Ummmmm I think I just figured out what I want for my birthday.
impact play
I’d never met Sophie before, so the idea of going to a play party with her and Sir made me pretty nervous as a first encounter with her. When the party got cancelled just an hour before we were going to leave and we all decided to just have a lazy night in, I can’t say I was disappointed.
I’m honestly a pretty shy person. I know that seems ironic for the stories I tell and the things I get into, but half of it is overcompensation and half of it is that being a pervert/libertine/what have you and being shy aren’t mutually exclusive. But meeting Sophie, the girl Sir had been dating and playing with for the past few months, was intimidating.
She offered to cook us dinner at Sir’s house, which I thought was sweet, and soon she had arrived with a bag full of groceries. It was December, just before the holidays. We put on our coats and took a walk through the park, looking at lights and watching our breath until we got hungry.
Sir had me strip down and sit on the kitchen floor while Sophie cooked, and I was unbelievably bashful about the whole thing. I basically curled into a ball and hid under the table, staying that way while they ate above me.
After dinner, Sir put down a mattress in the living room. He gave me one of his riding crops and took another for himself, asking if I wanted to beat Sophie with him. I was a little envious of her: not only was she a masochist, but she bruised so easily. I love bruises, but I reeeeally don’t like pain.
At one point, he had me sit on Sophie’s face while he beat her. “You need to work harder,” I scolded whenever she stopped licking to wince. My eyes met Sir’s and I looked for some sign of approval for my little mean streak. He was smiling.
Then, he had us switch positions and fucked me while I licked her pussy until I came so hard I fell asleep. I woke to Sophie sucking Sir’s cock, his fingers tangled in the curls of her hair. Snuggling up, I watched her finish him and swallow his cum.
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.
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.
I’m not even much of a masochist, really.
He used this, his hands and a cane.
When it came to the cane, he sat up at the head of the bed, placing the thumb of his free hand in my mouth to let me suck it while he caned me. I got into a certain kind of headspace pretty quickly from that.
Sir and I just watched that episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race with Ariana Grande together, and then right after he beat me and fucked me.
In other news, I guess the daily photo is back? I’ll work on making up for the ones I missed, I promise.
I took a really hard beating the other day and handled it pretty well and my ass was red for like two days so that was very much a thing.
Old Ironsides needs a new name.
Sir once said it is glaringly obvious that I’m an only child based on how many fantasies I have where I’m the absolute center of attention.