I acquired quite a few gorgeous bruises last week at Kinkfest, but the most intriguing is this one. I don’t remember exactly how it occurred but it’s been there smiling at me whenever I’ve taken my clothes off in the intervening days so I’ve grown quite fond of it.
In extreme closeup, you can see patterns on my skin which are actually each tiny little stretch marks – my skin is very stretchy but doesn’t heal well. There’s a lot of contrasts here – damage resulting from my genetic condition vs damage I explicitly asked for and enjoyed receiving; pale threads of scarring vs the livid contusion; that it’s on my inner thigh but seen out of context, looks a bit like a nipple….I guess it’s a symbol of my sexuality as a person with a disability – although it imposes limitations on my energy and my physical capabilities, I’m still a kinky submissive painslut who absolutely loves a really hard fucking.
Submission is not masochism, although you know she becomes aroused by pain, you’ve seen and heard how she shudders and gasps at the sting of the paddle. You’ve twisted her nipples and felt her response in the flood of wetness from her cunt. You’ve held her throat while driving yourself hard and fast into her, watching her eyes glaze with pleasure, feeling her tighten and spasm around you. It’s pain as physical pleasure, sure – but it’s more than that. It’s tangible surrender, the marks you leave are badges of her trust in you, symbols of faith and belief. more “Your girlfriend is a submissive.”
The warm weather today got me thinking about how nice a cool shower would be….and then my mind turned to kinkier ideas….with the result that I spent quite a while imagining this scenario then decorating myself with pegs and clamps before giving myself an intense pain-enhanced orgasm.
Today was hot. After a day in London, you’re sticky and grimy; sweat was rolling down your back on the Victoria line and edging into the crack of your arse with a maddening tickling touch. Your hair is damp at the nape of your neck, your face is shiny with the effort of walking home from the bus stop. All you want is a cool shower and a long drink. Preferably something involving large amounts of gin.
Your phone vibrates. Instructions received.
For a moment, you feel rebellious – but the flare of resentment is pushed aside by the wakening thrill of anticipation. What will be this evening’s task?
Take off your clothes when you get in. Close your eyes and wait for me at the front door.
Inside the house, you cast aside your handbag and gratefully peel off your workwear. The house is cool and the sweat of exertion dries quickly, lowering your temperature and raising goosepimples with the contrast. You close your eyes, standing still and careful not to slouch. The posture training was arduous but effective. You can almost feel the bite of the cane across your buttocks and thighs every time you catch yourself slumping.
Footsteps. Breathing. A hand strokes your hair, follows the line of your jaw and your throat.
“Hello, my little slut”
The hand brushes your breast until His fingers find your nipple. Pinches, hard enough to make you gasp.
You can’t see Him, but you know He’ll be smiling.
“Tell me who you are”.
You respond as He trained you, eager and adoring. “I’m your slut, Sir”
“Good girl. Now come with me, and don’t say a word.”
He takes your wrists, ties them together and uses the rope to lead you slowly up the stairs and into the bathroom. Once inside, He pushes you to your knees and ties the end of the rope to the towel rail so that your arms are raised over your head.
Your stomach is fluttering, halfway between fear and desire. You know He’s going to hurt you. You want Him to hurt you. You want it so much, your cunt is already slick and your cheeks flushed.
“No peeking now” He chuckles as he slips a satin mask over your eyes.
The deep, dull pinch of the first clothes peg on the sensitive skin of your breast makes you bite your lip. He adds more, one by one, until they bristle from both your breasts. You’ve lost count, is it twelve? fourteen? With each pinch, you’re calculating how much more it will hurt coming off again. A lot.
“Just one more” He reassures you.
Then attaches it to your lower lip. Steps back to admire his handiwork. “Very nice. Good girl. Oh wait – I almost forgot…..” He spreads your thighs wide and reaches between them to stroke your swollen clit before sliding the clip into place. “Perfect. What a beautiful little slut you are”
You hear the click of His camera phone. Suddenly your arms are free and the blood rushes back into them. You know better than to rub them or move without permission. He grabs a handful of your hair.
Still holding you by the hair, He pushes you into the shower and turns the water on. Cold water. You can’t help it, you scream and struggle. With His other hand, He smacks your buttocks hard – five, six times until you get yourself under control and stand still, gritting your teeth against the cold and the hundreds of tiny droplet impacts on the pegs. He shoves you forward and places your hands against the wall beneath the shower head.
He spreads your buttocks and plunges His sturdy cock into your wet, willing cunt. As you gasp and splutter under the deluge of cold water, He fucks you without mercy; slamming into you so hard the pegs on your breasts shake and rattle. Head held back by the hair as He uses you, hands against the wall, cold water raining down on you, tapping your clamped clit, the pain is so achingly fucking sweet, so gorgeously kinky, so deliciously overpowering.
His breathing changes – faster and shallower; you know He’s approaching His orgasm. You know what He’s going to do and your cunt clenches in anticipation. As He tips over the edge, He sinks His teeth into your shoulder and reaches around to sweep the pegs from your breasts, your lip, and the clamp from your clit. The pain is breathtaking; fire and scorpion venom flooding your nerves and searing your brain. Pegs clatter to the floor as you scream and buck hard against His spasming cock. You can’t breathe through the cascading water, you can’t move from His tightly-pinioning arms, you can’t see or think or speak; you’re riding the endorphin high deep into subspace.
He turns off the water, pulls off the mask and wraps you gently in a big fluffly towel. Pats you dry and holds you close until you start to drift downwards back to Him. He kisses you lovingly.
“Well done” He whispers. “Good girl”. All the words you want and need to hear from Him. You can’t feel the pain any more, only warmth and love and pride. You are His.