Bugging Out

So I’ve been a bit quiet recently because life has just been throwing all kind of sex blocking stuff at me. Between exams, family crises, new jobs, old jobs that get busier, travel and deadlines, kink and fucking have had to step back slightly.

But nothing has fucked up my fucking habits quite like getting bed bugs. I defy even the horniest person on earth to feel frisky when you’ve got unwanted bedfellows. It is not the kind of action I want on my mattress trust me.

Poor Princess got bitten badly and put me on notice til I could get it sorted. We managed to fuck a few times on the sofa but even that wasn’t ideal. I might have a big sofa but it’s definitely a struggle to fit three people on it and move around too much.

People often talk about fucking in bed as if it’s boring and vanilla and interesting people fuck all over the land in increasingly wild and crazy places instead. Now we all know I like a changing room or two and there’s definitely fun in the exhibitionism and secrecy of an illicit fuck in a strange place on the odd occasion.

But having had a mis-spent and slutty youth, I mainly associate sex in strange places with bad sex. Being young and horny like many teenagers I had nowhere comfortable to fuck most of the time. The only beds I encountered were in student houses often bedrooms barely conducive to spending time in and heaped with coats with parties dodging getting caught by people looking for the lighter they’d mislaid.

And that was if you weren’t fucking in even stranger and more awkward places than that. Desperation and lack of opportunity drove me to have sex in more alleyways than I’d care to admit. There’s not much room for finesse when you are banging beside a wheelie bin. Nor do toilet cubicles lend atmosphere to the proceedings.

I’ve also fucked in the grounds of a church (in fact I think I’ve been non sectarian and managed to orgasm in the grounds of both a Protestant church and a Catholic chapel.) Being non religious the trappings of that never bothered me much. I just thought of them as fairly secluded places you didn’t always have to have sex standing up.

I felt more guilty about the time I fucked a guy in the grounds of an old folks home in case I accidentally gave someone’s granny the fright of her life. Keeping an eye on lights going on and genuinely getting splinters in my arse off the pine tree I was leaning against made that moment memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Teenage fumblings are fine when you’re drunk and horny but once you switch to have time and space for sex it’s revolutionary. Even a one night stand is improved by skin on skin contact rather than only being able to expose the bare minimum of flesh needed. Only being able to fuck standing up or bent over from behind gets restricting and often awkward if like me you are considerably shorter than most men.

Being able to sprawl out on a bed gives so many more opportunities and angles it becomes easy to take that for granted and think it’s being boring. But there’s such a joy in being able to fuck at a different pace each time and use your space to stretch out and get to know your partner’s body to give them the most pleasure possible and receive as much pleasure back as possible. It’s extremely tricky to lick cunt any other way.

Plus a bed you use frequently gives you scope for the use of toys. We have duplicates of our favourite sex toys at both our flats. But you can’t really carry a dildo in your clutch bag and get someone to use it on you when you climb over the fence into a park late at night. The same goes for lube which is of course essentially for things like anal or even giving a decent hand job.

You learn so much more about sex from spending time in bed and you also get to spend that post sex time too. I think you learn as much after fucking as during fucking. You can debrief, decide what to do next or not and simply get to know each other better so that there’s more understanding sexually or emotionally. Pulling your skirt down and your knickers up while looking for a bin for the used condom doesn’t have quite the same bonding experience.

So having my bed off limits and being terrified to infest my Master and Princess’s bed either really did a number on my libido. I found it hard to get quite as horny knowing the sofa wasn’t a fun choice but a necessity. Plus having bed bugs definitely made me feel more dirty than any STI I’ve ever had which crimps your style somewhat.

It was with utter joy this week that I handed over an eye popping amount of money to get my house professionally treated and get my sex life back. Because the best treatment for bed bugs is extreme heat I had to remove anything that might melt from my bedroom. The man on the phone instructing me specified candles and anything ‘hand held or battery operated’ in fact.

In between the sheer bizarreness of spending a good hour taking all my dildos and sex toys out of their box and wrapping them up in plastic bags to hide outside in my garden, my interest was piqued to revisit these old friends. I buffed my latex catsuit and stockings before hiding them too and then pictured wearing them again soon.

Putting the toys back in place, I found myself lining them up in size order and then switching them round to order of favourites before back to size order so I could ask Sir if I could start my stretching training again. It’s never a bad idea to keep your hand in. Especially when that means Sir can get his hand in again soon.

I’m delighted to have my bedroom back with nothing else in there except who I invite. Although funnily enough in all that time off I still didn’t christen my new carpet. Looks like my Master and Princess and I will just have to reacquaint ourselves with every room going…

Bugging Out

YES!

As I write something incredible and life changing has happened: Ireland has repealed the 8th Amendment to their constitution which considered the life of an unborn foetus equivalent to the person carrying it. This effectively prohibited abortion even in the most exceptional and life threatening circumstances within Ireland.

To access abortion Irish women had to travel outside the country, mainly to Great Britain but sometimes to Holland and pay the full costs of the travel, time off work and the procedure itself. This put abortion outside the reach of most people. The younger you were, the poorer you were, if you already had children and needed childcare, if you were disabled or had immigration issues, abortion was priced out of your reach. Even budget airlines cost too much on social security.

And you couldn’t just ask people for help. The shame and stigma of abortion in a country that for years had mother and baby homes and Magdalene Laundries that literally locked women up for being pregnant and took the babies they were forced to birth away was immense. In places like Tuam, those babies ended up in a mass grave. Elsewhere they were sold to couples wanting to adopt. The last mother and baby home in Ireland closed in 1996. That’s the year I turned 18.

The culture was cloaked in wanting to protect the unborn but really it was about shaming sexually active women and denying their rights and bodily autonomy. The case that triggered yesterday’s referendum was that of Savita Halappanavar, an Indian dentist who came to work in Galway. When her wanted pregnancy turned to miscarriage and infection set in, she requested an abortion to save her life. But because the foetus still had a heartbeat as it miscarried the 8th Amendment prevented doctors from acting as to hasten the end of the miscarriage was illegal.

Savita took took seven days to die from sepsis in a Western country with less access to maternal rights and healthcare than her native India. The case was pivotal for Ireland and set the path for the referendum (Ireland must hold national referenda to change any aspect of its written constitution. It has previously held them on divorce and same sex marriage as well as the 8th itself in 1983 when it was still illegal to buy condoms without a prescription.)

The only countries with more oppressive abortion laws in Europe than Ireland are Northern Ireland, Malta and the Isle of Man (although there is campaigning under way there to change the laws.) Northern Ireland has the unique quirk where its citizens can hold equal Irish and British citizenship but access the full rights of neither country. The UK government exempted Northern Ireland from the 1967 Abortion Act meaning that abortion is still illegal there. It will not become legal or easier to access because of Ireland’s referendum.

Northern Ireland remains the only part of the UK that still prohibits same sex marriage and in many ways the mindset of the politicians who govern it is back in the 1950s (at best.) Amnesty International has polled Northern Irish people who back similar on demand abortion up to 12 weeks as Ireland voted on and the same roughly 69% of people back it north of the border.

Yet there have been prosecutions and convictions in Northern Ireland in 2016 and 2017 of women who bought abortion pills over the internet because they could not afford to travel to access abortion. Many Irish women, north and south, had those pills seized and in both countries buying them can incur a life sentence in prison. Abortion law in Northern Ireland is from 1861 and a law created before the invention of the lightbulb is not fit for the online era.

Until recently Northern Irish women, despite being considered part of the United Kingdom were unable to access abortions on the NHS if they travelled to Great Britain. Again they had to pay privately for everything forcing many women to choose if they could afford the fee for the anaesthetic and the cost that would incur of staying in a hotel to recover from it rather than travel back the same day. When you reduce medical care to your financial ability you automatically create inequality in your system.

I have never been pregnant. I have never had to access an abortion. But I grew up in Northern Ireland and the lack of abortion rights across the island of Ireland haunted every woman. Something as enjoyable and affectionate and life enhancing as sex felt like Russian roulette.

A country that denies its women the right to choose denies them all reproductive choice. Contraception is treated like a shame on society too. When I was a teenager it was incredibly difficult to access the Pill and condoms were prohibitively expensive. We’d go to the Brook Clinic in the centre of Belfast in our school uniforms and run the gauntlet of people screaming ‘slut’ and ‘murderer’ at us, clearly unaware of how Durex work. Even now my Northern Irish peers are given less access to long acting contraceptives and had to endure protests by anti choice activists like Bernie Smyth to get it.

We had no sex education either and it was pre internet. We learned about genitals from a diagram in a biology book on a frog. Periods were often called ‘the curse’. There was nowhere to go to ask for help or advice. With this repressive background and an ongoing civil conflict meant we didn’t even need the legality of Section 28 to prevent LGBTQ issues and rights being mentioned at all. We simply had the bigotry of the Save Ulster From Sodomy campaign instead. And of course this archaic attitude did little to stop us having sex.

Everyone I knew was fucking rings round themselves. Not only did all that repression make sex forbidden fruit that we thought would taste all the sweeter, but in the middle of an armed conflict your leisure opportunities were fairly restricted and all there was to do in a country that still chained the swings in the park up on the Lord’s Day was have sex.

But the irony was that sex was all about the risk and not the fun. Every time you fucked you were running the consequences of having to ‘take the ferry’ through your head rather than the pleasure you should be experiencing. There was this collective fear and shame about sex. We discussed our escape plan for an unintended pregnancy more than our sexual desires or our bodies (and yet I was still 17 and had been sexually active for 2 years before I first heard of the morning after pill.)

The act of sex for pleasure was shrouded in deep deep shame because that was to admit you were one of those women who put your own selfishness before the unborn child’s rights even if you never had an abortion. You were a slut and a disgrace simply by association. We never discussed masturbation. We never discussed queerness. We never asked if this was normal or acceptable because we’d internalised the idea that any sex made us abnormal and wrong. We went in for self loathing rather than Cosmo quizzes.

Being able to access abortion due to my health (and the sheer fact I’ve never wanted kids) was a huge reason I moved to England. But in order to access the right to choose I had to leave everyone I knew and everything I grew up with and I left with a sense that my country was ashamed of me and I was unwelcome there. Many of my friends didn’t even have that choice or were unwilling to trade family and connections for hypothetical situations and so stayed.

But there was consequences. A girl at school concealed her pregnancy for eight months until she went into premature labour at home with a stillborn baby. She blamed herself for the death and killed herself a decade on after years of mental health issues. 80% of the girls I went to school with had children by 21.

Even if their children were chosen, they suffered from post partum mental health conditions at a rate far higher than their GB peers because it’s hard to switch from the mindset of being told that having a baby ruins your life to loving one. I’ve lost count of the cases of postal natal depression, PTSD in childbirth and post partum psychosis my school friends have mentioned. Infant mortality in parts of Northern Ireland remains the highest in the whole of Europe. Reproductive choice in Northern Ireland is class based and compounded by post conflict sectarian divides.

I’ve received out of the blue Facebook messages from people I barely remember more than once which under the ‘oh I was just thinking about you’ jollity was the question ‘could I stay with you in London for a night?’ It was always an interview or some cover story but I was just the only person they knew with a free place to stay or an address they could use. I asked no questions and played along.

I even let a friend of a friend use my English address her to have abortion pills delivered to knowing having them delivered directly would arouse suspicion and possible seizure in Belfast. I wrapped them up disguised as a birthday present for her and posted them on. They were for her 14 year old daughter who had been raped.

We both knew the risks but she did it for her child and I did it for all the people who that culture failed to prevent from abusive relationships. Again compared to my non Irish friends we, myself included, were so vulnerable to levels of abuse, coercion and sexual trauma it’s hard for people who grew up with legal abortion rights to comprehend.

Our lives and transition into adulthood was marked mainly by fear and shame. I haven’t lived in that atmosphere for nearly 20 years and it still impacts me now. It took a long time to shake off the fear of judgement and (self) blame around sex for me and to not feel profound shame for being sexually active but knowing I didn’t want children.

The things we are told as children and teenagers by our families, teachers, religious leaders and community linger in our minds for a long time and it breaks my heart that my friends’ children are hearing the same shame inducing ‘morality’ we heard from the same people. I wonder how it must feel to be a teenager in Northern Ireland today seeing the Yes vote next door and seeing that campaigning and solidarity can change things that we thought would never change.

If you are celebrating Yes today then please take a moment to sign Amnesty’s petition for Northern Irish abortion rights or support the work of the grassroots Alliance 4 Choice organisation or the fantastic Abortion Support Network who raise money to help women on both sides of the border travel for abortions. The need for their work will not be eradicated overnight.

And remember, you can be pro choice while not having an abortion yourself. No one is going to start forcing women and pregnant people to abort. But people who can get pregnant need the choice whether to continue that pregnancy or not. We don’t force people to give blood or donate organs and extending abortion rights will not detract from your right to refuse a termination.

But you can give Northern Irish women a choice not to grow up and live with the sense that pregnancy is a trauma in its own right. You can help make sure all children are wanted children. There is no sex positivity in a country that is negative on reproductive rights and I want rights for everyone I left behind.

YES!

How To Have Hot Wax Fun

Unsurprisingly for such a bunch of delightful perverts you all enjoyed the tales of wax play and several readers’ eyebrows raised in contemplation at the thought of trying it  for themselves. So I thought I’d give you my tips to get you started.

I’m by no means an expert having played with hot wax a grand total of twice but my greatest kink in life is actually details so you’ll probably find something useful here to get you going on some wax play.

I’ll assume you have consent for all this because Paddington Bear fucking stare if you even considered whipping out some surprise hot wax on anyone, so the most important thing here is the wax itself.

You can’t repurpose just any old candle you have lying round the house (and unlike my sex toys all my candles are actually battery operated). Scented candles are definitely not suitable for this because the fragrance makes them hotter and more likely to burn the skin so you can’t just decide to spice up that unwanted Yankee Candle you have sitting about. This guide on the different kinds of wax is quite helpful if mainly trying to sell kink friendly products at a mark up…

I enjoy bargains almost as much as I enjoy orgasms so I always go hunting for ways to be kinky on the cheap and this time Ebay came up trumps with a 1 kilo bag of soy wax flakes for £7.99 which can be heated easily in a slow cooker (who said they were all brown stew and batch cooking for the middle aged huh?)

You’ll also need a thermometer like this you can leave in the wax while playing and a lidded plastic pudding basin. Plug your slow cooker close to where you want to play making sure it can’t tip over and is easy to lift. Put the wax flakes into the pudding basin, snap the lid on tight so steam and water from the slow cooker can’t get into the wax and the set into the slow cooker crock.

Fill the crock about half way with boiling water and set the slow cooker on high for 2 hours. My wax had melted to a bubbling and slightly too hot 95 degrees centigrade by then. The ideal temperature for play is about 55C and the wax dropped about 5 degrees every 10 minutes the slow cooker was off and the lid was off the basin.

So heating the wax higher and hotter works if you want to set the scene up and have a little time before you get stuck in. If you enjoyed delayed gratification use the keep warm function on your slow cooker once you’ve taken your lids off. This should keep the wax liquid enough to spoon, drizzle, flick, paint or drip all night.

We played with the wax straight onto my carpet because my landlord is replacing my old one. And it seemed amusing to send it out in style so the carpet fitters get a little surprise when they come to lay the new one. As you probably don’t want to fuck your floor as much as you’re hoping to be from all this kink, the best idea is to buy a cheap fabric shower curtain you can throw away afterwards.

This also comes in handy when you stand up after the wax play and your artfully draped and dripped wax cracks and peels off. If you stand on the shower curtain while someone gives you a good grope or applies ice to your wax to help it off in as sexy a way as it went on, the shower curtain stops your aftercare involving the hoover.

You’ll find the wax also comes off more easily if you apply oil to your skin before you play. Avoid either baby oil or Bio Oil or anything else mineral oil based as this is petroleum based and not a good mix with heat of any kind from a safety point of view. I’d also avoid coconut oil or anything solid at room temperature as it can burn the skin if heated too high.

Something like sweet almond oil is perfect and inexpensive. If you have body hair oil is essential for wax removal. If you are clean shaven (or using waxing for hair removal) leave 24 hours between this and applying the wax so as not to irritate your skin. Don’t apply anything fragranced like body moisturiser that might react with your skin and the wax either and be cautious about using hot wax on open wounds or skin conditions.

You want to be able to focus fully on the wax so make sure you set up your scene well in advance. You should never leave your sub tied up and alone near a bowl of hot wax or some candles while you nip to get a sex toy you forgot. So channel your slutty Boy Scout and be prepared here. Lay out anything you might want to play with. I was quite keen to try beating the wax off with a crop or paddle and this was a chance to make my kitchen implements pervertable.

If you are using rope make sure it can’t knock anything over or catch fire and have some paramedic scissors to hand  to cut the ropes quickly if needs be. Wax play is intense and a sub might need to safeword out immediately not wait while you try to untie that knot you really did learn in the Scouts. Also on a practical level, when wax gets into the knots, they are a bugger to untie and since you won’t get the wax out of the rope to reuse it, take the short cut if needed.

Respect the fact you are playing with high temperatures here and have a first aid kit close to hand. I soaked three or four cotton tea towels in cold water and froze them in a ziploc bag  in case of burns leaving it close by in case of emergency. I also had a bucket of ice handy both for injuries and general kinkery with cold ice and hot wax on nipple piercings.

It’s also useful to have a large tea tray you can set the tools you play with on you onto so you can clear up easily and not get wax on the Billy bookcase or coffee table while you play. Have some towels and tissue handy too. You don’t want anyone distracted by basic housekeeping when they could be gently tormenting you with temperature play.

Expect to spend a while in the shower afterwards (and have an interesting time cleaning out the plug hole too) but you will have the softest smoothest skin possible when you do. Paraffin wax is often used as moisturising treatment for hands and feet in beauty salons and it turns out soy wax has similar properties.

I did have some challenges getting the wax off my barbell piercings. It’s not very sexy but it’s a good idea to check none of the wax has got into any piercings so if you can remove them afterwards to clean and put them back in.

I heard dire warnings beforehand about applying hot wax to genitals but my Master definitely ended up dripping it down my vulva and some got inside my labia and round my clit. I didn’t have any ill effects but I’d still advise against applying hot wax directly to your clit or it actually getting into your cunt itself.

I’m by no means masochistic and often find pain and kink a challenge but the soy wax was very much in the camp of enjoyable pain for me. Beeswax stung more in a jarring way and I wasn’t as keen on it. If you are more into the kink of actual pain, use suitable taper candles and play with the height you drop the wax from to get your fix or you might find wax play surprisingly tame on the pain scale.

Writing this piece reminded me of a long forgotten but apparently extremely formative teenage memory of sneaking a hidden copy of a VHS my brother had of Madonna’s 1993 film Body of Evidence and watching and repeatedly rewinding the scene where she pours hot wax on Willem Dafoe’s chest. My first brush with BDSM around the age of 14 was certainly memorable.

Hopefully this piece gives you the chance to unleash your inner wax slut sooner than that…

How To Have Hot Wax Fun

It Pains Me

I know it’s hard to believe that there were things I had never tried before I met my Master but it’s true. One of them was mixing pleasure and pain physically (although you could say I indulged my emotional masochism by dating an endless succession of fuckboys.)

I’d never really got the whole purpose or point of combining pain with sexual pleasure believing that it would spoil the mood and jolt me out of enjoyment like when pain in the rest of your life does. I also feared that sadists would enjoy hurting me in other ways outside the bedroom and that simply did not appeal (but was probably wise with the said fuckboys.)

I also steered away from deliberate pain as I suffer from chronic pain because of my health and frankly I’ve never found that experience erotic in anyway, mainly just irritating, unpleasant and in need of fixing with heat or painkillers.

But this article on why people enjoy masochism explains it so well I wish I’d known all these things years ago as I’ve been missing out something very fun, but it does confirm a lot of what I’ve learned over the last few years with my Master that sadism and masochism do go very well together and that sometimes a little pain adds an intensity to sex like salt adds seasoning to food.

Funnily enough despite my Master’s slightly sadistic streak, I first started to experience the joy of pain when I wasn’t even with him but following his orders as I began stretching. At first the plugs and toys he had me using were painful in that wincing, tensing, shut everything down way.

The more I opened up though, they started to have that pleasure pain enjoyment like when you stretch any other muscle and it feels like a challenge and a relief. I started to see how the two sensations went together to enhance my orgasms, especially when my Master was fisting me.

I also began to see that my Master’s sadism was confined to sex and didn’t spill out into other aspects of our relationship and that trust also enhanced the use of pain and punishment for me. Pain as intimacy rather than ostracisation is definitely much more erotic.

Quite quickly I went from ambivalent about pain to envious of when my Master punished Princess for being bratty to asking for deliberate use of pain revelling in the riding crop or a paddle he was all too happy to introduce into our scenes.

I’m still a beginner pain slut but I’m enjoying working out just how much pain and sensation my body can take and understanding that the concept of training applies to them as much as the stretching.

Being the type who often tries to run before she can walk especially if she thinks there’s an orgasm at the end, my Master has to rein me in or I’d be tied up with with the candle wax and the riding crop alternating on my ass and a massive plug in my pussy every night of the week.

Although when I put it like that, I can’t really see anything wrong with that scenario…

It Pains Me

Pushing Me Further

My Master promised me a punishment the next time he saw me after I misbehaved at Easter weekend. I was to buy some beeswax candles and have them laid out waiting for him. I would be in anticipation to see where and when he dripped hot wax on me.

Part of me couldn’t wait, almost tempted to misbehave further to make sure it happened and part of me was scared enough that when I thought about it, my breath would catch for a second.

Funnily enough hot wax was one of the first kinky things my Master and I discussed when our relationship began but it’s never come up since. I’d even forgotten I had a bag of soy wax waiting to be used for that very purpose.

But yesterday all I could think about was wax play. My Master didn’t give me much warning he was coming round so I didn’t have time to get nervous. I had to focus on what to wear that didn’t make wax impossible but didn’t tell my Master where to drip it.

I went for a harness bra and a latex skirt for maximum opportunity and then turned my attention to my order. I was to be on the living room floor at 12.50 precisely riding the Belladonna Bitch Fist toy blindfolded and waiting for my Master on his way back from a run.

My breath caught again when he opened the front door because I hadn’t managed to take the fist for him before he arrived. The thumb was pressing against my cunt but wasn’t quite able to slip inside even when he bent me over, fingers on my clit and fist toy pushing against me.

I could hear him ordering me and the sound of my gasps as he switched the fist toy with his cock still brushing against my clit as I tried to hold myself back from coming. I could hear the latex stretching and moving and his grunts as he grabbed my corset to push deeper inside my cunt.

Then I heard the strike of a match and knew that he’d lit the candle. And then he went silent. I couldn’t hear him moving at all to anticipate what he might do and despite my bare ass up in the air as I was on my knees with his cock inside me, I thought for a second or two that he might not use the wax.

When the first drop fell on my skin, it stung and surprised me and then it kept coming, dripping onto my skin smoothly with a different amount of pain each time that kept me startled and on edge. One drip would feel manageable, the next made me jolt forward pulling away from my Master’s cock despite how good it felt inside me.

He ordered me to lean back against his cock and I fought the instinct to pull away and the urge to fill my stretched cunt full with his cunt. Just as I’d balanced the two conflicting desires, he switched his cock for the fist toy again, pressing it against me and ordering me to take it.

For some reason, my normally stretched cunt just couldn’t take it despite it being the easiest thing last week. My Master showed no mercy, pushing his cock hard inside me again and dripping more wax on my ass to punish me further.

Just as I wanted to cry with the pain of the wax and the frustration of not being able to please my Master by taking the fist, he flipped me over on to my back and the frustration turned to fear that he was going to drip hot wax on my bare cunt.

That sensation went straight to my cunt and the fist toy slipped straight inside me, filling my gaping cunt right up and making me come knowing how much my Master would like the view of a fist in my cunt and wax dripped all over my pale skin.

I wish I’d been thinking straight enough to ask him to take a photo of the red marks the wax left…

Pushing Me Further

Worth the Wait

After building me up nicely all morning and afternoon with the John Holmes toy, I was incredibly horny and well stretched when my Master arrived at my house. Wearing the blindfold always makes my other senses as alert as my cunt when I hear the front door open and I was particularly interested to hear that he was carrying a bag with him. My Master rarely brings props but when he does they are well chosen.

I wasn’t entirely surprised when there was a new sex toy sliding into my cunt from his bag of tricks. I was however very surprised when he lifted my head up to close a heavy metal collar round my neck next. My back went so straight in the tightened corset at that point, the toy slipped out of my cunt instantly as the whole dynamic made me even wetter.

And he wasn’t finished there. He pulled my hands behind my back and tied them together with the new hemp rope. I loved the feeling of it scratching against my wrists but felt very vulnerable as he was tying me. Then I realised why it’s important to wait before you decide on things because once he’d bound both my hands, the balance of it turned me from vulnerable to delightfully helpless.

Surprisingly being bound and on my knees with a blindfold and corset trying to hold a large heavy plug in my cunt while my Master pushed my face down onto his cock made me less panicky about swallowing him deeper than I usually do, especially when he was kneeling in front of me for added depth.

I’ve rarely felt so helpless as when he lifted me to my feet and forced my legs apart to play with my piercing as he kissed me. Torn between opening my legs further to enjoy his hand more and keeping them closed to keep the plug in and fill me up, I enjoyed being distracted into coming either way remembering another occasion he used his hand and mouth to almost knock me off my feet with an orgasm.

I was surprised by how almost tender he was being kissing me as I came tied up and helpless under his hands and then he turned me and had me down on my knees and face first into the sofa in an instant so I was bent over with my cunt up in the air begging for his cock, hands behind my back.

No matter that I still had the huge heavy plug in my cunt, he had plans to stretch me right open with it and his cock at the same time. Part of me felt like it wasn’t possible to manage both and part of me felt like I’d cry if it wasn’t possible. The second he slipped his cock inside I came hard enough to push the plug out which felt like a bonus and a loss at the same time.

Toy slipped back inside my cunt, my Master fucked me so hard I could feel my make up running under my blindfold and I was actually making the kind of noise the neighbours might hear instead of my usual silence. I’ve rarely come as hard and repeatedly as I did especially when he came inside me using my corset to pull me down even harder onto his cock.

Normally he’d have punished me harder for forgetting to say thank you sir for the orgasms but he was clearly feeling benevolent even if he did leave me in that position for a while and spank my ass before he’d consider untying me. I could have stayed like that all afternoon frankly…

tied up and fucked on the sofa

Worth the Wait