I can’t cum when I’m nervous or scared. But I’ve got a few ideas as to how that might be overcome.
rope
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 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.
What a lucky little kitty she is, getting all her courses on separate plates. Surely her owner needs to realize kitties shouldn’t care about presentation and that putting it all together – maybe even blending it – is just fine.
If this doesn’t fix your squirmies, then I don’t know what will.
Humph.
The Man’s trying to keep me down. Telling me my squirmies need to be fixed.
Me and my squirmies aren’t going to take this sitting down.
“I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.” – Louisa May Alcott, Little Women.
dangerous games ( collaboration with milk-sockets )
can’t decide how i feel about this
i’m attracted to it but also like no
Sir would never so i guess it’s a nonissue
Sir waterboards me in the shower sometimes.
Like we’ll be taking a shower and he’ll get behind me and grab my hair and make me put my face right in the stream of the water and he’ll hold me there.
So I’m like glurg ugh cough and he finds it hilarious.
And maybe it makes me a little wet. Maybe.
I think I need to do a little soul-searching
after my first reaction to this image
was “awwwww.”
I love the idea of being told to dress up because we’re going somewhere very nice. And then, after I spend all the time into getting ready and making myself all pretty, I just wind up like this. An ambush, a ruse.