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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

Progress

♦ The both of us naked, I found my face pressed into his stomach and my arse being caressed by his rough palms. I had already slowly stripped him of his clothes and stroked his soft thighs. He had already grinned and laid back as I ran my fingers over his oh-so-silky cock. Now I planted kisses on his belly and flank as he turned caressing and light strokes into firm pats that threatened solid swats.

The spanking began in earnest, though our positions stopped too much force, and he made sure to stroke my behind lovingly between each blow. I liked that. It ramped up the anticipation and kept it intimate and somehow more filthy. More calculated, perhaps.

He snuck his free hand around to my clitoris and teased at me lightly, again hampered by the angle. Seeing a better strategy, he told me I should rub myself instead and keep rubbing until he said otherwise. I love to be made to touch myself beyond what I’d normally inflict on myself. I love the threat of punishment if I let up even for one moment, no matter my wishes.

So I started to rub. I plucked my clitoris into pleasure as he started to put his usual force into his spanks, hitting me hard but still giving me a comforting stroke in between each. My masturbating became more frantic with my rising excitement and so did his stroking of my bare behind; he now squeezed and grabbed a little as he stroked, almost possessive in his actions.

I was close to coming and begged out loud for release.

“May I come please, sir?” I said, adding the “sir” out of my own desire to be subordinate.

He leant into my ear and whispered a hasty “yes” to me, allowing me to relax into my climax, making me shudder with pleasure and release of not only tension, but built-up emotion too.

Of course, when I was done, it’s not like I could just stop touching myself. I had orders, a fact he seemed to enjoy reminding me of.

“That’s right, keep touching yourself,” he hissed as the spanking continued. I allowed the tender, heightened feeling of my sex to carry me along and soon I hit another orgasm, making me gasp and moan. The shock dying down, I asked if I could stop and he relented at last.

My recovery didn’t and couldn’t last long: he pulled at my legs, flipping me over onto my back. I was balanced awkwardly on a lump of duvet, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him inside me.

He pushed his cockhead against me, but my wet cunt offered little resistance and he soon sank in deep. I had wanted this this evening, but thought my earlier outburst of emotions had ruined my chances, so I was so, so glad to be getting what I wanted anyway.

He was, as usual, a little too big for comfort, which I absolutely love. I asked him for it slow but hard and deep, so that I could feel every delicious flash of feeling, every gorgeous millimetre of his cock opening me up, driving to my depths.

He thrust slowly into me, but getting that little bit faster with each stroke. I writhed and wriggled on his cock, feeling his chest with my hands whenever I wasn’t steadying myself. I came again, pushed into climax by the pounding of his cock just as he came inside me. I love doing that.

I pulled him close to me, buoyed up by my orgasm and our physicality but also by the emotions of this intimate act with him. So easy to forget that not long ago he was new to sex entirely, new to kink entirely, new to me entirely. When I see how far he’s come for me, I can forgive that we have a way to go and I see how much he loves me. If there was no other reason to love him, that’d be a pretty good start.

Luckily for me, I have plenty already. ♦

Come At Me

♦ This is a slightly dark, slightly intimate, slightly raw one for me that I just wrote today. But, hey, if I can’t share something like this, it’s hardly in the spirit of the poem, is it? Note to potential psychos: consent is vital. ♦

I stare into your maw with ropes around my wrists
I had let you take me and tie me, led like a lamb
Docile, calm

I am here to make you break me

I wait for the gale of your howl to shake my bindings
I ache for the hot damp of your breath on my face
You’d better be ready

I am here to make you break me

I don’t think it will be hard
I’m not that tough, alright?
Sure, I talk big
I tell you I’m comfortable with my desires
I don’t want to be comfortable

There are dark, wriggling things chained up in my ribcage
Break me open
Set them free
Spill my desires at your feet
Hoist them up before my face

I am here to make you break me

Drag me by my hair
Pull me to the depths
Show me what I really want

I sit, a willing sacrifice, in your lair
I look you in the eye and dare you
Come at me

I am here to make you break me

Mischief Managed

♦ I have a habit of falling over. Not real falling over, in this case. I’m not a graceful girl, but I can keep my footing.

No, this is something else. I get in a playful mood, especially on weekends when the day is lazy and young. A playful mood that likes hugs and kisses and all sorts more. That’s when Crush will hear the playfully plaintive cry of “Oh, no, I’ve fallen over! Help!” and come in to find me strewn across the bed.

This weekend I was even more trouble than usual and in want of a good spanking. Our daily efforts fell apart a little while back and it had been too long. So I called for him, my body bent forward over our bunched up duvet and my bum wiggling in the air.

I kept my head facing down and away, another quirk I love for some unknown reason. I heard Crush enter, but he wasn’t going for me. Not yet. I heard him rattling at the kinkier of our two drawers, which put my mind on instant alert. I felt a thrill run through me at him taking this so seriously. But I’d accidentally blocked the drawer up so he couldn’t get in. I was almost as angry with myself as he pretended to be. I wanted to be hit with things.

I reminded him that our flogger still hung on the door handle, but he dismissed it straight away. Too soft, he said. He wanted something hard to use on me. I needed to be punished.

He climbed behind me and pulled down the tiny shorts I was wearing. It was the first warm afternoon since I’d bought my roller derby shorts and I’d been determined to flaunt them. My arse was now bared, no knickers to be seen, my shorts around my thighs. He began to spank me hard and harsh, putting his arm into each blow.

I snuggled my face into the pillows and luxuriated in the roughness. It really had been too long. I was still feeling too antsy just to lie there and take it, though. I wiggled and wriggled and occasionally tried to throw him off or escape altogether. Of course, he was as determined as I was cheeky, so all it did was make him pile his weight firmly on top of me and fix me still. And hit me harder. It was occasionally too rough, but only too rough just enough. Soon I was moaning my satisfaction into the bed and thrusting myself back and forth into his strikes.

I wanted more, I wanted as hard as he could give, but it was over too quickly. When it was, though, he pulled me over and leaned menacingly into my face.

“Tell me you’re my dirty little slut,” he hissed.

My cunt pulsed and my eyes widened. I fucking loved it. I smiled happily back at him as I replied. “I’m your dirty little slut.”

We kissed and stroked each other before he pulled me on top of him and lay back,  running his hands over my still-bare bum. I peppered his mouth with kisses. Even so, he hadn’t quite dominated the mischief out of me. I snuck in a little nip at his lip and he turned stern.

“Don’t think you’re in charge just because I let you be on top.” He warned and I smiled as innocently as I could manage.

It was all a lie, though. I wanted trouble. More than that, I wanted retribution. I wanted him to destroy the impudent little slut I was making of myself. I wanted a reaction. When I went to bite his lip a second time, I got one.

Quicker than I could process, his hand had clutched at my throat and he’d started to propel me backwards at speed. He was strong, oh, I’d forgotten how strong when he wants to be, and I was on my back at his mercy. I wasn’t sure there was any mercy. The whole thing was forceful and fantastic. A hand on my throat was already a weakness of mine, but being pushed about like a ragdoll was more than I could dream of.

Still with my neck in his grasp, his free hand pulled off my short shorts entirely. When they were discarded, he whipped up my tshirt to expose my breasts and then pulled it over my face, letting go so that it covered my head. I’d seen football players do similar to celebrate a goal, but this had none of the roaring stupidity and was all shame and sex and submission. I could still see slightly through the thin fabric, but my head was tilted upwards and away from Crush and any movement would dislodge the tshirt, making me effectively bound like this. I liked not being able to see what he was doing. I wanted to be his thing.

He pulled my legs up and pushed himself inside me roughly, making me gasp in pleasure. He took my hands and placed them atop my breasts, using them to lean on, pushing his weight down on me and making me squeeze and massage myself as he pounded me. I was his toy, his slut and he was showing me what he could do, showing me punishment, using me for his pleasure. He was in control and I was his to fuck and abuse, his to thrust his cock into, to spill his seed into, to force to come.

I felt filled with a strange sort of energy and my body tingled with feeling as my mind reeled in submission. When we came together, it was only the icing on the cake. ♦

 

Details, Details

♦ I wrote this on the same train as I wrote Make Me. It’s not a direct line to my cunt like that poem, but worthy of inclusion on my blog. I was trying something slightly more complex with this one, so tell me what you think! ♦

The snap of the buckle settling into place
The slight creak of the rope taking the strain
The devil is in the details

Where you are imperfect, the knots are just so,
the lengths carefully chosen,
the cup and curve and caress of hemp on your skin
calculated to tease and comfort

Your asymmetry is his perfect canvas

The collar sits flush against your throat,
emphasising the soft flutter of your pulse
The clamps on your tits are polished to a shine

You are motionless, as instructed,
but for a tremble of your chin and a flicker of your eyes

A lock clicks into place at your wrists
A strap is shifted one degree to the left

The set-up was effortless and the adjustments minor,
the accoutrements chosen seemingly on a whim
You wouldn’t know it, but the exact curve of your spine at this moment
was planned weeks ago

He cups your chin and brushes a stray hair behind your ear
You are complete

Each detail is exact, each angle aesthetic,
each nerve in you tingling and taut as intended

And now the minutiae are in place and his masterpiece is realised,
he will relish defiling it

He will spoil the calm perfection he has created,
he will soil his unblemished canvas
He will desecrate you

Oh, the devil is in the details, my dear, but salvation is found in your flaws…

Make Me

♦ I wrote this yesterday in a sleep-starved buzz of ideas on a sunlit train back from the North. I hope you like it, because it makes me seriously goddamn wet… ♦

By the stream that was once a river there is a dell where you will find me.

Where you will find me and make me…

And make me…

I will bite down on a fallen branch and press my face into the moss
and you will take me.

And the bark in my hair and the bites on my skin will be reminders.

And the scrapes on my knees and the welts on my thighs
will be my trophies.

The air will hum with screams that break through silence
and the minutes will last for years.

The sun will beat down as you beat down and I…

I will exult in having you make me.

Arse Over Tits

♦ I straddled him as he lay back on the bed, serene except for the excitement in his eyes. He loves to see me on top of him, loves to gaze at my body stretching up to the smile fixed firmly on my face. He likes me to lean forward just so and lift up my top, exposing my breasts.

Naturally, that’s what I do.

His eyes open wider still and the expression on his face is one I want to never forget. He loves me, he wants me. He thinks I’m fucking hot.

I feel a need grow between my legs, a tingle start in my pussy, not helped by my closeness to his body.

He wants to fuck me and says so.

I feel the need for more than just a fast and frantic fuck, no matter how good it would be.

I want to be hit with things.

I unstraddle him and coil up loosely on the bed as he prepares his instruments. I don’t ask for anything in particular, except maybe something lighter to start with just to warm me up. Other than that, I let him choose. He returns with the soft suede flogger for starters and a choice of main course: the spanking ruler, the shiny red paddle and the studded one.

He encourages me into position on my stomach and pulls my clothes from my backside. He brushes the suede tails of the soft flogger over my skin, making me wriggle with the sensation. It’s a light flogger and he has to work hard for it to sting, but I still like it and I love the sensuous way it caresses me in-between strokes.

He began to flog me, softly at first and then, more confident in his aim, with more twist and sting. I practically purred as the flogger hit, but soon longed for firmer things.

Luckily, I wasn’t wanting for long. Crush lay the flogger down and began with his hand this time, spanking me hard until I squirmed, pressing my face into the pillows. I occasionally mumbled when his hit was off or just right and he adjusted accordingly, but any requests for mercy were ignored.

When my arse was red with the sting of his hand, he switched to the shiny red paddle, slapping it into me with each strike. It’s a red shiny PVC on one side and matte black leather on the other and I was surprised to learn that not only did they feel markedly different, but that I could tell which side was which.

After he thought I’d had enough, at least for now, he stopped and allowed me to face him. My bum was hot and tender and I felt wonderful. I felt so ready to fuck him except for one thing.

He’d made a promise to me just the other day and I thought it was time for him to keep it.

See,  I’ve taken to occasionally tying my own legs to my headboard via cuffs with long straps when I masturbate. I’ve always felt my best with my legs in the air when I come and when I was single I tended to brace my legs against the wall a lot. Now I’ve taken to a bit of light self-bondage as it feels great to have my legs secure when I orgasm and it’s always fun to feel restrained.

Crush promised recently to use and abuse me in that position and so I made the suggestion. He smiled and agreed on the condition I took a little more punishment.

Oh, yes.

Soon I was on my back naked with my legs held firmly in the air by velcroed cuffs. Easy to get out of, you say? Not so much, because my arms were firmly placed under my own body weight in such a way that escape would take a good minute of wriggling before even getting to the cuffs. And with Crush right in front of me, that wouldn’t be allowed.

Being paddled with my bare arse in the air meant something else too. I was looking right at Crush as he did it. This is a bit of a new one for me. Normally he’s behind me and my face is turned away. I’m used to closing my eyes or hiding my face. It’s almost instinctive. And whilst I could close my eyes, there was nowhere else to look. He was right there and his eager face kept me fixed on him. The paddle rained down hard and fast and oh-so-pleasurably.

I yelped and gasped and wriggled and even pleaded when the harshest strokes hit, but to no avail. I was on fire with sensation and lust and despite (or perhaps because of) the pain, the tingle in my pussy was growing from a tingle to an ache and an ache to desperate need. He was going to paddle me to orgasm. I could feel it.

Suddenly, the blows stopped. My cries ceased and turned to confusion before realising that he had decided he was done.

“No!” I begged, “More, please, more! More!”

Hearing the need in my voice, he continued and I felt a shaking in my muscles and a throbbing in my cunt. I moaned as the orgasm elbowed its way through my body, setting me shivering and screaming and melting…

As it subsided, he put down the paddle and started to take off his clothes. The angle of entry was new to us, but it didn’t pose much problem and soon he was making his first thrust inside my wet cunt. He rested his hands on my still-aching arse and began to push in and out of me.

“Slower, please,” I said, his cock hurting me a little more than I’d like. He did so and it wasn’t long before I was begging for faster and harder now that I’d warmed up to his girth. I asked him to rest his weight around my neck instead of my arse and he did so, leaving me utterly pinned and at his mercy. Of course, there was no mercy, only relentless fucking from a man who took me inch by inch and threw me open.

To be his to fuck without hope of escape was to be oddly free and I floated on a bed made of thrusts and aches and restraint.

He groaned and I started the climb to orgasm again, coming hard as he spilled his semen into me. I ached and throbbed and gasped and crawled into his arms when he released me. ♦

Pounds

This is another post from perhaps a month back that I’ve been waiting for the right time to post, so excuse me if some of the timeframes are a little off. Hope you enjoy it!

♦ “How many pounds is it?” he said, his hand hovering over my exposed rump, his voice tinged with an unusual quality that rippled on it like oil on water.

He was talking about spanking me, of course, but any other meaning than that escaped me. How many? I hadn’t done anything! We still hadn’t settled on a daily number that fit us both and I couldn’t think of anything else of significance. Why did he think I ought to know how many I should get?

“I don’t know.” I said, perhaps more petulantly than I should. Horny though I’d been all day and despite a little idle fantasising about whips earlier, I wasn’t in the mood to be spanked.

He asked again, but with context. “How many pounds is it you’ve lost?”

I understood.

I’ve been counting my calories since the end of September in an effort to lose weight. I didn’t really bother over Christmas, because I’m not that much of a masochist, and since then it’d been hard to get into a routine. I hadn’t weighed myself since the end of December, over five weeks ago. I was sure I’d gained weight.

He promised to give me a spank for each pound I was over my last weight.

But I was under by seven pounds. In fact, I’d lost 24.8lbs since I started.

So that’s what I told him. It didn’t let me off.

“How am I going to do 0.8 of a spank?” He said.
“You could round up,” I replied.
“OK,” he said, adjusting his grip to hold me firmly, “248 spanks…”
“What?!” I replied, but they started nonetheless.

That bastard, that delicious bastard. He’s a mathematician, so he knows damn well that’s not how you round up. He just thought he’d play cleverpants and move the decimal point.

248…

But, oh, they were stingy and they were thuddy and he counted each of them out in a glorious measured metre. Slow enough for each pound of his palm to register, fast enough to leave me breathless.

By one hundred I had asked for harder, by two hundred I was screaming with each stroke for harder and faster and stronger and MORE.

I was counting too now and I found that saying the numbers out loud with him was adding to my wriggling, raging excitement. I made a mental note to count along from the beginning next time.

He finished with a flourish. 248 pounds of skin upon skin, 248 strikes of his will into my flesh. 248 individual kisses from him to me.

He turned me over and towered above me grinning as I lay with my clothes all askew and my body flushed.

“I think you’re starting to like this.”
“What gave you that impression?” He smiled.  ♦

Perhaps *this* gave me that impression. Look what he did to my poor bottom. ;)