For you, I will.
I want my partner to lace their fingers in my hair just above the nape of my neck. I want them to kiss me keeping me from going to dep, keeping me from pulling away. I want them to bend over so that I’m forced down on my hands and knees. Our faces inevitably broken of physical contact, but not of visual contact. There’s a hint of a smile on the lips but some combination of distant and evil playing across the eyes.
“Lick them” The command is given. I’m not into feet, I’m not a shoe licker, but that’s what makes it hot. I don’t do this for myself, but to please them and so I do. I lick with the tips of my tongue, I lick with the full flat. I make contact long enough that the warmth of my tongue can be felt through the shoe. It tastes grose. It smells like shoe and leather. But when they pull my head back to look into my eyes, they are pleased. I obeyed and I did it with as much enthusiasm and grace as I could muster.
They pull me up and push my head towards their groin. I orally please them, sucking and licking on their delicate bits. I can tell when I find the right spots because there’s a soft noise that escapes their lips and their grip on my hair tightens until it hurts. I wince but I do not stop until they shove me away. “Trying to make me come already?”
They smack my face. There’s no reason for it. No hate, no punishment. It’s simply because they can. I fall back slightly because of the impact, but I right myself and look back into their eyes. “How may I please you next?” The words are not spoken but they are plain across my face.
“Up.” I stand up.
“Turn.” I turn away from my partner.
They grab my hips with their left hand, their right hand pushes my face down onto the surface infront of me. They bend over and whisper into the crook of my neck, “You’re going to take it all aren’t you?”. Fingers start entering me. one, two, three… There’s some movement and wiggling as my wetness is distributed then the onslaught continues, four fingers now, all of them sliding in and out of me easily. The thumbis tucked and there’s pushing. I arch my back trying to pull myself away from the invading hand, but an arm is rested across my back to push me back into place. The dreaded 5th knuckle forces itself past and there’s a hand inside of me. I’m barely given time to breath when it starts moving inside me. They try to withdraw their hand but my body will not give it up so easily. Their free hand slides back into my hair and grabs. They pull their hand free of my body. I sigh. They shove their hand back inside me. This time it’s not a slow build up. My defenses are down and they are fucking me with their hand. I’m moaning.
“Fuck my hand”
I start rocking my body forward and backwards sliding their hand in and out of myself. At first its tender, but as I comply I feel myself getting turned on. My body is lubricating itself for what is to come. I slide forwards off their hand and when I move backwards to re-impale myself, there’s no longer a thin hand there but a fist. I pause for a second.
“Do not stop.”
I push my body backwards on the fist. The gentle slope from fingertips to knuckles is gone and replaced with the blunt width of a full hand, as I force my body back onto it, accepting it inside of me, for them. After taking the fist inside of me a few times I can feel the repeated exposure to air is drying up my lubrication. No relief still..
“Do not fucking stop.”
I wince as my labia become dry and sore. I whimper “ow” as they fist fuck me. I return to being prone under their arm. I want them to hurt me so they can feel good.
Finally, as tears start leaking out of my eyes, they stop. They pull me up to face them. They wipe their hand off on my face, smearing my tears and wetness together, sticking my hair to my cheek.
“Can you take everything?”
They pull me close as if to embrace me. One arm wraps around my upper back. The other hand finds it’s way to my ass. Two non-lubricated fingers penetrate my rear and pull up getting me onto my tiptoes and forcing me to lean into my partner. They bite my breast, hard. I want them to.
“Put some clothes on, we’re going to dinner… and don’t wash your face.”
My first anal sex…
It was actually quite an unfortunate experience. You see at the time I was with my ex, the fuzzy russian, and he was actually not interested. I, being a kinky fucked up soul, was *really* turned on by the idea. So after trying and trying to talk him into it, he finally relented and said we would that night.
So I was excited and tried to prepare. I found a bottle that was used to squirt/apply hair color and I washed it out SUPER well. Then I filled it with warm water and gave myself an enema. I cleaned up as best as I could. I even slid a finger into my ass to check and make sure I couldn’t find anything. I was excited.
Later came and we were fooling around and fooling around and I asked him if he wanted to try and he said that he just wasn’t in the mood. So we didn’t do it. I was bummed (harr!) but we did have sex and then fell asleep.
The next morning involved morning sex and he told me that he was willing to try now. Not thinking too hard about it since I was SUPER excited, I hopped on. He laid on his back and I lowered myself down onto him because he was still somewhat sleepy-like and also because then I could control the speed/depth. After I got him into me and settled past the discomfort, I started to ride him a bit. It felt so good. Unfortunately, I had to adjust. My legs were getting tired and he said he was uncomfortable and he needed to sit up. So we went to change positions. As he slid out of me, on the underside of his cock, stuck to the condom was some poop. My first thought was a feeling of embarrassment. His first response was “AAAHHH GET IT OFF ME!” I pulled the condom off from the base making sure to not allow any of the fecal matter to come in contact with him. I tied the condom and threw it out. He kept freaking out about it. My emotions kept swinging wildly from feeling mortified about it, to being pissed off. He was acting so fucking childish about it. Also, if we had just done it the night before when I was prepared this wouldn’t have happened. Then back to mortified.
Needless to say we didn’t try again. I still feel kind of bitter about it. My mortification over that inciden has worn off, but because of that incident I now feel super nervous about anal sex, and if accidents happen, then instead of dealing with it like an adult, I instead feel ashamed beyond belief and become somewhat depressed.
Fuck that.
sailor’s delight.
There was an ocean cross breeze. When we started the light bounced around the room giving everything a fantastic white-cool glow. His skin was fresh from a shower. The thought was actually a nap, but for some reason conversation kept happening. As I touched him and as he touched me, we kept talking. He told me how he touches himself. He told me about his body and what he thinks about. I showed him how I touch myself. I felt embarrassed but seeing his reactions helped. I felt desirable.
As we sat facing each other he entered me and we kept talking. The clouds outside were dark but they broke right around where the sun was, by this point, setting. I leaned my hands back against the rim of the fold out bed and worked my hips back and forth. The angle was fantastic and hit things that felt amazing. The sun was a dark red splotch on the horizon, the clouds pushing the last of the day away.
He came while on top of me, my legs wrapped tightly around him, pulling him into me. When his body shudders I can’t help but feel something well up deep inside by my solar plexus. Some stupid glee or joy.
I gave him back to the functioning world after that. He has a purpose and I won’t steal him away from what he needs to do. That’s not saying I didn’t want to though.
good morning.
I’m always unsure of how others deal with mornings. When he started kissing me, I avoided opening my mouth because I wasn’t sure if he was sensitive about morning breath. When he started using tongue, I realized he didn’t mind. When I started kissing back and his hands pulled me close, I realized he truly did not care. I love that space where our foreheads touch, and our noses align next to each other and then our lips meet.
We started enjoying each others bodies, touching each other, enjoying the state of arousal. I again thought, “oh, well this is as far as it’s going to go”. Oh no! the clever one stashed some condoms on the window ledge next to his phone! I like that kind of forethought. It’s sexy, both in being prepared, and in perhaps planning this interaction. All remnants of nightclothes off, condom on, and he’s between my legs. Oh, does he feel good. He’s not gargantuan, and hell I’ve taken many a large fist in me so one might think I can’t appreciate a well formed cock, but yet it seems like he fits perfectly. Then comes the pain.
The previous night I had casually mentioned that if he felt sadistic desires when around me he was welcome to follow through. I wasn’t trying to push him to be sadistic, just saying that I was very open to it. I think he understood because he pushed on some pressure points as he grabbed my arm, and my thigh, then he bit me. oh man… I always considered biting to suck in a bad way. It was up there in pinching and pinching sucks, especially for people with lots of fat tissue.
So he bites me on my shoulder, and he bites me on my breast, and again, and again. Holy fuck does it hurt. Strangely though, with each bite there comes a point where I can’t tell if he’s still biting me. I feel pain, I hear myself whimpering in pain (which sounded extra pathetic thanks to being sick) but I can’t feel the pressure. I just feel myself getting more turned on. Apparently some people get turned on by saying dirty things, I get turned on by whimpering because of pain.
After he gets off, I can’t help but feel stupidly glowey and happy that I could do this for him. I feel pain, I feel peace, I feel blissful, and I feel beautiful.
The next morning it does not happen again. I’m somewhat saddened by this, but I am chalking it up to the fact that we woke up later then we probably should have. Bummer. Thankfully though, there should be a next time.
dirty talk tmi: bdsm dirty talk events getting off queer sex thinking
by ammre
leave a comment
fluffy little clouds
We were on a purple and white hippie blanket in the middle of a gently sloping lawn at summer camp. I was wearing my thigh high fishnets, my lace neck corset, and my ox blood red 14 hole doc martin boots. He had on jeans and boots. The sun was shining which offset the cool of the day. The blue sky was filled with lots of puffy clouds. I was filled with his hand. It was not a small hand either. It took some work and some patience to get it all inside of me but he did. After a while he managed to relax and turn me on enough that he was able to push his entire closed fist inside me and pull it out semi-easily. My legs were shaking, a wet spot had formed under me, my throat had gone dry from moaning and whimpering, and the clouds floated past in the deep blue sky.
When it was over we laid facing each other, his hand running up and down the netting on my thigh. We talked and laughed and it was lovely.
floaty
Before DO SummerCamp a date was set up which involved providing references, time blocks, hard limits, and a paragraph about why I’d be interested in playing with this particular person. It all seemed exhaustive and annoying considering I’m not the kind of person who schedules dates even with people I *really* want. My style is much more off the cuff. For some reason I went along with it and gave my information as best I could.
Oh wow am I thankful for that.
With exceedingly minimal conversation between me and my play date we met up friday night and talked briefly about limits and what kind of play might happen. I was given the option of being beaten or being tied up and beaten. I chose tied up and beaten as I rarely get much ropey time. I stripped down into my undies and they tied me up into a sideways suspension. My head was tied up and supported by a pair of nylon tights which also killed some of my vision. (Both good and bad, good because I could zone out, bad because I couldn’t see the face of my play partner) I was gently rotated and beaten all over. Punched, caned, grabbed, suffocated… Any part of me that was exposed was hit. It was wonderful. For some reason when I process pain, I laugh. So I was giggling hysterically, which I think threw my partner through a loop. At first they couldn’t tell if I was crying or laughing and they had to ask.
At some points they put their hand over my mouth and nose blocking my breathing. I think a bit of this was brought on by the fact that we had both been in an edge play class that did a lot of breath play. I’d try to calm myself as best as possible, but eventually you need to breathe. My body would take over and my diaphragm would convulse, and eventually I’d get desperate enough to squirm. No one has ever pushed my breathing that far. Most people let up way early. It was exciting. I also got pretty floaty. I’m not a sub-space person but I do get adrenaline and a long building up session of pain will give me a stable floaty feeling. I got to ride that out until after midnight snack when I crashed.
Coming down was an interesting pain. When the ropes went slack and my body picked up weight. It reminded me of coming down after a hook suspension. Oddly painful to come back to earth. I knew my play partner was not form a group that was big on aftercare, and I’m honestly not used to aftercare myself so that worked for me. I did offer assistance with anything and asked if they needed anything. They said they’d just like company as they cleaned up and I was happy to oblige. It was nice to have some conversation after.
I’ve got some fantastic bruises now and a pretty decent crush.
dirty talk tmi: bdsm dirty talk getting off photos queer sex upthebutt
by ammre
leave a comment
Oh what you’ll find in your camp at pennsic
I was wearing a linnen bogdress. All my undergarments were gone. It was essentially a sack of fabric draping across my skin. He was fully clothed. It was cold. We were kissing deeply and his hands had free reign under my dress. He was already warned, he was consenting, as was I. I bent over to move the dew wool from over my pallet and he pulled my dress up to my hips. He slid his hand up and down my cunt. Then one finger… two fingers… three fingers. I was moaning and wiggling at this point… 4 fingers. There was no lube. He just fucked me with his fingers until I was wet enough, and then he tucked his thump in and pushed. I moved forward, surprised. He grabbed my hair with his other hand and pulled me back onto his fist. It hurt. I whimpered. I bet it made him hard. That thought made me wet.
He got up a rhythm. (Un?)fortunately my wet was no match for the cold and I started to get dry. He just fucked me faster. He kept going until I was nearly in tears whimpering “ow”. I was squeezing my legs together as tight as possible. After he pulled his hand out of me, he laid back. My head was directed to his cock. My head was pushed all the way down his length and he just started to face fuck me. I had to pull away a few times as I felt the bile rise up in the back of my throat. That feeling like I was about to puke. After the first big wave, he looked concerned, like he was going to ask if I was ok. I sniffled back, wiped my face on my arms and swallowed his cock again. The next few times he just looked angry that I stopped.
After a bit of that he bent me over lifted my dress again. I thought he was going to fuck me, but he lined his hand up with my cunt and told me to push back on it until it was all the way inside. It hurt. It was puffy and mad and there was no lubrication. After struggling I finally got all the way down to his wrist. He then told me to fuck myself on his hand. So I started rocking myself forward and back, feeling my lips grabbing onto his hand. He then yanked his hand out of me and spit into it. He slid a finger down my back and found my ass. He wiped the spit on my asshole, lined his cock up with his finger, and pushed on in. He then fucked my ass until he came. His weight laid on top of me as his cock slowly melted inside of me.
We played the cleanup game. I didn’t want to wake up and step on a condom on my morning run to the port-o-castle. We kissed a few more times and I walked him out of camp so he wouldn’t trip and die on any guy lines.
That was easily the best “quicky” or one night stand ever.
thought process tmi: bdsm body image getting off petpeeves thinking
by ammre
3 comments
Body snarking on the internet doesn’t bother me.
I’m actually impressed that it doesn’t. It has taken me a LONGLONGLONGLONGLONG time to get to this point. I used to be terrorized for my body, but honestly, when people were mocking me all I could feel was pity for them. I wondered what hurt them or what were they hiding that made them ache to tear someone else down.
Occasionally I goof off on webcam because i like to be a little bit exhibitionist. Today I was playing on some that are associated with some chatrooms. So, I was in a chatroom just to mess with the camera. I wasn’t actually talking or paying attention to the chat. I could see how many people were viewing me, who was viewing me and I had a little instant messenger thing that would relay me private messages. So, I’m goofing off, I show some face, some tits and ass and when I’m no longer entertained or I get hot enough that I actually want to get off, I log off.
So I go to log off and I catch the chat and people talking about, “Oh I wouldn’t be showing my ass off on camera if it was all cottage cheesy and pimpled and bruised like that…” and someone else said, “i get that, but don’t make fun of a heart surgery scar”, “But her pussy and ass looked so loose” So I chime in, “Yep, it’s bruised, it’s large, it’s lumpy, it’s got some pimples. I’ve got scars. I’ve got a loose vagina and ass. I’m fat… big deal. The bruises were earned having fun, the scars were earned in other ways, the loose vagina and ass dosen’t matter because I have the necessary muscle control of them. I’m fine, thanks, but you don’t seem to be. Good luck getting over your insecurities. Night!”
Like for reals, I’m not posting here because they hurt my feelings, but rather becuase I’m astonished they didn’t. I got a message this week from a friend about this new toy they have and the fantasies they’ve had of fucking with me with it. I got some awesome play by another friend on sunday (the bruises). I have a card on my wall filled with names of people who love the crud outta me. Sometimes it’s really AWESOME being me.
My body isn’t up to my standard of beautiful, but it’s my standard of functional. As long as it’s functioning I’m going to have fun with it. THAT is an important lesson I’ve learned.
dirty talk thought process tmi: bdsm dirty talk rope suspension
by ammre
1 comment
tesfest
Quick rundown of the awesome…
Friday- Got to watch the beginnings of a REALLY FUCKING HOT scene in which Jim polished ClaireAdams’s boots, while next to them her partner DamienPierce tied up and beat on MissCalico. om nom nom. Something about those 4 together was scintillating.
Then I went over and tried to put my hand in the lovely Becci, which dind’t happen, but the attempt was fun. I gave her lots of orgasms. Then Aiden stuck his hand in me and gave me warm tinglies when he commented that he liked the whimpers I made and the flush i got.Then I got to beat up and flog Becci’s bum for a bit. That was fun. She’s cute when she runs away.
Saturday- Had a scene with Parker that involved a rope partial, an ass hook, the slight realization I could be into leather as I ran my hand down the back of his leather vest, some kissing and some punching. Then the winch set free and while it was momentarily exciting trying to land and maintain balance, it was a bummer that it ended the scene so awkwardly. Afterward we parted ways really oddly and it made me sad.
Then out in the courtyard I helped rig up MsSamber for a suspension/fisting. It was weird because i was in a fucked up headspace which made me frustrated easily, but finally she was up in a position that was comfortable enough to support the rest of the activities that was intended. I probably shouldn’t have been playing with rope like that but i was only assisting, not taking charge. Between that and getting to beat the everliving pulp out of Tiff’s ass I got over my funk. Tiff has such a cute butt and apparently she appreciates that I have a heavy hand. I blame being a hand drummer; I’m used to slapping metal, plastic, and skin.
Sunday- While in the dynamic suspension class with Cherries Jubalie and Monekyfetish as the demo-dom. Someone asked about doing a dynamic suspension with someone who isn’t quite as in shape as Cherries, and so I managed to get myself volunteered. A gunslinger, and some ankle points later, I’m up playing around in a suspension. It was so much fun. I haven’t been suspended since before my injury. It was fantastic even if it was just a show and tell class kind of thing.
Then that evening I worked my volunteer hours at Cloud 9. I felt surprisingly comfortable giving massages. It fits well into my desire to please and bring pleasure to others. Just laying my hands on their skin and feeling them and feeling what could make them release and relax… I wish I could figure out minds as well as I can figure out bodies. I think I want to learn more about giving good massages.
hung out near the wrestling mats for just a second too long after cloud 9 and I managed to take a wildly swinging heel to the shin, which turned into a GIANT painful welt in minutes. It SUCKED. I do not like unsexy-bruises. After that I met up with Doug and we played a bit in the cloud 9 room. It was mostly just sensation. A knife, his hands, a flogger and a Hitachi. The Hitachi never made it to my genitals. It did make it to my jaw, my temple, my sternum, and pressed against a hand that had a finger up my nose. I have to say it was easily one of the strangest scenes ever but it felt really comfortable. He also cut my shirt off. NOM.
Later on that night, at about 4 in the morning, I wound up lamenting my lack of sexy bruises a little too close to the hearing of a sadist. So I was whipped a little then punched and taken down. It was excelent. The grass was fucking itchy though. He managed not to leave and visible bruises aside form the marks where he wrapped the whip around my throat, which I thought was hot, but makes it tough to be around my mom. Turtlenecks are not an option in 100 degree weather. The rest of my body felt bruised as shit but there wasn’t any discoloration form his punches. While I like bruises it definitely made going home easier.
Yanno, I thought I didn’t do much at TESFest but after typing this and thinking of whether or not to add all the little things I did as well, I realized, Holy fuck, i did a lot. It dind’t feel like it because there was empty spots and dirty longings, but in the end I got to touch a LOT of people. Yay!