Play Day - Monday Part 2

Realization descends on me like a bird of prey from the clouds. For the past few days Sir has been talking about his "filthy mood". She, she can take an absolute beating...me? Not me! And now it is me, here, him in his already filthy mood made more filthy by virtue of the fact that she (the one who can take the beating) is not here...several things race through my mind at this point. We talk, chat laugh. He strokes my leg, pinches it a little. Then he says "lets go play" 

*shiver*

He slaps my arse as we walk towards what is now feeling like impending doom.


Our genial rapport is left scattered like our clothing which seems to find its way into quiet corners to watch.  Seamlessly, wordlessly, it is replaced with bawdy personification of our lascivious-selves.  


His hand slaps at my face, my arse stinging from his hands, his cane and I think the whip.  My back burning and I am splayed across the bed.  The cane is drawn again and it bites down at the top of my thigh. That really ouchy part where your buttock meets your leg, neatly he whacks.  I think the worst bit about the cane is that you hear it coming, feel the placement, know where it will land, hear the wind and the sound as it comes for you.  The struggle in not tensing is of course, magnified.  Then, most everything in TTWD is magnified.


There are tears and clamped nipples, begging, crying.  At one point I reached out to free my poor nipples.  There is always one the hurts more than the other.  I find it strange.  He looked at me, I knew the look.  It was a don't-you-dare-touch-those look.  I didn't and was soon relieved of the clamps.  For some reason every single time I think they will come off and I will feel better.  I always forget that it hurts like a motherfucker - always.  He never does.  I know he enjoys very much those few seconds of excruciating pain and the mixture of anticipated relief and shock on my face as the pain intensifies.  I love his fingers and hands on my nipples.  I hate clamps.  


I am lying on the bed and something makes me grin.  I don't know what it is.  Perhaps it was nothing.  Sir, I think, takes this as me not being serious enough.  That I am being disrespectful or not submitting.  Sometimes though, I just need to laugh.  It doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt or anything else he maybe making up stories about in his head.  It sent me into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.  The cane came out and whacked across the soles of my feet which sent me into further peals of laughter.  I am not a pain-slut.  Well sort of I am.  Actually I don't know.  I want it, I like it but it hurts.  Laughing was not making sense - even to me.  Then I was saying ouch and ending it with a laugh....then his whip came out.  I stopped laughing.  I don't even remember if he hit me with it but (I know I have mentioned this before) it hurts so much.  Giggles gone - pretty much.


I am standing in the doorway, fingertips crooked over the top of the frame, legs spread, on my toes, looking out of his room.  He is behind me somewhere, hitting me occasionally with something, a cane I think.  His voice moves around.  In front of me is a small unfurnished space.  Its far wall is a giant window.  A thin white curtain allowing me to see the outline of the squares of glass glows a pale yellow in the sunlight.  I am cumming, cumming, cumming.  He is calling, commanding, demanding my fingers stretch out over the door, that I am on my toes, that my body is taught and stressed and uncomfortable.  I feel the warmth of the cumming building in intensity.  "Cum now, hard" he says and I feel it trickle slowly down my leg, down the inside of my left thigh, snaking its way toward my knee.  Instantly he draws from me another and another until I can feel rivulets of cum sluicing their way down the inside of both thighs, down the inside of my feet, finally pooling where the balls of my feet touch uncomfortably to the floor.  There is a break for a few seconds.  I peak around at him lying back comfortably on his bed, just watching.  My head hangs forward, I am gripping the doorframe with my fingertips to relieve the rest of me.  He readies me.  I am begging for no more.  I have no more.  My head lolls back.  Last one.  Big one.  He pulls it from me slowly with his words and I feel it building in my belly.  I spray a neat little cum on the floor.  I have to admit to being quite impressed.  It was quite dainty.  I think about whether he can see the cum raining down, what it would look like in the intense yellow sunlight coming through the window and doorway.  I contemplate crawling to him, to the bed.  I don't remember getting there.  I know him well enough to presume that he helped me walk.


I collapse back onto the bed.  I suck at his cock.  I feel so spent, so gloriously spent.

Update! Back with a Vengence!

As much as I hate to do it I am gunna. Its my blog and y'all can't stop me! I will finish my Degustation Menu but I have to side line it while I work through it both in script and in my head. I have struggled writing anymore about my indulgent weekend because it is scrambled up and there are things I want very much to write about but that I don't because...well I just don't...so I have been trying to figure out how much I put out there and how much not to . I have another site that I post to that was intended to be for me to vent. Sir reads it too apparently - I swear he is like a CIA agent (and I secretly love it).

Update Update Update

I am sure you have all been dying to know. I was in a world of drop unlike I could possibly have foreseen. I had a big tantrum. I refused to contact Sir (because he should have been checking on me). Eventually my tantrum subsided and he was there to scoop me up. He did not get angry, just accepted and understood where I had been and allowed me to come back in my own time. Something about my submission being a gift freely given - not taken or taken for granted. I promised him that no matter what I would be in communication with him.

I have kept my promise of communication and honesty. I have written and bared my soul. I have told him anything I could possibly think of that he may find interesting - and some things that are not. I told him how my desires have evolved and shifted. I told him about new things I want to try. It would appear that once hard limits are now a bit soft around the edges.

Another interesting development is that I have arranged to meet a friend to check out a local swingers club this Friday - Kate who sometimes comments here. Sir will escort us. He tells me it is no place for me to go unaccompanied. Perhaps he is right. I am very much looking forward to it.. We are each (Kate and I) checking to see if it will be a suitable place to take our respective husbands.

SO

I knew it. I knew I had this new shiny bit of sub-ness not available to me before. I wanted it. I loved knowing it was there. I was scared of what it would look like in real terms, splayed out there for him to see.

He had a sore back. I knew he would just be getting home from work so I text him and asked if he wanted a massage (subtle, no?) I told him I was serious and I would bring some oils over. He said sure - but you will bring your stuff too. Of course Sir.

The drive over was so fun. My music was cranked and I had not an ounce of the terror that had gripped me previous trips. I sang loud (no promises of talent though). I was excited to be going. I was excited to be seeing him.

Usually I am met there with the door half open and I creep in under his arm. He was not there so I waited (all of two seconds) and he appeared and opened the door for me - chivalrous as ever. The door was locked behind me. I had my bag in hand and went to walk up the stairs to his room. He went past towards the kitchen. He said something about having a cigarette first so I tried to back track but he laughed and swatted my arse and said Nooooo. Upstairs we went. I pulled out my massage stuff and he stripped down and lay on the bed. My what a turn of events! Here I was clothed (well I had a dress on and no bra or panties - I have deemed them to be somewhat of a waste of time now) and here was he naked on the bed. He kept chuckling and saying "you are loving this". I was.

I massaged his back and put some chinese white flower oil on it. I was worried about bringing the white flower oil because it burns like a motherfucker and I was a bit worried about where else it had the potential to end up. I stowed it back in my bag and kept that idea under my hat.

Then it started. I sucked his gorgeous cock for a bit. He asked if I had missed it. I had. He reminded me that I had missed the potential for another tryst with the Divine One (which I did not know until after and YES I was sorry about that but at that point I was still, mid-tantrum - what is a sub to do?) I knelt before him and he slapped my face and I loved it. In the past it has made me annoyed or shocked or submit just to make him stop but this time...He slapped me twice I think on each cheek and I just...wanted it...needed it. I needed to know, to remember - to be his again. I felt my chest swell with each whack. It made me dizzy and deliriously, happily his. He spanked me - again with the deliriously happy.

He pulled the whip out and started hard out. I cannot take too much of it. Pretty soon I was sobbing. I needed to sob. He would reach his hands out and rub my back, then THWACK THWACK. I tried really hard to stay relaxed, to not try to anticipate whether it would be his hands soothing or the whip biting. At some points I was more successful than others.

He walked me to the wall and I stood, legs spread, arms above my head, forehead on the wall. He started with the whipping. I wish he would start slower, softer and build in. He never does. He starts at where I can just withstand it and builds in from there. I did suggest to him at the end of our evening that he could just hit me softer and he laughed so hard I thought he would injure himself.

He pulled out a different whip and dropped it once across my back. FAAAARK! That is some serious pain! I do love the mark it left though...I want the marks without the whipping. He put the ball gag on me and whipped me some more until I was at the end and I could not take anymore.

He was there behind me and I could feel him breathing. He ran his nails down my back. It seriously sends me over the edge. He started right at the top and grated them down my back over and over and I wanted to cum so badly that I could not speak to ask permission. He bit me, bit into my back and it was fucking delicious. He stepped back and bade me cum. I came. Never one to disappoint he bade me cum again...and again and again and again...

It washed over me, cleansed me. Made me new again. My legs started to shake and give way, my arms started to fall. He demanded I keep my arms up and then told me to cum again. My knees started to buckle. He decided in his infinite Domly wisdom that at this point it would be a good time to have me get on my toes. Wow, yes. That is totally what I was thinking - not how about I just crawl on my hands and knees on the floor and dissolve at your feet. I was totally thinking how about I get up on the tips of my toes and cum some more. I love it how we sync like that! (I have heard somewhere sarcasm is unbecoming - I have yet to be presented with sufficient evidence to back that theory)

I was struggling. Every cum I could feel my knees pull in tighter, my back arch. The wall was cool on my head. I had sweat flowing in rivers down my back. My knees would start to give. My muscles burned and he was there, calm, "Again - now" and I did. Over and over. I was (I am sure) begging to stop. He told me at one point that if I moved my feet to the floor I would earn 50 whip strikes. That seemed pretty good motivation. I came and came and came while my calves burned like hell and my thighs shook - until I could not stand for one more second. Until I could not cum again.

Then he took me down (I swear to God I felt as though I had been tied there) and walked me to the middle of the room. He pulled my nipple and my eyes grew wide. Noooooo I just could not do it. He stopped me - held me up. He grabbed a nipple between each of his thumb and forefingers. "Look into my eyes, there is nothing but me. You can do this, you can take this." I looked into him. I am sure he was doing unspeakable things to my nipples with his fingers, pinching and pulling harder and harder. While I held his gaze I did not notice. Then the command came again "Cum" and I came - hard. Really hard. It was intense and amazing. As soon as I came my knees gave way slightly and I grabbed his shoulders, digging my nails in. My head lolled back a bit and as soon as I lost eye contact my nipples BURNED! "Look at me. Stay with me. You can do this." and I was back with him and there was nothing. Over and over we danced this twisted dance until I thought I would pass out.

Finally I was done, I sucked his cock and my lusty cunt was fed until I melted and gushed (twice he tells me) and I was permitted to lap at his cum.

We chatted for a while and shared a cigarette or two (yes, I am still convinced I don't smoke).

I have been on a very major blissed out high for a few days now but I have had cause to think. I have been asked a few curly questions by friends and family lately. What is a girl to do? My new standard line is to look them squarely in the eye, smile and say "I have recently implemented a don't ask, don't tell policy." Evokes a few raised eyebrows when there are teeth marks on your back...


PS I have missed you all very much and am enjoying catching up on everyone - xxx JaT

Restrained

His nails dragged down my back getting firmer. I could feel my flesh pulling, my cunt getting wet, my back arched in response - not out of pain but out of lust. I was panting, hot, desperate to cum and we had not yet even begun.

"You like that, don't you, slut?" I could tell he was grinning. "Stand up." I stood, staring down. He slapped my face lightly. I stayed, eyes locked on the floor. I know now to look at the floor. All at once my clothes were gone, my collar on and I was being walked to the edge of the bed. "Bend over, spread your legs....WIDER! I am going to inspect you."

I fucking hate it. I am bent over the bed while he checks me over. I want to stand up, turn around, look him in the eye, tell him to fuck off and walk out. I know if I do that, I don't get what I want. What was it I wanted again, anyway? I am not a particularly good sub. Yes I know all subs say it but really I am not. I am just not subbie. I think I am perhaps a masochist and to get where I want to go with that I feel like I have to submit. I don't like submitting, I don't want to but I can't turn away from it. It is a strange dance, a very strange dance indeed. I could walk away if I wanted to but I don't. I can't quite explain it. Perhaps I am not willing to admit to myself how much I enjoy parts of this game - this however, is certainly is not one of those parts.

I feel cool metal chains press into my wrists and they are pulled up behind my back, beyond where it is comfortable and fastened to the back of my collar. It is almost not bearable. I am face down on the bed and there are cuffs going on my ankles. Now I am standing. My feet are bound to a bar and tied in to my cuffs and collar and my breasts are pulled into tight balls of red burning flesh, the ropes knotted up high so that I might look down on them. He stands back and admires his work. He is fast and efficient. He tells me how beautiful, how perfect they look. The whip is in his hand. My hair is in my face again. I hate it. My fucking hair is suffocating and hot and awful. I know if I cut it though I would miss him grabbing it, twisting it, pulling me to him. I can't see properly. I can't breathe properly. Now he is whipping. How he gets around my bound arms I do not know but the whip strikes. He pulls my hair to one side so that it does not temper the blows to my shoulders. The ends wrap around my body, stinging my breasts, my stomach, my legs. It licks up between my thighs plunging me into desperate panic that he may not stop - or perhaps that he will. The thin leather drives home, kissing my cunt. I am brimming with lust, with want. I am begging with my eyes, pleading for the collar to be loosened, begging to cum, begging for more, for less, to leave, to stay. He strikes again. I shake my head, muffled squeals and grunts he somehow knows what I am saying, through the gag. He knows what I am saying even when I don't.

He moves to the chest of drawers and takes out a cane. He puts it back and pulls out a much meaner looking stick. In retrospect the flexibility of the cane probably makes it a much harsher weapon but at the time I was not thinking clearly. It drops lazily onto my skin, once, twice. I feel my breath hasten, my body tense, the fear grip me like a vice and squeeze. He puts it to one side and pulls me back down to earth before I plunge over the edge into something I cannot escape from.

My hands and legs are freed and I am permitted to lie back on the bed. A few seconds respite. I look over and see his eyes glinting. He is on me, my legs are pulled up and tied open by the ankles to the bar, my wrist chains clipped to the ends. I suppose if I were upright I would look like I was squatting - awkwardly. That glint in his eyes, raw and animal. He slips his fingers into my need and mutters something about what a slut I am. I hear the sound of light metal chinking. My heart races. He grins, the glint is now replaced with victorious, gleeful anticipation. My 'respite' was so he could collect some pegs, some small clamps and The Mother of all clamps.

My eyes wide, I shake my head. He chuckles, I think at me, perhaps to himself. He stares straight at me and opens The Mother clamp so I can see it snap closed. I draw a sharp breath. He opens it again and looks down, hungry to place it on my flesh.

I know I asked for this but really, in this moment do I want it?

Back in the room

I know I don't go into great detail about the physical goings on but having to look so many people in the eye who I know read this makes it somewhat difficult to be as forthright as I would like. I am working on getting over it.

So last night I went to see Sir.

I am gradually feeling more comfortable, less consumed by concern about my marriage through the constant conversations with Husband Dear and thus more able to be present, less terrified about what is awaiting me....no, scrap that I am still sitting on the edge of terrified about that - but that is the way I like it.

Our last few days were filled with good humour, texts, conversations and laughing. I have not been able to work a suitable time into my schedule to see him. I am lacking childminding at the moment and as devious as I am I could not leave my children with my in-laws for a rendezvous with Sir, although on some kinky level I do find it appealing.

I was not sure if I would go as we really need some whole family time but after a few texts back and forward I had to go and I had to go right then. Husband Dear took the kids for dinner at his parents (I should really find out what I am supposedly doing at these times for future reference) and I went home, quickly showered and drove to see Sir.

On arrival I was made to kneel face down on the floor. Sir was busy with something, his energy felt scattered and stressed but still when he entered the room he spoke with me and was calm and controlled. Between spankings he kept leaving to attend to something while I knelt, perfectly still on the floor. He got the whip out. He was quite wieldy with it, no build in. My back-side already smarted from his hands. He started to pull pieces of clothing to the sides, down, around, off, scattering them around the floor. I could sense frustration, perhaps. Though he may have been in that headspace, not a whisper of it drifted into our play. I am always amazed by this. He whips me, hard. Still I am facedown on the floor and again he must leave the room. My arse is naked, in the air, my back bare and he rests the whip right in the middle, commanding that it should not move.

I am still, listening. I wonder if I should try not to listen but in the silence it is all I have. My hair drapes down around me making me hot. At some stage I must have had the gag in as I remember spit dripping through my sweat soaked hair, me shaking it, trying to get it out of my face. It sticks in thick chunks to my cheeks and neck. I can see a drop of spit stringing its way down to the floor. I can feel the leather snaking its way down my back. I imagine how it looks, folded down on itself, tendrils of thinly plaited black leather with knotted ends, sitting, waiting, softly curving over my arse, betraying none of its sting. Doors open and close downstairs. Momentary panic sets in.

What if there is someone else here? What if he is bringing someone here now? We have talked about it but I am not ready for that. What should I do? I am here on the floor. I could look over and see the door but then that would not be holding position. I am working hard at being good. I am not a good sub, I know that, but for now, today, I am trying so I stay perfectly still, kneeling, palms outstretched on the carpet, forehead an inch from the floor, sweat dripping, spit leaking, hair draped around me like a veil. If there is someone here what will I do? I can hear footsteps on the stairs. It is one set of sounds or two? They are at the door, turning the handle, walking towards me and I feel a hand collecting the whip and lazily trailing it over my back, putting it down on the bed. A warm hand caresses my shoulders and traces down my spine. I shiver and my back arches. I am trying so hard to be still. "Good Girl." He soothes. "I am here with you and now I can give you my full attention. Is that my touch making you shiver?" I could hear the smirk in his voice. I murmured something. He ran his nails down my back. My body arched in response.

Sir.

We were in the room now, in the game, locked in until we were done.