Ninety Three Seconds

I’m certain I was yammering as we walked through the door. There was a plan: to drink, to cook, to eat, and to fuck.

I had assumed in that order, and therefore, was not expecting to be held by the hair and drag/pushed into the living room. That was certainly a surprise.

But when he pulled the pillows off the sofa and dropped them to the floor before me, I had an inkling.

And when he pulled his phone out and fiddled with it after ordering me to masturbate, I had another inkling.

Some time after the orgasm, after he’d given me a taste of him, after he’d told me to get dressed and make him a drink, he’d nonchalantly told me that it’d taken me 93 seconds to orgasm.

“Because you were watching me,” I explained.

Manual override on my own could take an hour. Any sort of stimulation when he’s watching me takes significantly less time.

Dinner was decent.

It was during the fucking when I was asked how long it took me to orgasm earlier.

I don’t know how the fuck I remembered the number.

But I did. “Ninety three seconds, Sir.”

He started to smack me. Slowly, then quickly, altering speed and intensity.

And then he stopped.

“How many is that?”

Well. I don’t know. Maybe it’s like the pillows and I’d had some sort of nonverbal cue. Or maybe it’s something I always do, the counting.

“Fifty.”

I could hear him smile. I felt the swell of my own pride in getting it right.

Here’s what he doesn’t know. I think I lost count somewhere after the next 20. I dropped into some altered state for a moment and when I came back….I could have sworn we were at 83, not 93.

But those last five smacks were double handed and hit hard.

Maybe they counted for two.

One Lucky Whore

When I miss him, I ask if I can “see” him and he sends me a selfie.

I was still three days away from seeing him again. He sent me a selfie. He was smiling in it.

“is that smile for me?” I asked him.

“The smile. The photo. The excitement.”

I grinned. “Oh, but I do love pictures of your excitement,” I replied smugly.

“Well, there’s an idea….” he started. “Seems like I should deny you the sight of it for a bit.”

“I’ve been denied a week already!” I threw in a shocked face emoticon for good measure.

“Are you ready for me to be nasty?” he asked.

I had no idea if I was ready. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t let me kiss him until after I’d fixed dinner, we ate, and I’d washed the dishes, then kissed every inch of his body before he let me touch his lips.

“Yes?” I responded.

“You will not touch, taste, or see my cock until I pull it out of your wet hole and come on your face, my beautiful whore.”

swoon


I got out of the shower around 6:45. Plenty of time, I thought. He usually arrives at my house around 7:30.

“Trying to decide if I should wear makeup for you to ruin” I texted him.

“Heh, sure, do it.”

“Sweet,” I replied. “Whore it is. After I go to the market.”

“I’m here.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Here?” Did he mean he was at my house already, or that he was still at work?

“Your house.”

He was early. Forty five minutes early! I hadn’t cleaned my vibrator, picked up the laundry, brushed my teeth…I hadn’t scooped the litter box! I was still wearing a bathrobe!

He let himself into my house as I was brushing my teeth. He was on his way up the stairs when I stepped out into the corridor outside my bedroom wearing only my bathrobe. “You’re early! I didn’t have time….!” I stammered. He smiled and pulled me in for a kiss.

One kiss led to another, and soon I was naked and leaning back on the bed with my legs spread and his fingers probing my wet cunt.

After an orgasm, he stepped back. “Well…? Go whore yourself up.”

I nodded dreamily and went to the bathroom to put on some makeup. I did it quickly – heavy mascara and eyeliner, light on the rest. Then grabbed this very slutty dress that I’d picked out for the evening. About 20 pounds ago it looked hot. I’d worn it to the dungeon about a year ago….but not since.

But he loves my body and always makes me feel sexy. For him I’ll walk around naked or in a bikini and I still know he wants me.

He’s laying on the bed when I finish. I walk over to him and smile. He gets up and pulls me into a kiss. Then forces me to bend over the bed kicks my feet apart at the ankle.

He fingers me until I come two more times. He pulls me up by the hair and, woozy, I lean against him for support.

“I’m gonna go change so I’m not wearing cargo shorts,” he said.

“Wait..,” I say, looking up, “Where are we going?”

“To the market,” he replied.

I’d forgotten about the market.  “Can I change?” I asked..

“No.” The gleam in his eye….

Fuck.


I’m dressed like a whore in a too-tight, too-short dress, wearing leather knee high boots and no panties at my upscale, suburban neighborhood market. As we’re heading over, he points out what’s on the shopping list…

Cucumbers. Japanese Eggplant. Condoms….

FUCK.


 

I was bent over the foot of the bed, knees on the padded bench. He fingered me roughly. Spanked me a lot. Shoved my face into the mattress, then pulled it back up by my hair.

He walked around to the side of the bed and leaned over to bring his face down to my level.

“You are my whore…” he said, searching my eyes.

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.” I am.  I always am.

“Tonight, I’m going to treat you like one.”

My heart skipped a beat.

True to his word, I never saw his cock. I heard the swoosh of the belt, and was grateful for the long warm-up that made it possible for each strike to land hard, loud, and solid on my ass and thighs. He entered me from behind, reaching around to roughly grab my tits and pinch at my nipples. I lost count of my orgasms. I just remember that he told me to close my eyes and keep them closed before he flipped me over onto my back.

By then I was naked except for the boots. He was fucking me so roughly, and so deeply, that was the first time I’ve ever squirted….and the second.

He pulled out of my cunt and crawled up over my body. “Open your eyes,” he ordered.  Just as I complied, I felt his hot come on my chin and neck, then tasted it, followed by the sensation of his plunging his cock into my hungry whore mouth.

When he was finished, he pulled out and leaned down to kiss me, deeply.  “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” I whispered back.


“Do you like coming on my face?” I asked him over breakfast the next morning. Eggs, bacon, and vegetables.

He paused to think, then answered honestly. “I like knowing you enjoy it. It’s not really my preference…”

I smiled. There was a version of me a long time ago that would have been horrified to hear that a lover of mine had done something for me that he didn’t thoroughly enjoy. It’s different with him.

Or maybe I’m different with him.

I recall my soft whisper while still dazed after our morning fuck before breakfast. “I’m the luckiest whore in the world,” I’d said.

And I am. Because I belong to him.

Conducting Scene Negotiations from the Bottom

As someone who identifies on the submissive/bottom side of the tilted fence, I really enjoy it when a partner has that take-charge and confident sort of attitude, especially when it comes to negotiation. Kind of like how it’s an indication that a restaurant serves really good food when they bring out fresh-baked still-warm bread from the oven over stale dinner rolls, the way a top conducts a scene negotiation is usually an indication of their experience and talent in leading the scene itself.

The riggers I’ve played with tend to be the best when it comes to scene negotiations. I think it’s a byproduct of them having to take classes in order to get any good at the thing they do. It’s kind of built in – understanding safety, questions to ask, etc. – and it totally inspires confidence in me to be able to let go and let them lead the scene.

And, while there are definitely classes for things like spanking, flogging, and other fun impactey things – it’s kind of a skill you can learn on your own without the benefit of learning from many others’ years of experience.

No, not all tops are created equally, and frankly – some of them are quite mediocre at scene negotiation.

So, as much as I would really dig for a new top to be a fuckin’ pro at this stuff, sometimes I’m the more experienced one in the scene and I have to lead the negotiation myself, or risk getting hurt in a bad way.

That’s not really a risk I’m prone to taking lightly. This being my body and my emotional well-being, I’m kind of the head honcho in charge of taking care of it.

So when a super cute dude asks me to play and I’m like, well….hell yeah. I want his super cute hands to be all fondling and grabby and stuff – I have to be prepared to deal with the possibility that super cute dude has been a “dom” for about six hours and needs a little guidance.

Here are some things that have helped me be more comfortable in leading the scene negotiations.

1) Remembering that I hold the highest responsibility for my safety. It is absolutely okay to ask someone how long they’ve been doing X, what their experience is in Y, and asking to inspect and approve each and every toy they want to use on me.

2) It is absolutely awesome for me to look at a toy and say “nope, not that one.”

3) If they try to convince me at that point that the toy I just noped out on is “not that bad” I can absolutely end the scene before it starts.

4) I have written out my list of limits and requirements and I have them pretty well memorized. It is okay to tell a new play partner “do not bruise me.” It is okay to tell a new play partner “Don’t hit my feet.” It is okay to tell a new play partner “I like to untangle the rope at the end of the scene as part of my decompression.” Everything from what gets used to what my needs are for aftercare are absolutely awesome to discuss up front.

5) I can control whether or not I let myself go into subspace. If I’ve found myself having to lead the scene negotiation, it is absolutely okay for me not to be the worlds greatest and most responsive bottom so that I can stay alert and keep tabs on what the top is doing. I can still have a fun time without going into orbit.

6) It is absolutely super-duper cool for me to correct a top mid-scene if they are going too hard, hitting the wrong spot, touching something they didn’t ask to touch, or doing something I’m kind of uncomfortable with. It is absolutely okay if he or she fucks up and I correct them and they say “Oh, sorry” and doesn’t do it again. Their next bottom will thank me.

7) If they don’t like it, they can go find someone else to play with.

Any other bottoms have some tips on handling scene negotiations from the bottom? Any tops out there learn from something their bottom has brought up that they didn’t think about?

I’m a big fan of the “exchange” part of the “power exchange.” Can you tell? ,k

Masochist Training

The touch that hurts me is still first and foremost touch.

And, when you hurt me, I can feel the imprint of your palm for minutes after the touching part has ended.

The harder you strike,
the longer I can feel your contact on my skin.

So, it shouldn’t come to anybody’s surprise if I were to whimper:

Harder, please.