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Hard play April 8, 2011

Posted by Leah in Bondage, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups, Spanking, Urine.
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I sent him a text before I left the apartment: I want you to be harsh with me.

Five minutes after he buzzed me up, Amadeo had me naked over his lap. His hand worked methodically over the back of my thighs and my buttocks. Though the skin turned red and raw, he kept going. His hand stung with the effort, so he bit, then switched to a paddle. I lost myself for twenty minutes in the blurry endorphin haze of sexual pain. Afterwards, he placed a sack of frozen vegetables atop my ass. Lying on the sofa, I sucked his cock to thank him for spanking me. He directed his come over my rear and smeared the semen into the inflamed, sensitive to touch, and throbbing skin. Two days later, red and purple splotches still decorate my ass. When I concentrate my attention, the nerve endings smart so delightfully.

Amadeo isn’t the deftest hand in the world with rope. It took him several attempts before he tied my wrists and ankles to the four corners of the small bed in the guest room. Once he had me spread-eagled thus, he sat on the edge of the mattress and read to me from the memoirs of Casanova. He recounted in his bright baritone the story of a Venetian woman abducted from her husband by eight masked men. Amadeo’s was a newer translation, but I looked up the passage on the internet on returning home.

Comforted by that promise, and as gentle as a lamb, she follows us to the “Two Swords.” We ordered a good fire in a private room, and, everything we wanted to eat and to drink having been brought in, we send the waiter away, and remain alone. We take off our masks, and the sight of eight young, healthy faces seems to please the beauty we had so unceremoniously carried off. We soon manage to reconcile her to her fate by the gallantry of our proceedings; encouraged by a good supper and by the stimulus of wine, prepared by our compliments and by a few kisses, she realizes what is in store for her, and does not seem to have any unconquerable objection. Our chief, as a matter of right, claims the privilege of opening the ball; and by dint of sweet words he overcomes the very natural repugnance she feels at consummating the sacrifice in so numerous company. She, doubtless, thinks the offering agreeable, for, when I present myself as the priest appointed to sacrifice a second time to the god of love, she receives me almost with gratitude, and she cannot conceal her joy when she finds out that she is destined to make us all happy. My brother Francois alone exempted himself from paying the tribute, saying that he was ill, the only excuse which could render his refusal valid, for we had established as a law that every member of our society was bound to do whatever was done by the others.

I embellished on what happened to her, and this entertained Amadeo greatly.

He kissed me, his tongue intimate in my mouth. He toyed with my tits, licking the curves of my breasts, nursing at the nipples.

He asked me if I liked Jackson Pollock. The question was incongruous. I am not overly excited by abstract expressionism and indicated as much.

“Too bad. I like him.”

Amadeo produced candles: blue, white, red, and yellow. He lit them and used my chest as a canvas painting the wax in streaks over the hummocks of my breasts and the depression of my belly. He collected the wax in mounds atop the areolae. The candle wax dripped onto my body from a height. The contact on the skin made me gasp, but it did not hurt. He continued the lines lower to my pubis. I asked him to inscribe his initials there, and we agreed that I looked colorful and pretty.

After this artistic interlude, Amadeo attached large black binder clips to each of my nipples, another to my cunt lips, and a pair of smaller ones under each of my arms. He squeezed the pincers, tugged and twisted. Amadeo slapped my breasts.

When I winced and squinched my eyes shut and turned my head away, he yanked hard on my hair. A gob of expectorate landed on my forehead.

“Eyes open, slut. Look at me,” he insisted. The back of his hand cuffed the side of my face. He mangled the nipples by tightening his grip on the binder clips and rotating.

I screamed. My shoulders heaved. The tears spilled over my eyes.

He removed the clip from my cunt. “Count,” he said.

His face hovered over mine. I tasted the whisky on his breath.

He spanked my pubis.

“One,” I announced, eyes meeting his.

The fingertips tightened on the lips and screwed them left and right. He slapped again, and my whole body flinched.

“Two.”

Though my eyes swam out of focus, I kept them open and directed at my lover’s face.

I counted the slaps to twenty. At the end, I shrieked the numbers out. He took huge swings and followed through on the movement of his arms. Between the blows, he fingered the pussy and tweaked the six clips, contorting especially the big ones on my tits. When he removed the binder clips after the spanking, my underarms felt like they had been stung by bees. Blood filled the pinched nipples. His teeth snapped one up, and he flicked the roof with his tongue. The nerves sang.

I laughed uncontrollably. Sweat and tears had made my makeup run. My nose was watery. My throat was parched. I asked for a drink to rehydrate myself. Amadeo straddled my head and lowered his penis to my lips. The urine whispered out in the dim light. He controlled the release of his bladder so that I could swallow it down. The scent of the ammonia made my nostrils flare. The piss was hot in my mouth, acutely salty, but otherwise without taste.

“I will spank you again if you spill,” he warned.

Listening to the hiss, I raised my head and gulped to keep pace with the flow.

“Good girl,” he said. “You’re a good girl.” He chased his pee with his tongue.

He let me suck his cock to hardness and then pressed the underside of the shaft against the entrance of my pussy. The glans lifted nearly to my belly.

“Condom,” I warned.

He sheathed himself, and then he fucked me. The movements of his pelvis made my blistered ass sink into the sheets of the bed and ride up. It was all pain, and then it was all pleasure. My hands and my feet contended with the bonds, which tightened the knots and reduced the give of the rope. The impact of his chest against my body flattened my breasts. I bit his shoulder.

Toyed with as I had been for over an hour, I was close to orgasm, and he knew it. “Ask for permission to come,” Amadeo demanded.

I asked, and he refused. I begged, and he said no. I spit in his face, and he bit my lip, laughed, and said no again. The penis jabbed into me harder. I crushed the vaginal muscles about the shaft when it filled me and held myself at bay.

“I am going to slap your face three times. You can come after that,” he said. His hand squeezed a bruised breast.

Left.

Right.

Left.

The flat fingers struck in rapid sequence turning my head. The penis stabbed inside to the balls.

I lost control, gushing around his shaft. The ejaculate flooded from me and drenched the sheets. The walls of the vagina went into spasms. The orgasm seemed to begin deep inside my belly and radiated to my extremities. I wrenched at the ropes that tied me to the four corners of the bed. The solid oak posters vibrated. The bed rocked slightly to the side. The wetness that emanated from my cunt left our thighs sticky. The scents of sex, sweat and pussy, enveloped our bodies like a thick fog. Through this veil, all I could see was him. My cheeks burned.

Amadeo held himself within, rigid and unmoving through the orgasm. When I finished, he recommenced the pumping movement of his hips, pushing off with his arms on the bed and thrusting down. My cunt went into new convulsions, the tremors now fluid, one orgasm trembling into the next. Amadeo could not hold out for long. His back arched. His cock twitched inside. His body crumpled on top of me.

When his breathing had equilibrated to merely ragged, he extracted his soft-hard penis, and he sat next to me, and he fingered my cunt, and he kissed me. Eventually, he undid the bonds. While I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, flaking the wax from my skin, he returned from the kitchen with tall glasses of juice. I stripped the sheets, and then we proceeded to the big bedroom, where Amadeo read to me some more. He ate my pussy to orgasm, and after that we slept.

Comments»

1. Leah - April 8, 2011

Incidentally, Feminist Sub has a discussion of the ubiquitous phrase “good girl” in D/s play. Her thoughts on the tension between feminism and submission are provoking. Those interested in the philosophy of bdsm might enjoy her blog.

2. David - April 8, 2011

mad!

3. FeministSub - April 9, 2011

Thanks for the shout-out. Incidentally, I was just about to comment on how much I love this entry. Beautifully-written and very hot.

4. curious15cat - April 19, 2011

A bit too rough for my personal taste, but quite well written and a nice read. Seems like you had quite the night. Also, I will certainly look into Feminist Sub’s blog. Sounds interesting.


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