So, what do I have to do to get dressed like this in the morning?
See the full video at Bondage Cafe.
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Shh.
Just keep dreaming.
So one of my awesome followers directed me over to the longer version of the video of this. It’s labelled as “Ally Kay interracial with asian guy” but I guess it’s something. (WOULD IT BE SO HARD TO CALL HIM BY HIS NAME?)
Nonetheless, some things I’ve learned:
- This man is named Keni Styles and he is literally the first and only Asian male pornstar working in America. WHAT.
- He has a really sexy voice that does stuff to me.
- He kind of sounds like Gordon Ramsey when he’s being strict which is hot to me so whatever.
- He’s super mean like almost as mean as Sir like super mean.
“Punishment Incorporated: Ashley” featuring Keni Styles and Ashley (pics, video)
Daddy and I played with some new rope this evening. I was feeling little so I got to wear my Disney pjs whilst we played
So this is the cutest ever.
The Party Sub, Part Seven
Sir’s friend Star is really amazing with rope. After spending a lot of time in it herself, she got good enough at it that she could start to spot the errors that people were tying her up were making. So, she became a rope top out of the frustration that she was experiencing with dom(me)s who couldn’t learn the ropes. Go figure.
Prior to the party, Sir asked if I would be okay with her tying me up and I agreed provided she would actually be into it. As we continued down the stairs from the loft, we encountered her in the main room and I asked her if she’d be interested in hogtying me. It’s kind of my favorite way to be tied with rope and, after asking about my limits and any kind of joint issues, she agreed.
Sir helped me down onto the carpet and I rested my cheek against it as Star got her rope out. She was super gentle, checking in every so often as she wound the rope over my cuffs before gathering my feet up and bringing them close to my hands. I breathed deeply, letting myself relax into the position.
“Does that feel all right?” Star asked when she tied off the last knot carefully. As she leaned up, her hair swept over my back and I shivered.
I nodded, “it’s great, actually.” It sincerely did feel totally great. The rope was snug, but comfortable.
“Do you want me to feed you some grapes?” Sir joked, but there were no grapes. He tried feeding me a cube of cheese out of his hand, but for some reason eating cheese while hogtied and subspaced on a floor is really freaking difficult.
Star has these really nice, long nails and she started to trace them up and down my back. I moaned and buried my face into the carpet, not sure what the etiquette was for telling my boyfriend’s friend that it felt really good and that I was getting turned on.
Someone sat down on my other side and it was the girl from the loft. She smiled and smoothed some hair from my face. “Now, how’d you get into this?” she asked. “Do you remember me?”
“Of course, Miss,” I replied, and she sat with me for a little bit before biting my shoulder again and moving along. I heard voices, but I wasn’t sure how many people were around, and that idea really got to me in a strangely good way.
At one point, a girl laid down next to me and, in a Russian accent, expressed that she “didn’t know enough English to tell me how hot this was” and then asked if she could touch my butt. It’s the most attention I’ve ever received while submitting, and the whole thing was a little overwhelming to the point that I felt like I was high.
When Star untied me, she checked in to make sure I had enjoyed myself and gave me a hug. Sir released my wrists from the cuffs and kissed me. Some people were heading over to the hot tub, and I expressed that it might just be what I needed after this extensive foray into exhibitionism.
I can’t cum when I’m nervous or scared. But I’ve got a few ideas as to how that might be overcome.
The Adventures of Sir, Sweetheart and Mr. Purple, Part Nine
I had no idea what to say to the Southern Gentleman as I waited, so I just kept quiet until Sir walked back into the room. He reached down and squeezed my ass before hitting it once with the cane. I grunted in pain, squeezing the couch with my knees as he hit me again. My feet aimlessly shifted as I sought to retain my composure.
“See how nicely she marks?” Sir offered.
SG chuckled as I cried out from a particularly hard swat. “Is she always that loud?”
I would have said something snarky, but I was too caught up in the pain. Combined with the humiliation of being displayed and my extremely high level of arousal, I was practically drunk with sensation. But the endorphins had not kicked in yet and the hits still hurt like crazy. I felt my eyes well up with tears and I wailed.
“Is she crying?” SG asked. There was some concern in his voice, but there was something else. He seemed absolutely intrigued. He’d never really done the whole pain play thing with me. And, suddenly, I was stuck wondering if he was worried or if he was hoping that the answer was yes.
“I’m crying,” I exclaimed, my voice strained. “Show him. Show him how I’m crying.”
Sir chuckled and grabbed me by the hair, turning me around and sitting me back down on the couch. The sore, raw skin of my ass touched the couch and I winced a bit. But I could feel the wetness pooling between my thighs and I wanted so badly to be fucked that I was delirious from need and pain.
Sir and SG were talking, but I could barely keep track of it all. Instead, I was looking at the little box that showed was SG was seeing. I looked at myself, something I hate to do in these situations. I like to keep some degree of cognitive distance and seeing myself tied up is hard. Blame my shame issues.
But this time, with my makeup running down my face and my arms cuffed behind my back, I couldn’t make myself look away. I wanted to see myself.
Suddenly, the image faded and Sir was lying me down on the couch. He hooked two fingers into my pussy and started massaging my gspot. I shivered underneath him.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He smiled, “rewarding you.”
I can’t sleep and Sir’s already asleep and I miss sleeping beside him. I promised that the first Christmas we have together, I’d let him put me under the tree like this. But, upon consideration, I think I might be way too fussy for that.
The Adventures of Sir, Sweetheart and Mr. Purple, Part Four
The following evening, after Sir and I went out to the movies, we wound up back at his place and he said that he wanted to train my ass. I’m the queen of squirming out of anal play, but I had offered to him that during this trip I would let him at least get the anal beads that he bought me up there. We’d only used them once before and I was super shy about it and insisted I pull them out myself.
But, while I was lying across his lap and he was applying lubricant to the beads and my asshole, Sir told me he also intended on trying to get Mr. Purple in there, too.
“He’s not gonna fit!” I pouted.
Sir placed his hand at the curve of my back to calm me, “it’s made for assholes. It will fit just fine if you relax.”
While Sir started to slip the beads in, I focused on my breathing. The strand is silicone, I believe, with about ten beads that increase in size. I tried to count as each one went in, but Sir would pull them back out ever so often to get me accustomed to taking them.
Usually, at the earliest sign of feeling uncomfortable or out of control, I would have made him stop. But, I tried to trust that he wouldn’t hurt me. He checked in regularly to make sure I was feeling all right, and only stopped when I literally felt so full I couldn’t take another.
“You took eight out of ten. I’m very proud,” he replied. He had me get up and walk around, making me explain to him exactly how it felt. I got back over his lap and he pulled them out while I buried my face in his couch.
“Okay, darling,” he continued, applying more lubricant to my asshole, “time for Mr. Purple.”
The Adventures of Sir, Sweetheart and Mr. Purple, Part Three
I was rather exhausted, so we ended the night with me sucking Sir’s cock and taking a little nap right after in his arms that turned into a few hours of sleep. I woke back up and Sir had me brush my teeth and get ready before he tucked me in and put me to bed.
The following afternoon, Sir had me take off my clothes and lie down on my stomach. He put my new cuffs on and secured them together over my head. “Are you ready, girl?” he asked, running his hand over my bare ass.
I should clarify that lately I’ve been opening up to him about wanting to explore some territory that I had been previously closed the door on. Basically, in the past, I’d had my trust betrayed to such a degree that I backed away from some of the more extreme forms of submission that I really do want. Time and again, Sir has proved himself trustworthy and so I opened up to him about some of the things that I wanted.
To avoid any more digression, I’ll leave it at this: I wanted to be encouraged to endure the pain Sir gives me and not just safeword on the first instinct. Because I wanted to deepen my submission to Sir, and because he enjoys inflicting pain, I wanted to get better at taking this pain.
So, I let him cane me. To make sure I would be able to handle the pain and as a preemptive reward for doing it, Sir allowed me to have Mr. Purple on in my pussy.
First, he started caning me. The first hit was unexpectedly painful – I’d never been caned before – and I cried out. He worked his way up, spacing out his hits, checking in with me while I squirmed and shrieked.
Next, he moved over to his set of floggers and crops and returned with a new toy that he had made. It was leather and consisted of two thick tails, an impossibly threatening and mean-looking tool he waved with a smirk. “It’s called a tawse,” he explained, “they used to use these to punish schoolboys.”
I could only take two hits before I was screaming, and Sir switched over to the strap before returning to using the cane. Strangely, the hits stopped hurting and were instead just a series of thuds that almost felt kind of good. My cries subsided into moans. “Are you hitting gentler, Sir?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “that’s just the endorphins.” When we finished, he held me and told me how proud he was. And, honestly, I was pretty damn proud of myself.
Still, for the whole ordeal, the marks were still gone by that evening.