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Whipping Post, Part Three

“I’m not going to fuck you yet,” Pup replied. “You’re disgusting, you know that?” He reached between my legs and rubbed my pussy through the gusset of the bodysuit I was wearing. “You’re a disgusting whore and I’m going to have to fix you. I’m going to make you a good girl.”

I leaned back against him as best as I could. “Yes, Sir.”

He shoved me forward against the post. “Do you know how I’m going to make you a good girl?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” I said. He hit me with the belt again, hard. “I said I don’t know,” I repeated.

Pup kept hitting me. “Come on, take a guess. How do you make someone a good girl?”

I cried out as he delivered a few more rough blows. “I…I don’t know. You hurt them?” He kept hitting me and I kept guessing. I don’t even remember what I’d said or even what the answer was. But I remember that when he finally stopped and told me, I was both in incredible pain and really, really turned on. I think I’d been crying, and there was a sheen of sweat on my forehead when I looked at myself in the mirror.

“If you can take ten hits from my belt and hold perfectly still and stay quiet, I’ll fuck you,” Pup said while I composed myself. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready?”

I nodded. He went right for the back of my calves, and he got in maybe three hits before I flinched away and cried out. I rested my head against the post and let out a long whine when he told me that we were going to keep going until I got ten. He started over, putting in a few hits on my legs before moving to my upper arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing any attempt at making noise under deep breaths. This time, I managed.

“Good girl,” Pup said and smoothed my hair back. I wanted to be a little defiant, thinking I’d earned it from succeeding, but instead I ended up pressing my head against him until he moved to untie me from the post. I stumbled off of it, Pup steadying me for a moment as I got my bearings. My skin felt electric with pain, my mind both keen and hazy with the weird, blurred alertness that comes with endorphins.

Giving me a shove out of the play area, Pup told me to go get a drink of water and a condom.

sadism-addicted-whore:

source: youtube

Whipping Post, Part Two

He didn’t have a whip, so he used his belt.

I’ve mentioned time and again on here that I’m not a masochist, and people usually find that kind of funny. But I am genuinely not. I don’t enjoy pain. It takes a lot of work (and only recently has this actually come to fruition, but more on that another day) to get the right endorphin rush or zen head going from getting beaten. It’s happened, but it flat-out doesn’t.

Pup’s a sadist. And he, like Sir, seem to enjoy pain play with me specifically because I am not a masochist. I consent to being hurt because I like giving someone the right to do that, I enjoy what that implies. Not because I like getting hurt. Neither of them are the kind of sadists who want someone egging them on to hurt them more. They want someone who, although they are consenting and enjoying the encounter, are not specifically liking what is going on because of the pain. And, yeah, I hate pain.

He mostly concentrated on my back and my butt, as well as the backs of my thighs. He stopped when I needed him to, but I found that as soon as the threshold widened to a point that I would start to adapt to the pain, he’d switch to someplace else. There is a point where I can kind of sink into pain and it becomes so constant that it almost feels comfortable. He never let me reach that point.

As awful as it felt, I liked that. I liked that he beat me on my upper arms, right in the sensitive place between the triceps and the biceps, forcing me to twist my bound wrists and hold my arms out to give him a good point to hit. I liked that he was paying enough attention to figure out when I was sinking into the pain, and then switch it up so quickly I barely had time to react.

But I didn’t realize how turned on I was getting until he pushed himself up against me again and grabbed my throat. His other hand moved between my legs and he started laughing. “Want it already?”

I looked up at myself in the mirror and realized I was grinding against him. I’d been ready to tell him off, but instead I just blushed and whined, “will you please? I want to get fucked.”

He stepped away from me and managed to hit me between the legs with the belt. I cried out and rested my forehead against the post, feeling my eyes well up with tears.

“Please?” I choked out.

mirrorscape:

beautifulcmnf:

Beautiful CMNF by Ruslan Lobanov.

You might think it’s all about being outnumbered but, really, it’s about being outnumbered by those that can bring you down to the most vulnerable of places.

These feelings.

rosycolouredcaptions:

He smiled, the kind of toothy smile that she had once found alluring, but now made her feel sick. He raised his hand to her face again and she flinched, but he simply stroked the stray hair from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“It makes me so hard when I see how bad you want to get away from me.” He whispered softly.

Filed under: problematic stuff that gets me really wet.

I’ve got a very long trip ahead of me, but I get to see Sir at the end of it. Wish me luck, tumblr.

Hey, love, we’ll get away with it.

nankingdecade:

Being a kept woman isn’t just about dolling up in pretty lingerie and getting used when he likes. It also means not being able to leave.

Us, basically.

Leftovers, Part Four

Sir had me sit back down on the couch. He was fiddling with the remote to the bullet vibrator a little bit, and I was having trouble looking at anyone with the remote out like that, even if the vibrator was turned off. “Nervous?” Sir asked and I nodded. He stroked my hair. “Do you want your blindfold?”

I nodded again and he tied it over my eyes, aligning the two circles so no light could get in. I felt Star reach over and rub my shoulders. Over from the other side of the room, I heard someone ask Sir what he was holding. “Oh,” he answered. “It’s for the bullet in her cunt.” I felt my cheeks burning. “It’s new and so I just want to play with it all the time now, like a kid with a new toy.”

He switched it on and I buried my face in his chest, still embarrassed even though I was blindfolded. I tried not to moan but I did, even more so as he took me through the different speeds. When he finally brought it down to a low setting again, I straightened up and figured I could get through it if he just left it like this.

“Do you want to try it, then?” Sir asked someone. He lowered my hands to his shoulders. “Ivy,” he explained to me who he was talking to. It was a guy I’d never met before but thought seemed pretty nice and rather attractive. “Are you all right with me letting him have the remote a little while?”

Someone let out an “awww” when I nodded, because I guess I blushed, and I buried my face in his chest again.

The first guy was rather mean with it. He’d take me up pretty close and then cut it off abruptly. He figured out rather quickly which speeds really got me and which just made me frustrated, and tried to get me to have conversation while he alternated between building an orgasm and making me frustrated. With my consent, the remote ended up getting passed around, and I would have to guess who was holding it. By the tone of his voice, Sir seemed to be having a great time.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” He asked after a few rounds of this, and I asked for some water.

The vibrator was off at this moment, and I had the glass poised at my lips when I heard the first guy, who now had the remote again, say: “Somebody needs to take this from me. This isn’t going to end well.” Everyone laughed.

Once I was finished taking a sip of water, Star was holding me and raking her long nails gently down my back and shoulder while Sir played with my hair and the first guy, who’d gotten the vibrator back, was busy getting me really, really close.

“I need to cum,” I finally choked out.

I felt Sir’s fingers dig into my hair, “you want to cum right now?” I nodded frantically. “In front of all these people? On somebody else’s couch? Right in front of everyone? Is that so?”

The truth is that I don’t mind sharing at all as long as I get attention. I guess that says a lot about my values.

Leftovers, Part Two

Star set to showing Sir how to put me in a harness that would, in her words, make my boobs look awesome. She wasn’t lying.

While a lot of the harnesses I’ve seen and experienced tend to press the breasts down or contort them into weird shapes, this one almost imitated a bra. My arms were folded behind my back palm to elbow, which made me stick my chest out. The rope over my chest was pulled up into little triangles, and as a result my breasts were tugged up and out as if they were in a push-up bra.

“I should let some people at the party tonight slap them, shouldn’t I?” Sir asked. I nodded bashfully as Star brought the rope around my front.

“So,” she said. “We’ve got a bunch leftover. If you want, we can give her a crotchrope with it.” I pouted a little, but wasn’t totally upset when Star put a really convenient knot in the remaining rope and threaded it up between my legs, pulling it tight.

Up until then, Sir had mostly been watching intently, trying to learn the harness so that he could put me back in it later at the other party. But, he suddenly gave Star a conspiratorial look over my shoulder, and helped to dip my head back while Star knotted the rope carefully into my hair, showing Sir how to do it safely.

As a result, when I tried to lower or straighten my head, the crotchrope was pulled taut and the knot rubbed against my clit. My head was forced back so far that I couldn’t keep my mouth closed, and I felt silly and exposed and could barely look at the other people in the room.

“Let’s sit you down, hm?” Sir asked and took hold of my arm, guiding me over to the couch. “Why don’t you make some friends?“