Tag Archives: sex



I had forgotten how much my arms ached when bound behind me. It’s not a position he normally puts me in, and he hasn’t pulled out the rope in so long.

The bound wrists are tied to my ankles, which rise to meet them from my painfully bent knees. My legs have been pushed to their limits time and time again, my arthritic knees bitching at every turn. I could feel a slight shaking as I tried to maintain my balance on the squishy mattress, keeping my back arched and my ass on display without flopping over or suffocating myself. The soft mattress attempted to suck in my face and I bit back the growing panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?” Ah… the voice. I love that voice, the slight accent drowning out the growing buzzing built by panic. I feel a hand caress my rounded ass and exhale, my body relaxing to the best of its ability in my current position. I no longer feel the strain in my limbs or the rope against my skin. I no longer notice the awkward angles of my limbs. Only his hand, where it touches the area of me that belongs to him the most.

The gentle stroking suddenly turns to six rapid fire, hard smacks on my ass, causing me to cry out. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

“Yes, Sir. I remember.” And I do, very well. I have never been bound before Sir, for any reason. I am slightly claustrophobic, and when I can’t breathe properly and can’t escape of my own power I get panic attacks. Not with him.

The last time he bound me I felt like a goddess on display. He tied me to the bed, on my back, facing the foot of the bed. He took polaroid photos of me bound from different angles and then bent over and kissed me, passionately.

He fondled and fucked, and in the middle of it all, just as my orgasm built and I began to beg for more, he would pull away and pull out his sketchpad. Frantically he drew, capturing me as I was with the emotions of what we were doing coursing through him. I watched him each time he pulled away with half-lidded eyes, drunk on passion and honored that I inspired him enough to be considered muse worthy. I had never considered myself more than average in appearance. Inspiring a talented artist to work was almost an even greater honor than being permitted to submit to him.  Over and over again, he fucked me then drew me, until finally we were too entrenched in the scene for him to pull away any longer. He fucked me bound until I came, hard, trembling in my bindings.

Afterwards, he showed me the sketches and I knew I was in danger of loving this man. He drew me like a Matisse nude, with a simplistic beauty that took my breath away. He made me feel like a was a stunning beauty for the first time in my life, and then topped it all off by giving me art supplies on the way out the door. “I was in Flax and thought of you.” he said, as if it were nothing, handing me pads, and brushes, and a beautiful watercolor set. In that moment I wanted to cry. He made me feel so cherished. He thought of me outside of our BDSM hookups, when I wasn’t tied to his bed. It was the beginning of loving him.

“Do you remember how that night ended, beautiful?” His voice brings me back to the present. I close my eyes, savoring it. His hand cups my ass and squeezes as he asks.

“You fucked me, Sir, until we both came and I had gumby legs for the rest of the night.”

That earned me a short chuckle and another swift smack on the ass. ” I did. And do you know how it will end tonight?”

“No, Sir. But I can hope.”

His hands, along with his body heat, left me, and I stifled a whimper. When he is Sir he points out my little noises and chides me for my whining. It’s not about what I want. It’s about trusting him to give me what we both need.

I hear the ‘pop’ of a cap opening. A shiver runs through my body.

The gel is cold against my skin as he rubs it against my anal opening. It quickly warms as his finger follows, slipping inside and toying me gently. I moan and push back eagerly, or as eagerly as my bonds will allow, causing another amused chuckle.

“Good girl. Someone’s greedy tonight.” He slips another finger inside and I moan. Before I can push back he pulls away completely, his warmth leaving the bed.

I hear the scratch of pencil against illustration board and moan again. He’s sketching me, my ass facing him, all my bits and pieces and pudge on display for this man. Not only does he want me, he wants to capture me. I’m dripping wet by the time he returns to the bed, trembling head to toe and on the brink of orgasm and he’s barely touched me.

A pattern emerges similar to the first time he tied me up. He toys my ass, smacks it, even bites it, and then pulls away. I hear more sounds of pencil on board, and then he returns to torture me once more.

Time doesn’t exist in those moments. Your limbs reach a point where they are numb. You no longer feel the ropes binding you; forget they’re even there. You only hear the sketch sounds and feel his hands on your flesh and in your holes.

Finally, he gives me what I crave; what only he can give me. He seats himself inside my ass and begins pumping vigorously into me. He uses my bound wrists as leverage, pulling me to meet his cock with each thrust, and I know the sketching is done for the evening. I let myself get lost in the feel of his cock inside me, chanting over and over, “Oh Godde, oh Godde. Thank you, Sir, thank you! Oh Godde thank you for fucking my ass..”

And then I wake up. Shaking and midway through another round of “Oh Godde”. My undies soaked, my body tight beyond words, I reach for my vibrator and finish the job in hopes of some peaceful sleep that evening. I force two or three orgasms out of my body, all the while picturing my Dominant between my legs instead of my piece of vibrating silicone, and exhaust myself physically, hoping my mind will follow. I close my eyes again, knowing that a similar dream will appear the next night, and the night after that until his hands are on my body again.

I miss him. I want him.

And I am so grateful to have had inspiration for such vivid dreams.. I may be sexually frustrated, but I am blessed. I crave his hands on me..because I remember just how wonderful it feels.

It’s 2:28 a.m… I need to go grab my vibrator and exhaust myself to sleep.



Two Days


I am aching, and screaming, and wanting all at once. 

I crave a firm hand on my ass, spanking it a nice warm pink that pushes me so close to the edge without taking me over. I miss the smell of leather, the anticipation as the tendrils of my favorite flogger are dragged every so softly down my back and then pull away… That split second of nothing, of waiting, not knowing when you will bring down the flogger or how hard that first strike will be. Only knowing that I need it. 

I miss the feel of rope on my skin, of being tied and yanked and posed.. of feeling like some beautiful goddess as you toy with me, pinch me, kiss me, fuck me, and then pull away to sketch and paint the whole scene, a volley of emotions crossing through both of us. I miss being your muse, knowing that I inspire you to create instead of just being dead weight. I selfishly miss feeling beautiful, knowing it by the look in your eyes, not just hearing the words come out of your mouth. 

I need my Dom. Not want. I want my boyfriend. I love my boyfriend. But I NEED my Dominant. I need one hand wrapped around my throat while another digs into my skin, grabbing me so hard that I bruise. I need marks left on my body from your hands, your teeth. From the toys. I need sting, thud, ache. I crave it all…to a near bursting point. It’s the only time I feel peace. I love our snuggles, I love the gentle touches and kisses…but I find myself waiting. Waiting for your hands to become more forceful, for those kisses to become nips and then bites… for the look in your eyes to change and suddenly it is my Dom looking at me, not my gentle lover. There is no arguing his orders, I wouldn’t think of it. The tone of voice used leaves no room for arguing. The firm look in the eye leaves only two options; follow orders or be punished. I even need that damn riding crop, and you know how I feel about that thing..

I want to be your favorite piece of property. Your shiny, most useful toy and accessory. I want to be your doll to dress up, your toy to use as you will, your housekeeper when necessary. Let me kneel at your feet when you return from work, fetch you drinks, make your dinner.. I don’t care if I’m tired, if I have a headache, or if I’ve had a bad day. Serving you gives me pleasure. It allows me to breathe..it’s the prelude to the peace that comes when you order me to bed with that look in your eyes telling me I’m in just the right amount of trouble. 

Please, give me a firm hand. Push me. Make me cry. Lately the crying has been good… cathartic release. Give me the peace I only find under your hands. Bruise me. Mark me. Bite me…hurt me, please, without harming me. Push me to my absolute limit until I shatter and then hold me after..pick up my pieces and be my krazy glue. Hold me, dry my tears and remind me that I am untouchable when I am in your embrace. 

You tasked me with making the first move… I made it in the only way I know how. 

Please, Sir… 

Your devoted submissive


Play Time



I’ve been playing quite a bit lately, so much so that it seems the only time I’ve had to write about it was now that I’m pulled away from that world for a whole two weeks. I’m currently 3000 miles away from my every day life, at my parent’s home in New Jersey with my cat in my lap and my dog at my feet. What better a time to share my bits of fun. 

I’m very bad at just..random play, probably because I am still figuring out how far my body can be pushed and what exactly feels good to me. However, I have been socializing quite a bit and that has led to meeting some unique playmates whose company I’ve been enjoying. 

My favorite on a social level is by far a man named Kane. He’s a fellow artist, like myself, and that’s what started our communications back and fourth. Much like when Cal and I started talking, he opened the dialogue by mentioning a certain piece of my work that I have a soft spot for..and we took off from there into a rousing debate between the Expressionists and the Impressionists, and why we like both and why we don’t like it. It was a good week and change before we actually got around to talking about anything kinky. 

For him, it’s not about the ‘scene’, and public play doesn’t do it for him. For personal reasons, his play is very private, and it is also very closely integrated into some of his work. He is exceedingly picky about who submits to him, because they also inevitably become his muse. That was originally what made me want to play with him. The idea intrigued me, and flattered me that he thought I could be his muse. There was also a vey real boundary between he and I that kept away any danger of falling too deeply, or falling at all, and that has kept me in check with him. I can honestly say that I am attracted to his personality, and that I get great pleasure from just sitting and talking with him. I love that he thinks of me outside of the BDSM scene. The last time we got together, we got back to his place and he surprised me with new water color pads and beautiful new portable water color set. He knew I was traveling home and wanted me to be able to work while I was there. “I just was in Flax and thought of you.” he said, smiling.. I may have tackle hugged him. 

He may have tied me up afterward. He draws me like a kinky Matisse nude, and I find myself exceedingly flattered that he has deemed me captivating enough to keep in his company. 

Another playmate of mine I have mentally gone back and forth about… I liked him originally, admitting to Cal when I met him that I had a bit of a crush. By the next evening however he was driving me up the walls. Little things bothered me. I didn’t like how he smelled (eerily like my ex…) or that he ordered me to be affectionate afterwards. The play itself was FANTASTIC. I felt the bruises for days afterward and and wore them with a smile on my face. However, by the time the evening was over I had decided that the next time we got together there would be no snuggling and sleeping after, no matter how many orgasms he caused me to have and how exhausted I was. 

I ran into him again, at a play party at the local dungeon that I had gone to with a platonic friend. That meeting.. went radically differently, and ended with my first public scene and my first introduction to what being in subspace feels like. There I was in my element. I wanted to be affectionate; I liked him having his arm around me and wanting to paddle my ass until it all but glowed red. Thanks to him I discovered that I actually DO enjoy pain mixed with pleasure…and that a flogger handled properly is amazing. But why was I so attracted to him there and not the time before? Perhaps part of it was that I was still in the D/s relationship with Cal when George and I first met. Whether or not I want to admit it, Cal was always in the back of my mind when I played with others..or even flirted with others. I would do the bad thing.. compare, when I know I shouldn’t have. Another influence was probably the dungeon we were in, where I was in a very altered headspace and felt completely comfortable in my own skin. I was willing to go there, in an arena where I felt like we had a more even playing field than in his apartment. 

The third and final playmate of mine is a baby, and a switch. I say baby because he is much less experienced than the other two, and more that a decade younger as well. Chris is a handful of years older than I am, and reminds me eerily of one of my exes..but all the good things about him. He’s an ass hole in a snarky, sarcastic sort of way, and in certain ways I love that. He and I played at the play party as well.. though it was less play and more..well.

He and I met at a singles mixer weeks before. I liked him, however, life got in the way. I got pulled away into a new job, money issues, moving, etc.. and became horribly neglectful of my phone, which meant putting off the sexual tension between he and I. When we saw each other again at the play party we both knew that toys kinda.. didn’t matter for this romp. It was time to get rid of the damn sexual tension, and so we did. I played with him about a half hour after finishing the scene with George, which had pushed me to my limit and had me flying at the end. My ass was still sore, and wonderfully hot. A couple smacks with Chris’s bare hands and I was flying again. The sex was rather fantastic…but that also might be because of the mental space that I was in. Either way, I enjoyed playing with him. He plays a bit more vanilla than both George and Kane, and is much more on my level to where I feel comfortable experimenting and asking him to try this or that on me. He is a snarky, sarcastic friends with benefits… which is nice.

In certain ways I wish I had a primary partner.. and in other ways I’m loving the freedom of my playmates. All three are incredibly different, and thusly so are my interactions with them. With George I feel an instant need to fall to my knees and address him as sir (lowercase, thank you very much. He’s not my sir yet, but he is a regular partner and finds the term respectful when playing), and strive to get the “good girl” from him. With Kane.. it’s sensual, sweet, and pulls at my artistic heartstrings. No titles with him, just orders and held positions, and passion of a different sort. With Chris I don’t feel like kneeling at all. Once the scene is over I stand and look him in the eyes, which is nice in its own way. 

I have a lot going on in my vanilla life right now.. a lot of changes. Having my kinky life fall into a regular pattern of visits and dinners has in certain ways lifted a weight off my shoulders. It’s some normalcy, some safety while I continue to discover what exactly I want and do what I have to do in the other aspects of my life. I LIKE the play. I miss the serving element.. the orders, the tasks.. but that comes with time, and with feeling. I was told to be very picky in picking a primary partner..and I plan to be. I’m not jumping at the first Dom that gives me the time of day. In the meantime I will simply improve other aspects of my submission, which including exploring and refining my lists of limits and fetishes…

I would say there are much worse things in this world ^.~

The cat has decided it’s time to chase the dog around the house… ho boy. Back to vanilla life.