I love to be bitten. Teeth sinking into my skin makes me weak at the knees, and frequently wetter than I thought it was possible.
All my lovers know this – and more than a few of my friends. Most are delighted to put teeth to flesh; some because it gets me hot, and some because it gets them hot. But everyone bites differently. It’s surprising the variation you get between folks. Allow me to provide examples.
Usually I am proud of my marks. I take delight in the ache and purple of bruises; in the lines left by claws; in the dents left by teeth or leather or pain.
Usually I love my marks. They remind me of how they were received, and of the love intermingled with the hurt which created them. They also give me a solid connection to my submission.
I don’t submit easily. Ninety-nine percent of my life I am in control, the one others turn to, the one making decisions. Every day I run my own life and deal with my own problems and help friends with theirs. I have interdependent adoration and support with Apollo. I have loving friendship and support from my brother and my friends. But I still have to keep the control.
I love the feel of metal on my skin. Whether it be a blade, a needle, a cuff or a chain, the cool weight of steel pressing against me gives me more than just the shivers.
Some of my loves enjoy taking advantage of my metal appreciation. Adonis, in particular, takes delight in tormenting me with knives and pins, sometimes merely laying them on my flesh, othertimes scoring me deeply or cutting me shallowly. I whimper and try not to wriggle with arousal and desire, and all the while I am incredibly aware of his cold metal and my hot blood.
Lean in close. Open your mouth and show your teeth to me. Capture my gaze, with the look in your eye that tells me you are about to clamp down and hurt me.
Curl your lips back. Flick your tongue. Blink slowly, knowing you have my full attention. Lean in closer.
Then take my skin between your teeth. Feel it caught between your jaws. Bear down. Press in. Growl in the back of your throat.
Hold me down. Pull me up. Touch me, lick me, bite me. Torment me with the slow scrape of tongue across my skin.
Tease off my clothes. Force open my legs. Whisper kisses down my thighs.
Bite down on my wrist, suck flesh into your mouth. Make me want you to pierce me, suckle on me, empty me out. Let go, just when I wish you never would.
Beasts of the wild, together with a clash they come.
Drawn to each other, hidden beneath civilised facades.
The wolf howls.
There’s something subtly different about doing ordinary day-to-day things with someone you don’t normally have the opportunity to do them with. Everything is the same, and yet there’s that frisson of what’s-wrong-with-this-picture (like finding yourself in the World without Shrimp). And it was so, waking up next to Adonis on Sunday morning. Bringing him a cup of coffee and a fruit muffin was different. As was putting on laundry. And clearing up the lounge. And getting showered and dressed.
I stretch my arms, and wince as my shoulders ache. I flash back to Monday – kneeling on the bed, arse presented to Helios and head buried in pillows, bracing myself for the unknown, terrifying cane. I remember the tenseness in my arms, trembling as I hold myself upright and ready.
I sit down at my desk, and gasp quietly as the button of my trousers presses against the bitten, bruised flesh of my belly. I flash back to Tuesday – curled in bed with Adonis, conversation turning to kissing turning to violence as he abandons himself to Beast. I revel in the claws and teeth cutting into my skin, and purple bruises bloom in his wake.
How to tell if Dee’s had a good date:
My pudenda aches from where my pubic hair has been pulled hard and tight (lifting my body off the sheets while I writhe in pleasure and pain), my wrists are sore from having been held down against the pillows (as he bites my lip, my neck, my ears), my breasts are covered in teeth marks and bruising (my nipples distended from where he ravaged them), and there are scrapes and scratches all over my belly and back (every one of them precious and painful). Not to mention the awareness that my cunt lips are swollen, my jaw aches at the edges, and my mind is very, very relaxed.
I have a welt on my left shoulder. On Saturday, Adonis sank his teeth in slowly, delicately, and violently, after relaxing me with a much-needed lower-back massage.
I have a welt on my left shoulder. On Sunday Apollo saw it there, and pressed his thumb into it as he stood behind my computer chair, leaving me trembling and damp.
I have a welt on my left shoulder … and neither of them let me forget how much I love getting it, having it, savouring it.keep looking »