Posts tagged ‘oral sex’

Bind the beast and watch him snarl

He was on my bed, face-down. There’d been some tussling on the couch, and halfway to the bedroom I had to stop at a conveniently placed chair and put him over my knee. He was halfway in puppy headspace, halfway somewhere else, I’m not sure exactly. Not subspace, not really, or maybe subspace with Bran just looks different than it does with other folks I’ve played with.

I’d gotten new cuffs and tethers (links NSFW) from JT’s Stockroom about a week before. I didn’t recognize the return address (they’re all so discreet that way), but when I got through the packing materials (eco-friendly crumpled butcher paper and a lollipop on top!), I really did squeal to see it. Sort of the way I squeal sometimes when one of the women on Men in Pain does or says something really hot, really powerful, really… rrrr. So they’d been sitting there hooked to the top posts of my bed, discreetly tucked away under the mattress. Less butch than the 1″ criss-crossed sailboat rope I’ve also got under the mattress (the first time I pulled those out, he looked at his wrist and said, “you tied a clove hitch!” in surprise), but infinitely more secure and convenient.

I strapped him in. He struggled a bit but behaved, grabbed me and caressed me while he could. And then there he was, face-down, arms tied down and open wide, delicious.

“Try to get out,” I said, thinking he’d do some gentle testing of the ropes the way the boys in Men in Pain do (ah, the tropes of porn). Some men like the bonds and don’t really want to throw them off — that’s been my experience with sub boys (Bran isn’t really a sub boy — he matches me for power and strength, and we pass it back and forth between us). With submissive men, I usually have to really egg them on to watch how they get out of my ties. And my rope-tying just isn’t that good that they won’t get free eventually. But those velcro cuffs! Neoprene on the inside, wide enough that they won’t cut off circulation, struggling doesn’t make them contract, and the velcro is virtually impossible to get out of, since he can’t reach over with his teeth to grab the edge.

And Bran struggled! Struggled like a wild thing! He snarled as he struggled, which turned me on even more.

I was on top of him, and with his legs free he kept trying to throw me off — he’s got some good wrestling moves. I’m strong though if not as well trained, and I stayed on top of him, using my superior weight to advantage.

I spanked him a bit more, and he — well, do I say he liked it or he hated it? I think he liked it. He certainly brought his knees forward to make his ass more accessible. And he made the noises that said he liked it. And that wasn’t a banana in his pocket, seeing as how he was wearing no clothes.

I wasn’t prepared for how gorgeous his arms and shoulders and back would look as he struggled with the ties. I love the muscular definition of his arms and shoulders; it’s really one of his best features. And from that angle, and in that context, bound up and strong, pulling up the sides of my mattress and still unable to get free, snarling and struggling. Gunh.

I pulled out my bag of toys, but when I came at him with a clothespin (his nipples are extra-sensitive), he pulled back, said “No!” in that small voice that tells me he’s serious. I had to stop pushing. I lay down next to him, inserted my body half under him so I could put my face close to him, kiss him, caress him.

“What is it?” I said. “Do we need to establish consensus? You don’t want me to use clothespins?”

“I’m afraid you’ll lose control,” he said — small voice again.

“Have I lost control before?” I said. I didn’t think I ever had with him.

“Once, you almost did. You just get so excited.”

It’s true, I do, but I’d like to think I’m careful with him. Not careful enough, apparently. Sadism is scary for everyone, I guess. Something to work on — but not that night, not with Mercury in retrograde.

I kissed him, slipped my legs under him, and he went back to snarling and struggling, and now he was on top of me, hard, I was pushing him, pinching him, scratching him, and he was a wild beast. A beast I’d bound. The bonds let him be a wild beast, sweating and straining to get free. Unbound, he had to keep himself in check. But restrained, he was free.

I’d made the mistake (was it a mistake) of putting myself in a compromising position. He was still bound, but he was on top of me, and he was hard, he was forcing his leg between mine and I was gamely trying to keep him from completely covering me, I was trying to get loose, but I was inside the arc of his arms, tied to the bed as they were, and he was using his legs as leverage and frankly, how motivated was I to get away from this snarling, sweating beast? A beast that thrilled me but didn’t scare me? How motivated was I to prevent him from pushing his hard-on against the lace barrier of my panties and all the trembly bits underneath?

Not very. I even pulled the lace aside a bit to feel his cock rubbing against my lips, and he was humping me and snarling and I was encouraging both. Even wild and struggling, he was still in control of himself enough to keep from slipping entirely inside of me — at one point he came awfully close and I felt him catch himself, pause. Neither of us wants to make a baby yet (one of the inconveniences of sex with men is all that tedious contraception). I struggled out from under him far enough to grab a condom and slap it on him (“Can you see it? Is it okay?” he asked, suddenly gentle). It was, and I double-checked, made sure it was down the length of him, and then I was pushing my panties aside and he was sliding into me — no need for extra lube. He was fucking me with arms open wide, the worst sort of push-ups, and my bed is extra-soft (memory foam), and bouncy, and it felt fucking fantastic.

Ah, fucking. The journey. How do you describe it without sounding boring? Because it wasn’t boring in that moment, it was intense and powerful and being fucked by a beast I’d bound and slipped under and I was egging him on and the sheen of sweat he’d already worked up was getting more intense, and I called his name without thinking about it, and then I was coming, coming, all over the middle of the mattress without putting anything down first.

“If I let you go will you promise to be good?” I asked. Because I knew having his arms spread wide like that was probably not good for his back, and because–well, because. He snarled.

When I did let him go, he grabbed me by the hips and picked me up and fucked me like no tomorrow, and then later put his tongue on me and I came again, all over the bed and his face. And later he lay on his back and I fucked him from the top and went wild myself, went red in the face no doubt, and he was egging me on to come, come, in that insistent voice, and I was. And later I found his little p-spot with my finger while he told me a particularly raunchy fantasy and I stroked it and murmured while he came all over his belly like a fountain, and had aftershocks for a long time afterward and I climbed back up to lay my head beside his and stayed with him there, which is a beautiful place to be.

But this is where I’d like to leave us: Asking him what would happen if I let him go, and him struggling, a bound beast, wild, inside me.

May 29, 2008 at 3:11 pm Leave a comment

Switchy McSwitchster

I was on my back and he was above me. I like to be on my back. It’s the way I masturbate most of the time, and it’s comfortable and suits me when I want to be a pillow queen.

I reached up to lower the blinds, but he stopped me. “You don’t want your neighbors to see what a dirty slut you are?” he asked. And I thrilled.

He was wearing his boxers and his hard cock poked out of the hole. He shoved it into my hungry little mouth. I was wearing the panties he likes — the black hipsters with the little white ruffles around the edges. My hand slid inside, and I was slick, so slick down there.

“Can I come?” I asked.

“No,” he replied. God, No can be the sexiest word in the universe sometimes.

“Did you come?”

I had to tell the truth. “A little.”

And he looked at me all disappointed. Disappointed authoritarian. Can I use the word daddy without feeling weird about it?

I wanted him to spank me, punish me for coming without permission, but suggesting it would have ruined the dynamic. And when he’s on top, it’s about what he wants, the same way it’s about what I want when I’m on top — which is most of the time.

I like being under him, I like it when he pushes me down. Not all the time, but right then, yes, that was what I liked. I liked the way he fucked my mouth while I did my best to swirl my tongue around his cock, while I took him all the way in, to the back of my throat where he could make me choke and gag if he wanted, but he was so careful. I know he likes the feel of my lips around the base of his cock, the warmth and wetness of my mouth around him, the slight danger of my teeth.

I’m careful of him with my teeth and he’s careful of me with the gagging, so that when he fucks my mouth and I let him, get excited when he’s fucking my mouth, such a dirty thing, such a thing I’m not supposed to like but I do, partly out of a sort of sacrificial, suffer-for-him impulse, partly because it does feel good to fill my mouth with his cock, satisfies my hunger for him, when he’s fucking my mouth with that intense fast rhythm and I start to gag, he pulls back just a bit.

“Do you want to come?” he asked.

“I want to do whatever turns you on,” I said. “It’s all about what you want.”

I wanted so much. I wanted him to fuck me, to tie me to the bed, to spank me. But I was under. And I gave it to him, the power, the control. I could see he didn’t quite know what to do with it — no, he knew what to do, he’s a straight men, has fucked plenty of straight women, trained to be passive. He knows what to do, but for me to tell him like that, maybe it’s the same sort of fear-producing thing that happens when I know I have all the power and now what do I do with it? It’s all on me! It has to be perfect!

But the truth is, it doesn’t have to be perfect. The less-than-perfectness, the danger of them hurting you in way they don’t intend, that’s part of the rrrr.

And he did spank my thighs, tender and open. He spanked them well, building up, and I moaned and writhed beneath him and only once had to call Mercy, and he rubbed in the pain and kept going. And I liked it. I desired it and was so happy he gave it to me.

He told me he wanted me to come while he fucked my mouth. Which I was happy to do. On my back, him kneeling at my head next to the open window, the shades wide open, with the sun coming down and a light on somewhere in the house, so that if they wanted to, if they maybe had the binoculars or the telescope, some curious neighbor could look in and participate, partake and share of the hotness happening there in my bed.

I slid my finger inside my panties and sucked on his cock as he fucked my mouth, and I came, I did, I came all over the new duvet cover, through my panties, and I’m sure I screamed or yelled right around his cock, I’m sure he knew when I was coming but just in case I rolled to the side to show him the mess. He chided me gently for the mess. Maybe he said, “look at you,” in that admiring way. He loves to watch me come.

“Please come on my face,” I begged, as he worked his cock right next to my hungry mouth and my face, but I was still hungry for him.

“I want it in my mouth,” I said.

“Then you’d better hurry,” he said, on the edge of orgasm.

So I pushed his hand aside with my mouth and I was working his cock with my mouth when he began to come. I felt it building in the back of my throat, and always there the initial revulsion and then the decision to swallow, swallow it down. And I did, milking it all with the muscles of my throat as I felt him swooning above me, his own noises and his own face and I’d reached up my hand under his shirt and placed it flat against his chest, the right nipple, the one I like to pinch, hard, sometimes, to hear the gasp that follows.

But I don’t think I pinched him then. I think I was trying to be gentle and present to his coming, down my throat, accepting what he had to give me.

Neat and clean, swallowing the boy juice.

And pulling him down beside me afterward, to lay his head on my chest.

Afterward was when I pulled off the rest of my clothes, and gave myself a whore’s bath, and changed my panties. Afterward, we walked up and down the strip looking for a place to eat, enjoying the moonlight and the feel of the trees on the walking path in the dark, giving off their tree essence.

I didn’t tell him at the time (he’ll read it here, now), but his come on an empty stomach gave me a bit of a funny tummy. The salad later settled it, though, and the ginger ale.

And it was worth it.

May 24, 2008 at 2:48 pm 4 comments


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