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Ten Hut! – 100 Orgasms

♦ “Close your eyes,” I said and he did. He lay back on the bed and shut them firmly, anticipating, always eager to obey when he knew I had something planned. I did have something planned, even if that plan had come together in the space of five minutes in the next room, rooting through The Drawers for kink and kit.

We’re having our housewarming this weekend and it’s fancy dress, because fancy dress is fucking fantastic. I’ve been making a military beret for mine and something clicked in my head when I saw it lying there, discarded. I’d been thinking lacy and stockings, but now…

I shut the door behind me and straddled him at the hips.  When I allowed him to open his eyes he saw me dressed in the green beret and a very military-like khaki jumpsuit buttoned to the collarbone. I carried a crop under my arm, swagger stick style. I swear his eyes almost bulged from his head.

He was dressed only in his trousers and he looked beautiful. I’d already been impressed earlier that day by how gorgeous his arms looked: swimmer’s muscles, lean and lithe but strong.

You’ll have to forgive me. I may say it myself, but what he said to me and what I said to him and the roleplaying was so fucking hot. But I forget. My waves of orgasms are too good at wiping out the coastal villages of my memory. The details merge, the lines become brush strokes of eroticism on an Impressionist painting.

So, yeah, I forget stuff.

But the night was swimming with “Yes, Ma’am”s and permission asked and occasional cheek given. I enjoyed ordering him around and domming shit up and punishing insubordination where I found it, rewarding good behaviour too.

I unbuttoned the top of the khaki jumpsuit to show my breasts, naked but for a fishnet bodystocking and, supporting them, an almost Steampunk “bra belt”. My nipples poked through the black fishnet and I leant in towards his face. He sucked on my left nipple with ardour and I gasped and ground into his body beneath me.

Before I knew it, I was surprising myself with an orgasm. My grinding into him wasn’t even involved! This was all from his attention on one of my nipples and I inwardly praised my body as I shuddered on top of him.

Military-style banter that I so wish I could remember followed. Trust me: fucking hot. Crush respectfully suggested we try the experiment again to see if we could reproduce those results and I agreed, but this time I demanded to lie on my back.

He took my nipple in his mouth again and he began to suck, but my nipple wouldn’t be so easily swayed this time. No matter. As he sucked hard I began to rub my crotch over my jumpsuit and, not that he knew that, my black PVC thong underneath. I rubbed furiously, so turned on by his desire and the sheer fucking hotness of it all. Soon I was shuddering, a second orgasm rippling through me.

Now Crush was bold with lust and, as we switched places again, asked me if he could spank me.

Well, I was in charge as his Commanding Officer, so what to do? But a filthy thought occurred. I quite like the idea of hurting a man, something he might not necessarily like, as a form of payment by him to get something he really wants. I’m not sure what it is about it. Perhaps the idea that his lusts have overtaken him so?

In any case, I offered the price of five pinches of his nipple for an undefined period of spanking me. He accepted nervously and I began, gently, to pinch him. I brusquely told him to count and he did. But he tried to be cheeky, tried to count three when it was two. So I started again. He counted the fourth pinch before I’d actually done it, so guess what? I started again.

This time there were no mistakes and I dismounted him, leaning forward on hands and knees as he spanked me with the red paddle. Sometimes I hate that paddle. Sometimes, as you’ll see, I love it. But right now it was a hard one to take.

Take it I did, though.

Now naked, he sat on the edge of the bed and I produced my black metal handcuffs from the little pile of toys I’d brought in. I set them down and, hot from our exertions, stripped the khaki jumpsuit from my body. Now he saw the thong and the full glory of my bodystocking as its netting covered my sticky-hot curves.

The hat, I noticed, fell some time during the spanking. Now it was pure kinkwear, but we kept up our roles nonetheless. My geek society would be proud. :P

I opened the cuffs, managing to hook them into my fishnet on the way. Sigh. Unhooking them, I instead attached them to my intended target. I grabbed them by the chain and hoicked his arms above his head, scratching at his chest and back and eyeing him fiercely.

Letting go, I made him scoot up the bed and knelt between his legs, bringing my beloved Tango vibe with me. I placed it between my labia, cushioned by them and kept in place by my thong and thighs. I turned it on and felt it throb. I kissed my way up Crush’s body, crawling seductively, reaching his cock and…

…running my tongue playfully a centimetre above his shaft as if licking, but not. A tease. A torture.

The kisses marched up his chest and neck before I turned and swooped back down on his cock, licking for real this time, making love to him with tongue and lips. I was feral, enthusiastic, I moaned when he leaked pre-come and writhed back and forth, managing to rock against the vibrator nestled in my folds. I came once, twice as I licked fervently and then collapsed on his cock.

I offered to let him fuck me, right then and there. But Crush was on task. He knew I had a goal to reach and figured one more towards it before moving on couldn’t hurt. He asked me to carry on licking and sucking and coming on my bullet vibe, but this time he wanted some dirty talk. And, narcissist that he is, heh, dirty talk about him.

So I told him as I licked him about how hot he makes me, how sexy he looks, his gorgeous body, his thick cock and I licked and sucked. I wriggled and turned up the rumble on my vibrator until I came again, moaning on his cock, gagging myself with his erection.

The finest part of the evening was still to come though. And I’m not even talking about the penetration. No, while that was fantastic, I think I liked the next part better. Remember I said sometimes I love the red paddle?

He wanted to use it on me again, this time while I continued to use the vibrator on myself. I was only too quick to oblige.

It was interesting how through the whole thing, I was still in charge. Even when I asked him what he wanted, even when I shuddered under his hand as he spanked me. It was strange, although it shouldn’t be, and wonderful. I was his superior officer, he a lowly subordinate and I was using him for my kicks. Simple as. Whether he spanked me or not, it was my will and I could easily have him court marshalled in a snap, naturally.

I discarded the ridiculously-named “bra belt” and the thong and leant forward on the bed. He spanked me as I toyed with my clit using the vibrator and for a while it was much the same as the first spanking. Then the rumbling on my clit began to kick in and, as I worked myself towards another orgasm, I found myself wanting more and more and MORE.

“Harder,” I begged and Crush obliged. “Harder,” I cried and he hit harder still. With each gain in arousal I wanted more force, more pain. Soon I was coming hard and Crush was pounding on me as hard as he could. I had never taken this much force for this long before and I kept it up as I rolled into another fantastic climax. I was out of breath, sweating, shaking, I was full of the most wonderful feelings and sensations. I collapsed forward and turned onto my back, gazing at my beautiful lad with wide eyes.

“I love you,” I said, breaking character momentarily.

“I love you too,” he replied.

The sex that followed was frantic and amazing. Once I’d warmed to the large cock inside me, I told him he could go as hard or soft as he liked. I think he tried to teach me a lesson and soon I was bouncing, shrieking, revelling in the wonderful pleasure/pain of his rough thrusts. He came inside me after a time and we flopped next to each other, spent… ♦

Bruising

10/100

Tease, Tease, Tease

♦ Time for another drawing for Sinful Sunday! This is another one that was drawn a little while ago. In fact, longer than the last one! I’m usually terrible at remembering when I drew things, so how do I know when this was done? Simple really, that’s me and Fractal.

Yup! Now, I have to say right now that that is not the most accurate drawing of me in the world (sorry to disappoint, potential stalkers!). It’s got my scar, but it’s just not right in terms of body shape or my face, really. Hooray for idealism! I could be wrong, but Crush agrees.

I did genuinely own that outfit (still have the garterbelt), though, and the scenario is, shall we say, not too different from many that occurred in real life. I am, as always, a sub who switches. Once again, please click to embiggen, if you’d like, and let me know what you think! I hope you like it, feel free to let me know if it inspires any nice thoughts… ♦

It’s always tease, tease, tease
You’re happy when I’m on my knees

Fireman Sam

♦ Those of you who know what I’m talking about, do feel free to start squirming in anticipation. Those of you who don’t, let me sort you out. Towards the end of last year, Erotic Meet, a site for erotic creatives, ran a competition on their site. This was before I joined EM, so I didn’t even enter, but many did and it was hard fought. The winner? The lovely Molly of Molly’s Daily Kiss. The prize? An inflatable love doll named Fireman Sam.

This and all photos below are clickable to embiggen

If you haven’t already read this, go and do so now. Trust me, it is required reading for this post. To refresh your memory: Molly took Sam on a lovely date and took some photos for her blog. The result was ridiculous and hilarious and sparked quite a lot of comment. Molly proposed a project. She’d send Sam on to other interested bloggers and each would have a date with him and take photos before passing him onto the next lucky, lucky candidate. Well, guess what? I’m the first stop on the world tour.

So, what the hell should I do with him when he came to me? I racked my brains for a little while and realised very quickly that in a shared house in the middle of the city, there wasn’t a lot I could do about going on a proper date with him anywhere without having to answer an awful lot of questions. Well, that rather limits it to my bedroom. Ooh…

Less of a date and more of a one-night fuckfest for my dear Sam then?

Hmm, well, from what Molly said, he wasn’t up to much in that department. So what to do? The thought then hit me. I was in a Blue Moon Dom mood anyway and Crush was lurgified for the umpteenth time this winter. I knew what I’d do. I’d take my filthy, dominant perversions out on my inflatable friend. Crush should be grateful he was ill after what I’d get up to!

The first step in my domination, not a usual one for me, forced feminisation…

It turns out I do actually own that much pink stuff when I really look for it. I added a little bondage, control and sensory deprivation to the mix…

The Mindfold is a genuinely brilliant blindfold that I really recommend, actually. Please don’t judge it based on its model!

Heck, he was even light enough to string up at my door, despite being a little too short to reach the ground…

 Sadly, Sam’s limitations as a submissive partner soon became more and more apparent…

 No mouth? Hmm. OK, well, that’s not the only tool in my sadism bag (now I want an actual sadism bag). Let’s try something else.

Oh. OK, so those nipples are pretty useless too. Buggery. But buggery didn’t work either…

OK, OK, fine. Now Sam was really beginning to wind me up. And winding me up when I’m in a sadistic mood is not so much a good idea. He was going to get it now. I was going to bring out the toy that for him would be a real challenge to submit to. It’s one of my favourites, in fact. I love it used on me.

Sadly, things quickly took a turn for the worse for Sam…

Don’t worry. He’s fine really! I am a dab-hand with that pinwheel and there was no way I was going to puncture him unless an earthquake hit. I’m practically an expert! Right, so that’s why in all that business I didn’t puncture him but did manage to make my thumb bleed then? Yes, that’s probably about right.

I’ll spare you the picture.

So, yes, that was my date domination session with the fabulously floppy but fearless Fireman Sam! I’ll be bringing back to his owner Molly at the Erotic Meet this Friday coming, where he might even make it out of his box and do a bit of networking himself! Either way, I’ll be passing him on to his next date and you’ll be able to read and see more of his adventures soon.

I hope you enjoyed this post. It was a bugger to make, but a joy to do. When you’ve dressed an inflatable fireman up in your knickers, you do kind of wonder what you’ve done with your life, but it was oh, so worth it. Thank you, Molly, for the opportunity, thank you, Erotic Meet, for introducing all of us to Sam and thank you, everyone, for reading. ♦

The Swinging Tree

I wrote this story for the Erotic Meet competition A Pleasure Shared. The idea was to take a fantasy or pleasurable moment supplied by another member and turn it into a erotic creative piece. I chose MissPlayer’s inspiration, which was “outdoors intimacy – a little more specific, bare toes, barely touching damp soil, arms raised and restrained…” I didn’t win, but I still really love this story. What do you think?

♦ The first drop of rain hit just as the familiar shape of the swinging tree came into sight, but by the time we had reached it, we were half-soaked through. We laughed as we ran in under the branches of the tree and gasped surprised breaths into air made oppressive by the recent heatwave. The day had started out as we remembered them: baking sun, still air and a heavy feeling that, had we but realised, should have warned us of the rainstorm to come.

You hefted the rucksack from your back and I turned from your brown-eyed gaze to look at the tree before me, filled with a sense of comfort to be back under its branches. As children we had learned to jump up and grab the one branch low enough to reach, swinging from it for as long as we could manage.

Now we were older, the swinging tree’s same perfect branch was within tiptoe reach and I marvelled at how I had ever managed to jump so high so young.

You sighed and I turned to see you pulling off your sodden top. I smiled at your rain-slick torso, remembering how it felt when I first stroked the firmness of your chest. I saw flashes of skin, flusters of nervousness, our first faltering fuck. That summer had been particularly glorious.

“You’ll catch your death of cold in those clothes,” you chided, playfully.
“Yes, mother.” I replied and you swatted at my thigh.

We were sheltered from the worst of the rain and from prying eyes and I relished the thought of being naked again with you. It had been too long since my last visit. My canvas shoes were the first to go and my socks along with them. My feet felt free of burden now and I relished in feeling the damp soil between my toes and in knowing how black my soles would become. I watched you somewhat cautiously as we stripped, but your smiles and skin soon put me at ease.

The only thing not too badly drenched were my little white knickers, so that’s all I had on by the time I leant back under the limb of the swinging tree. You hadn’t changed one jot over the years and wore no underwear. That much was clear as your erection stood proud and clear in front of me.

You had a dopey sort of look on your face as you approached me, one I’ve always loved. You put an arm around my neck and pressed your hardness into my front, pushing my back against the damp bark. All I could hear was our shallow breaths and the rushing patter of droplets as the rainstorm broke around us.

Your tongue found mine as the first thunderclap rolled. The weight of the air lifted and the oppressive pressure of that stifling day broke in an instant as I opened myself to you.

“Close your eyes,” you said and I did so willingly, my pussy knotting at the memories those words evoked. I’d always trusted you a little more easily than perhaps I should, but you’d never betrayed me.

I heard the zip of the rucksack and the rustle of rummaging over the rain. When you returned I felt the tip of your cock press against me as you lifted my arms gently above my head. You pulled me up onto tiptoe and guided my hands to the branch of the swinging tree. The feel of rope pilfered from the tent slipping around my wrists was, I admit, not the biggest surprise. I remembered a whole weekend of us poring over illustrations of knots and positions and harnesses and how we had muddled our way through several silly mistakes before you perfected the art.

And perfected it you had. “You can open your eyes now,” you said and I did. I was firmly trussed, arms raised above my head and body at almost full stretch, teetering on tiptoe. That wasn’t to last.

“Let me swing your legs up,” you told me.
“Why?” I replied.
“For old time’s sake.”

I raised an eyebrow, but agreed all the same. The branch was still firm and slightly supple and wobbled a little as I swung my lower body up and into your arms. I trusted it no less than I trusted you, having seen it stand our attentions over many years.

You lifted me by the rump, taking care not to slip on my damp skin. Soon my ankles were locked around the sturdy branch and not long after you had secured those too. My knickers felt decidedly more damp then they had been a moment ago, but I was sure I hadn’t felt the splash of any of the raindrops finding their way through canopy there.

You waited by my behind, naked as a babe, goosebumps peppering your flesh even in this still-hot air, your cock now only semi-erect. I wondered what you were waiting for.

Thunder rolled through the afternoon again and only a split-second afterwards I felt the sting of your hand on the slick skin of my bottom. I yelped but did not shudder with shock, aware that my position was precarious.

Thankfully, the storm was not close enough to be in danger of a lightning strike and the only thing I had to fear was your resounding smacks, each one coming in tandem with the booms of thunder, the pauses filled with a soothing rub from your palm or a salacious tease of my pussy lips.

“We’ll get you warmed up yet,” you teased.

You kept to your word and soon my ass felt on fire from your ministrations and my knickers were soaked through with my own pleasure. The air smelt wonderfully of pussy juice and petrichor.

Each spank made my flesh sing and my cunt twitch, each one was seared into my memory. You were unforgiving and I was unending in what I could take. The branch of the swinging tree wavered and shook, but did not give. I wavered and shook, but did not give.

When you grew tired of spanking me you loosened the rope from my ankles and lowered me by the legs, leaving me once again on tiptoe. My limbs were sore from taking my weight and my bottom ached in the most welcome, wanton way.

“Thank you,” I said and you smiled. You kissed me passionately and I wished I had my hands free to hold your face.

With my body stretched like this and my toes barely touching the moist earth beneath my feet, I was at the perfect height for you to slip your once-again stiff cock past my pathetically see-through panties and into my opening. You fucked me roughly against the bark of our old childhood haunt and I gasped and giggled in the fresh, new air as the sudden rainstorm began to wane around us.

As I bounced on your cock in the security of your restraints and the shelter of our intimacy, I relished the dying sound of the rain and the crescendo of our orgasm together. We’d likely have to turn back so as not to catch cold in our wet things, but for now the sanctuary of the swinging tree was all we needed to fuck and be fucked, to love and be loved and to revel in every moment of it. ♦

Hitting the Switch

♦ When Crush casually lifted up his top to reveal his tight little stomach, as he has so many times before, who knew that it would lead to this? Him: mine. Me: in control and loving it.

He just looked so good. Now that I think about it, I suppose he didn’t look objectively any better than usual, but something caught me. Suddenly, I had to have him. That stomach had to be in my grasp, getting stroked, kissed and licked.

I rose from my seat and pushed him backwards hard onto our waiting bed. He flailed and fell, his eyes wide less in surprise than in anticipation. He likes it when I get fired up. I think he enjoys being almost wowed by my lust for him.

I joined him on the bed, clambering over his lower half to plant my lips on his stomach. Soon he was under a barrage of kisses and not long after that rough grasps were added to the assault. I was dedicated to just having as much of his beautiful stomach as I could. My movements were hurried and desperate.

Both our tops were the first to go, lost in a hustle and shuffle of fabric. His chest was my next battlefield. He doesn’t usually like his chest scratched since his skin is delicate, so I thought it best to ask. But not in a submissive way. Although I was asking his permission, I felt in control. I had control. It wasn’t a “Please may I?” sort of question it was more of a “You won’t mind if scratch up your chest, will you? You can do that for me, can’t you?” style, all honeyed and filled with poorly hidden threat. The idea of making someone agree to something they have a hint will turn out badly for them simply because they can’t say no, they can’t resist me, is intoxicating.

“OK,” he replied, “but just a little bit.”
“No, a lot.” I told him. “But for a little bit.”

I was going to scratch him hard, but he wouldn’t have to be good for long. Scoring the long lines down his chest was wonderful. It was satisfying, exhilarating and even naughty to know that ordinarily I couldn’t get away with this. He took it well, his gasps no more than I’d expected and no less than I’d hoped for. I leant in to kiss him and he sucked forcefully on my neck, leaving me gasping too.

I stripped on top of him and removed all his clothes. I decided, almost without consulting myself, that I wanted to give him a treat. I wanted to spoil him. It would have to be my signature move. That would do it. Now, to get the baby oil…

I got up quickly, surprising him, and went over to the chest of drawers. As I rummaged, he took a turn at surprising me and asked “Can I have a drink, Miss?”.

I blinked at him, knocked somewhat for six by the unexpected and submissive-sounding “Miss”. Somewhere inside my core a little switch flicked and started a Rube Goldberg machine that would power my control of him for the rest of the session. Dominant mode: engaged. Again, as with the ‘decision’ to treat him, the change seemed to occur on auto-pilot. I hadn’t suddenly thought to myself, “Hey, I know, I’ll take charge”. It just happened.

The switch was thrown and it was too late to go back.

Like a thing possessed I hunted through my drawers for equipment my mind had pre-loaded. I wanted certain things without any real thought at all. I found baby oil, as I was going to anyway, and set it to one side. Next came the blindfold, which I slipped over his eyes. The leather collar, more masculine than my own, followed and was placed gently but firmly around his throat. So far, such a good boy. No objections.

I pulled his hands through our permanent feature, the red rope ties attached to our headboard, and tightened the ropes. Almost as an afterthought I hunted for the small spreader bar and walked to the base of the bed to restrain his feet. He looked fantastic. You would not believe how good he looked all subbed up like that because frankly I didn’t either. Whether he felt a sub at heart or not, it suited him.

As I buckled the last cuff around his ankle, Crush wriggled a little, playfully dodging my grip. “Behave yourself,” I told him, “or maybe I won’t be nice to you at all. Be a good boy or you won’t have any fun.”

That saw to the wriggling quick enough.

With my gorgeous lover restrained, I added my weight to the mix, kneeling between his legs on the bar of the spreader. I opened the baby oil and poured the cool liquid onto his waiting cock.

It was time for my special move.

His hard cock suitably slick, I grasped it with one hand and rubbed the other firmly over the head of his sex, swirling my hand at the wrist. It’s a little trick I’d half-thought up, half-stolen from a book; the palm of your hand rubs over his cockhead in a sort of rotary wrist-based way I have always wholly failed at adequately describing. You need a fair bit of lubrication and it doesn’t hurt to be awfully firm. In any case, it’s got a 100% success rate in my (admittedly small) book.

Crush, for example, loves it.

I continued to pour baby oil liberally over his erection at intervals, using the excess to make his thighs and abs glisten in the light. Crush was wriggling and wriggling and eventually I had to get up from kneeling on his spreader because of how he was making it bite into my legs.

“Do you like it like this?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Miss.”

After quite some agonising time of him moaning, wriggling and bucking, as well as more of this delicious yet stern call and response, he began to crumble. “I want to be inside you, Miss”, he whimpered as I rubbed without mercy at his glans. There was only so much of this he could take. For Crush my special move is like a wonderful torment, at the same time ecstatic yet never quite reaching full crescendo.

I straddled him and leaned into his face. Pulling on his collar I hissed, “maybe I shouldn’t let you be inside me. Maybe I should just make myself come on top of you like this and leave you there.”

“Please, Miss, I want to be inside you.”
“Louder.” I still remembered our session recently when he had made me practically shout my head off as I begged him to fuck me. That memory made good fuel for my cruelty. A little taste of his own medicine.

When he had raised his voice to a normal talking level, I decided it was enough for me. His quiet bedroom voice sounds so different to his usual that it was a thrill to muddy his normal tone with our dirty fucking.

I teased him a little by rubbing his cockhead over my slit, moistening it to allow for easy entry. I was pleasantly surprised to find how wet I was. Pussies are fickle creatures and at times my mental arousal is much greater or much less than my physical one. Domination, as I’ve mentioned before, is not nearly so natural and visceral for me as submission. It doesn’t grab me by the cunt and force me to get sopping wet for it. But here I was, sopping indeed. I’d enjoyed this more than I realised I had.

I lowered myself onto him and told him to start fucking me. Screw it, I was in charge, why should I do any of the work, at least at first? Let him make the effort. Let him work for his pleasure. I was going to sit back and enjoy the ride.

And, oh, how I did.

My hand snaked down between our sweat-slick, oil-daubed bodies and found my clitoris. I started to stroke myself on top of him as he pounded up into me, his feet just finding purchase in their restraints. Being on top is one of my least favourite positions, but it really felt good just then. My fingertips worked frantically at my clit whilst he moaned and groaned. He was loving this. He told me later that my special attention to his cock had had a strange effect on him. He was dulled, but in a good way. His cock couldn’t feel the specifics of its pleasure but just an all-over haze of wonderful feelings. It was, apparently, a strange but brilliant sensation.

As I began to near my peak I relented and joined in with his movements, taking some of the strain of fucking ourselves into bliss. I came on top of him, my orgasm blundering through my body and forcing filthy words out of my mouth. The heady mix of control and climax was too much for me and my only pressure valve was a stream of dirty dominance moaned into his ear. He was my bitch. My slut. He was filthy for making me this way.

When I regained some semblance of normal thought patterns, my dominance straightened itself up and took on a more controlled air again. I continued to ride him. He breathed heavily, his eyes still covered and his body still all mine.

My voice now calm again, I told him, “I think I’ll have one more and then I’ll let you go.”

And so I did, using my fingers as I rode him, putting most of the fuck-effort in myself this time, fucking myself on his cock. I leant into him, the heat of our bodies intense. The orgasm that was building inside me was going to be too much for me without collapsing into him this way. I pressed my face into his neck and, as the orgasm hit, my mouth found his leather collar. I took it into my mouth and bit down hard, clamping my teeth down on it whilst waves of energy rocked me. I climaxed hard, pulling at the collar round his neck with my teeth, and action that seemed to me at once submissive and dominant. I was clamping down on it like a bit in the mouth of a fucktoy but also tugging roughly at the mark of submission at this throat, reminding him he was bound.

I rolled into another peak and let go, sitting up fully and pulling the blindfold from his eyes which were wide and strangely, almost ethereally pale. I know that when I submit and am wearing a blindfold I begin to crave the sight of him. The deprivation is hot and the amplification of my other senses is wonderful, but I need to see him. Having my blindfold pulled off mid-fuck is an erotic experience. Your eyes wince at the light newly hitting them while at the same time you strain to see your lover. The sight of them after what seems like so long deprived is almost an orgasm of its own.

Removing the blindfold like that was a trick I had picked up from being a sub and so I knew the power of it now that I was dominant. I love that I took something I knew worked because it worked on me and applied it to him now he was mine. He told me later that he really liked that part too, so I get to feel extra-smug.

As my orgasm faded, I took him in my arms in a pleasantly sweat-ridden hug. I kissed his warm mouth lovingly, stroked his hair and then tried to remove his restraints all too soon, my trembling fingers fumbling at the ropes and buckles.

“I could have done that myself,” he offered, knowing there are ways to get out of the red rope ties.
“No,” I replied, “you couldn’t. You might have been able to get out of them physically but I think you’ll find you’d have had a hard time managing it. After all, you were all mine.”  ♦

Disney for Deviants – Part 1

Or, Defiant Men in Distress

♦ If there’s one thing I learned fairly quickly and with great certainty as I became a sexual being: I love kink. I get off on BDSM and specifically I’m a subby little slut. I love being tied up, I love being used and abused. And, of course, I love seeing this sort of thing in films and books and so on too. The thing is, even before I got into BDSM or even sex or even had masturbated for the first time, I knew what I liked to see. It’s strange. I hadn’t even really started to think about sex yet except perhaps in vague terms, but still, seeing certain things resonated strongly with me in a thrilling half-romantic, half-something else way.

I didn’t know quite what I liked about it, but I knew what I liked. And one thing I liked big time, with the benefit of some added hindsight, is the delicious, gooey, defiant manliness of a guy in distress. And you know what? Disney, of all people, is really good at this. I mean really, surprisingly good. Hey, tell you what, at this point I’ll come clean and say that this post was really sparked off by my memories of one film in particular and all the rest of the references are going to be shuffled in around it.

That film? Sleeping Beauty.

My abiding memory of that film, the one that overrules everything else even after watching it in subsequent years, is of the wicked (and awesome, in both ways) Maleficent with our hero Prince Phillip at her mercy. Specifically, I’m talking about two fairly short scenes here (pictures below are links to the scenes in question, as long as YouTube plays ball).

Maleficent captures Phillip

Phillip in Chains

What does it for me? In the first scene, the rope, the gag, the strong and masculine figure bound and helpless and, most importantly of all, the small amount of wriggling to get free. The second is similar, oh, sure, the chains help, but what I really like about it is the defiance in him as he struggles in vain against his bonds, the masculine force, the rebellion.

It turns out that I really like to see heroes (and if they weren’t before, this makes them a hero for me) captured and almost powerless. I say almost, because the only power they really have left is to defy their captors and rail against their captivity. To defy them, in fact, often beyond all reason. Because what Disney films generally won’t show you is the cost of their defiance. The hero is bound or held somehow, the villain gloats and makes threats, the hero recklessly struggles half-free or spits at his captor or gives a witty and defiant retort and he is struck hard by the villain or their henchmen for their insolence (I think the closest Disney ever got to this was a rare female example where Jafar threatens to backhand Jasmine for throwing wine in his face, causing her to the floor*). What’s important here is that the hero doesn’t cringe or repent or acquiesce, but remains defiant, though maybe silently so, and stoic. Or perhaps he continues to struggle angrily as he’s carted away.

Either way, I love that. It’s fucking hot.

And the thing is, I’m not quite sure why. What does that make me? I’m a sub mostly, I’m supposed to enjoy me being tied up and so on. Actually, I think I’d find that scenario pretty hot with me as the plucky captive, but that’s not what I’m looking at. He’s the one being tied up, not me. And whilst I’d enjoy myself in that scenario (seriously), I don’t think that’s why I get turned on watching it. I’m pretty sure I don’t put myself in his shoes. Sure, I’m a bit into androgyny and genderfuck, I’ve been a ‘boy’ in sexplay before, I have a packing cock, but I don’t think I’m identifying with that strong masculine presence on screen. And weirdly, I’m equally sure that I’m not identifying with the evil captor either. Sure, although I sub mostly I think I’d really like to dom a strong male who was into it, but again, I don’t think that’s how I’m watching it. So, is this submissive? Dominating? Neither?

Seems like I just get turned on by watching hot guys full of bravado in captivity (I’d also love to hear from anyone else who thinks this is hot, there’s safety in numbers!). At the time I wasn’t fully aware of it, but these moments, notably in Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, were the first flickerings of being turned on by bondage, dominance and submission. Hell, probably the first flickerings of being turned on by anything, actually.

Of course, what I wonder is did I always like this somewhere deep down or did watching these scenes somehow incline me to kink to it? Was it these scenes that helped mould me into the little deviant I am today or was my love of them an early symptom of my love for BDSM? Either way, this was a big thing in my early proto-sexuality. I got turned on (at first romantically, admittedly, if that makes any sense) and thrilled by these surprisingly kink-filled themes before I even knew what turned on was. They’re an important part of my sexual make-up.

And guess what? You get to hear more about them! What, you thought this was it? Oh, no, my friends, in the next part of this little series we’ll discover yet more subtle and secret Disney depravity and how it has affected and reflected my proclivities. More men in pain, more masculine deliciousness, added genderfuck, a dash of plain-old eroticism and lust and a good dose of turbulent slap-slap-kiss! ♦

♦ Other, lesser examples of this kink: the capture of Robin Hood in Robin Hood, Phoebus’s defiance against Frollo and his capture by Clopin in the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

*Incidentally, I’ve seen a fair few things with the hitting part of it added, I just can’t recall any examples now. If anyone would like to recommend any, that’d be awesome. And I should clarify here that when I say the guy gets a smack for his rebellion, I don’t mean he gets the crap beaten out of him. No horrendous violence, just a wee bit of acceptable pain and a show of power. ♦

Sounds

♦ It’s probably a bit of a faux pas to compare exes with currents (or, indeed, with currants), but feck it. I have always been and will always be as honest as I can on this blog and so comparisons are natural here and there. You won’t hear a long list of ex-bashing (though lately, unfortunately, I’ve been made to feel sorely tempted) but since I think the comparisons now and then, you’ll read about them.

So, that said, it always was a bit of a grump of mine that Fractal was so quiet during sex. I’m a noisy one, for a start. Moans, groans, screams and shrieks – the very idea of keeping meek and mute during my throes of passion just seems unnatural and, for me, has connotations of repression. I love to express my enjoyment through sound and I wouldn’t mind betting that that’s part of the reason I love hearing it back so much.

Just the thought of hearing my partner groan, growl or purr with ecstasy, unable to keep themselves from crying out, using their moans as a sort of human steam whistle… that gets me all a-fluster.

So, yeah, the quietness of Fractal, who had to be cajoled into making the smallest of whimpers, was rather a disappointment to me. Luckily, I have no such problems with Crush.

Good lord, that man makes some wonderful noises.

He’s not as much of a screamer as I am, because that would be silly (:P), but he certainly isn’t afraid to let go and moan, yell and even growl his pleasure out loud. It’s so good hearing him nearing climax that it tends to send me well on my way myself and to hear him come is divine.

I was going to write on a different topic entirely, then on one related to this, but to be honest I think I’ve just flung myself off on the dear-Christ-isn’t-this-man-fucking-deliciously-sexy-when-he-comes trajectory. ;)

And he is.

Of course, I’m going to say that, but, y’know. I’m right. :P

The sounds are wonderful, his face looks gorgeous and his chest stretches beautiful as he throws his head back, face screwed up and riding the wave. So, the sounds, oh the sounds, I’ll be talking about those again later, but the whole experience is what really makes it. He responds so damn well.

But possibly the best thing? It’s so easy. Do you know the one thing that tips him, hell, throws him over the edge like nothing else? My voice telling him to come. That’s it. 0 to 60 in one word. With practice I reckon he could be trained to come on command, fer chrissakes.

Sigh. In many ways it’s such a shame he’s a dom… :)  ♦

Blacksilk’s Fantasies #6 – The Lesson

♦ Here’s another of my fantasies from when my relationship with Fractal was dealing with a separation of several continents and countries. I don’t much get to be in charge these days, perhaps I’ll get around to that some time soon, but Fractal does still love the idea of me as his teacher, even if that is normally so he can take charge half way through ;)

This time, though, he’s all mine… ♦

♦ Recently you were decidedly naughty, teasing me into submission with my desire for you, and I have decided that the time is right to exact my sweet revenge. I enter my room from taking a shower, wearing nothing but wrapped in a towel. You raise your head from where you are sat and the wicked fire in your eyes shows that your wilfully teasing streak of late has still not subsided. You smile coyly, slowly licking your lips as you come towards me and kiss me passionately, your arms wrapping my body. You pull back and notice a stern look in my eyes.

“Turn around” I command, and you oblige. You stand there for some minutes, your mind racing as to what I could be about to do, your ears pick up only the slight susurration of fabric. You stand for some minutes, every second wondering when I will act, the anticipation and the unknowing driving you crazy. You feel a firm hand on your shoulder then, turning you back around to face me. I am dressed strictly, my hair tied back, my glasses perched sternly, wearing an above-the-knee skirt over what seem to be exotic stockings, and a white shirt, thin enough to show just a suggestion of my nipples. I circle you once, seeming to appraise you, undress you with my eyes.

“You have been very dirty,” I say sternly, drawing closer “you have been a very bad boy.” My body is now pressed against yours, my hand stroking your crotch area as I say “You have been letting your lusts command you. But now you will follow my commands. To the letter. Or it will go so much the harder with you. Am I understood?”. You answer yes, but I am not satisfied, “you will address me as ‘mistress'”. You reply again, this time correctly.

“You need to be taught a lesson, boy,” I say, “and I will be your teacher.” I hand you a little book where our fantasies have been written and then move to sit on the bed. “Read to me, and read well.” You reply with “yes, mistress” and begin to read from the book. As you are doing this you see me undo the first few buttons of my shirt and pull up my skirt slightly, as you realise I am wearing no underwear.

One of my hands starts to caress my nipple as you read me your passionate words, the other moves slowly as I masturbate, my eyes half closed as I listen. You continue to read and are finding it harder to pay attention to the words as I writhe, small moans escaping my lips as you finish the fantasy.

I lower my skirt, but leave my shirt half-open as I stand and shake my head firmly. “Your diction is terrible, you haven’t been doing your homework, filthy boy. Your lusts are interfering and your sinful ways must be corrected. Lower your trousers a little and come over here.” When you have done so I pull out from a drawer a tie and bind your hands behind you, telling you to lean over the desk, though leaving both your behind and your sex accessible.

Teach

“I think a private lesson is in order. You are running out of chances. Please me, or face the consequences.” I explain to you that I will give you a task: you must repeat over and over a simple tongue twister until I deem you to be satisfactory. However it will not be as easy as all that. For every perceived imperfection I will punish you, striking your behind firmly with the thin cane-like object I now pull from the drawer. You start to say the phrase, and for the first couple of cycles all is going well, until I move my hand round and take hold of your sex, starting to stroke and caress it. You begin to make tiny mistakes, and each time you do I bring the cane down on your buttocks, swiftly so that the feeling is an intense mix of extreme pleasure and a sharp sting.

You struggle on valiantly but my attentions to your genitals become more focused and after a moment, I turn you away from the desk, kneel before you and start to flick my tongue along the length and tip of your sex. Soon the punishments are coming frequently as you are too busy shuddering in pleasure as I kiss and nibble gently, switching now and then to passionate sucks and strokes of my tongue. This continues until you are almost ready to climax, when I halt, and command you to do the same.

I rise, drop the cane and stroke your behind for a moment, before giving it one last sting, this time by hand. “You disappoint me. Such a very dirty, filthy boy like you does not deserve such pleasure. Why should I continue to indulge you, when even such punishments will not tame you?” I start to move away and you drop to your knees, begging. “Please, mistress, one more chance. I beg you.”

I turn back, smiling wickedly, and you know now as I untie you that I never had any intention to end things yet. “Perhaps there is one way yet that you can regain my favour. Take off your clothes.” You do so, and I command you to lie on the bed. I remove my skirt, but leave my other clothes on. I straddle you then, my warm, moist sex against your hard one. I grind you for a moment and then let you enter me. Holding your arms down I writhe on top of you, pleasuring you with my movements, until you are again close to orgasm. As you approach it I slow, and do this several times, forbidding you to come. “You are an irredeemably naughty boy. You cannot be tamed. You must be punished often. And I like it that way.” I confess. As I say this, my motions become more intense as I finally allow you to climax.

As we move together, at the height of orgasm I bite you roughly on the neck, leaving a red mark. We lie exhausted then and I tell you “You take your punishment well. You are a good student after all. And you are mine.” ♦

♦ Fractal’s previous entries are: ‘X’, Sexy-Grr!, Summer Shower, Tomboy, Devil Girl and Whip.

Mine are: Punishment in Black, Doctors and Nurses, Tease, Quick Seduction and Honey