A Hard Day’s Play – part 3

In this entry: fellatio, (consensual) voyeurism, and intense cunnilingus. Delightful fun!

I’m down on my knees, adoring Adonis’ cock (as I so love to do), as he sits on the edge of the bed. He has kindly allowed me to put a pillow down, so I have some small softness between me and the floor-boards. I’m leaning forward enough that my cheeks are not resting on my heels, and thus I’m not feeling the welts on either my arse or my feet. My back aches from the flogging, but I’m enjoying myself far too much to care.

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A Hard Day’s Play – part 2

In this post: I get a great beating, and Aphrodite joins in the torment.

“Lie on your front,” Adonis orders me. I turn and sprawl on the ragged remains of my clothes. “I’m feeling violent today, and I’m not going to go easy on you.”

I nod, my head twisted on the pillows. “I know. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

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A Hard Day’s Play – part 1

In this post: Adonis destroys every stitch of my clothing – and it turns me on.

He starts with my socks. Gently holding my left foot, he slips the knife blade under the white cotton edge. It slices apart the material, and then he uses the tear as a starting point to rip the sock apart with his hands. First the left sock, then the right, he pulls the torn covering off my toes and flings them on the floor.

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Fantastic fellatio

I ache all over. As I kneel on the floor with my rump pressing into my heels, I can feel bruises building on my skin from the beating you gave me earlier. I shift slightly to minimise the press on my arse, and ripples of heat run from my buttocks up my back. I know that if I could see, there would be red weals from the cane, and thick marks from the paddle you wielded so mercilessly.

My hands are tied low behind my back, and the hemp holding them rasps gently across my lower spine. They, too, set off the heat, and I am well aware that there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I love the feeling, and hate it as well, for there is no respite from the touch of the hemp, or the press of my heels.

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Communication Glue

I like to think I’m good at communicating. It’s part of my stock in trade – I enjoy it; I studied it for my degree; I utilise it in my career. It’s more than just opening my mouth and talking; it’s also about phrasing, about listening with an open mind, and about understanding where the other person is coming from.

It’s also incredibly easy to get wrong. I’m not perfect – I’ve fucked things up before in communicating things, and when it does, I feel terrible. And mistakes aren’t something that should be minimised or swept under the table, especially when you’re in polyamorous relationships and there’s impacts on multiple partners.

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Trembling

“Stand in the bath-tub.” Naked, holding his hands, I lift my foot and step backward into the tub, my other foot following. “Good girl.” Letting go of me, he places both hands on my belly and gently pushes me back until I feel the touch of the cool wall behind me. I jolt at the coldness, and laugh at my surprise.

He leans forward, and I kiss him greedily. My hands are splayed flat on the tile behind me, keeping my balance. He captures my right breast with one hand, twisting and pulling the nipple, and I moan and kiss him harder.

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