of them, cumulatively. Yaoi and slashfic culture are also, really, two separate things, but I’m addressing them at the same time here because I had pretty much the same relationship to both. I was/am primarily a consumer of these works and never really participated by commenting or posting on forums or anything like that. In short: if you want a Yaoi 101 or Slashfic 101 or heavily researched analysis of either, you should probably look elsewhere.

I can’t remember the exact event that marked when I first started to become a sexual being. I do know that it started when I was 14. Sure, I had had sexual thoughts before then, but they were quick and fleeting and I had no idea that they were sexual at the time. No: 14 was the year that I became aware of my sexuality and started thinking about it in a coherent way. It was when I fell in love for the first time, got over my homophobia, realized that I was bisexual, and started consuming pornography or erotica.

Except I didn’t look at porn videos and pictures online, or at smut mags. No, my porn came in forms that some may consider unexpected: manga and fan fiction.

Yes. I used to be (and still sort of am)… a yaoi fangirl.

For those who don’t know: yaoi, shounen-ai, slash and Boy’s Love are all terms for pretty much the same thing¹ – media created and consumed primarily by women that features gorgeous boys who make out with each other a lot. They range from fluffy and innocently romantic to raunchy and plotless, but most of them incorporate the characters’ dynamic and build up emotional tension so that the sex scene is 100x more delicious when it finally happens.

How it all Began

I found my first slashfic by accident on Fanfiction.net. I was skimming through the Harry Potter section and didn’t know any of the slash jargon used in the story descriptions,² so I ended up reading a steamy twincest scene between Fred and George Weasley.

At first, I was shocked by what I had read. I felt like I had done something bad and forbidden, and I didn’t understand how anyone could write things that were so awful and wrong. Of course, soon enough the guilt turned into fascination, then thrilled, then not being able to get enough. This was around when I started getting into anime, as well, so I started reading slashfic based on anime series I liked – sometimes even before I had finished watching the series themselves. I discovered Adult Fanfiction and Media Miner and fan archives and started downloading original yaoi manga from scanslation directories like Aarinfantasy. Sometimes, during the weekend, I stayed up really late – often somewhere between 3 – 7am – consuming slashfic for hours after everyone else had gone to bed, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing what I was doing.

Discovering yaoi and slashfic was like discovering a buffet of impossibly beautiful boys who I could mix and match together to create an infinite amount of new and exciting flavor combinations.

Doujinshi of Heero Yuy & Duo Maxwell from Gundam Wing. Possibly one of my most favorite yaoi pairings of all time³. Pictures via 1x2x1.org.

I never masturbated when I looked at yaoi. At that point I didn’t know how to. I attempted “masturbating” only once: while laying in bed, without fantasizing about anything, I put one hand inside my underwear and pressed it against myself. Nothing happened. Exasperated, I decided that masturbating must be overrated. I didn’t try masturbating again until three years later, when I started dating and had a better idea of what to do.

I didn’t masturbate, but I of course got pleasure from what I read. These warm, fuzzy, exciting feelings built up towards a fever pitch and I’d go to bed thrumming and content. There was this one time where I’m pretty sure I read myself to orgasm – I reached a climactic point in one story after at least a couple of hours of reading, and I shuddered as my eyes widened and liquid fire spread all the way through me.

The Context: a Catholic, All-Girl’s Secondary School

The backdrop to all this was a primarily Catholic, all-girl’s secondary school, i.e. middle and high school. We never interacted with boys. We didn’t have any male friends. Going on dates was completely out of the question, let alone experimenting with sex.⁴

I never spoke about my fascination with my friends. I didn’t want them to think I was strange. It wasn’t that we never talked about sex – we did. But we never talked about doing it, wanting it, fantasizing about it, or of the actual mechanics of it. Our conversations about sex consisted of nervous giggling and making random nonsensical jokes about boobs and balls. I’d giggle along with the rest of my friends during these silly, perverted discussions; all the while thinking about my “secret.” Looking back, the frequency of these conversations probably meant that all of my friends had “secrets,” too, that they didn’t feel that they could talk about in the open.

Fanart of a young, naked Daniel Dreiberg (Nite Owl) coming onto a young Walter Kovacs (Rorschach) from the Watchmen graphic novel. Found via the Watchmen Kink Meme on LJ. I have no credit for this picture, so if you know who drew it, let me know.

Women as Observers in a Perfect Fantasy World

Most mainstream porn videos and magazines are geared towards straight men. Consequently, most of that porn consists of unrealistic ideals like drop-dead gorgeous babes with slim builds, big boobs, and a love of being jizzed on. Or whatever. Likewise, yaoi manga is full of idealized romantic relationships that are for the most part completely unrealistic and unrepresentative of actual Japanese gay men. Just like women in porn all look mostly the same (white, thin, busty, feminine, made-up, etc), men in yaoi manga are all thin and beautiful, fall into several typical character types, go through some sort of convoluted relationship drama before they actually get together (and have sex), and think about their passionate loving feelings amid falling roses and shoujo bubbles. For the most part.

The interesting thing about yaoi manga is that women are rarely present in the stories, and hardly ever appear as main characters. Sometimes women take on “best friend” or sisterly roles, but more often than not if a woman plays a large role in a yaoi story, it’s as a villain – an ex-girlfriend or a love-rival who is preventing the main couple from getting together. I read one story – Zankoku Yuugi – where Man A was romantically pursuing Man B, but Man B already had a girlfriend. So Man B indirectly causes the girlfriend to get into an accident, and she ends up in the hospital. And Man A and Man B end up dating at the end of it. Even though Man B knows that Man A put his girlfriend in the hospital⁵

A page from Zankoku Yuugi Ch.1 , scanslated by dokidoki. Remember to look at the panels from right to left!

Within the Gundam Wing yaoi fandom, the main female “threat” to the Heero x Duo pairing was female lead Relena Peacecraft. While she and Heero weren’t a canon couple, it was heavily implied that they were interested in each other, or that one was interested in the other. Among the Heero x Duo fanfics I read, I encountered countless stories where Relena was demonized beyond belief, ridiculed, traumatized and, in some cases, killed off.

And remember: the vast majority of these works are created and consumed by women.

I can’t really begin to address the sinister negativity with which women are sometimes treated in yaoi. But I can address the absence a little bit. I’ve come across articles arguing that one reason why women like consuming gay male porn is because the absence of women in that porn is actually a relief. For me, it definitely was a relief. It took me quite a while before I was comfortable including myself in my sexual fantasy fodder; imagining someone else doing things to me or with me, and not just being a detached observer in my own fantasy. Imagining myself would just make me think of all the aspects of myself I felt insecure about. I did not think of myself as hot or charming or sexy and therefore I could not possibly think of myself as sexual.

Consuming yaoi was a form of escapism. I knew it was a fantasy world; that it wasn’t real. And because it wasn’t real, it was a safe space where my curiosities and potential turn-ons could come out to play, without any consequence or responsibility. I could be sexual without… actually being sexual.

In the world of yaoi, women are the ultimate voyeurs of a perfect fantasy.

10 Years Later

So yaoi played quite a big part in shaping my sexuality. This post doesn’t really have a conclusive point; except that after writing this I find several things worth noting. As a teenage girl:

• the Internet was probably the most important tool I used to develop my sexuality – not magazines or talking with my peers
• I didn’t feel like consuming porn or talking about sex were things that were appropriate for me to do
• I didn’t really involve myself very much in my own sexuality – I didn’t touch myself or even picture myself in my own sexual fantasies

I wrote this post both to include yaoi and slashfic in “lady porn” and to prompt a discussion about it; but also, I guess, to prompt a discussion about teenage girls and porn. When most people think “teenage boys,” they think “sex-crazed horndogs” and assume that of course they’re looking at porn. Or they’re trying to. Which isn’t exactly a positive picture and probably isn’t completely true, either. But what about the girls?

This post is part of a blogosphere-wide carnival called Lady Porn Day! Read more Lady Porn Day posts or keep up with the discussion on Twitter under the hashtag #ladypornday.

1. Except yaoi and slash are usually more explicit, and slash refers to fan fiction, not anything canon
2. e.g. lemon = explicit sex scene; using an / or x between two names denotes a pairing
3. I somehow found out about the pairing before the series they were from, probably because they’re such a popular pairing. I didn’t really like Gundam Wing, the series, all that much. Too much mecha and war and politics for my taste
4. Although my school ended up having a lot of lesbian, bicurious and queer women in it. Go figure.
5. In order to persuade Man B to date him, Man A also basically took Man B hostage, blackmailed him, and once or twice forcefully coerced him into doing sexual acts against his will. So it was a fucked up story, in many ways. But oftentimes in yaoi manga, destructive and extreme acts performed by a character are just taken as evidence of how strong and passionate that character’s love really is.

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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 [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> 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.

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I’m quite aware that [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> 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.

[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.

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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 [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> These events took place circa. October 2009. Read part 1 here.

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…

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[Photo via Mistress Sade]

Last night, I came across a couple of very sexy pictures.

They were black and white pictures of a beautiful naked man in bondage. Leather straps around the chest and legs, collar, cuffs, cock & ball harness, the works. [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]>

[Photo via Mistress Sade]

Last night, I came across a couple of very sexy pictures.

They were black and white pictures of a beautiful naked man in bondage. Leather straps around the chest and legs, collar, cuffs, cock & ball harness, the works. What I found interesting was that the pictures colored me equal parts randy and tranquil. I felt restless, too – like I really, really wanted something to do with that but didn’t know exactly what. Looking at his long limbs restrained so neatly and beautifully produced this sense of calmness and comfort; similar to that one time I was bound with rope. I tried to articulate what, exactly, I felt at the time to S, and couldn’t. But now I’ve finally put my finger on it.

It’s the same kind of Zen feeling I get when I’m cleaning, but under no time pressure. Like folding clothes, organizing my desk, straightening the row of shoes in my closet. Wanting to go up to Christopher and fix the collar and cuffs on his shirt. Or to actually dress him, from head to toe. And for a couple of weeks, I did this thing when I was really stressed or anxious, and I’d take napkins and systematically tearing them up into thin, uniform strips. Sometimes I can do really mundane work, like filing, and thoroughly zone out and feel very very calm.

A ritualistic compulsion.

I can see myself acting the same way with dominance.

Slowly drizzling colorful lines of hot wax over someone’s smooth, dipped back. Tying someone’s arms behind their back and admiring how they look in the pretty ropework. Shaving them, even…

Considering how neurotic I can be, it sort of makes sense that I would tend towards dominance. Hard limits aside, if the person is fully submitting to me? Dominance, within reason, is all about me, about what I am doing to them.

In many ways, it’s all about creating some semblance and order in an otherwise chaotic and unpredictable world.

—

What you will notice is that I keep using the word “someone.” Up until now, I still haven’t found someone who I can explore things with; who is consistently there.

I’ve had many conversations about how S/M is more about the people involved than whatever play you might be engaging in. And I fully believe that. I mean, that’s why I haven’t played with every Tom, Chris or Susan who has come my way. At the same time, whenever I meet someone into S/M who I click well with, my thoughts, immediately, are: “Great! Maybe now I can do all this stuff.” When you’ve been waiting and wanting very much to try certain acts, it’s pretty hard not to do that. I want to stop myself from doing that, though, because it produces a certain kind of blindness that I’d prefer to avoid.

The other reason I’m so focused on S/M “actions” is… well, I don’t know how to do all that much yet. I guess part of it is my being a geek and wanting to know as much of the technicalities as possible. And part of it is building some kind of “street cred.” I’ve met submissives who have wanted to play with me who were so experienced that I ended up being intimidated. “You mean, you’ve been suspended, put in a sleepsack, and pierced before? No way am I going to be able to do that for you…”

I’ll be honest, when I dom someone, I want to spoil (and torture) them to no end. I want to dom them as well as I possibly could, and how can I do that if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing?

In many ways, I see S/M as an art form – taking sensations, learning them, and manipulating them, with the end result being the wresting of a beautiful landscape of emotions from the other person.

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You hadn’t showered all day, and feel filthy, so you decide to take one even though your sister and her fiance are over to visit. The water heater is working properly for the first time since you’ve been home, and you’re [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> Sometimes you wonder if you only get your best ideas while you’re jerking off.

You hadn’t showered all day, and feel filthy, so you decide to take one even though your sister and her fiance are over to visit. The water heater is working properly for the first time since you’ve been home, and you’re taking full advantage of it; holding the showerhead close to your body, letting the warm water run all over your shoulders, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair slooowly.

Then you turn the water off, rub the conditioner into your hair and suddenly get the impulse to lie down in the tub. So you do, sliding down the slope of the tub until your head is resting against the bottom and your legs are bent at the knee. You close your eyes. You open them again and survey the bathroom from your new vantage point. It looks a lot more interesting from this point of view.

You’re caught by another impulse: a powerful one; bizarrely sensual. Your eyes slide shut and your hand wanders down your body, coming to rest at your clit. You tease yourself with your fingers and imagine one of the erotic scenes you’ve been wanting to write.

You can hear your sister and your mum chatting animatedly in the sitting room outside.

As you slide a finger inside yourself, rub yourself quicker, feel your hips raise slightly almost of their own accord – you fill in gaps in the imagined scene, picking the characters’ names, adding in little details, clarifying certain happenings – you move your finger from your cunt to your ass, surprised when your (now-well-trained) sphincter practically swallows your finger up. And your imagination jumps from the first scene to a different one; one that you’ve envisioned a hundred times before and that never fails to get you off.

A woman is bent over a table, hands stretched out in front of her and tied in place, ankles spread and tied to the table legs. She is naked. The man behind her is landing blow after blow on her plump bottom as she struggles uselessly. Finally he stops; she catches her breath; and he pushes a lubed finger into her ass, absolutely ignoring her copiously dripping pussy. She’s completely open before him and powerless to do anything, but doesn’t seem to find that a bad thing at all, if the sounds she’s making are anything to go by. She moans and gasps as he preps her, and when he finally rams his hard cock into her…

You throw your head back and come.

When your regain rational thought, you’re dimly aware of someone in the sitting room mentioning your name -

“Is Wil almost done in there?? I really need to pee.”

Oops…

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You close your cupboard and turn to face her, two scarves in your hand. Wordlessly, you stand directly in front of her and gently put her arms behind her back, twisting a scarf tightly around her wrists [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]>

via Mina's Musings

She is sitting, naked, on the edge of your bed, arms at her sides, legs pressed modestly together.

You close your cupboard and turn to face her, two scarves in your hand. Wordlessly, you stand directly in front of her and gently put her arms behind her back, twisting a scarf tightly around her wrists and tying a secure knot. You can feel her breath ghosting your collarbone.

You pull back and look at her, careful to look expressionless; nonchalant. Her eyes are fixed on you, full of nervousnessmesmerizedintriguedturned-on. You calmly slip the other scarf around her eyes.

The light from your desk lamp is dim and paints the room in deep orange.

“Don’t make a sound,” you tell her quietly, evenly, as you weigh her heavy breasts in your hands, first one, then the other. She bites her lip, squirms, but stays silent, even when you tease her nipples between your thumb and forefinger until they’re hard points.

Then you reach over to the windowsill and pick up a pair of clamps. You fasten one, then the other, and she’s holding back sounds as you slowly do this, until you let the chain that connects them drop, and she has two pretty, glinting pieces of steel decorating her ample, thrust-out chest.

You’re surprised, and somewhat proud of her – she hasn’t made any noises yet. Well that is going to change, for sure. You gently cup her breasts, run your fingers over them until you reach the tips of the clamps, and flick one. A wince, but no sound. You smile and pick up the chain, yanking.

She squeals then. She looks absolutely delicious. You desperately want to let go and kiss her, but not yet.
“Tsk,” you say. “I told you not to make a sound.”

The small tea-light that has been sitting on your desk for a while now is now quite full of melted wax. You pick one up, carefully and hold it in front of you.

“Do you know what’s going to happen now?” you ask her.

She shakes her head. You smile again. Sticking to the rules won’t help now, but it’s a lovely gesture.

You let the wax drip over her chest. She gasps. The whiteness rolls down to her cleavage and turns the surrounding skin a pretty red color.

You can’t help yourself. After putting the candle down, you finally give in, pull her towards you and kiss her hard.

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When his fingers enter you, he’s rough and abrupt. You start to squeal because you didn’t expect it – he’d barely even gotten your pants down – but his other hand clamps over your [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> I liked 2-weeks-ago’s theme better so I’m going to be a deviant and go with that one – silence.

When his fingers enter you, he’s rough and abrupt. You start to squeal because you didn’t expect it – he’d barely even gotten your pants down – but his other hand clamps over your mouth. Hard.

“Mmmpff–”

He’s shoved against your back, and you’re face to face with a copy of Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. You’re in a particularly unused corner of the library stacks, but still. No noise here. No telling how many students are hidden against the walls, hunched over piles of research, just looking for a distraction. The air around you is tense; compressed.

You close your eyes and bite on his fingers slightly when a third, then fourth, finger enters your copiously dripping cunt, and his hand starts rocking into you…

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