Archive for January, 2011
We’re at Winter Fire, and you’ve stationed me by the entrance into one of the rooms. Every time i woman enters i have to ask her if i can kiss her shoes, and then bend and do that. Some are willing to play a peripheral part in the game, and allow me a quick peck before moving on. Others, though, get into it, press my head down to their feet, tell me to lick their shoe, clean it up. A few recognize me from my blog, or heard about our the gangbang class at Kinky Kollege, and they know what i really want. One pushes my legs apart with her shoe and presses her shoe into my crotch. “Beg for it” she tells me, “beg me to rub my shoe against your cunt.” i beg her for exactly that, and she tells me i should show her how much i want it, so i rub myself all over her shoe, until i’m so hot and wet that the toe of her shoe is sticky with my juices and she orders me to lick it clean before she goes on her way.
(And yes, my Master and i are planning to be at Winter Fire in February in DC. Are any readers going and want to meet up?)
My Master and i spent a lovely weekend together, with no plans, no schedules, and no commitments to anyone but each other. Saturday afternoon He spent photographing me, then playing with my body, splaying me out over his lap as He clipped clothespins on my breasts. The first few were lovely – a ring around one breast that left the nipple bare. The second ring, around my other breast, was lovely too. As my Master played with one nipple i couldn’t help but bring my own hand up to play with the other – almost nothing turns me on more than both my nipples being stroked and teased, and when He made me tell Him what a slut i was for doing it, that only turned me on more. But soon fingers were replaced with clothespins on those same nipples, and pleasure turned to pain, especially as my Master started playing with the clothespins, batting at them, pushing around with his hands, making the blood being to flow back to deprived tissue, then cutting it off again. One clothespin slipped, tightening on just my skin, rather than the tissue beneath it, and oh, that hurt. That’s when i started to swear, thrash around, even hit my Master a little bit, as He enjoyed the renewed pain that came when He pulled all those clothespins off. You’d have thought i would’ve had enough of clothespins after that, but you’d be wrong… when His playing with other portions of my anatomy had me begging for the chance to use my vibrator shortly thereafter, i quickly agreed to His price – the clothespins again, in exchange for my chance at an orgasm. i can still see some marks from that round today… but i’d pay that exchange rate again.
My phone rang in the middle of my waxing, and seeing that it was my Master, i reached out to grab it. And that was when my fabulous aesthetician finally succeeded in freeing a pesky ingrown hair that had been plaguing me. As she started squeezing out the collected inflammation, i couldn’t help but yelp in pain in my Master’s ear. And with His voice in my ear, i couldn’t help but be aware of how similar my yelps were to those i make with my Master, when He yanks the clothespins off, or hits me with the evil stick. And once that thought was in my head, well, i couldn’t help but get a little turned on.
i hung up the phone, but the heat lingered between my legs, and as my aesthetician spread my legs wide to get every lingering hair from the crack of my ass, a trickle of cunt juice slid out of my cunt and onto the blanket beneath me. i knew she couldn’t have helped but notice, and i swear i blushed from head to toe, my voice faltering in the midst of our usual waxing chit chat about sex and kink.
“Wow, that phone call really had an effect on you, didn’t it,” she asked. “I’ve never seen you get quite so worked up before.” i nodded, too embarrassed to speak. “Well,” she said, “good thing that we’re about done here.” And then she slid a finger of her gloved hand down across my clit, and to the slippery opening of my cunt.
i could have closed my legs, ignored the suggestion, moved on to the upcoming facial and eyebrow waxing. But i didn’t. Instead, i spread my legs farther apart. Lifted up my hips to engulf the tip of the finger waiting passively at my opening. And that was all the invitation she needed. First one finger, then another slide into me, as she curled her fingers up to press on my g-spot, while her thumb rubbed my clit. i was hypersensitive from my waxing, and every passing touch on my newly waxed skin only heightened my arousal, as did the voices of the hairstylists chattering on the other side of the thin door. Only a moan escaped from my throat as i came, shuddering around her hand, my hands gripping the sides of the table.
“Okay, turn around and put your head up here now,” she said, indicating the end of the table were the steamer was located, “it’s time to start your facial now.” Just like nothing had ever happened.
[Private to LF, should she see this: The preceding is a work of fiction, not an invitation or a suggestion! And thanks for getting that hair out!]