This week’s guest blog (by an anonymous writer) has some intense, filthy, hot BDSM of the kind I wish I could write every day. It captures a million and one of the raw, dark, sexy things that happen in my head, and to make things even more fun it’s a true story.
I’ll give you the heads-up that it’s got some extreme dominance and submission – all consensual, of course. It also has some language which, as we discussed on Wednesday (keep up!) might not be your kind of thing, so please bear that in mind before you read on. If it is your kind of thing then I’m pretty sure you’re going to love this one…
Say it…
“What are you? Say it.”
I am standing in the middle of the room. I am naked, hunched over, and my arms are crossed over my breasts. My breath is coming fast. My ass is hot.
My clit is thrumming.
He is standing behind me, holding the belt. He draws the belt back–
But my lips are still pressed together.
We’ve played this game a few times. Now it’s not enough for him to call me a name: I have to repeat it back to him. I have to admit that it’s the truth. Sometimes I do it quickly, in a gasp or with a sense of pride, but sometimes I like to resist. Just because I’m his sub doesn’t mean I should make it easy. He has to drag it out of me, slowly and painfully.
It’s a tug of war, using my skin and my nerves.
Today he was lying down and I was knelt over him, tonguing the tip of his dick, when he looked down at me.
“You’re a cock-sucking little whore, aren’t you.”
(It’s not a question).
Something about hearing words like whore, slut, toy makes me light-headed with pleasure. When he gets the right phrase, my pupils dilate so rapidly with arousal that I have to shut my eyes or else any light dazzles me.
“Aren’t you.”
I keep licking, pretending I haven’t heard.
“Say it, bitch.”
I take his cock out of my mouth, look up at him, and smile. There’s a protracted silence. He raises his eyebrows.
“I see.”
And that’s when he stood up and got the belt.
_
I am an intelligent, successful, beautiful, confident woman, and I love to be told the opposite. There is something so freeing and refreshing about being treated like an object – and knowing that I am strong enough to take it.
It’s a psychological workout with the benefit of an orgasm at the end.
Crack.
The belt hits my ass. I flinch and make a noise not unlike a sob. Fuck, it hurts.
How many more can I take?
This is the question I ask myself over and over when we play these games. Each burst of pain means losing a little more control: how much can I give up? How many more can I take — and what would happen to me, how would I feel, if I took one more after that?
Crack. Oh, Jesus.
Crack. Fuck.
Crack. Okay.
“Cock-sucking!”
I shut my eyes tight and I hear him laugh.
“What’s that?”
It’s always so embarrassing to give in. I know I’m closer to giving him what he wants, and I’m closer to my reward, but each time I give away what my limit is — and I give him something new to aim for.
“Cock-sucking.”
“What else…?”
I bite my lips together. I’m not there yet. Sir.
“Come here, you slut.”
He grabs my right shoulder with his left hand — the hand not holding the belt — and turns me round, pushes me down to my knees. A touch of eye contact — but his eyes are hard. He loops the belt around my neck, loosely, then drops it. He grabs the back of my neck and pushes his dick into my mouth, down my throat, as far as it’ll go. My hands grip his ass, pull him deeper.
“One… two… three…”
(This is another game we play. He counts. I suck. I am not allowed to gag.)
“Nine… ten… now look what you’ve done, you filthy whore…”
I’ve gagged. I take his cock out of my mouth as I catch my breath and spit oozes down my chin.
“You know the rules.”
I know that I am not allowed to wipe the saliva away. He pushes his cock back into my throat, all the way, and then — slap — he hits the back of my head and pushes himself in the extra half-inch that opens up in my throat. Yes.
He counts. I count.
Is this enough. Can I take more.
“Eight… nine…”
Right. Okay.
I put my hands on his thighs and push and he recognises our sign to release me immediately.
I look into his eyes and say “Cock. Sucking. Little.”
But I don’t say any more.
He turns me around, pushes me over until I’m on my knees and my ass is in the air, and he kneels down next to me.
“I’m going to hit you until you do as I say. What are you.”
Slap.
He slaps me on the other cheek to the one that received the brunt of the belt and I think, frantically, ten is a good number. I purse my lips.
But after three slaps he unleashes his secret weapon.
Sla-
He hits me and then immediately grabs and squeezes the flesh, preventing the blood from flowing out of the area. I cry out in pain.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-
“Whore, sir, whore, whore, whore!”
There are tears in my eyes by this point and I — and, more importantly, he — knows I’ve reached my limit.
He lets go and slides his hand down the back of my thigh.
“Say it properly, you dumb bitch.”
I turn to my left, look straight into his eyes and speak slowly.
“I. Am. Your. Cock. Sucking. Little. Whore.”
Any observer wouldn’t notice a change in his expression, but I see the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly and his mouth soften. I feel a tiny caress of the back of my knee.
He says the phrase I long to hear.
“Good girl.”
And then he picks me up under the armpits, spins me round, presses me down over the nearby kitchen table and shoves his cock all the way into me. I’m wet enough that he bottoms out with the first thrust; I gasp as the pleasure sparks from my cunt into my abdomen and up my spine.
“Say… thank you.” he grunts.
“Thank you, sir.”
I grin against the plastic of the table. He may have made all the moves, but I have never felt more powerful.
11 Comments
So, so, so hot!
Wow. This is brilliant. Utterly hot, totally true.
Brilliant :) So hot!
I’ll have to take you to Japan, in autumn, the Cherry Blossoms carpeting the landscape in their lavender grandeur. You must be taken to Tokyo, the Kasumigaseki District, late at night, where the lull in the bustle of people is palpable – the Kasumigaseki District where all government workers do their work; and for such a noble service they are rewarded … they can go home early.
But aye, there are still figures flitting about in the Kasumigaseki District at this time of night. Follow one, and you’ll invariably end up at a pair of maroon-colored doors with exquisitely carved dragons; a lamp above; antique in its construction; unmistakably oriental; bathing the twirling of those dragons in a nimbus of muted light.
The place has no name – it doesn’t need one.
We go down a flight of stairs, on the walls the most beautiful of painted landscapes, the wood creaking, the smell of expensive wood polish playfully wafting up your nose:
Lavender? Cherry Blossoms? Daffodils?
You don’t know, but the smell lifts your mood.
Mai-Mai is waiting for you downstairs – she’s wearing an Ao Dai; the dress accentuating the firmness of her chest, her legs long and sleek, her face of indeterminate age, her make-up tasteful, her hair immaculate.
She’s glad to see you, walks up to you, holds your hands, and in a dainty voice tells you how beautiful you are. She tells you that if you have any trouble to just tell her. She’ll have her “little mafia” take care of it – Yakuza she means.
She takes you to a room, undresses you, makes you put on the most exquisite of underwear, showing everything, revealing nothing, and finally a karate gi jacket; birds and streams embroidered on it; of the finest silk … in a bright red color.
She clucks around you like a mother hen; tells you about her latest boyfriend; a lover of monkey bikes, good beer, bad poetry, and penchant for ridiculous presents on Valentine’s Day.
That’s how she met him she tells you. He danced like a ballerina into her flower-shop, stone d***k, holding a massive 36-combination spanner, wanting to know if she could wrap it up in a box full of roses.
“He tried so hard to look serious as he stood there” Mai-Mai’s eyes crinkles.
Mai-Mai continues, “ ‘Ahhh’ I said to him ‘that spanner is a Stählwille, from Germany – edelweiss would be better’.
Mai-Mai reminisces further, “He tried to maintain his composure. He failed. He laughed, and then he laughed some more. When he stopped, he asked me out for coffee.”
“ ‘No’ I said …” muses Mai-Mai
“ Then he said, ‘Madam, I will buy you a 36 Snap On-spanner for Valentine’s Day, I promise’ ” ,Mai-Mai giggles.
“ ‘What I want, is the best rolling pin you can buy at Harrods !!!’ “ and Mai-Mai tries to make a mock angry expression.
Mai-Mai continues, “ And then he says, ‘Madam, a 36-Snap-on spanner can do the job just as well … and if it breaks on the poor man’s head … it’ll be replaced free of charge – it’s got a lifetime guarantee you know.’ “
“Sir, you do realize that you will be the first man I use it on …” Mai-Mai looks ferocious; then her features softens and she continues :
“ ‘Indeed madam’ he says, ‘which means that I must make no mistake … on the second kiss’ … and then he looked away, and then looked back … and blew me a kiss … “
Mai-Mai forgets about you, a faraway look in her eyes.
You ask her what kind of a boyfriend he is.
And a voice behind you says, “He’s the kind of boyfriend that makes her go, ‘Hoo … Hoo … Haaaa … Haaaa …. hahahahaHAAAAAAA !!!!’ whenever I hear them “
She’s leaning back, arms raised theatrically to her head , parodying a violated heroine in an old Valentino film.
She resembles Mai-Mai, but not quite, her face is more impish, and blessed with a perpetual half-smile that hints at devilry.
It’s her s****r Meiko.
“Just call me Mei”, she says, and then she looks at Mai-Mai.
“s****r-chan, will you kindly tell her why you’re so noisy with him, and why old Sato’s wife is calling me, wanting to know why her husband is hiding in the bushes beneath their daughter’s window … HOLDING A SPRAY BOTTLE ???” she says in mock indignation.
Mai-Mai giggles and says, ”It’s because of The Big Stuffed Ostrich” ,and giggles further.
Meiko looks at you, sighs, and says, “If Mai-Mai tells you the story we’ll be here till late; she giggles too much. So you want to know about The Big Stuffed Ostrich? Well it happened after a little speech her boyfriend gave her, as he was about to kiss her lips …” Mai-Mai smiles knowingly.
Meiko continues, mimicking the boyfriend’s voice:
“Mai-Mai, you know I go kiss your lips now, hai-hai?”
“Hai-Hai”
“Mai-Mai, I read lots of books on how to do this, say why-why?”
“Why-Why?”
“Mai-Mai, it’s so your juices must do the fly-fly ?”
“Fly-Fly ?”
“Yes Mai-Mai, your lips no longer then dry-dry”
“Dry-Dry ?”
“Then Mai-Mai you no longer sayings the ‘ai yai ‘ ”
“Ai yai ”
“Mai-Mai, why you say ‘Ai yai’ before I even try-try?”
“You just talkings, and make me cry-cry.”
And Meiko looks at Mai-Mai and says :
“Hoo … Hooo …. Haaaaaa …. Haaaaaa …. hahahhaHAAAAAAAAA !!!!”
Mai-Mai giggles, and says, “He told me that there is some kind of beauty contest for monkey bikes. The winner gets to sit on The Big Stuffed Ostrich – it really is a big stuffed ostrich. The winner sits on it, while the rest of the contenders sits on their monkey bikes, while a photo is taken.
The guy on the big stuffed ostrich towers above them all. ‘It’s a guy thing Mai-Mai, you wouldn’t understand at all … ‘, he says to me. He really wanted to win. So he went to Kusanagi for advice, and Kusanagi told him to just fit a shiny new swing-arm, and he’d win.
So he bought that shiny swing-arm from Kusanagi, and on the day of the competition he got disqualified because the swing-arm was made in China.
Kusanagi won of course. Now he wants to get back at Kusanagi.
And how does he want to do this ?
Well, he went to the university and got himself a bottle of attack pheromones of the Suzumebachi-hornet. When a Suzumebachi-hornet smells this, it attacks like crazy. He wants to spray some of the stuff on the back of the stuffed ostrich, so that when Kusanagi sits on it again again, his ass gets horneted to hell when he leaves the clubhouse.
But somehow Sato heard about this, and got himself a bottle of the stuff as well. He had some trouble with a patrolman that gave him lots of parking tickets. So what did Sato do ? He waited until the policeman left his car near a bar, and sprayed the stuff on all the tires.
Then the police station got an anonymous call saying that one of their patrolmen’s cars is parked right in front of a bar. And a while later the patrolman called for help – he said all his tires had hornets on them.
The patrolman’s disciplinary hearing is tomorrow … and now Sato waits at night for his daughter’s boyfriend, beneath her daughter’s window in the bushes … with a spray-bottle …”
Both of them cluck over you, as they finish with you. You’re led from the room, and I take your hand.
You’re about to enter the main room of the club. The light is soft. Their shadows hypnotic. Reassuring. There is a smell of flowers in the air, and tobacco, rich alluring pipe tobacco.
I take you down an aisle and onto a small stage. There I let you sit on a small tripod chair. I sit behind you. I sit a bit higher. Your arms are resting on my upper legs. The tables in front of you go quiet.
You’re so beautiful.
Ting-Ting is led by another man upon the stage. Petite. Long dark hair. Striking face. Similarly dressed. She looks at you. Her eyes become slits. She smirks.
It’s a challenge.
A song starts to fill the whole room. Hypnotic. Languorous. Melancholic. Erotic.
Your hair is softly stroked. Your shoulders caressed. Your ears are exposed. Your neck is lightly touched. A finger traveling softly from your collar upwards. You feel breathing upon your ear,
and hands that’s making their way downward to your lap. Softly. Lazily. Irresistibly.
Your jacket is untied, and the hands are now moving upward. Softly they circumnavigate your breasts. Aimlessly it seems. Timidly. So afraid to scale those peaks.
Your jacket is opened … and there they are … full … pliant … and erect.
Oil is poured upon them … and the massaging starts … to the chords and cadences of that song … that hypnotic song … that irresistible song … that orgasmic song.
Meiko enters the room. Sato is behind her. Sato’s irezumi tattoos are flexing. Sato is Yakuza.
Shhhhhh.
They’re not coming for you. Take a deep breath. Relax. Your nipples are so fucking hot.
They make their way to a table right in front of us. It’s lone occupant blissfully unaware of them. Japanese. Ill-fitting suit. Poor posture. Glasses. A thousand yard stare.
She stands behind him. She whispers in his ear. Incredulous he turns around. Sato grins at him.
He stands up. He bows deeply. He’s trying to apologize. Meiko giggles. Meiko traces her finger up and down his stomach. He blushes. He is so young.
Meiko unzips his fly. He tries to bow again. Consternation on his face. He blushes as he softly tries to apologize. Meiko giggles. She whispers in his ear again. He blushes. Her hands are at his fly again. This time his face is almost crimson.
Meiko soothes him as she draws it out. He’s nervous. Delicately she palms it. It’s not hard anymore. Nor soft. It’s achingly white. Hesitant. A frightened little pet resting upon her palm. Delicate. Beautiful.
And the pet’s owner stands there helpless. Miserable.
Meiko oohs and aahs at it. The owner stands there immobile. Head bent. He nods. He looks at nobody. He gathers his courage. He faces Meiko. He pleads. Meiko giggles. She leaves.
For once he tries to stand up straight. His concentration only on putting it away. He’s trembling. From behind him Meiko’s hands comes to rest upon his shoulders. “Yoohoo” she whispers in his ear. She giggles.
The owner tries to rush. Meiko slaps his hands away. Sato warns him with a glance. Meiko grabs his frightened little pet from behind. She begins to stroke it. She whispers in his ear again. Her face is triumphant. Her breathing becomes deeper. She makes sure the owner hears it.
And there he stands in front of the whole room. Head bent. Loosing his composure. Embarrassed. Afraid of the pleasure. Abhorred by his condition.
Meiko orders him to look at the stage, at you, at Ting-Ting. He won’t.
Pride.
Ting-Ting turns her face towards him. She starts sighing. The hands on her chest are squeezing her. An invitation to look. She spreads her legs. She strokes her thighs. Her underwear is so wet. So inviting.
His head remains bent, he fears humiliation should he look. He won’t look.
Ting-Ting senses this. Her sighs becomes louder. So wanton. So melodic. So inviting.
Meiko coos in his ear and tells him what he’s missing. Her strokes on him become slower. Harder.
He’s getting harder, but not by much. He needs to look. Ting-Ting knows this.
But Ting-Ting is making a mistake. She looking at him. She’s a threat to him. No, he won’t look at you. Not yet. He is a hikikimori. A modern hermit. A gamer. A contributor on manga-forums. A renowned expert on growing passiflora.
He has never talked to a woman. He has never hugged one. He has never had the courage to approach one. They’re all out of his league. All of them. Better to grow passiflora then.
And here you are. A real thing. Not some pixels on a screen. The real thing. Naked.
Ignore him. Ignore him totally. Like all other women you must ignore him … for now. He’s familiar with this. He understands this.
And while you ignore him, know that he would relish to grab your breasts like I’m doing; too hard. He hears your pain. His grip softens. He apologizes. He sees your nipples. He pinches them; the pinch is too soft.
He’d apologize, and admit he needs help. Help him then. Show him exactly how you’d like it. Touch your breasts the way you like them to be touched.
And that plain around your navel … he’ll cup it … stroke it … smell it … utterly fascinated by the descent from your navel to your mons.
Touch yourself there. Dream of him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him yet. He’s driving Ting-Ting crazy. Why won’t he look at her ? Her sighs are becoming frustrated.
Touch yourself. Forget about everything. Look upward. He’s becoming aware of you. Your moans are so beautiful. Meiko blows upon his ear. She’s whispering to him.
Reassuring him.
He lifts his head. Shyly. And his eyes comes to rest upon you. You have him. Meiko stops her strokes. She’s looking at it. A marble sculpture. White. Unyielding. Hard. Beautiful.
Keep on touching yourself. Listen to the song …
… now look at him. Use your eyes … forgive him … make love to him … like strangers in the night … like strangers by the night … like strangers against the night.
He groans … he cums … he collapses.
Meiko gathers the cum in a bowl.
She hands it to Ting-Ting.
She knows what she must do with this.
So she looks at you,
… and she hates you.
Isn’t the Ao Dai a Vietnamese garment rather than Japanese?
(Sorry. Nice story though.)
True dat, don’t care
I’m with Anastasia Steele. Can’t see the point in being hurt. Interesting to get the BDSM perspective though.
I was going to say this story illustrates beautifully the way BDSM works for people, but I guess it didn’t manage it as well as I thought.
I think it did Vida – it definitely captured some stuff that hits some really specific buttons for me. I think BDSM generally is perhaps more ‘Marmite’ than other sex stuff (either love it or hate it), but this post in particular really struck a chord with me and I think it’s beautifully written, and sums up nicely the internal feelings as well as the external hotness =)
ooooh, so good and the end? the end makes it all the better..
I may not like or get off on everything in this story, but so much of this does it for me. The struggle and the reward, yes please. So hot