| Straight: BDSM: A First Whisper of Pain (1/4) |
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"Please spank me. Please." When you first said those words, in the heat of the moment, I think it was something secret you'd wanted to ask me for years. Something you'd wanted for all that time but never dared to ask. And then, when you finally summoned up the courage to blurt it out, I'd stopped and tittered. It had hurt you. You'd trusted me enough to say those words and I'd found it funny. I didn't guffaw out loud or make a comment, but you read enough in my eyes and response to know that I didn't find the idea alluring and just couldn't take it seriously. You'd tried to laugh it off as a joke, too quickly afterward. But I could read your eyes and the disappointment in them. A bit of frost settled into our relationship that night. Not a relationship-destroying permafrost, but a kind of distant chill - most obviously during sex. Maybe I was imagining it, but I felt that you were withdrawing a little from me. I hated that. I wanted us to be open and honest. So as you slept during the night, I would creep out of bed and begin to look around to find out more about what you might be after. What I found startled me. Women (and men) bent double, over other people's laps, touching their toes, displaying their arses in anticipation of a pain and a punishment they actually desired. I sat by the flickering blue light of the monitor in thoughtful seclusion - a succession of naked women with pink marks, red welts - even blood - striped across their rears. I read forum after forum where people admitted to loving the pain, and finding - for the first time - their most perfect expression of pleasure to be in the moments when their lover was administering pain to their naked skin. Binds, and gags. Handcuffs and chains. Ropes and silk. Although I found the concept odd, it was hard not to be aroused by the images of submission that I was finding. I could picture you over my lap, your bare arse looking up at my, soft and yielding, and waiting for the first smack of contact. Tales of "naughty schoolgirls", "masters" and "mistresses" were seeping into my conscious. I found myself wondering what it would be like to hear you telling me that you'd been a naughty girl and needed bringing in line. I wondered where such games might end. Did I want it now? Of course I did. One night - a Saturday - some friends called a night off and we decided to get in a couple of bottles of wine in, kick back, take in some telly and maybe have a little fumble. Even as we sat down, I was hard and horny and hoping I would have the courage to go through with my little plan. Over a few glasses, we snuggled up closer and closer until you were nestling under my arm, my hand casually slipped under your top toying with your bra strap - running up and down a little bit, lightly. You nuzzled into my neck a little bit and Iet a hand run down your back, casually unfastening your bra. You murmured into my neck as my hand slipped all the way around and playfully tweaked your nipple. You pulled away from me and busily started to strip, pulling your bra and top off in one fluid motion, before wriggling out of your trousers and knickers |
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Simple thanks.
