Tag Archives: Mister

Between the Kink

You probably are aware of this person I refer to as ‘Mister’. You know, that guy who I sleep with regularly and have cuddles and bondage sessions with. I have a secret to reveal about him.

He can be a jammy bastard at times.

A wind-up merchant.

A tease of the highest and most sadistic echelon.

When I am out of action for approximately a week every month he steps things up a gear. After the first day of muscular discomfort is over and I feel vaguely human again, I begin to notice that my sex drive increases. Absence makes the cunt grow hornier, as it were. But I’m not the kind of person who finds sex during this time appealing. I have a terribly traumatic experience of coming on during sex with Mister a few years ago - I’ll spare the details, but suffice to say Mister’s panicked reaction has stuck with me.

It didn’t help that this month involved a stay over at Mother’s during the Easter festivities.

The copious amounts of chocolate did help, however.

Sitting at other ends of the sofa together yesterday evening, with my feet in his lap, after Mother had gone to bed Mister decides to dial up the Tease Offensive.

You realise that I’ve had to bite my tongue several times this evening to stop me speaking profanities to you in front of your Mother.

My eyes flit away from the television and I raise a half-smile; I exhale swiftly anticipating where he’s going with this.

I did spot that you seemed to blow a kiss at me randomly earlier – not your usual restrained self in this house.

A few moments of loaded silence pass.

So…uhh…what were these…um… ‘profanities’ you had at the tip of your tongue?

I’d taken the bait. Fallen straight into his trap. Or so he thought. He begins to speak those honeyed words of his, strung together into sentences of promise, of threat, of intention. I find myself thirsty, my throat dry. I can no longer sit still, no longer patient. My fingers itch to slip under his top, to smooth over his chest and snake their way below his belt.

But I remain where I am, the other end of the sofa, for I know if I start I cannot get my own satisfaction. Yes, at times I can be a selfish lover. I admit it. Before any guilt sets in I recall that earlier in the week before we had left our own home that I had indulged in something we both love. I had handled him, stroked his cock through his trousers after he had tried the same tantalising tactics of teasing me to distraction. Pressed my palm firmly along his erection and unbuckled his belt to touch his velvety skin. He has a fondness for the chill of my hands from this relentless winter and the coolness of my fingers aroused him further as I continued on my way.

This night, a different house, a different day, this night had seen too many hours of teasing for my liking and now I wasn’t wanting to be his willing victim quite so easily and so I stayed where I was. Except my toes that remained on his lap began to wiggle ever so slightly. I traced along the top of his thighs with my big toe and gave him a little nudge. Not a kick, but enough of a sign to let him know he had hit the mark with all his winding-up of his poor, frustrated Lady.

You’re not playing fair, Mister.

Oh, but it’s so fun to see you get so worked up.

You’re going to pay, you realise, don’t you? As soon as I’m back in action and we’re back in our own home, your arse is mine. You’ve earned some time with the Minx.

Whilst his expression is suitably muted at my words of chastisement, I have a feeling that this is what he was angling for all along.

The Deal Is Struck

Games are fun to play, aren’t they? For me they are. Especially if they involve anything sexual with Mister.

We spent today lounging around, my friend who had stayed overnight had left us and so it was just the two of us once more. He had recently showered and that always will perk me right up into the naughtier side of things. That fresh smell of washed Man, the wet hair he will possess, coupled with the clean clothes – I don’t know, it just catches me unawares sometimes and I find myself wrapped around him somehow. Hands running all over his body. Treating him like a piece of meat ready to be devoured by the Minx. Can’t help it. He’s irresistible.

Alone again, I drew him to me, kissed his neck and ran my fingers through his damp hair. He told me I was a naughty LadyP to which I promptly asked him what it was, exactly, that made my actions ‘naughty’. I was only loving him, after all. Seems to me to be the most innocent, natural thing for me to do. I pulled him into me as we lay on the bed and touched his chest, bracing my palm against him. Nothing wrong with this at all in my view.

It felt as though it was going to be a long day for me to try and resist him long enough to get anything done without jumping on him.

We went out. Looked around an old castle (very riveting, I hadn’t been since I was a little girl with my older sister and I love old buildings, the architecture and the history). That seemed to occupy my mind for a couple of hours.

We then returned home, watched the last half hour of an old film that was playing on Film4 (The Riddle of the Sands, if curious) before I noticed Mister was looking slightly sleepy. We had had a busy weekend partying (brilliant fun catching up with old friends) and a late, fitful night in which he had woken up far too early for one who was not working the following morning. With complete honesty I told him ‘You need a nap’. Taking both his hands in mine, I gestured for him to follow me to the bedroom. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, to which I simply repeated my last statement. He didn’t need much persuading. He did look tired.

Once there, I cuddled into him as is my custom when wanting to sleep. I noticed he didn’t move much. Almost as if he was thinking intently. Turned out he was.

You want to have sex with me.

What?!

You brought me to bed so that you could have sex with me, didn’t you? It felt like an accusation. Like he had caught me out or something.

No, I honestly think you need a nap, and as I am sleepy too, it’s an excuse to cuddle up to you. I meant it.

You could, you know.

What?

Have sex with me.

I don’t want to. Not now that you will think that I have been plotting to get you into bed.

Silence.

I wouldn’t even want to give you a lazy handjob as you might accuse me of it.

More silence.

You could give me a blowjob?

What? He knows that to order me to do so can sometimes put me right off it. I don’t quite know why.

I wouldn’t want to give you a blowjob for exactly the same reason as the handjob. I could tell that all this talk of sex and getting Mister off was having an effect. The duvet was slightly raised.

What about you give me a blowjob…and tonight I’ll do something extra special for you?

Silence once more.

Like I tie you up. On the bed. Or tie you to the door. He was thinking on his feet.

My breathing noticeably altered at this proposition. It heightened, became shallow in thought and titillation. He did notice.

Like bribery? You would blackmail me into giving you a blowjob? The incredulity was evident in my tone.

Yes.

That is not what giving you a blowjob is about. I protested. It should be about me wanting to give you one, not because you think I was bribed into it. I was getting a little torn at this point. I have been craving him shackle me up lately, but at the cost of letting him think it was as an obligation to him? I was undecided.

You know I would take great pleasure in getting you turned on. I may think about letting you wear your new suspenders. I might even spank you.

Thinking time.

How? I wanted to lead him on a little now, to see what he would give. Just out of curiosity.

With my hand. He noticed the silence. Or maybe something else. The whip if I can find it.

I knew exactly where it was in the cupboard.

You know I would get you so very wet.

He was completely, utterly, hopelessly correct.

I looked up at him from where my head had been resting on him shoulder throughout this whole exchange. I kissed him, saw into his eyes and recognised that look of eagerness. I knew he would stay true to his word. He was desperate for me to go down on him now, his eyes were wanting. That look of tenderness, tinged slightly with the look of the Rogue I love.

That kiss might just as well have been a handshake, for now I sit here, desperate myself for the evening to come so that he, too, will uphold his end of the deal, as I have upheld mine. Valiantly, and with flair, might I add.

Ticking Over Nicely

I am aware that I still have a blog. Honest. I know I may not have updated for over two weeks, but things are going well.

I have eased up a little with work and have more free time. Quite a bit at the moment, in fact you could even call it a holiday.

It’s that time of year again where sales of Agent Provocateur have been luring me to depart from my hard earned pennies, but luckily not too many pennies. So I bought a new suspender belt and some ribbon-tie knickers. I used to love these when we were first going out, the thrill as he quickly unlaced and tore them away from me, but I wore them so much, the ribbons broke. Even after sewing them back on, they broke again. They were inexpensive, after all. So now I have some gorgeous fancy pants with stronger ribbons and an even prettier suspender belt. I do lust after material things once in a while and not simply the physical (often in the form of DVDs and books most of the time).

In other news, we’ve had a bit of a lull in the kink department lately, focusing our play on not using any toys, kinky aids and the like. It’s been refreshing just to have each other to rely on, our own tools we are equipped with – namely hands, tongues and nails. Mister’s very fond of using his fingers to drive me to the edge of what pleasure I can take under his hand often to the point that he transforms me into a quivering, almost hyperventilating ragdoll. Which is damn fine.

But it has come to the moment when I start to crave something a little more darker, I want the toys to return. I want to play.

I want him to shackle me up against the door once more. I want to feel soft cuffs restricting me harshly, hands above my head, vulnerable. I want him to saunter up to me, stop centimetres away from my face, place a hand either side of my head on the door and stare deeply into my eyes. I want him to kiss me hard and slowly, to have his teeth take warning nips at my lips, one hand moving behind my head to hold a chunk of hair, grip tightly and pull. I want him to move his other hand down across my cheek, neck, trailing a solitary finger downwards, between my breasts, tracing underneath each one, that tender spot beneath. I want him to make me catch my breath.

I need him to blindfold me so that I can have my senses heightened. I need to hear his every move, the sound of his own breath becoming harder as he concentrates on his actions. I need to feel the lightest of touches he places on my skin, tingling from that central point of contact throughout my body. I need him to feel, too, how excited all this makes me, how my own breath changes, temperature rises. I need him to place his hands between my legs and have his fingers coated in my wetness. I need him to want me so badly that his handling of me becomes rough and impulsive.

I will crave for him to swivel me around without warning, my cheek pressed against the cool wood of the door. I will crave his nails raking down my back, starting lightly at the top before gather speed and force on their way down. I will crave for his hand to spank me, beginning with a surprisingly swift, unwarned and jolting thwack on my ass. I will crave for him to call me the names, his lips close to my ear so he traces the words against my skin, in a low voice and almost-growl. I will crave the tasselled whip. Crave its sharp pain it delivers on my behind, on my shoulders and the backs of my thighs, making me gasp each and every time. I may even crave that I hear the sound of his belt loosening from his waist, crave the sound of hearing it being tested against his palm, crave that threat of whether he will use it or not. Most of all, I will crave him.

I will beg for him. Beg for more, more spankings, harder welts with the whip. Beg him to touch me on my pussy when he teases with light, fleeting strokes. I will beg him for less when he drives me too far. Beg him to stop and allow me to catch my breath. I will beg for his cock, tell him I want him so badly, right now. Beg him to hoist my legs around his waist, both of us using the door as leverage and for support, I holding onto the restraints. I will beg him to fuck me.

Above all, I know that he will. I know that he will do all these things to me, that he will want to do these things, he too will crave. I know that he will because he loves it, and he loves me.

And I know that is the greatest turn on of all for me.

Wander I Go

I had a whole afternoon to myself. No one around to interrupt me. I can’t remember the last time that happened and I was in the mood for some personal playtime. And so I wanted to make the utmost of the situation.

Another week and another three days I had spent gallivanting away from my lovely man. Darned work taking me away from Mister.

It was a tiring, exhausting first half of the week in which I didn’t get much sleep on Tuesday night. Not for the right reasons either. Grr. (Ah..vague references to my super secret work identity). But return I did on Wednesday afternoon back to Mister’s loving arms. He carried the heavy heavy bag in those loving arms. Unfortunately I was unable to jump him as I had been dying to do right there and then as he had to depart for Band Practice in the next city. So I had to compensate. I showered and promptly took myself to bed to catch up on sleep.

Only despite my fraught and tired state, I was ultimately and undeniably very aroused. Sleep was not on the cards at that moment. More pressing matters needed to be addressed. We had not had sex for over a week and a half – when you are there living with your partner and you know you have regular access to sex, when you don’t have it, you miss it as much as when you live apart. Believe me. It had been the Monthly Visit and prior to that we went through a few days without and so I had spent most of the previous, sleepless night thinking about what I would do to Mister upon my return. What he would do to me. What we would do together. I keep in my mind’s eye a montage of images that keep me warm on cold nights. Usually saved for when we are apart, or if I have that private, alone time to myself. These began to stream through my head now. More a series of close-ups and long shots, really. It seems porn has affected my style of fantasising.

It usually begins with the two of us in the bedroom, or even when I give myself more time to construct a narrative, us meeting somewhere. We’ve been apart and this is the moment of our reunion. We catch eachother’s glance from across the room. Immediately, that fire rekindles and blazes anew. The butterflies float a little higher.

If the montage begins in the bedroom, it is me who takes the lead. He is already on the bed, waiting for me as I enter to look down at him – the visual dynamic already suggests that I will be calling the shots. But if we meet anywhere else, somewhere public, it is he who take the initiative, he walks over to me, pulls me into him making me elicit a slight gasp. If there is a wall, no doubt I imagine he pushes me back against it and stares deeply into my eyes with those penetrating blue eyes he possesses. The element of exhibitionism, the lack of care of who sees us, thrills me, excites me. In reality, he is generally restrained in public, but if we are at a location where we know there is no-one around we recognise, surrounded by strangers, then his dominant side will shine through.

These images, these stirrings of feeling, sensation, the thrills bubbles up inside me as I delve into my sensual thoughts. I never fantasise about anyone else but him and me (and the occasional faceless lady if that’s the fantasy I’m after). He is what gets me off, no-one else specifically really. What we do together and the possibilities of what we could do together in the future, the next time we fuck, gets me off. That ghosting memory of the first thrust he presses into me. The gasp it makes me emit every time. Not to bookend sex, but the first thrust and the final climax are two highpoints for me of equal merit.

I lost myself that afternoon this week. I had my toys, the favourite buzzing bullet that never leaves my bedside table as well as a few extras and the anal toy. I am still trying to push myself in that particular area and by God I came hard using that along with the bullet. I always smile to myself when I end up moaning and writhing and swearing under my own hand.

Mister came home a few hours later and found me curled up in the linen, hair fuzzed around my head slightly. He was mildly surprised to find me naked under the covers and soon joined me. I was still wet from my own excursions and gladly welcomed his hands to seek out that fact. After nearly two weeks without him inside me, I don’t think wild horses would have prevented me from screwing that man.

As we lay together after some tension-relieving, homecoming-reunion sex, holding me to him, he told me he had missed me.

No words needed to be said after that. Not for a long time. So we just lay there, drifting.

I’ll Tell You No Lies – VII

Those three little words. You know the ones. That sentence that will make your heart lurch up into your throat, give you butterflies, scare you to death – or all three of those options at once.

I find that from watching a lot of American TV (mainly the Friends episode wherein there’s the turkey on Monica’s head with the fez and the comedy giant glasses; Chandler professes his love, almost by accident, the phrase slipping out casually) that admitting one’s love for another can be a major Big Deal. Which it should, of course, as it is your heart being laid out in front of you. But it always seems too much of a big deal in those kind of programmes.

In view of this, I have one of my burning questions for you – I do hope you’ll oblige and answer and please please feel free to ask one of your own questions to me! I like the banter garnered from the comments box.

How soon have you professed love to a partner and how often do you say ‘I love you’ to your loved one?

This question I hope will be applicable to a few people. It is two-fold. How do you *know* that you’re in love and when do you communicate this verbally to your partner and after doing that, how frequently do you say it to one another?

I have spoken previously somewhere in the archives about when I first said ‘I love you’ to Mister – similar to Chandler (yes, can relate to a fictional character, ok?) it slipped out. It was early on in our relationship, during that blissful summer where I discovered what it was to tingle from the butterflies. He was dropping me home one afternoon and as I left the car I said it – ‘Love you lots, bye!’ Casual, cheerfully and completely unconsciously. As soon as I had spoken I realised what I had actually said, took stock of things and admitted to myself, that yes, I think I have actually fallen in love with this man without knowing it. I can’t be completely sure, as my memory hazes at times, but I think it happened after I had slept with him, but in the immediate few weeks following it.

Now, we say it all the time. We went through a phase of saying it probably about ten times a day. A knee-jerk reassurance perhaps, or merely the emotion wanting to be aired in the open again. Lately, we don’t say it as often as that anymore, but everyday, at least once, and always, always before we go to sleep, and after we have sex.

It it this need for emotional reassurance? I don’t like to think so. I say it and I mean it every time. Every Time. He is my world, emotionally. I not only love him, I lust for him, I need him, I want him, I worry about him, I care so much about him. Just those three words and all that is conveyed to him.

And when he says it to me – well. It floors me.

Every Time.

Ice Queen

I sacrificed watching Flight of the Conchords to tie up, take advantage of and use Mister. I think it was a better choice of events the other evening. Definitely worth it. Yes. I’d been meaning to get to grips with him lately – he has been missing out on being on the receiving end of some kinky goings on.

Some days present themselves to me and I wander along in a slight daze. Not due to tiredness or anything, but because my head is filled with him in my mind. Things we had done the night before, a few days ago, or ghosting memories that linger, distracting me from what I should be focusing on. And when I return – I return to see those thoughts made flesh and blood and bone in his beautiful form before me. So I can’t keep my hands off him. If he picks me up from work, I will brush my fingers against the underside of his palm as it rests on the gearstick whilst we wait at the traffic lights. I will run a finger along his thigh, making him jump a little; making me smile more.

I passed a day like this on Tuesday (seems to be a running weekly event – kinky fun on Tuesdays – see previous post if bothered) and once home my hands continued to wander. One of my favourite things to do as we eat dinner is to casually stroke along his hip-line, along the hem of his jeans as he sits next to me. His skin feels so soft, inviting, smooth and lightly cool from exposure as his shirt lifts up. Small things like this mean the world to me.

In the kitchen, too, I find him irresistable. Walking up behind him as he washes the crockery, I wrap my arms around him and hold him as best my small frame can manage. Tactile is my nature. I want to touch him always.

And so my thoughts ran to when the moment would come when I could grab him and have him. I had even laid hints, but he doesn’t always pick up on them. Time to initiate, I thought. Almost mechanical – that thought?

I drew him to the bedroom, leading him by the hand. At once an image of innocence and debauchery. I like ambiguity. I was still in my work clothes and my skirt began to ride up as I pinned him to the bed and staddled him. I hitched up the material further so I could move more freely. I think it was at this point I told him to take off his shirt. I adore that look of a topless man. My own personal weakness. I will often lose myself in staring at his creamy skin, poring over his chest and back. When he walks in from a shower, he will dress himself in his jeans before strolling back to the bedroom to find a new shirt and that just-washed-man look with the wet hair and the odd stray drip of water down his neck will cause me to place a great deal of self-restrain on myself. Especially if I’m still in bed. Wanting to dirty him up some once more.

Back to this evening, though, and it was my turn to become a little more déshabillé, shall we say? I was wearing my skirt with a black sash ribbon around the waist – and a spark ignited. I want to tie you up tonight. His eyes at the same time sparkled and faltered at those words. I had started the light clawing already, and I wished to make things more clearer in the fact I wanted to play with him tonight. I don’t think I have bound him as quick as that before. The bow behind me was loosened and removed from the loops at rapid pace. A simple hook around the metal bedhead left the two ends free for me to bind his wrists at either side of his head. I grinned. Then removed his trousers. Things were looking up – for me and for him, it seemed…

Coming back to sit over him, I took off my top and eased off my skirt completely now to remain only in my underwear. There was a strange glint in his eye and I bent forward to rest my chin on his chest, looking up into his eyes playfully.

He looked at me oddly as I stared at him. What are you thinking? I asked. He refused to answer. I asked him again, punctuating slowly with a tone of light threat. Again, he didn’t respond. Well. That’s not playing the game.  So I stormed off and fetched the ice.

He heard me clatter furiously in the kitchen as I got the cubes. Returning with the bowl of freezing ice, I asked him again, What are you thinking? Nothing was said back. He just continued to look up at me, silently challenging me.

Now the game began once more. Level Two.

I took up one of the cubes and placed it between my fingers. I let the ice melt as I hovered my hand over his beautiful and hard cock. Still no response on his thoughts. The first few drops didn’t seem to phase him, but as he saw I wasn’t going to relent and the drips came in rapid succession, I saw him wince and wriggle. His expression changed - still the challenge, but now with more uncertainty creeping in.

Remnants of the cube now in my mouth, I trailed chilled kisses over his chest up to his jaw. Kissing him with chilled lips and a cool tongue; light, small and wet kisses from the ice water, he was tender and deliciously meek in his own lips’ movements. I shot him a direct look into his eyes this time, unblinking and millimetres away from his face. Voice low and quiet, alomst a growl. What are you thinking? 

That you’re bad.

But you like me like this…

Dangers of the Catwalk

For the burlesque I went shopping for a 40s-style dress and ended up buying two. I have a weakness for pretty dresses, it seems.

So does Mister. In seeing me in them. Seeing me half out of them also.

As a girl is wont to do, I will try on my purchases when I arrive home. This results in parading of said purchases in front of Mister to see what he thinks (whilst also surreptitiously removing evidence of the price). With the dresses, I wanted to see which was the more suitable for the ‘Dress to Impress’ prerequisite on the flyer (or is it flier? hmm). I twirled for him. My moment of girliness. Showing off and prancing. I should have known I was asking for trouble. Perhaps the flash of my seams was what did it. Whatever it was, I had a Mister swiftly following me into the bedroom.

He came up behind me and ran his hands up my legs and under the hem of the dress. It left no question to what he was after. He was insistent. He was direct. He was determined even after my protests. I didn’t want to dirty my pretty new dress this soon. Unfortunately I didn’t have a say in this.

You’re being very mischievous, I told him. His hands crept up to cup my buttocks and the cleft inbetween.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, he said, pulling me backwards to be closer to his body. I could sense the smile in his voice as he spoke.

I think you know very well, Mister. When I call him that I have mischief in my mind also. He picked up on my tone.

The next thing I knew he had tugged down my hosiery and bent me forward. My hands went out instinctively to steady myself on the bed in front of me. I made some surprised noises of shock, excitement and indignance mixed all together. How dare he take me like this!? I thought to myself. Yet these were conflicted with my body’s complete submission and arousal. The very idea of being taken like this, by mild force half against my will made my core sizzle and my pussy come alive. This was getting me off greatly.

One hand was placed on my back, ensuring I didn’t struggle. His other had raised my dress over my ass. In that position, semi-undressed with my underwear around my knees, I had an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. I felt myself getting hotter. The fire was still in my eyes from the indignancy and as I looked back behind me to stare him in the face, he had the devil about him.

Hot, quick, undignified sex. Neither of us were fully naked. He had undone his trousers and had placed a condom on his cock in no time at all. He repositioned me facing forward. My head impusively was lowered, hands splayed out in front of me. I prostrated myself in front of him, but in reverse.

We enjoy our quickies. They are always delicious and have that dirty sense of lust being fulfilled in that short, immediate experience. His thrusts were hard, fast and meaningful. He knew what was playing in my head, this fantasy of mine.

He left me in a crumpled disarray, breathing heavily face down on the bed. It was heavenly. The smile on my face put paid to the worry I had about dirtying my new dress. I didn’t care any more.

If only the credit crunch allowed me to go shopping more often.

Forced

A lot of the time we have sex in the bedroom. Whilst it’s always very, very good, I do wish we played more outside of it. I guess because it’s warm and we can slink right into bed that factors largely among the reasons why and also because most of our sex happens before we go to bed.

But it is good to get out once in a while.

Like the other night in the bath. Not all the way, but nicely toying with each other. Feet slipping up against skin. Hands moving up thighs.

I have a couple of memorable times within our flat that were outside of the bedroom. One was a delicious and much-needed interruption. The second, which I will tell you of, undesired-of at first, forced upon me against my better judgement, but still I needed it.

A weeknight.

Tired from work and simply wanting to do nothing on the sofa. That was me.

He had other ideas.

I had been feeling that we were in a slight rut with the kink.

He didn’t see the problem.

I was in no mood for anything remotely sexual, but he had tunnel-vision. He wanted me. And He Would Have Me.

He pawed. He stroked. He pandered.

I twisted. I complained. I escaped.

Clearly, realising he’d have to work harder if he wanted to get his way with me, he switched tactics. Moving, adjusting, he entwined my legs around him and shifted my work skirt a little higher. Continuing his strokes, he changed his attention from my arms to my thighs.

I pulled the hem of my skirt back down. I frowned at him.

He stared right back with a determined look.

He shifted again. I wriggled against him, trying once more to escape.

No. That seemed only to make his access to me easier. Try again. Still, somehow my usual trick of wriggling away wasn’t working. I blamed the tiredness.

Things stepped up. He got up, crouched before me and pinned my legs apart in some manner with his legs and arms. Dragging me to the edge of the sofa, the angle I was now in, reclining, I found it difficult to move in any direction but towards him.

I got mad.

if thy mistress some rich anger shows,  
  Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,  
    And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

I raved. I squirmed. This time from his hand right up on my pussy this time. Showing no mercy. And he was staring right back into my furious eyes. My hand was gripping his wrist to drag it away, but his obvious strength was always going to win out. His determination fuelled him further. He moved toward me. He straddled me.

He unbuttoned his jeans.

I was in no position to argue at that point, really. He’d won. I was lost.

I licked his shaft and the around tip of his head with a mixture of petulance and desire for this man who was forcing me to suck him off. This aggressive streak I don’t usually find in him. I felt him pushing in to me, but it was still careful, still gentle, despite all the brutality behind its origins. I drew him into my mouth and looked up, the fire burning still from my anger. The flame a different shade, though. Not as white hot. More crimson. Scarlet.

A hand was in my hair. Clasping and tangled. The other was steadying his frame by being placed on the back of the sofa. His knuckles were whitening. My eyes, they smiled for a glimmering second before remembering how this came to pass.

***

Isn’t it nice when you enact mini-fantasies without ever uttering a word to your partner about them…

Coffee Table Kink II: Deluxe Door Jam Cuffs – Vibrator.com

A few days ago I gave you a little snippet of my experience with some marvellous new arrivals to my Kink Collection. Here’s more on that.

The lovely people at Vibrator.com package their products and sex toys carefully and discretely, for any of those who are worried about their postman getting strange ideas about how you run things on the other side of the letterbox. I, for one, was thankful for this as I had to collect my parcel from the post office and walk through town after somehow not hearing the delivery man bring it to our place the other day. On top of this, the parcel arrived with two sachets of Astroglide lube and some lovely pink stickers which Mister is tempted to attach to his guitar as a humorous gimmick, so all fab there!

Deluxe Door Jam Cuffs

The cuffs themselves are of good quality. I have the Deluxe Door Jam Cuffs which accommodate both wrists and ankles, and whilst the image on the cover (above) isn’t that appealing – noticeably, the model’s shoes don’t appear to fit her too well ;) – it’s what is inside that really matters. Made from beautifully soft black material, the cuffs don’t leave much of a mark if any at all on your skin. Adjustable to suit most heights, the straps can be altered with between a whole foot in leeway length. They attach to wrists or ankles using velcro. I was a little dubious as to how well they would hold, but I needn’t have worried. They are secure against very strong tugs and even held the majority of my weight as I hoisted myself up to meet Mister’s thrusts. Safety-wise, you can unattach them yourself quickly and easily so they are not as hardcore bondage as, say, lockable handcuffs or tightly bound ropes/scarves. Ideal if you are perhaps quite dirty-minded but are worried about losing keys/not being able to escape from your bonds in an emergency.

Easy to attach, just hook over and close the door!

Easy to attach, just hook over and close the door!

The Door Jam parts are made from sturdy plastic with door-friendly rubberised ends. These are very easy set up and to store, folding away to an inconspicuous size – quite the travel handy piece of kit, I would imagine…

If you are a regular reader of my witterings here, you may be aware that I have just the *slightest* propensity towards bondage, both of myself and of Mister. I dig it big time. There was a decided spring in my step walking back through town with the box tucked under my arm. I couldn’t wait to get it home to try things out.

So, where was I? Ah, yes – Being warmed up with a massage and a flogging facing the door.
He turned me back around to face him, clutching a handful of hair to pull my gaze up to meet his own. My own hands were clutching at the restraints above my wrists, just in an attempt to retain a shred of focus. It’s amazing how quickly I can feel myself falling under and over to his sway.
 
Clutching

Releasing my hair, I was able to see him move downward towards my breasts and proceed to take one nipple inbetween his fingers and the other between his lips. Mister is definitely a breasts-man. And I love the attention he pays to them. Licking, sucking, nibbling and, today, biting as well as a few twists to settle me right into this delicious discomfort. Each caress he delivered made me moan deeper and lower, my breathing laboured. He then continued to make the most of my incapability to escape. He moved his focus to my pussy. Already so wet and aroused from everything that had been before, Mister set to driving me to distraction with his oral techniques. I writhed. I strained against the tethers. All to no avail, of course, so all I had left was my voice. He pushed me to the point where my breathing was all shattered and inconsistent, a kind of shiver I like to think it as. He was working hard, to the point that the next morning he showed me a pair of red carpet burns on his knees.

All this time, his fingers were not idle. The were busy either reaching up to my breasts, moving along the side of my body, delving inside me so blissfully at my g-spot or delivering those short, sharp thwacks to my flanks, again making me jolt all the more. After a little while of this complete spoiling of me, he returned to another of those powerful kisses. It amused me to see a little smudge of moisture at the side of his lips, which I dutifully kissed clean. His eyes said it all – all to see there was pure lust and carnality before me.

The restraints then came into their own for another purpose – as a leverage device. We’ve often tried having sex standing up against a wall or in the shower, but with our height differences, he being a little too tall for me, I being a little to short for him, it has always been uncomfortable and awkward. Fun all the same, but awkward. Tonight we found our way. After we had made some fantastically erotic shadows on the wall as he thrust into me from behind for an episode, he flipped me round once more, spreading my legs with his foot (such a hot, aggressive move – not one he’s done before!) I found that, by heaving myself up a little to allow him to move me over his cock and then using one leg to hook around his waist and the other with just the toes touching the floor for balance, the cuffs worked brilliantly in this manner. Supporting my weight and adding a little extra to the proceedings. We writhed together well that night and it was some of the most satisfying bondage sessions I have ever had with him.

I really can’t find any fault in these restraints. Vibrator.com have a great selection of bondage gear, as well as door jam cuffs just for the wrists. If bondage is your thing, seriously – check out this section of the well-stocked and varied site!

Here’s a belated Easter present for you all.

One for the Readers!

Oh, hell, have another one on me! Might as well make the most out my exhibitionist streak.

Exhibitionist LadyP

 
Check out my first review on The Pandora vibrator here.