In The Hood

Fun times as a faceless fucktoy
Black & white photo of me kneeling wearing the hood. Sir’s hand is cupping the side of my face

I’ve only ever tried on a hood during kink workshops before, but ever since then I’ve been gagging to experience being hooded during play. From the outside, a BDSM hood can look intimidating in the way it erases facial features and of course, there are all those (inaccurate, bigoted) mainstream vanilla tropes about gimps and NC violence. Even when you know how wrong those depictions are, a hood can still carry scary associations. I don’t get excited by the sight of a hood, it’s the accompanying sensations that do it for me.

Once I got inside one, I forgot all about aesthetics because hoo boy, being sense-deprived is HOT AS FUCK. As soon as I tried one on at Kinkfest 2019, I knew I needed this in my life.

Fast-forward three years, and still no hood action, boo! But that was all about to change, thanks to a long-time friend who also happens to be a generously-equipped fellow kinkster who’d invited me to his hotel room for a play date during a London visit. The original plan was for me to play beta-sub again* to him and his delectable playmate Missy, but circumstances conspired to keep her at home with some brand-new four-legged additions to her family, so it was just me and he for an evening of debauchery and deviance (next time, Missy! 🤞🏽🤞🏽)

So yeah, about that hood….

My instructions are to arrive at the hotel room before him so that I can prepare myself to await his coming. Said preparations include the wearing of something shiny (my red rubber mini-dress got its first outing!), cuffs on wrists and ankles and The Hood. So-adorned, I wait, kneeling by the bed, for his entrance.

It’s a lightweight black lycra piece, not the heavy leather shut-out-the-whole-world of my previous experience, but that’s just fine, I can see just a little through the fabric, and can breathe easily through my nose, which is probably wisest for a hood-novice like myself.

I wait in silence, breathing deeply and slowly, titillating myself by recalling the smokin’ hot messages we’d exchanged earlier and wondering whether I look as sexy as I feel.

When he opens the door, my pulse races with a sudden, electric thrill. Game on! “Good girl” he murmurs from the doorway, and as always; those words make me melt. “Very good girl” he growls, moving towards me: a little hoarser, a little deeper; running light fingertips over my Lycra-encased head and across my exposed, expectantly-parted lips. His fingers delve into my mouth, like a good little fucktoy, I lick and suck at them, enjoying the way his breath catches at the sensation.

He double-checks our safewords, making sure our signals are clearly understood. It’s a strange thing to feel wholly safe and cared-for while at the same time trembling slightly in anticipation of a brutal onslaught. It’s a good thing; I’m a lucky, lucky girl.

He bites my shoulder, my upper arm; sensually at first then harder, vicious, until I moan with needy, slut-slick greed.

“Are you going to do everything I tell you?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Are you going to take everything I’m going to do to you like a good girl?”

“Oh, yes Sir.” My voice is breathy, soft with desire.

He grabs my thigh, digs his fingers into yielding, tender flesh.

“Who does this belong to?”

“You, Sir”

I do everything I’m told to. I hold onto the flogger and pinwheel he places in my hands while he explores my exposed skin with fingers and teeth, clamps my nipples. I bow my head for the collar and chain, raise it again so he can fill my eager mouth with his thick, heavy cock. I bend over a chair at the window so he can flog my already-bruised arse and pound at me with the Fuckstick until I squeak and gasp; buck against his strong hands when he covers my mouth to muffle my squeals.

I only slip up once, dangling from cuffs against the bathroom door, legs spread and shackled apart; when I open my mouth to gasp at the prickly shock of pinwheel, I let the flogger fall from between my teeth where it was placed for safekeeping. For that, I earn several hard thwacks of the flogger, landing right on my clit. Oops – sorrynotsorry, haha.

He climbs onto a chair and fucks my mouth as I hang there helpless; thrusting deep and hard, just the way I like it, with my collar-chain in one fist and his phone in the other, recording for posterity. It’s been too long since I had a hot, hard cock shoved into my throat; I’ve missed it so much, and I suck greedily, pushing my head forward for more, wriggling and writhing against the Doxy wand in its leather harness at my cunt.

Bent over the bed, Fuckstick pounding, Doxy rumbling, his hand around my neck, I ask permission to come: denied. I’m secretly pleased, although I whimper. A good fucktoy does not orgasm without permission; and how can I demonstrate what a good girl I can be if permission is given? Harder, faster, deeper; I’m nearing the edge again. I beg; “please, please, Sir, please can I come?” Again, denied. I’m pressing my face into the duvet to muffle my shrieks; the Fuckstick jabbing mercilessly, spluttering sounds from the wand as my cunt drenches it. There’s a hot glowing ball of electricity in my core, it’s an orgasm waiting to explode; again I plead to be allowed, again he says no and I scream with joy and frustration at this denial, agony and ecstasy and need. Eventually he relents, and I am almost torn apart by the explosion within me.

I get a few minutes’ respite to catch my breath, but he’s not done making me dance yet. His voice is thick with admiring lust when he exclaims at the flooded state of my cunt; when he forces another orgasm from me with Fuckstick and wand, he gathers me to him and holds me tight as I half-sob, half-shriek into the bedding; shuddering and bucking; overloaded and out of control in all the best ways.

When we’ve both caught up with our oxygen debt, he releases me from cuffs, clamps, collar and harness. Finally, the hood comes off and I emerge, blinking and squinting into the light; meeting his broad grin with a huge smile of my own. Unhooded, sated, thoroughly seen-to; I lie clasped in his arms and we share our recollections with affectionate chuckles; Sir and his toy diffusing, replaced by two friends who’ve just had a cracking time playing deliciously depraved games.

Thank you mate, thank you from the bottom of my heart (and parts south) for giving me my first magnificent hood experience, for making me scream and shiver, for beating me and fucking me and reducing me to a trembling puddle of subby joy!

Truly, I am living my best life.

*oh yeah, I never did publish that one, did I? I’ve just found it languishing in my Drafts folder. Watch this space!

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