Master and slave

Two simple enough words… yet at one point, so difficult for me to accept.

MasterC is not my first D/s relationship. Those who have been following this blog from the very beginning know that it all started with Sylvanus. For the most part, when Sylvanus and I interacted on a D/s level, I always referred to him as Sir. It came naturally. I find Sir to be very respectful when talking to other Dominants as well. So, it came to no surprise that Sylvanus wanted me to address him using a special title… “Master.”

Master, would prove to be difficult for me. It felt wrong. Not in a bad way, mind you, but just unnatural. Actually saying the word Master, especially while looking at him, was so difficult for me. I felt silly. It was just so…. Ack!

Fast forward a few years and now there is MasterC in my life. From the moment we met (online), it was very clear he was to be my Master and addressed as such. In the first few days and weeks, I again felt this silly feeling. As time passed, it became easy to type the words Master to him without hesitation. The true test would be to speak the words to him and while looking him in the eyes. So far, I have done so, without any hesitation. With him, it feels more natural now. He is my Master and I am proud to address him as such.

I know that the stigma of “Master” comes from the terrible stories and experiences of lousy Dominant men that I have encountered in my life. A lot of the Dominant men that I have encountered that have insisted on being called Master, were also raging assholes with points to prove. A lot of these “Masters”, enjoyed belittling women harshly and it left me wondering if it was domination or abuse…

Which leads me into the title… “slave”.

Slave, has always meant a negative thing to me in the D/s community. Anytime I have ever encountered a slave, it was usually a woman with absolutely no self esteem being walked on by one of these fake “Masters.” She spent her submissive existence in a ball of nerves, constantly analyzing if she was being a “good” slave. A slave usually had her entire life controlled and was often separated from friends and family on “Master’s” orders. If this “Master” noticed she had a close friend who was trying to convince his slave that he was no good, he would order his slave to stop talking to said friend. The term slave was never a positive thing to me. It was always associated with a submissive who had no self worth, or self power, or independence. I never liked the title “slave”.

But here I am… I am MasterC’s slave. I have learned a valuable lesson. All titles are what we make of them. I am a slave. I am a proud slave. I am a strong and independent woman, but I am his slave. It’s the title he has given me. When he first called me his slave, it left a bad taste in my mouth. I remember thinking, “I don’t want to be a slave!” I kept an open heart, however and soon realized that I am not A slave… I am HIS slave.

I am comfortable being his slave. I am comfortable these days when he publicly calls me, slave. It has become a term of endearment for me, because it used to cause me such inner turmoil. My acceptance of the title slave is a symbol of my love and loyalty to Master C. I am deeply honored he has chosen me as his slave and I am lucky he has become a most wonderful Master.

 

© At Longings End 2011

the real risk of kinky sex

Last week an article grabbed my attention. I knew I had to write at least something about my thoughts on it, because it is absolutely perfect. I suppose you should go read it first. Go on, because what I say after will hold no meaning if you don’t read the article first. So click below …

BDSM’s Dirty Secret – The Real Risk of Kinky Sex

This post could have been written by me, only I’m never that articulate. I read this post and the first thing I said was “YES!”. It all comes down to one thing for me… “intimacy”. That’s the number one thing I experience with MasterC. Most people don’t realize how intimate BDSM can be. Most people don’t realize how extraordinarily close two people can become just by exploring darker sides of oneself. I’ve experienced this twice in my life.

When Sylvanus and I walked the dark path together those few years ago, the one thing we both noticed above all else, was how close BDSM made us. There’s this primal, open, honesty and trust that exists between two people when you allow yourselves to walk down a path less traveled. You open your soul and allow yourself to be vulnerable. You allow someone to see you how most people will never get to see you.

Now, I experience this level of intimacy with MasterC. I allow him to do things to me I never imagined I would want to experience. He gets to allow himself the freedom to explore things he never thought possible. Together, we are two open dark souls exploring a new world. He creates “scenes” for me and they take me through never ending cycles of emotions and bend my body in ways I never imagined and when it is all said and done, our hearts and minds are connected even stronger than they were before. We share moments of primal lust, but we share moments of intimate passions as well.

This is also probably why dungeons and kink clubs never held my interest. Don’t get me wrong, I am sure there are plenty of couples who go and share deep intimate moments while there, but the majority of my experiences have always been a bunch of Dominant men trying to impress the other Dominant men, while collecting as many little submissives as they can and creating scene after scene. A ride at a carnival where anyone willing gets a turn. It’s just not for me to experience and watching something like that does nothing to arouse me, or impress me. OK, so you can take a beating… bravo. And you can dish out a beating, here’s a gold star.

It is also probably why I could never satiate my submissive hunger by simply seeing someone once a week to give me a spanking (or any different form of beating). It’s not enough for me to feel the sharp sting of a hand on my backside. Or the lash of a leather strap. Or the ever growing sting of the crop. No, I need much more than that. A beating from a stranger is just a beating to me. There’s no connection, no arousal. But the beating at the hands of my Master, the one I am emotionally connected to mind, body and soul… now that’s the stuff I’m talking about!

daily submission

It’s a conversation I’ve had with Master before, though briefly. The question is, how much D/s do we want in our daily lives? Is it a 24/7 thing? I’ve decided to go ahead and maybe describe what having submission in my life daily would mean to me.

Unless you, as a D/s couple are, financially well off, have no children and have no desire to function in every day society, a 24/7 D/s lifestyle is unrealistic. You simply can’t be a Dominant every minute of every day and your partner can’t be a submissive in the same way. Life demands attention. The roles need to be broken from time to time, even if just briefly. Parenting is the number one example of having to break roles. At least that’s my opinion… there will be plenty of hard core D/s lifestylers that will tell me otherwise.

I don’t desire a 24/7 D/s relationship. I find it impossible anyway, but I don’t want it. What I do want is to feel my submission on a daily basis.

When living with your Dominant, this is easier to accomplish. You get to see each other on a daily basis, so that underlying feeling of being dominated is always there. It’s in every casual touch and look into each others eyes.

What I don’t require, in order to feel my submission, is a Dominant that is always “on”. As I have said before, life gets in the way. Daily responsibilities need to be handled. Jobs need attention. So I don’t need a Dominant, whom after a long day of work and is feeling utterly exhausted, coming home with a well thought out plan and a mission to flog me for an hour. I do not require this on a daily basis. It should be noted however, that I would of course be happy to receive such treatment.

There are so many small gestures that will help me feel submissive even without my Dominant having to do very much. For instance, in the evenings, as we unwind, maybe watching tv or reading a book, if my Dominant sits on the couch, but then tells me to sit at his feet, that will have me in a happy submissive state of mind.

Like in love, it’s not the big, grand gestures that are required at all times, it’s all the little things that make the difference. I don’t need the full contact, powerful display of Dominance every single day, but what I do need are all the little reminders of who he is and who I am in each others lives. Whether it be asked to do a task, the look in his eyes, that special touch in just the right spot, the tone of his voice, or specific words, it truly doesn’t take a whole lot to make me a happy submissive.

But it does take a whole lot for the small gestures to mean so much.

© At Longings End

Erotica: Art

Some things can’t be turned off. My photographer’s eye is one of them. I watch how the diffuse light brushes across her neck. The skin drapes over the sinews beneath. The simple roll of valleys, an artifact of geology, are made into a hypnotic allure by the flow of blood through them. It’s a stupid thing, I suppose, to be with a woman, and get lost in the distant art of optics and sensors. 

A sigh erupts from from inside, her pyroclastic breath setting my nerves aflame as it rolls over my shoulder and down my back. My skin contracts into bunches, and temblors swarm through my own muscles in response. Her fingers play along my back, reaping the rewards of her act. Her lips close, leaving only a small fissure for a tendril of cool breath for her to lace over my ear. I almost spasm in response, my body alive with sensation. In spirit, I float above, apart from the physicality of the act. I picture the saffron glow of the streetlamp, washed through the gossamer curtains as the shadows strike across her lips. Another photograph in my mind.

Her body arches, skin flush and plump my eyes sink in the darkness between her legs. Her body writhes at first, but slowly settles in as my warm tongue and artist’s fingers cast their peculiar spell on her. Her ribs seem almost to rebel against the delicately wrap of soft skin that covers them, breaking the smooth contours into stripes of darkness. She is at her most animalistic here, stripped of society, conscious mind silenced, existing entirely in the noise and reverberations of my actions. As the movements of my wet tongue on her wrench moans from her as I screw her muscles into a tight helix, clutching at me as her body tries to collapse into this space under my lips. The vision of my imagination is alive on the exquisite posture of sweet torment she is in, arms flayed carelessly about, skin pulled tight over her bones, and legs lifting her hips up as an offering to something far less than a deity.

There’s a broken beauty in the act, the uncaptured art we make of each other. 

A Tale of Two Embassies

The following events take place in Bern, Switzerland. I have two tasks: get a business visa for China, and get a document notarized to use in the US.

August 8, 2011

Chinese Embassy, Kalcheggweg 10, 9:10 AM

After getting off the tram, I walk approximately two small blocks down to the door of the embassy, a small, unremarkable building. There’s a small shack to the side, on a special cutout of the security fence. It’s a small office with a middle-aged man in a members-only jacket. He studiously ignores me for ten minutes as he organizes a pile of passports and applications. He then makes a come-hither gesture. I slide my papers in. He asks for my invitation letter. I provide it. He scribbles out a pickup ticket for Friday and hands it to me. I am finished here, and it’s 9:35 AM.

US Embassy, Sulgeneckstrasse 19, 10:12 AM

A tram ride back to the main train station leaves me four large blocks from the US Embassy. This building is sizeable, and behind an iron security fence. I walk to the front door, where a Swiss security officer with a SIG assault rifle (with folding stock) directs me around to a small building a little further down the street. I walk around and there is a separate line for American citizens. Another Swiss security officer asks why I am there, and I reply I am there to see the notary. He tells me I cannot come in, because i have a backpack. I must return to the train station and get a locker for it. As I walk back I call the Zurich Consulate, and try to set up an appointment, since the Bern embassy is not taking calls until after noon. I get a recorded message telling me to call between 9:30 and 10:30. I look at my phone. It’s 10:18.

I give up and take the train back to work, figuring I have to come back on Friday, anyway. That afternoon I call the Bern embassy, and get through. I don’t need appointments for the notary. They mentioned that you have to email them, since they don’t usually answer the phone. I told them I tried months ago, and it bounced. We check the email address, and it turns out that recorded message gives the wrong address. No matter, I’ll handle it at the Bern embassy on Friday.

August 12, 2011

As I arrive at the Bern train station, I head to the rental lockers. For 6 CHF, I get the cheapest locker, and leave my backpack, bringing only a folder with the document.

Chinese Embassy, Kalcheggweg 10, 9:04 AM

I walk back to the same office. I hand in my pickup receipt. The woman fishes out my passport and scans the receipt. She points at the register, which shows a bill of 150 CHF. I slide the cash under the window, and she hands me my passport. I am in and out in two minutes, no words were exchanged.

US Embassy, Sulgeneckstrasse 19, 9:33 AM

I show up this time without a backpack. I walk into the American line. No one is there, except the people waiting in the immigrant visa line. After five minutes, the guard steps out. He asks why I am there. I need to see the notary. He says okay, then sees my phone on my hip and tells me no electronic devices are allowed, but to just turn my phone completely off. I am thankful not to be sent to the train station and deprived of another 6 CHF. He then hands me a box for the x-ray scan. I put everything in there. I step in to the building. After passing through the metal detector successfully, I am immediately wanded all over. The guard then hands me back my folder, belt, coins, and locker key. My car key, house key, and phone stay with him, and he hands me a tag. He then tells me not to put anything in my pockets, and directs out the back door. I head down the stairs to a small patio. Another security guard, this one American, and with a playful sense of humor, directs me through another metal detector, and a another full wanding. A brief, actual game of “Simon Says” where he directs me what to do, I am given a number – USA 5. I am the fifth US citizen of the day. I sit down and wait. Number 4 is called, then me. I explain what I need, the woman behind the counter infers a different story than the real one, but it’s close enough I just nod and agree. She tells me to sit down and wait.

I read a five-month old copy of The Economist. There’s an especially hilarious article about how expats who moved to Switzerland for tax reasons are miserable because of the punctilious police, lack of night life, and frosty neighbors. Hit a little close to home, that one. I also read the three-month old copy. A woman with three children is coming to declare the birth of her youngest. They are USA 6. The kids play with some provided blocks (good thing those were there – no way they would be allowed to bring any toys with them.) I watch CNN. I have no idea how long I’ve been there – there is no clock, and I use my phone to tell time. I start stealing pens out of spite. Finally I’m called, sign the document, and I’m on my way.

I check my phone.

10:34.

Well, that was fun.

wednesday night with MasterC

It’s different this time. Unlike the last three of his visits (wow it’s only been three!), this fourth one occurs in the evening. I have the place for myself and for one night, I have him all to myself. Gone are the stresses of the work day for him, but above that, gone are the schedules. Time appears to be on our side this time.

It starts like most visits. I had an idea for an elaborate plan on how to greet him when he comes through my door, which would involve me not actually at the door, but all plans get thrown out the window. It’s been too long since the last visit. The second he walks through the door, my heart bursts and I need to be in Master’s arms.

It always begins with an embrace. We hold it each other tight. Our breathing grows heavy as we take each other in. We get lost in the moment, feeling our bodies pressed together, taking in the scent of one another, enjoying the taste of each others lips. We break away long enough to look into each others eyes and observe the smiles on our faces. When I finally see Master, it’s like a dream come true. Even though he is with me and I can see, touch, taste, hear, and feel him, it still feels like a dream. I can’t believe he is with me, finally with me, and it takes awhile for this unbelievable reality to sink in.

We break apart, and Master’s hands are on my body. He explores me first, over my clothes, before letting his hands sink underneath the fabric. Immediately, his hands grasp my breasts hard, squeezing them within his grip. His fingers pinch my nipples, lifting me onto my toes.

He turns me around, his hand slides up my skirt and he is surprised, even after four visits now, to find I am not wearing any panties. He squeezes my ass and his fingers slide to his cunt, already greeted by wetness. Master slides his fingers inside his cunt and begins molesting me. He alternates between finger fucking me and pressing hard into my g spot. When he’s not pounding his fingers inside me, he is stimulating my clit to the point of near over stimulation. My legs tremble as he touches me.

Master turns me around. He grabs my arms and has me cross them behind my back, holding onto my own forearms. He slips his arms underneath them, wrapping around to the front of my body, as his hands grab my breasts. He lifts me up from behind and carries me into the living room, where our sadistic night begins.

Fingertips

Master removes my clothes slowly and turns me so I face a certain direction. His hands gently run along my body. His eyes are on my body as his hands glide over every curve. He turns me again, a new angle for him to explore. His hands run up and down, his eyes following, taking in every inch of me. Again, he turns me slightly, a new area to explore, until finally I am once again face to face with him.

“I’d like to be inside your head, just to hear your thoughts as you do this.” I tell him.

“They are in my fingertips. Simply exploring you. Getting familiar with the touch of you once more. Getting familiar with every aspect of your body.”

Master moves behind me, his hands gliding down and over my breasts. He focuses all his attention on my breasts and nipples. I find that I close my eyes a lot, to take in the feel of everything that is happening. I often forget that the sight of things is often even more arousing. I open my eyes and watch his hands slide down my chest and over my breasts. I watch as it is Master’s hands sliding down, covering my soft breasts. Over and over he does this and the sight of it begins to arouse me immensely. He takes my nipples between his fingers and gently pinches them. I moan and my back arches, naturally pressing my ass into his crotch. I turn my head to press my nose against the flesh of his neck and breathe him in as his hands continually caress my breasts. I let my lips find his flesh and kiss him over and over as his hands glide over me. I abandon myself and allow my hands to grasp his head and neck and I pull him into me and we get lost in each other once more.

Warm up

I stand, bent over at the waist, pressing my ass out for Master, as my hands hold steady on the arm of the couch. I feel his hands run along my ass, before they slowly start slapping my flesh. It is soft at first, the tap tap tapping of his hand. It quickly picks up momentum and power. It doesn’t take long before I feel the heat emanating from my ass. I run my hands along the heat. I love feeling the redness from a fresh spanking.

Master excuses himself for a brief moment and I can hear he is gathering the tools for the evening. He reappears but I do not turn around to see what he has. I can hear him behind me, working on something and I am not quite sure what is going on, until I hear that familiar unraveling thud onto the floor. Master has brought out his rope. Of course I am instantly excited. He fashions a collar around my neck, with the remainder of the rope acting as a long lead. He places the rope collar above my trachea and pulls upwards a bit asking me if anything hurts and making sure I am comfortable. I tell him everything feels great.

Addicted to the edge

Unlike the last time, I am standing as Master treats me to my new addiction of breath play. He stands behind me, holding me for support as he pulls upwards on the rope. I feel the gentle tightening of the fibers against my life force. The pulse in my neck grows strong until, Master releases me, only this time, his hands assault my breasts as the wave of dizziness hits my head. It’s an erotically charged feeling, of my head floating and his hands squeezing and caressing my breasts.

Master does this several times, but in one instance, he really takes me to the edge. He releases the pull on the rope and the rush of warmth hits my body. I feel this tingle right down to my toes and I smile as I melt into his arms and grow weak in the knees. Master has to hold me as I let the tingling feeling take over my body and I just enjoy my new drug. My new addiction.

My breasts and the nylon cane

Master has brought a new package with him. I do not know what’s inside. He tells me I have a choice. We can either open what’s in the package and use it right away, or use one of the implements we are already familiar with. Regardless, all will get used. I surprise him (I mean I truly shocked him. You should have seen his face) and say I’d like to start with what we are already familiar with.

Ah the nylon cane. Such a wicked implement, or “ouchie” as I like to call it. Master has a vision for his canvas. Tonight he wants to paint my breasts with delicate strokes of the cane. He uses one hand, slapping the cane against it, while the tip stings my breasts. At first, it’s quite bearable, until he really settles into the movement. Each strike stings my breast and I find myself turned into a little pony. As the strikes become harder and harder to take, my foot, generally the one associated on the same side of the body as my breast, begins stamping on the floor. Back and forth as he alternates between each breasts. I moan and growl and Master smiles, taunting me with words I cannot remember.

After Master's touch

“Fucker,” I call him.

The day after

“Oh?” he replies. “I’m a fucker now?”

He moves behind me, laying the cane against my ass. I suddenly regret calling him a Fucker. OK maybe not. He lays into me several times and I feel the lick of the cane against my backside. He moves back to my front side. His attentions once again on my breasts as he finishes his artwork.

Meeting the new ouchies

Before meeting the new toys, Master uses an old enemy on me. The dressage whip. I love to hate that thing. Standing at arms and whips length away, Master uses the dressage whip’s tip on my backside. This one really makes me say “owie”. It stings like a mother fucker. As if that isn’t enough, Master uses it as a vicious whip on me as well. I howl as he strikes me.

Now it’s time for a new toy. I do not know what it is as Master removes it from it’s packaging. I dare not look behind. The first few strikes leave me guessing and in honesty barely hurt at all. This changes soon after. Master picks up momentum and the new toy, which I would later discover is a bull whip, lashes at my body. He uses my own body as my own enemy. He gently flicks the leather at my side, allowing the natural momentum of the whip wrapping around my body to do all the work, until finally the tip lashes at my flesh on the other side. The whip will wrap on one side and sting on the other. Such a wicked mind fuck. Master has fun painting my back side with the bull whip. He exclaims the marks are just lovely.

After Master's touch

He takes a short break and I run my hands along the numerous welts forming. A few are thick

The day after

and pronounced as he guides my fingers over them. I am proud of my stripes. Master puts the whip down and presents a wooden dowel rod. I huff at it. Master moves besides me and tells me I am to take 5 hard hits and to count them. He begins by lightly tapping and then the first blow hits. ONE. Again back to a few hits that aren’t very hard then, TWO. Few more lighter hits, THREE. Hit, hit… FOUR. Back to several smaller hits and finally FIVE. He continues the “softer” hits and I am left to wonder, should he continue to hit me hard again,  do I need to count those as well? He stops before I need to answer my inner question.

To the bedroom

Master commands me on all fours and adjusts the rope collar so that it is in the right place. He places the wooden dowel rod on my back and tells me to heel at his side. I am also to balance the rod all the way down the hall and into the bedroom while on all fours. I have to keep up my pace as Master has a tight grip on the rope. The closer I get to the bedroom, the less air I am breathing. Such a wonderful feeling.

Once in the bedroom, Master commands me onto the bed and I kneel in front of him. He commands me to open my mouth as wide as I possibly can. He slaps me a few times before letting his fingers slide down into the back of my throat. I resist the urge to gag. He pulls out, slapping me a few more times and licking my open mouth with his his tongue. Master slides his finger back down my throat. This time however, I gag and cough. It is of no matter to Master as he tells me I am a good girl and that I can relax. I watch as Master begins to take his suit off, until he is fully nude and he joins me on the bed.

Becoming Master’s cock whore

It doesn’t take long before my mouth is on Master’s cock. I had been dreaming of this moment since the last time I made him orgasm into my mouth. I begin taking him into my mouth, deep, allowing the saliva to thicken and flow. I pull back on his foreskin, exposing the head of his cock and I circle my tongue around it. I suck on him gently and hear his moans. I run my hand up and down his shaft. He’s the perfect size for me. I can grip him tight and I love doing so, running my tongue up his outer shaft as my hand strokes along the inside, all the while looking Master in the eyes.

“I have an idea,” he says. “Let’s go into the bathroom. Get on all fours.”

Master leads me into the bathroom and we stop on the first bath mat. He stands, while I kneel before him.  I take his cock into my mouth, but this time, he holds my head in place as he begins fucking me. He makes me gag and cough and tears form in my eyes but I fucking love it. He gives me back control and I suck him eagerly, until he stops me again and tells me to get into the tub.

Immediately the excitement builds within me. We have discussed this unique fetish, each of us curious. We have even engaged in some texting fantasy play, but now, this may actually happen!

Golden

***warning the following section explores piss play. If you are not at all interested, skip this and go to the next section.***

Once in the tub, Master moves closer and his erection makes me lick him, until he moves his cock away from my face. I feel it on my shoulder first, the warm liquid that escapes his body. Upon the first stream I moan and so does Master. His urine begins to bathe me. All of me. It runs over my chest and down my breasts. As the stream hits the base of my neck, it spatters and hits my face. I do not care. I’ve wanted this experience. I allow the warmth to hit my lips and I even lick them to get a little taste. Master’s bladder is full and the golden shower continues on for what seems a very long time. All the while I moan with the excitement of a new fetish being explored. Master is moaning as well. I’m not sure how much of his moans are from his own pleasure, or more of the difficulty of pissing through a hard erection. His piss doesn’t smell strong at all and I even giggle a bit as I think it smells like popcorn.

It’s what I’ve always wanted really. A Master who so captures my heart, soul and mind that I’m pushed to the edge. A true mind fuck that leaves me desiring, of all things, to be bathed in his piss. Yes, I fucking loved it. Next time, I really need to look into his eyes and watch the piss come out of his cock. I got lost in the sensations and kept my eyes closed.

Back in bed

After having rinsed me clean and toweled me dry, Master and I move back into the bedroom, where I finish what I started. I suck Master’s cock and bring him to an amazing orgasm that makes me smile. It looks like an orgasm that I, myself, have. His body trembles beneath me and he continues to shudder for a long time after his release. It pleases me to bring him so much pleasure.

The mundane

What follows after for the next few hours is rather intimate for us. It’s something I wish to keep for myself. At least the details of it. This fourth visit proves to be a very special one for us as new grounds are broken and we get to know each other as people and not just Master and slave.

We pillow talk for quite sometime, until we get dressed and take my dog out for a walk together. I offer him something to eat when we return, it is late now and he says he is not at all hungry. I, on the other hand, need to put something in my stomach. So we chat, while standing in my kitchen, occasionally asking the dog to do one of her behaviors as I eat a very light snack.

We head back into the bedroom, I strip down naked immediately. I comment on how it is a shame he is clothed again. He teases me, asking me how I’ll ever convince him to remove his clothes. I tell him he can’t fuck me through his pants. He gets up, takes his suit off once more and he looks down at his erection. “I think I’m ready to fuck you now.” I laugh at the cuteness of his statement, but what follows after is no laughing matter. It’s one of the most intimate experiences I have ever encountered and it’s one I wish to keep to myself.

After the sex comes more pillow talk and the enjoyment of being with each other. I finally present him his birthday gift. It’s a painting I created for him. My very first attempt at painting ever. He loves it. I am happy. It is a gift that truly comes from my heart.

Times comes to an end. It’s one in the morning and he must make the drive back home. This is the hardest part of his visit. The time that he must go brings such sadness to my heart. He tells me something that I will try to hold onto to keep my spirits high until the next time we can see each other again….

“Our goodbyes are just the beginning for the next time we see each other.”

Naked Together pt 1

It’s our last morning together. Talking about breakfast has turned, unsurprisingly into my kissing her left nipple, the more sensitive of the two. Her body responds instantly, and I can see her back arching and arms reaching up toward the headboard, offering her body to me. My fingers slide down the soft skin of her belly, over her navel ring, and into the smooth, milky valley between her thighs. Her wetness is there to greet my fingers, which slip inside. I lift my lips to kiss hers, and her mouth falls open, her tongue plunging full into my mouth, telling me everything I want to know. I reach deep, knowing how much she loves to penetrated, and then curl inside searching…for…THAT. I feel her walls inside abruptly close on my fingers and squeeze. Her voice comes out ragged, “I want you to fuck me.” I curl my fingers again, and pretend to ignore her for a bit. She writhes on the bed as I continue kissing her, settling my weight on her, the feel of her skin on mine the most intoxicating tonic. But I relent, and rise to my knees as I bend over to grab a condom. She curls around, her mouth abruptly on me, and my body responding, growing to full hardness against the electric feel of her tongue on me. I shiver everywhere she touches me, but this touch has an especially profound effect today.

 

My hands are shaking as I struggle to tear the wrapper with slick fingers. I finally get it open, but her mouth is casting a spell on me below. She take a moment to breathe, and I unroll it, stretching it over the head and pulling it down. She lays back, licking her fingers and rubbing the wetness on herself. I lay on her, and she takes me in her hand and guides me inside. Entering her body is explosive, her defined muscles creating an eye-crossing whirl of sensation. I sink in, her legs folding up under me. I start to stroke, searching for that steady rhythm as her breath comes rushing out in loud gasps. Her skin is alive, flushing as her body pumps life furiously throughout. For a few minutes I continue, and I see her smile as I finally get my full length charging through her, and that sought-after experience is finally blossoming. I feel myself starting to rise, and I pull out, bidding her to roll over. She does, eagerly, and I take her hips in my hands and plunge back inside. It changes, I’m really fucking her now, thrusting hard and deep, pulling her hips back. She is moaning now, and I am enjoying the feel of her body squeezing me. I want to roll her over again, because I know she might come that way. Her hand goes back down, guiding me in again. I grinding away down, concentrating my hips on hers, making sure that I’m putting pressure in the all the right places as the union of our bodies continues to get wetter and wetter. I tell her to speak to me, but not in English. I love the sound her voice in her preferred tongue. I am watching her face as she focuses intensely on the feeling of me inside her. I can finally, finally bring her that orgasm I have been seeking the whole weekend. Then it happens.

 

Somewhere, my body explodes, every nerve afire. I’m screaming, the intensity overwhelming me. I try to get away from it, but there is no escaping it. My body is exploding inside her again. And again. I lay on her, heaving.

 

What did she do to me?

Complications

Sometimes, life doesn’t work out the way you plan. And, by sometimes, I mean every time. 

In addition to DomC, I have elsewhere met Dee. I like Dee. We’ve met in flesh, and it was an amazing weekend that involved a lot of time without clothes and the Reeperbahn. I’ve tried a few times to write about it, and somehow never quite hit the right note. So, for now: There is a woman named Dee, whom I like very much, is very sexy, and we are not sure if or when we will see each other again, as complications have ensued. The way our first meeting went, we left both of our significant others without contact for too long, and there are consequences to that. So, we stay in touch. We chat a lot, and for now, that has to do.

In Mina’s world, meeting DomC has been one of the best things ever. Of course, that also means the times she is not meeting him suffer in comparison. It’s been a while since they’ve been together, and the time is starting to wear on her. Our apartment is a quiet place lately, as we are both wrapped up in our minds. Truly, there are many moments when I want to roll over in bed and softly make love to her. But, that’s not where her head is at. Her reactions to my advances are almost as though I am reaching out in a foreign language, they seem to go uncomprehended. We are each in that difficult space where you need someone to pry you open, and make you spill. But that means we are both waiting for something…that isn’t happening.

Today, I want to meet someone new. Again. Just…to meet them. It’s a very strange thing to want nothing more than a chance to connect anew, and nothing more. But there it is. 

—-

In the world of my professional life, I have been dominated by the world rushing to the Swiss Franc as concerns about the dollar and the euro’s stability rock the financial markets. In short, the money my customers pay me with is rapidly becoming worthless. Also, I am going to China, but only for a week. I spent a week planning the trip, trying to get it done so I could get my passport submitted to the Chinese embassy for a visa. However, my boss dithered and delayed. I had put together a very simple, cheap plan that also gave me a chance to visit London and Hong Kong. After a week of effort, he decided to call his travel agent, who then nuked both the London and Hong Kong legs, while not saving any significant money. And, after a week’s delay, it means that I probably have to make my trip to Germany this coming week NOT by plane, since the Chinese will be holding my passport. 

In summary, the business is suffering and I have gotten jerked around a lot. It’s been frustrating, and without a real outlet. So, somewhere in my head I am building up the energy to start looking for someone to meet, again. Time for this cowboy to get back in the saddle.

hnt~ need

As the days keep ticking away, the hunger grows. My addiction intensifies and I need another hit. I need his hands right there. I need what only Master can give me …

© At Longings End