An old one with Kitten. That plaid bedsheet’s got memories.
To make up for a skipped Topless Tuesday, here’s me in my favorite posish.
pain play
Here’s a photo of my problematic boobs to break up all the text and vitriol on this blog today.
I’ve never been sold on clothespins, but Sir used them a lot during this past visit and they’re strangely growing on me. I like how focused the pain is, how it’s consistent and how you have to breathe through it. I like how it’s a little bit of a challenge and a test of endurance.
Overwhelmed, Part Four
Before we really got started, Sir left me with the Southern Gentleman for a little bit so that he could use the bathroom. Now alone with SG – my hands cuffed behind my back, ass sore from the beating, lingerie tugged down to the middle of my torso to allow the clamps onto my nipples, jaw a mess of drool from the gag, one of my heels off from all the struggling – I blushed when I realized that he, and Sir, were both still fully clothed and completely put together.
SG looped a finger in the chain that connected my nipple clamps and tugged upwards. I arched my back, straining to relieve some of the pressure, and shrieked behind the gag when one of the clamps slipped off of my nipple.
“Awww. Oh no, poor thing,” SG mocked as I whined behind my gag. He lined the clamp back up with my nipple and tightened it. I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut, the soreness in my nipple now compounded by the clamp being reapplied so soon. "Aw, don’t act so put upon,“ he teased and patted my cheek.
I opened my eyes and grimaced at him as he shifted on the couch and picked the riding crop back up. His hand slipped into my hair and he bent me forward, delivering a few sharp hits onto my already raw ass. I cried out, burying my face in his knee. He moved his hand down to cup my face and I could hear Sir enter the room again.
Sir reached down and hauled me up to my feet as if I were a small child, with his hands under my armpits. My other shoe slipped off. As SG rose as well, I felt incredibly small and helpless with them surrounding me, dwarfed by almost a foot by both of them without my heels on.
"You got her back,” Sir commented, and traced a finger over the one hit I had sustained there where I had struggled. I thought Sir was going to make some silly comment about how SG had damaged his property. Instead, he held my chin and tilted my face up so that I was looking SG in the eyes when he asked, “would you like her to suck your cock now?”
Overwhelmed, Part Three
Sir and SG returned to the living room. I didn’t look up, staying in the position they’d left me in until Sir grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up until I was holding onto the back of the couch. He pushed down on the small of my back until I dipped my ass out, biting my lip in anticipation of the pain that I knew was about to come.
“She was mocking me the other day that I didn’t get to give her any birthday spanks,” Sir explained and smacked me across the ass with the tawse. I yelped and jumped up a bit before he eased me back into position. “But now that we’re somewhere nice and private, I thought you might like to help."
I looked over my shoulder as Sir grabbed onto the loop between my cuffs to hold my hands out of the way. SG had picked up the riding crop and swung it hard against my ass, as if to gauge my reaction to it. He’s not the sort of guy to use anything besides his hands, but he was clearly enjoying himself. "That sounds like a good idea,” he replied to Sir.
“So we’ll alternate, then,” Sir said, taunting me by tapping the tawse against the top of my ass. Suddenly, as if something had occurred to him, Sir set the tawse down and tugged me back by the cuffs on my wrists. He slipped down beside me and slid a pair of nipple clamps into place. I pouted and he put me back into position. “Are you ready, dear?”
“Uh huh,” I replied around the bit gag, already starting to feel drool gather at the corners of my mouth, drawn out by the way my head hung.
The two began to alternate hits, counting as each made contact. Sir mostly stayed on my right buttcheek with the tawse and SG with crop, but a few hits wandered more towards the center. I cried out with each hit – they were getting progressively harder – and I felt my eyes well up with tears, felt drool puddle onto the top of my breasts.
By the twentieth hit, Sir rubbed my shoulder. “Are you ready, baby? Three more.”
“I can’t,” I whined behind the gag. “I can’t, it hurts so much."
I should preface this moment by saying that I have a safeword, and it’s not "I can’t.” Sometimes, I want a push, I want to be reassured that I can continue to take this sort of pain. I want to build that tolerance and get into the endorphins and feel proud of what I’ve taken. And because I’ve been in a relationship with Sir for a year – and been playing with him longer than that – I trust him to know when to push and to draw the line where I just can’t take any more.
“You can,” he reassured, mussing my hair. “Are you ready to keep going?"
I nodded and the two resumed, delivering the final three hits. I collapsed against the couch, whining in the pain glowing across my rear and the dull throb of my clamped nipples. Sir pulled me upright and kissed my temple. I could tell that he was very proud. And I felt so incredibly strong and resilient that I was thrilled with myself.
But Sir was right, he called it. It only got messier:
You said you wanted to be pretty. You said you wanted all the attention. Be careful what you ask for, sweetheart, it may be messier than you expected.
The Party Sub, Part Four
While I was busy watching a girl getting a pretty thorough flogging on her back and ass, Sir had gotten my wrists cuffed behind my back and was still talking to the girl beside him. In the process of cuffing me, he had revealed that he had not only made the handcuffs, but that he had a whole arsenal of things that he had brought along that were homemade.
He set to showing off his floggers and crops, explaining what was what and how he’d gone about each. The girl was being really nice and super respectful, so I got brave and consented when she asked for a demonstration. However, I requested that we go to another room.
Smirking, Sir grabbed a handful of my hair and walked me along that way through the party. I tried to act as casual as I could about this, but it was really pulling at my submissive thread and I felt myself starting to unravel. By the time we found a basically empty room and Sir had bent me over in front of a futon, the combination of the fact that I was going to be used as a demonstration with the cuffs and the way he had hauled my along by the hair, leaving me to make awkward eye contact with a few other guests, I was feeling fairly pliant.
He started with the flogger and, with this girl watching, I felt tempted to take more than I usually would. I wanted to make Sir proud and I was sure I stayed bent over, breathing deeply through my nose to keep myself centered.
“Could I try?” she asked and Sir turned to me.
I nodded and I felt her hand rest on my hip, tentatively. She swung the flogger and hit me squarely across my left asscheek. Looking to Sir for some sort of approval, I watched him grin as he stated that I really should be thanking her.
“Thank you,” I gasped out. It was kind of clear that the girl had significantly more chemistry with Sir, which made the whole thing a little awkward, but she was super sweet when she finished and thanked me for being such a good girl for her.
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.”
The Adventures of Sir, Sweetheart and Mr. Purple, Part Eight
While Sir and the Southern Gentleman essentially sat and discussed what they wanted to do to me, I got a little antsy. I pouted and shook my head, attempting to loosen the buckle on the bit gag. Sir took hold of my chin and asked me what was wrong.
“I want to talk to him,” I spat around the gag in a garbled mess.
Sir smirked and looked over to SG, “do you want to hear what she has to say?”
“No,” he replied, “not really. I just want to look at her.”
Despite how much I enjoyed this condescension, I managed to work the gag loose. It fell into my lap, slick and wet. Sir went to put it back in, but I shook my head and looked at SG. The two were discussing what they’d like to do, and I figured I’d add my side as well.
“I want you to use my cunt,” I said, barely able to get the words out, “I want you to fuck me while he holds me and makes me be good for you. I want to serve both of you.”
(I had, of course, assumed I’d just be gagged right up if I started with saying I wanted both of them to go down on me at once. So, I figured I’d start on a high note.)
Sir pulled me up to my feet and had me turn around and show SG my ass. “Why don’t you show him what he’s getting.”
“He knows what he’s getting,” I retorted, feeling a little saucy. Sir slipped two fingers into my cunt and I gasped, nearly losing my balance.
“Is she tight?” SG asked and I rolled my eyes. He and Sir were playing into that whole mutual slave auction fantasy they have (which, okay, I have, too) and I was feeling super exposed and blushy about the whole ordeal.
Sir noticed me squirming and moaning – caught somewhere between discomfort and pain – and laughed. “She’s so tight she’s a little sore from having just been fucked.” I blushed.
“Does she take pain well?” SG asked.
“You want to see?” Sir offered with a smirk and tipped me forward so I was bent over the couch, my head and chest resting against the seat.
I huffed. “He already knows!” I protested, but I was left to wait as Sir walked into the other room, forced to imagine what he’d decide to return with.