Rules at Foreplay (She Thinks, Part Two)

As she set the brightly colored Fiestaware on the kitchen counter, the drilling sound startled her, causing her to squeal and jump. Before she could move her feet to see what was going on, his face appeared through the kitchen doorway.

“What was that?,” she asked.

 “Don’t you worry about it, you just finish dinner,” he said, holding up two shiny, metal hooks in front of his wicked grin.

Coyly wiggling his eyebrows, his face disappeared, and he went back to drilling on the other side of the shared wall.

She went back to stirring the soup,  but all she could do was grin. He never ceased to surprise her, and these seemingly small surprises meant so much to her. He kept things fresh, exciting, mysterious. Hot. So freaking hot. And the best part was, she was comfortable enough in their power exchange to be in the moment, not develop any expectations, and feel the excitement. To just feel and be, with him. Happy. Insanely turned on. Joyful in her submission.

When the drilling was complete, he pulled her away from the stove, walked her to the dining room wall, and asked her to lift her arms to meet the eye hooks. He gripped her wrists and held them next to the hooks for a moment, then ran his hands down her sides, the silky fabric of her purple nighty slithering against her skin, causing goosebumps to form. She was acutely aware of her nipples becoming taut against the thin cloth, her body beginning to do the begging she was so desperately feeling on the inside. 

“Perfect,” he said, nodding his head, his eyes saying much more. 

Reaching up to grasp her chin in his hand, and he kissed her, a ferocious, unable-to-breath, toe-curling, oh-God-please-more kiss, then abruptly disjointed his lips from hers. Breathless, she bit her lip, shivering, the anticipation electric between them. 

“Now, get me my dinner,” he lovingly commanded, pulling her away from the wall, spinning her, and smacking her squarely on the ass. Hard.

She did just that, still biting her lip, noticing the cool wetness between her legs as she strode to the stove. 

All she could think was, I love that man, and he fucking rules at foreplay. 

-image via Tumblr, source unknown

Placement

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restless,
shifting weight from foot to foot,
as He positions the prickly jute, 
concentrating on the way He winds it ’round,
on the way it comes to rest upon her skin, biting,
and not on He who is doing the winding,
He whose flesh grazes hers,
whose breath is heavy and hot against her neck,
whose soft, yet forceful lips leave a slightly wet, cool trail,
as He works his way ’round, up, through, and around

her loose fingers stray,
following that loud, ass-backward, inside voice she has,
the one who keeps shouting and pushing herself to the forefront,
the unsettled, messy girl who needs

and wants,
and needs

that noxious voice which permeates, 
spreading its unwanted tentacles nimbly
under the surface of her skin,
first taking hold of her thoughts,
then conquering every ribbon of unwilling, aching muscle

she tells those fingers to reach down
and to adjust,
to find and target each tiny imperfection,
to, with her selfish actions,
demand perfection and symmetry,
to fidget and forget about trust,
and patience

she overpowers,
she deceives

she defies, not only Him, but her

she knows what she needs,
but doesn’t want to know

so, she bucks and she pushes against the very binding she knows she truly needs

desperately

His binding,
His will,
His way

one last time, though she’s been warned,
she commands those deceptive fingers
to reach out,
to touch His tie

He slaps her wandering, distrustful, hand,
hard,
an echoing crack, a lingering, itchy, throbbing sting

and she smiles

a smile of defeat,
of humbling,
of placement

and then, she disappears

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-image found on Tumblr, source unknown; shared as part of Masturbation Monday

Lingering…

I ‘m trapped in a lingering haze today,
Spellbound, thoughts in flight, stuck on replay

Your captivating lure, a mist upon my skin,
As achy reminders echo last night’s din

Whispers hovering in fevered clouds,
My inner voice howling, remembering how

Your stringed pins gripped fiery flesh, trapping desire,
And your hands drew salacious wings, stoking the fire

Until your commanding words set my wanton spirit free,
My body your vessel, aching to please

How the air abruptly changed when your flesh merged with mine,
And our breath became one, how there was no time

Then our hearts became fluid, melting from within,
One consumous puddle, an ocean of sin

Sometimes, Always

Sometimes it’s
fuck me like you own me
I’m not going to break
grab me pull me
force me
don’t ask if I’m okay
leave your mark
make me yours
please show me please
harder deeper faster slower
unwind me
I am shudder moan wetness pain pleasure breath catching need

Sometime it’s
pull me closer
I’m so sorry
wrap me tight
I need to believe
don’t stop
keep going through the tears
please possess me please
tighter stronger deeper
make my brain stop spinning
quiet calm I need you
please don’t ever let me go

Always it’s
the deepest connection I’ve ever known
tethered souls
fulfilling bursting desire lust
I love you I love you I love you
whispers in my ear
moaning gasping devouring
white knuckles twisted sheets muscles teeth sweat trembling hold my breath
look me in the eyes
time stopping narrowing focusing shutting out the world
oh god oh god oh god
anchor me I’m floating away
we are meant to be

Whimper

‘stay quiet, love’

his tracing fingers glide downward, knowingly, a well traveled route on the map of her flesh, a living, breathing map he created, he her cartographer, charting and plotting, committing her to memory, creasing and folding in all the right places

mesmerized, his entirety is focused on her responsiveness to him; in an instant, goosebumps rise to meet his touch, a shivering ripple, a wave of eagerness summoned to her surface by the barely contained vibrations from his recent strumming with the canes and floggers, every hiss and buzz, each whack and thwack reverberating, she the oscillation to his thrumming

instinctively, her eyes close and her mouth falls open in a savoring exhale, as she’s reminded of the heavenly hum of the rope, of the way his nimble fingers wound the jute, ‘round and ’round, it’s prickly tightness setting her free

continuing the deliberate strums with his fingers, paired with an airy bass of whispers in her ears, he watches for her body to respond in chorus, reveling in his ability to pluck here or there and illicit the desired response

flooded with a wave after wave of arousal, she’s overwhelmed in him; it’s as if each individual goosebump forming is a silent scream, her body crying out to him, alive in him, begging for him

and all she can do, is whimper

– Shared in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie  Tale Weaver prompt, also shared as part of Masturbation Monday 141

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What If?

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What if he took her by the hand, led her to their room and asked her to lie back on their soft sheets and relax?

Maybe he’d lie at the bottom of the bed near her feet on his side, head resting on one hand, the other resting on the bed just a few inches from her.

What if he asked her to spread her legs wide for him, allowing him full view, and directed her to touch herself, no looking down or away, only looking into his eyes?

Maybe she’d be asked to touch and touch, building to a plateau, fueled by the look in his eyes and the small, telling movements that assured her he was enjoying what he was seeing – the slight grin forming, his fingers barely curling to grip the sheet, the growing bulge in the front of his pants.

What if she was asked to stop when she was just on the edge, ready, eyes filled with need, and told to remove his pants and touch him, placing him into her mouth, only to be abruptly told to stop, only allowed just a taste?

Maybe she’d be asked to lie back again, to gently massage her breasts, using two fingers to pinch and pull her nipples, to get herself slick and circle and dip with her fingers until she was on the edge again.

What if his hand traveled the few inches up the mattress to barely graze her folds with his fingertips as her own fingers worked, her back arching and her head instinctively turning to the left to bite the pillow so as not to wake the children?

Maybe just his almost-dipping fingers and his slightly tickling fingertips on the outside of her would force her to pause in touching herself for fear of toppling over the edge without permission.

What if, after her body had just begun to calm, he asked her to continue touching herself, this time using his middle finger, tracing and circling her opening before plunging not so gently into her, massaging her g-spot rhythmically, to a beat seeming to match the beating of her own heart?

Maybe he’d tell her what a good job she was doing, but she still didn’t have permission to come, not just yet. Maybe he’d direct her to get to that edge and stop and start again. And stop and start. Maybe she’d try to never break the eye contact because all she wanted was to please him. Maybe watching him, watching her would make her want to keep touching herself for as long as he’d keep watching.

What if he relentlessly massaged her g-spot, now with two fingers, as both of her hands moved to pleasure herself, using her fingertips to travel over her own skin, squeezing her breasts, palms up and down her stomach, two fingers persistent on her sweet spot? What if it became completely impossible to keep her body still or her back flat on the bed? What if her hips danced and bucked? What if her toes curled, pressing their toenails into the bed, a wordless begging of their own? What if the only way for her to remain quiet was to bite her own lip or clench her teeth or hold her breath?

Maybe he’d tell her what a good girl she was for following his directions. Maybe he’d finally tell her if she asked him nicely, he might let her come.

What if she looked him in the eyes, and asked with a shaky, small voice, “Sir, may I please come for you?”

Maybe his fingers would continue to be unrelenting as he said, “Yes, come for me.” Maybe her own fingers on the outside paired with his fingers on the inside, all the fingers stroking and swirling and sliding in all the right spots at just the right time, would make her come so hard she couldn’t stay quiet no matter how hard she tried. Maybe she’d shake and writhe and ride the waves of pleasure for longer than she imagined could be possible from simply the touching.

What if, as her body trembled and quaked, still feeling the downslide of her orgasm, he moved between her legs, entering her and sending her body and mind to a raw, primal place of wanting and begging and needing? Of grabbing and pulling and biting and sweating? Of moans and covering her mouth and many more “please, Sirs” and wetness and smiles of pride and pleasure? Of tired bodies and eyelids which wouldn’t stay open? Of tangling and drifting? Of peace?

Maybe they’d feel as if it was all just as it should be.

What if they finally felt at home?

Song of Passion


Tonight, his chosen instrument is unlike any other he’s used. It’s beautiful, with a long shaft of soft walnut brown and an earthy smell. Slightly lighter in feel and a bit more flexible than oak, it is bound to create a unique feel upon her skin. When he holds it, he looks much like a conductor….and he is.

As her eyes close, she slowly exhales, all the warm air leaving her lungs. Her forehead leans slightly forward, making contact with the wall, the coolness of the light gray paint chilly against her flush skin. Inside, there is silence, but it is not a silence absent of sound or feeling. It is the silence born between them. The silence OF them.

Behind her, she hears his movements – the slide and shuffle of his feet on the floor, the spectacular whoosh and whip of the walnut through the air, varying with every stroke, the sharp crack and whip as the walnut meets her skin. From her own lips, there’s the involuntary hissing intake of air or low moan as each strike lands. Sometimes there’s even a stifled scream or the rapid rise and fall of her chest and eyes which fill with tears. It hurts, but the pain is brief, it is only on her surface. In an instant, it is absorbed, transforming into a deeply penetrating, aching pleasure, a tantalizing combination that makes her want more. And more. It’s deliciously overwhelming.

With each strike, the contact with her skin causes a chain reaction. The displaced cool air as the walnut cane makes its way toward her backside is a sharp contrast to the instant ribbon of burn as it lands, but then, oh god…then her body begins to truly play his tune. The wood which looks so rigid bends and flexes slightly with her contours, and it vibrates. The silky vibrations travel the length of the cane and back to his hand, back and forth, an endless loop until it’s pulled away and readied again.

Awakened by that bite of pain, her flesh is alive and her mind made open, acutely aware and ready for what is to come. 

Every single buzz of vibration creates a radiating hum that travels from the surface of her skin, deep into her bones, and it never dies. That hum remains, it’s melodious rumble becoming louder and louder, taking up more and more space inside her, taking over. She welcomes it.

Unclipping her from the cuffs which were bound to the wall, he lies her face down on the bed, still humming. Gently, he strikes her back and works his way down the length of her, increasing in intensity, turning her over to do the same on her front, the harmonious whiz and whir of vibration absorbed with each and every strike, her body a melody, a constant hum barely contained by her skin. It’s so loud, she wonders if he can feel it too. The look in his eyes makes her believe he can. And when he touches her, that hum is no longer contained. It overflows into him, and he into her. She is the verse to his chorus, the lyrics to his chords.

Together they are the sweet song of passion.


-photo found on Tumblr; shared as part of Kayla Lord’s Masturbation Monday prompt

The Beginning


arms held above by command,
she shivered beneath stealthy hands,
anticipating,
the white candles liquified,
she closed her lusty green eyes
and savored,
each moment the heat drowned her flesh,
arching her back and drawing breath
in sharp hisses,
short pours had her writhing,
while the longer had her biting
both of her lips,
his teasingly soft caresses
and contrasting, pinpointed presses
drove her mad,
but the cool rigidity of the blade,
is what stunned her senses and made
her still,
as it slid over her skin,
stripping over and again,
meticulously,
and just when she’d thought he was through,
she saw his coy grin and she knew

he’d just begun

-photo credit tumblr.com

The Quiet Game

*MATURE CONTENT

The vibrator wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just odd feeling. Shaped like the letter C, the flatter part was inserted and resting on her g-spot, while the other end looped up to rest tightly on her clit. It was snug against both spots, a lovely reminder, even as it was turned off, that he was there, that she belonged to him. As Eva stood there before him, she didn’t really know what to think of it, but her heart was thumping. There was no denying her excitement – the thrill of wearing it in public. The possibilities……

“There are a few rules. You must stay quiet, no matter what I do with this remote, no matter where we are,” Jay said, with an evil smirk. “And, if I allow you to come, I want your eyes open, looking into mine, the entire time. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I’ll allow panties this evening, given the circumstances. You’re going to be a dripping mess and I don’t want this to fall out. You’ll wear these.”

Jay held the panties open by the band as he sat on the edge of the soft, paisley chair. They were the sheer, cream colored panties with toffee lace on the front, the ones that matched the bra he had laid out for her to wear earlier. Eva stepped carefully into the leg openings, first her left, then the right, holding onto Jay’s shoulder, leaning on him a little. She was trying so hard to concentrate, grasping the hem of her little black dress and pulling it upward a bit to see her feet as she stepped into the panties, revealing the tops of the Cuban stockings he had also laid out.

As Jay slid those sheer panties on, his fingers traced the soft curves of her calves, traveling to graze the backs of her knees, and she hissed, his touch sending a shiver up through her entire body, her nipples taut against that lace, toffee colored bra. When they finally came to rest, his hands came around to cup both ass cheeks and squeeze. Hard. Eva looked up from her feet, feeling Jay’s eyes on her, watching her face, looking into her eyes, and there was that coy grin again. He knew what he did to her; he knew she was putty in his hands.

Leaning over, Jay scooped up one heel, a beautiful six inch, black patent leather with a red bottom. He gripped her calf gently, prompting her to lift her foot, and slid his other hand down to her heel, guiding it forward to slip her foot into the shoe.

Eva wasn’t sure how she’d react to the vibrator in public, but she was already so fucking turned on and they hadn’t even left the apartment. He hadn’t even turned it on yet! She could feel those damn panties getting wet and she had only been wearing them for maybe two minutes.

Repeating the same for the other foot, Jay sat upright, leaned back in his chair and admired her. She was a masterpiece.

“You are so fucking gorgeous, Eva. And you’re all mine.”

“Yes, Master, I am,” Eva replied, blushing a little. That word did something to her, and it probably always would. Mine. Oof.

“While we are out, you are to stay by my side at all times, unless you ask first or are told otherwise. I will take very good care of you, as always. I want you to relax, no fidgeting.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And don’t forget – stay quiet when I turn this on, or there will be consequences.”

Jay pulled the egg-shaped remote out of the pocket of his slim fitting, black suit pants and held it up. As his thumb pushed a small, white button, Eva’s panties ever-so-slightly hummed. Her clit and gspot felt the faintest of vibration. Eyes wide with surprise, Eva was just about to make a sound, then bit her lip instead. Jay just stood there, watching her. And that fucking grin, oh, God.

This is going to be the longest night of my life…

-image found on Tumblr

To Infinity, and Beyond….

Recently, M and I went to our first (shibari) rope group and not long after that, we attended our first play party. These events were our first time venturing out into the kink community, and I’m so glad we did (more on that in another post). The coolest part is that it’s an extension of something M spoke to me about a couple of months ago…

Not long after M had his surgery this summer, he had an epiphany of sorts. He sat me down and said he’d realized some things about himself and wanted to share them with me. He went on to tell me he’d been holding back on acting on and sharing some of his desires, as he’d been slowly working through some preconceived notions and societal, engrained beliefs. Going so deep or far, in his mind, made him/us cross a line into “really kinky”, and he’d worried about continuing down that path, wondering how far and deep into these things that path might lead us. How deep does the rabbit hole go? Because the things we already do have continually evolved, continuously stretching and pushing our boundaries and evolving our limits. 

Over the last 4 years or so, we’ve continually added and intensified, in so many ways, both in and out of the bedroom. I can’t even describe how amazing that journey has been; we’ve learned so much about one another and we’ve grown so much as a result. We continually feel like more – like more than we were the day before and the day before that. It is incredible. I’m constantly in awe.

M told me he knew we’d reached this place of having such a sure-footed foundation and such a high level of ongoing, two-way communication that he no longer worried about going too far or taking too many missteps, because he knew we’d talk the whole way through, just like we’ve been doing, and continue to grow in that process. There is no manipulation or hidden agenda from either of us, only trust, respect, and honesty. And because of that, he wants to continue to challenge us, to further explore, and deepen our relationship. He wants to go wherever we decide to go, together, with no feeling of restraint or residual, societal negativity present. If we are happy, that’s all that matters. Free to be ourselves. How amazing is that???

And since his surgery, there’s been this lightness, this happiness and fullness about him that makes my heart swell. He’s finally pain free, aside from some muscular soreness that should eventually subside. His brain is no longer cloudy and fighting to survive the day. Again, how amazing is that?? 

When he brought those things to me, I just listened. I was ecstatic to hear him sharing it all with me. Overwhelmed, in the best way. I didn’t push or ask him to further reveal anything; I figured he’d tell me when he felt it was right for us. 

He began to slowly introduce ideas into our play, but I didn’t know they were linked to these desires. But, WOW. And more wow. 

Then, a few months ago, he told me all the things he’d been fantasizing about and hoped could become a reality. Things like delving much deeper into rope, hopefully to suspension (we’ve only ever done floor work and partial suspension), trying an anal hook, attending community events, and some things involving voyeurism/exhibitionism.

One of the first things he asked me to do when he took control is to do things which he would watch/direct, so I knew how much he is visually stimulated. That has continually evolved as well; we frequently look at Tumblr together and share a blog for reposting things we like, talking about those things regularly. So, I wasn’t completely surprised when he told me he’d like to live out some of his voyeuristic and exhibitionist fantasies. He wants to begin to attend play parties and potentially go to club events, and he wants to play and participate at those events. There are times he wants to watch and direct certain activities. Although I wasn’t completely surprised, I also wasn’t expecting most of it. 

Which is maybe the best part of all of this. 

Although he’s shared so many desires and fantasies along the way, M felt he could be open enough to share those most vulnerable things with me, too, having worked through that process (he’s had a process and journey to travel over this time, too!) safely within the confines of this relationship we’ve built. Seriously, how fucking awesome is that?? I know I keep saying that, but I feel it, so deeply. 

I love that we can share anything and everything. I love that we evolve. I love that we can travel this journey openly, sharing all our fantasies and desires, but also have the ability to discuss and consider all the subsequent possibilities of doing so. It feels very healthy not to just jump right in to every single thing that catches our interest without considering the ramifications, both physical and emotional. We are in no hurry; M feels very strongly about going at a pace, both in and out of the bedroom, that doesn’t completely overwhelm either of us, and also wants us to be safe and informed about the things in which we are engaging. So do I.

The first steps began with our ongoing talks. In fact, it’s almost all we talked about for weeks and weeks! We learn and experience, and talk some more. And on, and on. 

Tonight, M and I will go to our second play party. Tonight, we will play. I will be nude in front of 50-100 of my closest strangers. (Gah!) But I’ll be doing it with him, my heart full of trust and my soul so full of happiness. 

I am often jolted by this unbelievable feeling. I can’t even describe it. We get to continuously make real our desires. We get to experiment and find what fits and what does not. We get to take this journey, free to be ourselves. 

I get to experience these new things with the love of my life. 

Last time, I asked for you all to wish me luck. This time, although I am a bit nervous, I know I don’t need any luck. I trust him. I trust us.

I’m just going to leap….

image found via Tumblr….one of my all time favorites!