We went out for dinner that night, he let me choose and I chose Chinese. It was a long drive in the dark, which he did, although he did make me get out in the freezing cold and fill the car with petrol muttering something about "Why do it when your slave will do it for you?", although he turned the seat heater on while I was outside, which was a surprise and a treat.
The restaurant was lovely, small cubicles, subtle lighting and gentle music in the background. The service was wonderful, discreet and unobtrusive. He made me sit next to him, our legs touching, the heat from his body warming me, exciting me...............oh how I wanted to touch him, to stroke his leg...............he took my hand, and held it in his, he looked at me and told me how much he had missed me, how proud he is of me, and how much he loves me. He held it so long, and then pulled it towards his chest, and put it on his heart, put his hand over mine and sighed........I thought I would burst with happiness, and then he put his hand over my heart and my nipples sprang to attention ..........................he roared with laughter, great big laughs, and he hugged me so tightly I thought I would shoot out of my dress.
He was, as always, useless with the chopsticks and I tried not to laugh, not to gloat as I effortlessly ate the delicious food..................in the end he made me feed him,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, and when he couldn't eat any more for laughing, he resorted to a fork...which just made me laugh more.
The wine flowed, in my direction, I got giggly, he laughed at me, at my falling over my own words as I talked to him.
He told me bad jokes, we talked about "stuff", he told me I had beautiful eyes, and how much he misses looking into them when he kisses me, when he uses me, when he hurts me, he misses seeing them full of love, of pain, of happiness...................he stroked my hair, and held my hand under the table.
When we drove back on the starlit frosty night, he drove with one hand on my bare thigh, gently stroking it, and when we got back, I striped and passed him my rope which he put around my neck and sat me on his knee and he held me tight.
He gently caressed me, teasing my nipples, kissing me, putting his hands around my neck, gently, pressing, a promise of things to come..................................
He left me on dozing on the bed while he got ready to sleep and when he returned I asked him if I could please sleep at his feet that night.
So he lay on the bed, he never seems to feel the cold, although to be fair the room as probably about 26 degrees, and I kissed his feet and wished him goodnight and we fell asleep together. An owner with his slave sleeping at his feet.
I woke a few hours later, cold, shivering and chilled to the bone. He felt me move and tugged on the rope, I crawled up the bed and asked to be allowed back in.
He pulled the covers over us and told me to sleep as he pulled me close and wrapped my rope around his hand.
I slept.
Showing posts with label hands. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hands. Show all posts
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Friday, 24 December 2010
His hands are big.
His hands are big.
The gentle caress as he strokes my hair, teasing his finger through it, untangling the knots of my sweat dampened hair. Twisting his fingers through my hair and closing his hand, slowly pulling my head back until my throat is exposed. Pulling me by my hair, as I scramble behind him on my knees across the room to be pushed into the corner, or pulled up to suck his cock. His hand on the back of my head, fingers entwined in the hairs at the nape of my neck, forcing him deeper down my throat, my hair covered in cum.
His hand cupping my breasts, gently circling them, stroking, making me squirm with delight. Fingers playing with my nipples, rolling them between finger and thumb, gently teasing and pulling, tracing the shapes of my nipple, then squeezing, cruelly twisting and pulling; bringing tears to my eyes and sobs catching in the back of my throat as the pressure increases. Flicking my tender nipples, slapping, twisting and squeezing my breasts, punching, bruising and scratching.
Gentle erotic finger, teasing the lips of my cunt, exploring opening the folds and finding that spot that brings me to the point of explosion, pulling away, knowing just what to do till I am shaking and begging for permission.. Fingers forced inside, one after the other, pounding and digging, scratching, pulling until I want to retreat away from them ,hurting and demanding
The lightest of touch on my face with his fingers, tracing the shape of my lips, running over my eyes lashes, the base of my throat. The suddenness of the slap, stinging and burning, the shock of the noise as his hand moves past my ears and connects with my face. His fingers forced into my mouth, examining me, pulling my mouth wider , pushing down my throat, or wet from my cunt demanding to be cleaned.
His finger running with the touch of the softest feather down my spine, teasing the shape of my buttocks, to the base of my spine, his hand stroking my back. The first slap, hot and sudden, followed by more and more, a pattern building ,faster and faster, harder and harder, each cheek wanting more, my inability to prevent the need to lift up and meet his hand, until the slaps become interspersed with a fist striking my cheeks, the tempo changing. The floating away on the pain, the submissiveness it fills me with, the humiliation I feel as he tells me why he has to do this to me.
Fingers travelling down from my jaw, making me purr with pleasure, rubbing my tired neck, easing the troubles of the day away.Gently stroking, relaxing. The gradual increased pressure on my throat. My eyes drawn to his face as the pressure increases, feeling each individual finger as it closes, tighter and tighter, restricting the air as I begin to drift away, filled with peace and trust.
The gentle big hands cupping my face, moving my damp hair from my face, the fingers wiping away my tears, hands wiping my face with a cool flannel, rubbing in cream and tending to cuts, loving, reassuring hands.
One hand on me as I fall asleep beside him, the other, holding the end of my rope.
His hands are big
The gentle caress as he strokes my hair, teasing his finger through it, untangling the knots of my sweat dampened hair. Twisting his fingers through my hair and closing his hand, slowly pulling my head back until my throat is exposed. Pulling me by my hair, as I scramble behind him on my knees across the room to be pushed into the corner, or pulled up to suck his cock. His hand on the back of my head, fingers entwined in the hairs at the nape of my neck, forcing him deeper down my throat, my hair covered in cum.
His hand cupping my breasts, gently circling them, stroking, making me squirm with delight. Fingers playing with my nipples, rolling them between finger and thumb, gently teasing and pulling, tracing the shapes of my nipple, then squeezing, cruelly twisting and pulling; bringing tears to my eyes and sobs catching in the back of my throat as the pressure increases. Flicking my tender nipples, slapping, twisting and squeezing my breasts, punching, bruising and scratching.
Gentle erotic finger, teasing the lips of my cunt, exploring opening the folds and finding that spot that brings me to the point of explosion, pulling away, knowing just what to do till I am shaking and begging for permission.. Fingers forced inside, one after the other, pounding and digging, scratching, pulling until I want to retreat away from them ,hurting and demanding
The lightest of touch on my face with his fingers, tracing the shape of my lips, running over my eyes lashes, the base of my throat. The suddenness of the slap, stinging and burning, the shock of the noise as his hand moves past my ears and connects with my face. His fingers forced into my mouth, examining me, pulling my mouth wider , pushing down my throat, or wet from my cunt demanding to be cleaned.
His finger running with the touch of the softest feather down my spine, teasing the shape of my buttocks, to the base of my spine, his hand stroking my back. The first slap, hot and sudden, followed by more and more, a pattern building ,faster and faster, harder and harder, each cheek wanting more, my inability to prevent the need to lift up and meet his hand, until the slaps become interspersed with a fist striking my cheeks, the tempo changing. The floating away on the pain, the submissiveness it fills me with, the humiliation I feel as he tells me why he has to do this to me.
Fingers travelling down from my jaw, making me purr with pleasure, rubbing my tired neck, easing the troubles of the day away.Gently stroking, relaxing. The gradual increased pressure on my throat. My eyes drawn to his face as the pressure increases, feeling each individual finger as it closes, tighter and tighter, restricting the air as I begin to drift away, filled with peace and trust.
The gentle big hands cupping my face, moving my damp hair from my face, the fingers wiping away my tears, hands wiping my face with a cool flannel, rubbing in cream and tending to cuts, loving, reassuring hands.
One hand on me as I fall asleep beside him, the other, holding the end of my rope.
His hands are big
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Face like a bullfrog in a drought...or...how is he always right?
The deepest darkest fears thing was all sorted out....he has spent the last 2 days asking me what wrong, why am I "off" what is wrong...endlessly, over and over again, disguised in different words but all asking the same question and all I could do was answer honestly..there was nothing wrong , I was fine, just because I wasn't leaping round with a smile on my face doesn't mean anything is wrong.
I think the words"I am fine" are like a red rag to a bull to him. He thinks I am hiding something: some deep and meaningful hidden feeling, worry or concern, ...but really it just means "I am fine, its Monday, or Tuesday, I have work, I have stuff to do, nothing is wrong and ................I am fine thank you Sir"
Yesterday I think he reached the end of his tether with my protestations of "fineness".. Maybe it was that I had the face of a bull frog in a drought, or my monosyllabic answers that finally convinced him that maybe , even if I didn't know there was something wrong, that there actually was...and so step were taken,
I was resentful, standing there, humiliated, feeling hurt and angry that he wouldn't believe me that everything was ok, tears pouring down my face , like an innocent in the dock.
H e tried again........and then I though he had given up and he sent me to bed. I did all my usual rituals, bedtimes stuff, and then he had me tie my feet together, then to my hands, and tie them together, wished me goodnight, told me to turn down the light, set the alarm, not to move out of bed till he came back to talk to me in the morning and to sleep.................
Well...I wriggled and I huffed and puffed and couldn't get comfortable, I thought I would never sleep. the rope dug into me, they rubbed, they were too tight, every time I moved they hurt. The stupid thing was they weren't tight, in fact I could have slipped my hands out at any time ...but it never occurred to me.
Finally I stopped fighting them, discovered where the limitations were, where I was comfortable, what I was able to do, and not.(did I mention I wriggly like a demented worm in bleach in bed?) fight it any more, and I slept...peacefully, no dreaming...no waking....nothing...just sleep.
He was waiting for me when I woke up.............I felt like a different person......light and free...controlled, soooooooo submissive and happy. I lay on the bed talking to him , and then still bound came for him,. He said do it slowly, make it last, I lasted about 20 seconds before I had to beg him to be allowed to cum, leaving a wet patch on the bed.
And he gave me the task to think about why I was feeling so much better.......... .and I came up with the reasons.................
This weekend I am going away, deeper into the jungle and will not be able to talk with him much and I guess I was frightened of being without him..hence the face like a bullfrog...........an overwhelming sense of sadness and aloneness that clouded my vision, but was obviously all too clearly written all over my face.
And the rope thing...............hmmmm..........he is so clever...always ahead of me....talk about metaphor.........limitations.......comfort.....fighting and acceptance......
So even when I think I am hiding from myself he knows where to find me, and mouse (thank you for your comments) you are right, I should trust him, and my own judgment, he really does know me better than I do, he knows what I need and what is good for me, and I should leave myself completely in his hands.
I think the words"I am fine" are like a red rag to a bull to him. He thinks I am hiding something: some deep and meaningful hidden feeling, worry or concern, ...but really it just means "I am fine, its Monday, or Tuesday, I have work, I have stuff to do, nothing is wrong and ................I am fine thank you Sir"
Yesterday I think he reached the end of his tether with my protestations of "fineness".. Maybe it was that I had the face of a bull frog in a drought, or my monosyllabic answers that finally convinced him that maybe , even if I didn't know there was something wrong, that there actually was...and so step were taken,
I was resentful, standing there, humiliated, feeling hurt and angry that he wouldn't believe me that everything was ok, tears pouring down my face , like an innocent in the dock.
H e tried again........and then I though he had given up and he sent me to bed. I did all my usual rituals, bedtimes stuff, and then he had me tie my feet together, then to my hands, and tie them together, wished me goodnight, told me to turn down the light, set the alarm, not to move out of bed till he came back to talk to me in the morning and to sleep.................
Well...I wriggled and I huffed and puffed and couldn't get comfortable, I thought I would never sleep. the rope dug into me, they rubbed, they were too tight, every time I moved they hurt. The stupid thing was they weren't tight, in fact I could have slipped my hands out at any time ...but it never occurred to me.
Finally I stopped fighting them, discovered where the limitations were, where I was comfortable, what I was able to do, and not.(did I mention I wriggly like a demented worm in bleach in bed?) fight it any more, and I slept...peacefully, no dreaming...no waking....nothing...just sleep.
He was waiting for me when I woke up.............I felt like a different person......light and free...controlled, soooooooo submissive and happy. I lay on the bed talking to him , and then still bound came for him,. He said do it slowly, make it last, I lasted about 20 seconds before I had to beg him to be allowed to cum, leaving a wet patch on the bed.
And he gave me the task to think about why I was feeling so much better.......... .and I came up with the reasons.................
This weekend I am going away, deeper into the jungle and will not be able to talk with him much and I guess I was frightened of being without him..hence the face like a bullfrog...........an overwhelming sense of sadness and aloneness that clouded my vision, but was obviously all too clearly written all over my face.
And the rope thing...............hmmmm..........he is so clever...always ahead of me....talk about metaphor.........limitations.......comfort.....fighting and acceptance......
So even when I think I am hiding from myself he knows where to find me, and mouse (thank you for your comments) you are right, I should trust him, and my own judgment, he really does know me better than I do, he knows what I need and what is good for me, and I should leave myself completely in his hands.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)