Posts tagged bottoming
The Secret Sadist: Rope Journaling 9-21

When we first met he would just laugh when I half joking half serious would accuse him, “you're secretly a sadist you just don't know it yet.”

 

I've dated enough men residing on all shades of the vanilla/kinky top/bottom spectrum to see the potential in him.  The narrowed eye at a bratty comment. The playful spanks to test the waters, getting more intense with each positive reaction. The wrestling for control as foreplay.

 

I suspected if I was patient and rewarded his playful attempts at practicing confidence and control he would come around. It wasn't a requirement but it would be nice to not always be in charge. Besides the sassy grin on his face to hear me moan each time he pulled my hair or bit me spoke to him enjoying being mean quite a bit.

 

Still I'm momentarily taken aback one evening when I'm messing around with workshopping a tie on him and stop to say, “ I could try it again or….I could teach you a thing if you like.”

 

“Teach me.” He says grabbing a hank of rope.

 

And I do harkening back to the first time we were in the same room. Here we are again. Him the student, me the teacher. But this time I'm not teaching him sexy rope to use on someone else. I'm specifically teaching him what I like in the hopes he'll tie it on me. Maybe even soon.

 

He's a quick study. It helps that our brains work similarly so we breeze through the basics until he's got my wrists bound behind my head and incorporated into a chest harness. He smiles slyly at his work, takes a picture to record the moment and unties me. Lather, rinse, repeat until he's confident the steps are saved in his brain. We move on with our evening and I'm perfectly happy with this new step in his bondage knowledge but don't think too much of it while kissing and congratulating him as we cook dinner.

 

So the next afternoon when I'm least thinking of rope let alone imagining myself tied up, he surprises me by pushing me onto his couch to “practice” a wrist cuff. Before I know it he has me tangled up in all the lengths of rope we'd lazily left uncoiled on his living room floor, too eager to move onto dinner and the bedroom, we left a mess of jute.

 

He uses this to his advantage as he improvises. The wrist cuff gets bound to my thigh and I smile to watch his brain work, considering how to use up the rest of the rope in an artistic manner. He loops the remaining rope in spirals down my leg and grabs for the next piece of floor rope which he loops over my chest in a way that captures my nipples in a manner that's half painful and half delightful.  This is a tie I've tormented him with many times in the past. Clever boy, he'd been paying attention.  The next rope he uses to put a cuff on my free ankle and frog that leg up on itself and then trap my free hand to my body.

 

I'm tied up in an odd and beautiful ball. All asymmetry and borderline sadism. “Is this what you meant when you said you like awkward rope?”

 

“Exactly, thank you, meanie.”

 

“What? You don't like the asymmetrical handles I added to you?”

 

I just furrow my eyebrows at him and playfully pout as he tugged at the various handholds of rope covering my body. Each time he yanks me around it shifts the rope across my limbs, pinching or tugging in unexpected places. Just as I'm enjoying this playfulness he lets go of the rope, dropping me to the couch with a thump and instead begins reaching for ticklish places. Areas of my body left exposed for him to manipulate.

 

Soon I'm squirming all over the couch and his lap, giggling, squealing, and making all manner of ridiculous noises as he tickles me mercilessly. He smiles and laughs the entire time. This is the perfect form of sadism for him in this moment, it's silly and yet I'm breathless and occasionally cursing him.

 

When I've struggled enough that the rope is tightening in weird places that could eventually become dangerous, he unties me. Pausing occasionally to lean in for a kiss which I return deeply, grinning at him as he untangles me.  Our eye contact is all silly satisfied sweetness that makes me feel gooey inside.

 

“I told you there might be a little sadist in there somewhere.”

 

“Me? Nope. Never.” He tries to look at me all sweet and innocent but his smug is showing so I don't believe his aw shucks for a fraction of a second.

 

He knows exactly what he's started and I look forward to seeing what else we can get into while trading places and desires and giggles in rope. Afterall he's been all too willing to allow me to experiment on him as I regain my confidence and passion for rope. I'm all too happy to return the favor for him especially if it means I'll get to be tied up occasionally.  Yeah, life is good.

Sex Stoned

In the beginning I worried that Mr Right and I wouldn’t be a good match in the sack.  We had chemistry and really enjoyed one another’s company, but historically I’d needed some very rough handling to be satisfied in bed and Mr Right wasn’t the sadistic type.  So I figured we’d canoodle for a while until we got bored with one another. In the meantime I would enjoy the heck out of tying up this hot young fellow. It would be a sweet but brief adventure…

Fast forward a couple months to a weekend fairly recently: Mr Right and I (still happily in a canoodleship)  are wandering through Cathedral Park.  He’s taking pictures and I’m, well, hugging a bush.  A literal bush. I’m also petting the large white fluffly flower poofs that cover it because this is the softest thing I’ve ever felt in my life. 

Mr Right eventually stops shooting bees and flowers and notices his lady friend elbow deep in a tree and comes to investigate.  “This is the best flower! Have you seen this? They all look like animal heads!  How have I never noticed this flower before?  I’m going to cuddle it again.  Stop judging me.”

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No one can blame him for capturing this moment with his camera.  “This is going to be great black mail material.”

“Shush you, you did this to me!  Stop being smug you brain chemical altering beast.”

He just smirks at me, amused and enjoying the show.  As he should.  The only drugs I’m on in this moment are the ones we’d created in bed earlier that afternoon.  Using only the powers of his impressive digital dexterity, oxytocin, intimacy and--okay there was a little spanking in there too--he had more than satisfied me in the sack.  He had gone so far as to briefly break my brain, flooding it with so many orgasmic happy chemicals I’d never been more high in my life.

My early worries had been for nothing, it had just taken us a bit to figure each other out and a couple of really sexy talks to find out what the other needed to get off.  Now we inhabit this glorious and dangerous state of sexual exploration in which very little is out of bounds. But there’s a lot of talking involved.  People who don’t think communication is sexy are missing out!  Because heavy duty communicating is what got me so well fucked I’d become obsessed with embracing flora.

It started with, “What one thing (sexual or otherwise) do you want for your birthday?”

He had already agreed to hang out with my friends on the actual day and was whisking me away to Seattle for a lovey dovey adventure, and I was allowed to ask for more?  Who is this person that actually seems to like me and can talk about feelings and desires? Whatever was going on I liked it!

“Well no surprise, I’d enjoy getting tied up and you know a spanking is traditional.”

“Hmm I’ll see what I can do.”

Problem was we were too tipsy on my actual birthday for more than fumbling silly sex (though he did manage to restrain me to the bed with Velcro cuffs and give me a good tease regardless) and the room we stayed in Seattle was too echoey for kinky shenanigans with our hosts a thin floor away.  So by the time our schedules lined up a week later we were both a little (read: a lot) pent up. 

We fell into bed minutes after getting home from a hike, sweaty bodies made sweatier with lust.  “Do you want your birthday present?”  He asks from behind me.

“Um, yes!”

He strips me and bends me over the bed, being more aggressive than usual.  And my blood goes hot with anticipation.  It’s been a while since I’ve given up control but so my everything is thrilled to be given this sexy break from reality.  But it’s not enough to have me bent over his mattress, Mr Right shoves me down prone, ass in the air so I’m exposed to him and my hands splayed in front of me.  These he gathers together and uses one of his hands to pin them down.  My breathing quickens with excitement.  His other hand makes contact with my ass.  The smack of skin on skin loud in the quiet room.  I gasp, he isn’t fooling around.

I turn my head as much as I can given the position to look at him.  His eyes are different, somehow harder, but he gives me an aw shucks shrug as if to say “yeah I’m doing this all the way.”  Mr Right shoves my grinning face back into the bed before going back to the doling out of my belated spanking, a beating that has even a hardcore masochist like myself squirming at times.

When he finishes, he curls up beside me, holding me.  It isn’t long before I catch my breath and crawl a top him to take him in my mouth, hungry for the taste of him, to have him as close as possible.  I lap at him deeply, enjoying his sighs of pleasure as my tongue dances along his cock.

Wordlessly he grabs for a condom and he’s inside me, the weight of him engulfing me so that I’m gasping at his first thrust, biting at his shoulder.  Every nerve ending is on edge after the spanking, that unexpected treat, and he fits so well that the pleasure is abundant.  More so when he slips a hand between our bodies to play at my clit in time to his thrusts.  I’m moaning and grasping at his back and ass like a crazed person, overtaken by lust and seemingly endless orgasms. 

For the second time that afternoon when we make eye contact I widen my eyes in surprise at him.  This only seems to encourage him because instead of stopping or slowing his ministrations when I’ve come so many times that all I can do is giggle, he continues.  Words vaguely related to “no, oh please, sheesh”  come out of my mouth but I don’t mean them and even if I did he’s taken ownership of my body at this point.  So I’m powerless to do anything other than to enjoy his touch, the joy of him inside me.  My pleasure becoming his and vice versa.  Soon we’re both coming and collapsing in a sweaty laughing pile.

One more orgasm, a kazoo briefly confused for lube, and a tiny nap later we’re falling out of bed for substance, water, and that silly walk through the park as an excuse to enjoy the sunshine. High on my own brain I watch Mr Right kneel to commune with flowers and trees, capturing them with the lens of his camera with the same attention to detail with which he’d earlier fucked me silly and I smile, feeling pretty damn fortunate.   So I go cuddle a bush to celebrate.