He’s my TN.

My body opened for him, my heart pumped for him, my legs spread for him.

It had been days since we were able to connect; weekly demands, family in town, and work schedules conspired against us.  I felt an angsty itch I couldn’t swat away, but we had promised each other that last night would be the end of the itching.

“I need you deep inside of me,” I texted.  “It will make my world right.”

“I sure hope so,” The Neighbor responded.

“I’m sure it will,” I said.

He popped over later in the evening and lit a fire for Peyton and me.  They chatted for a minute and then he and I talked on the balcony while Pey watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

My heart was heavy and has been re-broken as I navigate a new stage of my relationship with my ex and my ex-family.  He was kind, offered words of encouragement.  “Fuck them, Hy.  Repeat after me, ‘Fuck them!'”

I said the words and joked that at least I had his cock to make me feel better.  He agreed as I leaned across the chilly night and grabbed his warm, soft bulge.

“You ok?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I answered eyeing his lips.  I brushed them with my own and his soft beard tickled my skin.  “I am now.”

“Good.”  He stood up.  “Text me later, ok?  I’m off to get dinner.”

I thanked him again and finished my warm, cozy night with my gangly limbed little one and the second I knew that sleep had descended on my house I texted a simple, “OK!”

I changed out of my jeans into maroon scrubs and removed my bra.  My heavy breasts sagged against my white cotton shirt and I sighed.  I went and laid down on my couch to wait, excited and even a little nervous.

I heard heavy footsteps, a door open, a door shut and then my door open.  He was here.

I looked at him as he walked into my apartment wearing only black basketball shorts.  “Come on,” he said with his hand out.  “Let’s go.”  His face was serious, his bulge obvious.

I giggled and sat upright, grabbed his hand and skipped a little as he led me to my room.  He shut the door and locked it lest Peyton wake up and need Mommy for something.

I handed him a lighter and gestured toward the candle on my nightstand as I turned off the lights.

I heard the lighter and the room filled with a warm glow.  He turned to me and took my face in his hands and kissed me.  His cologne filled my nostrils and I inhaled the sweet, manly scent.  I pressed my body against his bare chest and pulled back and in one motion removed my shirt then my pants.

I stood before him in purple knee-high socks and black lace panties.  I arched my back a little as I noticed him glance at my breasts and abdomen.  He grabbed me again and pulled me in for a deeper, longer kiss.

I tugged at his shorts and shoved them off the rest of the way with my stockinged foot.  He giggled at my antics, kissed me again then shoved me down on the bed and ripped off my panties.

I could feel my wetness and grew more excited to see his reaction.  He pushed my legs apart and positioned himself between them, his cock found my hole and his eyes grew wide when he felt his cock slide in with such ease.

“Jesus Christ, Hy,” he moaned into my ear.

He began to rock into me and I clung to him.  He kissed my ear, my neck, my lips.  I grew greedy and mewled at him, kissing him back like it was my last opportunity for touch.

I grabbed at his flanks and ground down on him as his arms wrapped around me to hold me to him.  He pounded my fucking pussy like it was his last opportunity for touch.

I gushed and I came in so many bursts that left me breathless, my breasts crushed against the fur of chest grew hot from our friction.  His mouth was all over me, such a rare treat, I felt like a chocolate beneath his mouth and tongue.

He pushed himself up on his knees and bent my legs, my dark purple socks looked like boots.  My pussy was so slick I could barely feel him and I worried aloud about it.  He assured me that wasn’t the case for him.

I began to pant how much I loved his fucking cock over and over, a broken, lusty record.  I clenched, I prayed, I hoped to God he could actually feel me and then I heard a hitch in his voice and his pants began to come in earnest.

The tops of his thighs slammed into the soft undersides of mine as his body jerked and he came deep inside of me.  He paused for a minute and I wanted to cry with relief.  I felt like a rag doll.  But it lasted only a moment before he started to move again.

“No, wait,” I begged.  “Please, stop, please.  Let’s just rest!”  He laughed at me and asked if I was sure.  “I said, yes, please.  I know you’re a sex machine and you can go forever, but please, go easy on me.  I really just want to lay with you.  I’ve cum 14 times already, I swear!”

He laughed again and flopped down next to me and I curled up into his nook.  I lay there thinking how weird it is that I have to tell the man-who-never-cums-in-me to stop fucking me after he finally does.  He’s a special one, that’s for sure.

We lay in each other’s arms and I felt the ooze between my legs and smiled.  I couldn’t wait to wake up the next morning and feel its continuous drip, proof that he was there.

I stroked his shoulders and his temples, anywhere I could lay my hands on him and he melted into me before announcing his departure.

I realized that it has been a solid year since I’ve been monogamous with him.  It feels weird, scary and also very right.  A year’s worth of one man’s semen in and on me, one man’s cock, one man’s eyes.  It feels possessive and free all at once.  It feels truly lovely.

I walked him to the door, gave him a good, hard smack on his ass and kissed him goodnight.  My love, my neighbor, my TN walked next door through a cold 5 feet and disappeared for one more night.

My yellow dress always gets me laid.

hy_bed

Proof of a good night.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the man wrapped in only a white towel glaring at me in my entryway.  Apparently, Downstairs Neighbor, upon being rushed out of my apartment because I was about to get the shit fucked out of me, had hidden behind the corner and when The Neighbor had single-mindedly tried to span the 5 feet between our doors he’d leaped out and scared the shit out of him.  A cat might also have run outside in all the commotion of TN’s glares and DN’s booming laughter.

“Oh, TN!” I laughed putting my hand on his stubbly cheek, the door tightly shut and locked behind us.  “Don’t be mad!!  He had no idea you’d be naked!!”  He leveled a gaze at me that made me giggle some more as if I’d conspired with DN to humiliate him!

I laughed some more, just simply couldn’t help it, frankly.

I kissed his cheek and hugged his stiff body and to prove his “anger” he let the towel drop and his erection bobbed heavily between us.  I grabbed it and whispered against his mouth, “I swear, DN had no idea you’d be in a towel!  It was just a joke!”

He melted against me with a grin and took my hand, led me back to my candlelit room.  “Ok,” he finally said still smiling and pulled me closer.

He bent his hand and slanted his mouth across mine, long, soft and sweet surrounded by sandpaper whiskers.  I moaned a little as he removed my cardigan.

“You look so hot in this dress,” he said taking a breath.  I swelled with pride.  My yellow dress, the yellow dress.  It always does me right.

He dipped his head back down to the top of my cleavage and I closed my eyes as his scruff left red blooms on my skin.

He returned to my lips and I breathed him in, lost in my love.  Our fingers explored the dips and swells of our figures, my face nibbling on his.

He pushed the little straps off my shoulders and the top of my dress pooled around my waist.  My breasts filled his hands and mouth and we laughed when I needed help pulling the dress back up and over my double Ds.

He grabbed my white cotton panties and tore them off.  “Leave the boots on,” he said lustily and shoved me down on the bed.

I sighed as he entered me and pulled my bottom to the edge of the bed.  My knee-high brown leather riding boots framed his face and he turned into one calf and kissed it.  I could hear him smell the leather.

His cock was enormous and I was wet as fuck.  He leaned down and kissed me and I stared boldly up at him then shut my eyes as he slowly stroked my body with his.

I thought of the strict orders he’d received from his physical therapist to not do any vigorous fucking for a while and groaned.  “Don’t hurt yourself, TN,” I warned as I felt his tempo increase.  “If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.”  I panted the words in time with his thrusts.  He only smiled mischievously at me and kept at it.

I tossed my head from side to side as it all began to feel more like torture.  An exquisite, stupidly hot and wet, torture.

He seemed to sense my agony and lifted me up fully onto the bed and positioned himself between my legs. For a quick 30 seconds he pumped like horny stray dog into me and I came just as rapidly; little bursts strung together by moans, grabbed skin, and warm breath on my neck.

He stopped then, panting.  “Damn you,” I admonished.  “I’m all vibe-y.  Are you ok?”  I shook my hands like little helicopters.

“Yes, I’m ok,” he said. “And that reminds me…” he leaned over, still inside of me, and grabbed my Hitachi.  “Here you go.”  He flicked it on and lay beside me with my legs over his hips.

It took forever and a day for me to spill over, but with the struggle came the reward:  his words, his mouth; he stroked my temple and told me what a good girl I was.  And then we cuddled and loved and talked and I dozed stupidly for minutes on end.

Then he kissed me again and squeezed me, tucked me in, loved on Faisal who’s claimed him for his own, and left quietly.

The next morning I awoke naked and in a sunbeam, my body sore in all the right places.  My boots lay in a heap on the floor next to my white panties, the vibrator lay like a bone a couple of feet away and my pretty yellow dress hung draped over the foot of my bed.

My wonderful, lucky, get-laid-every-time yellow dress.  Thank you, Old Navy.

 

I shaved my pussy bare for him.

He played my body like an aged rock star, the strings of my body a part of his own, my notes his own voice and my reverberations deep in his bones.

I lay on my back and my lashes fluttered, the ceiling fan silently whirred.  I briefly thought, “I need to dust,” and then was jerked back by his soft tongue lapping at my pussy.  My newly shaved bare pussy.

I have resisted the trend to make myself look prepubescent for years.  I’ve ranted and raved about it, been stubbornly against it, but The Neighbor’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago and I wanted to do something special for him.  Something he’d never ask for and something I knew he quietly wanted.

“I’ve never been with anyone who’s entirely shaved,” he mentioned to me once.  “I know you think it’s nasty, but I think it’s kinda hot.  Forbidden.”  I’d listened patiently, snug in his nook, and played with his chest hair.

Lina was all shaved,” I said quietly.

“Ugh.  Don’t remind me!”

And that was the moment I made my decision.  I wanted to erase her from his memory banks and replace her with visions of my creamy, smooth cunt, shaved just for him.

I was surprised to realize that the decision felt good.  There was no pressure to conform or to “look like that.”  This was a gift for the man I love.

The night before his birthday I stood under scorching hot water and let the heat soak into my bones.  I filled my hand with cream and spread it on my little patch of hair.  My 5-blade razor made quick work on the top and I pulled and stretched the folds of my vulva to get all the little hairs hiding in the crevices.

Then, despite Dumb Dommes’ misgivings about shaving your own asshole, I bent forward, spread my cheeks, slathered on shaving cream, and carefully lay the razor in my crack and dragged outward until the blades came out hair-free.  I was smooth as a petal now.

As I toweled off I peeked at my handiwork and quickly covered back up.  It looked foreign, weird, exceptionally naughty.  I blushed and got dressed for bed, excited to see him later.  It was a good night, that first reveal.

But now his birthday had long since passed as I lay with my legs splayed as his wicked tongue stroked me.  The bristles of his beard — which he was growing just for me — were soft and scruffy on my inner thighs and plump vulva.  I was in motherfucking heaven.

He sneaked his right hand under my bottom and slipped a curved finger inside of me and my face sparkled with pleasure, my teeth chattered.  I gasped and bucked and writhed, his face clung to my center like a cowboy wearing the biggest belt buckle around.

“I need a break!” I whispered suddenly.  “Oh my God, I need a break!”  I was overloaded, on the brink of total torture, not release.  “Please, holy shit, you’re so good at that, I need a break,” I panted again as he stopped and slowly slipped his finger out.

His face was plastered with a grin and a sheen.

I closed my eyes and prepared to get a grip when I felt his finger slide back into me, only this time it was multiple fingers.  “No,” I squeaked weakly, “I can’t handle it!”  I felt both his hands on my knees spread me apart.  I opened my eyes and saw him standing between my legs, looking down at me like a hungry cat, his cock buried in my pussy to the hilt.  His dark pubic hair looked stark against my bare mound.

I imagined what he saw then: my bare body, white, with no interruptions, large breasts slightly flattened that jiggled with my giggles as I realized he’d done a switch on me.

“I thought that was your finger!” I laughed.

“I’m insulted!” he said as he thrust into me and smiled broadly.

“Multiple fingers!” I corrected myself.

He gripped my knees from underneath and hauled me closer to him.  My bottom hung off the edge of the bed.  He pushed deeply into me and the tingling from my face, which his talented mouth had begun, ebbed and traveled down to my center.  I moaned and floated away on more blooming orgasms  — pink and bright, soft, long, and cloudy — as he increased the tempo.  I let go and bounced along like a leaf on a rapid.

I wrapped my legs around his hips and locked my ankles pulling him closer.  He rammed into me and his giant cock slid up through my belly to my goddamned throat.

My hands twisted in the sheets and arched my back against him when he suddenly stopped and quietly stared at me.  I was confused.

He stooped to pick something up and held up my Hitachi triumphantly.

I shook my head No.  He nodded Yes then added, “You are going to cum with me inside of you.”

He flicked the wand on and handed it to me.  Defeated I draped my crotch with a sheet for a small buffer and pressed the head against me.  I jumped and began the climb and he started to move.

I lost myself then.  I couldn’t tell where he ended and the vibrator began.  He was my everything then.  My pleasure, my pain, my torture, my release.  He thrust again and again and I burst at the seams, light split me apart, my cells detached and I screamed and rolled my eyes like a wild mare as I was obliterated in darkness and light; his cock my anchor to Earth and to love and to life.  I was split apart like Neo with the Matrix and I began to sob uncontrollably as it went on and on and on.

Finally, I fell back into my shell.  It had released me.

He scooped me up and held me as tears spilled from my eyes.  I felt so, so small.  Eternally small.

I cried because I only ever felt this way with this man and it was always slipping away.  I cried because I didn’t deserve the pleasure.  I cried because I did.

He kissed and crooned to me and I buried my face in his chest and inhaled his sweet, clean scent.  I rolled to my back and he stroked my naked mound.  His fingers felt warm, honest.  My silly shaved pussy was worth every blush and every moment of post-feminist guilt I’d been experiencing.   A passport to 45 minutes of losing my mind will always be worth it.

He told me he would be leaving soon and I squeezed him tightly.  Happy to have made him so happy.  He loved it and I loved that he loved it.

And I felt motherfucking lucky.

It’s not every day I have someone for whom to shave my pussy bare.  He’s one lucky motherfucker.

Pussy trumps cock or I can’t make him cum.

To get The Neighbor to cum I have to do an elaborate dance of tension, pressure, sensuality, and stamina. It is not for the faint of heart. My neck hurts, my arms, my mouth will feel drawn and tight. But I persevere because I love him and I love his cock.

The man may be blessed to have a large cock, but he is blocked. His vice-like grip on himself and his emotions also extends to orgasm when a woman is upon him; neither her mouth or her pussy are always the key. They’re occasional keys.

He laments his troubles, but finds great pleasure in what he gives to me and what I do for him. It’s like an almost-perfect birthday gift. Much like millions of men around the world whose women never orgasm beneath them, I trust him when he says he doesn’t need to cum to enjoy himself. I was that woman for years. I get it.

Not only is giving TN a blowjob a performance, I also have to be in the right mindset to make him cum. The sun and moon and stars are involved every time. And lately, they have been misaligned. I’ve been tired, mildly suffocated, agitated, frustrated, and most recently sad and mourning.

Our relationship is good, but it’s not great. We hover in this purgatory of “everything but…” I have everything but hand-holding in a movie theater. Everything but sweet kisses for no reason. Everything but outings with my baby and my man. Everything but having him be a part of my family.

It’s been weighing on me these past few months and I’ve struggled to stay grateful for the moment and all the “everythings.” But with that comes a fatigue which robs me of my ability to perform. I still slurp and love on him — all the time — but I hold back and don’t slip into that place where I know I can make him cum.

In addition, I become frustrated with him for jerking off before he comes over to see me — typically, his third of the day — so I let that domino topple into the rest and therefore I don’t bother, either. He wants to empty his body of seed? Ok, then I won’t try to draw something out that isn’t there to be had.

The sex continues to be hot as fuck, my love for him is stable, possibly growing, and everything is generally kosher (dare I say boring), I just haven’t felt open enough to go there lately. Until the other night.

He came into my room still warm from his shower and smelling of hibiscus this time. I pulled him down to the mattress and splayed my fingers through his chest hair and purred, hitched my leg up over his and pressed my entire body against him. I found myself in a loving and timeless place. I wanted to try this time. He gives so much to me all the time it hurt to think about how little he’s willing to take from me.

My “I Heart Dave” shirt pulled on my breasts as I crawled down between his legs and spread his knees with my body. His erection bobbed hot and heavy, his sac languished below like a bulbous root.

I cupped him gently and tugged then squeezed his shaft with my free hand. He stretched a little beneath me.

I planted my right hand next to his left hip, gripped him with my left, and gently sucked him into my mouth. Soft. Slow. Long. Deep as I could go.

He sighed and pressed into my face.

I closed my eyes then and moved into my dance. I became him as best as I could, listened to every twitch, moan, and movement he shared. His breath caught once, twice, three times. I stopped after each, caught my breath, focused on ignoring my discomfort after minutes on end of continued loving.

He was fighting himself, I knew. I could feel it swarm around me, this battle to just. let. go.

And I was losing.

I paused then and slithered up to his mouth, kissed the corner of it and offered him a breast, popped out over my neckline. He moaned and suckled and twisted my free breast with his hand and stuffed his face with my other breast.

He switched back and forth between my right and my left, mewling and grunting. I repositioned myself so I straddled him; I felt his cock push at the crotch of my black lace panties.

“No,” I said. “Cock trumps boobs.” I wanted to get back to him, to his beautiful, sad penis. I wanted to win.

He sat up suddenly then pushing me off of him and flipping me over. My knees splayed open around him.

He was resplendent in the candlelight, his naked body light and furry, all bulging muscles.

“No,” he countered. “Pussy trumps cock.” And in one smooth motion he pulled off my panties and rammed himself inside of me.

I sighed as I gave up and let him stroke me slowly, his icy blue eyes locked on my face. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I didn’t know where to look. But he knows me well.

He knows that within seconds I don’t have to worry about where I’ll be looking anymore because my eyes will be closed, my head thrown back, my face flushed and my moans uncontainable.

He smirked at me as he witnessed my passion grow beyond my control and I tossed my head from side to side, clutched at his hips, pushed against the creaky metal bed frame.

“Please,” I gasped. “Please, please, please…” I trailed off into a whimper.

“Please, what?” he grinned devilishly, his hips moved slowly. Painfully, exquisitely.

“Fuck me. Fuck me harder. Now.”

And it was as if my words were like a starter gun. He burst out of the gate and slammed into me, his hooves pounding, flying, my body the turf and I blossomed into orgasm again and again.

My own journey to self-discovery — and opening up the the possibility of being orgasmic — was the key to unlocking my box. His cock and my brain are an unstoppable duo, but I had to be present, there.

And as I lay beneath him being jostled by his pounding into my pussy I thought wistfully that I wished I could give him this, too. This hover-over-your-body sensual, ethereal luxury.

He pinned my wrists on either side of my head and jack-hammered into me. My pussy gushed and I felt my juices trickle down between my bottom cheeks. I hung on like a rag doll jockey and hoped beyond all hope that he would cum. But my hopes were for naught.

Exhausted, he slumped over me and rested. He was done.

We lay entwined and breathed heavily next to one another. We cuddled and I played with his diminishing erection. I asked him if he was ok not cumming. He said of course he was. I don’t ask every time he doesn’t cum, but every so often I do. I suppose I should stop, but I just want him to know I care. I don’t want him to think I’m selfish or indifferent to his pleasure.

I take some comfort in knowing he’s cum more with me than he has with any other woman. I’m also the first woman to ever make him cum from a blowjob (his old Domme swung through town a few weeks after he and I met and she was able to make him cum that night — I can’t help but take credit for it, though. I broke the seal.). He also never came with 4 am girl — or even came close. I take comfort in that, too.

It’s strange to be the one who cums, but I’ll take it. And I’ll keep working on cracking his code. His goddamned riddle wrapped in an enigma inside a conundrum. I want him to feel half as good as he makes me feel and I often tell him as much. If he got even a glimpse of what I feel he’d want to return to that place time and time again. I want his key.

I turn to the Domme side.

20130425-074330.jpg

I wore my nerdy glasses and pinned my hair with a pencil. My white, eyelet panties peeked out from the bottom of the cardigan.

I am not an insecure woman.

I am bold and confident, believe my common sense will guide me through any uncertain circumstance, and feel that my instincts are correct 99% of the time. I consider myself luckier than most.

Therefore, it confounds me when I feel confused, lost, or otherwise discombobulated.

Discovering my dominant side and fanning its flames does just this. It discombobulates the fuck outta me.

Many years ago, in a faraway land called Dating, Marriage and [mostly] Vanilla Sex, I yearned to be dominated. I wanted to be cherished, worshiped, and taken care of. Pain wasn’t a part of my fantasy. It was about letting go and trusting my partner to think of everything. To my overwrought, SAHM (stay-at-home-mom), neglected brain the notion of being used and directed was heaven. Sweet and salty, not-a-care-in-the-world caramel heaven.

My journey to this side of myself has been accidental. I’ve been tying up my lovers for years, but it was just something I did, not a part of who I am. Long term boyfriends had the pleasure numerous times to be pinned down, dripped with wax, pinched with clothespins, tickled with feathers, pegged, blindfolded, and otherwise sensually tortured by me and I enjoyed myself. Immensely.

I went to a primal place within me; I was a sexual nerve. Forward thinking, empathetic, pushing, pushing, pushing. And then I would hit the wall of uncertainty: what to do next? My lovers and I never talked about D/s — what the fuck was that? We just liked things a little spicy. And so I delivered. To a point.

When I would come to the end of that teasing path I always handed back the reins. My bashfulness rose and my ignorance reigned supreme. Instead of keeping him beneath me I relinquished control and didn’t see the gift of his submission. I mistakenly believed that I could only receive pleasure from him if I was the receptacle. Soft, submissive, feminine. It was selfish, sexist, and completely silly of me.

The Neighbor and I stumbled onto my abilities much like I had come upon my kinky pleasures in the past: we had the gear and the imagination and shit just happened.

He’d been telling me for months that he’d had a lover in the past for 6 months — some honey he met off of FetLife –who dommed him, but I dismissed it. I didn’t let it stick, sink in, or otherwise digest into any part of my consciousness. It did not compute.

Men are bigger and stronger, I thought. I don’t want to be in charge. I’m tired and need relief.

Back then TN like to spank the fuck out of me. I walked away from our encounters with welts the size of his paw on my hip and flanks. He’d growl at me and toss me around and I reveled in what felt like his dominance, but it never went all the way. He didn’t domineer, direct, or control me. He inflicted his superior strength upon me. There’s a difference.

One is intellectual, the other is opportunistic.

Embracing my ability to control and hold the reins has called into question the decisions I made during my marriage. Could it have been saved if I had taken over in the bedroom?

In hindsight, I recall my sweet exhusband’s own wall present in most of our interactions. His own uncertainty and hesitations. I demanded that he break it down, but to no avail. We hovered in a place of love and longing and lots of miscommunication. It broke my heart like so many pieces of glass.

I’m trying not to think about it.

My dominance over TN excites me for my future and whatever lovers I may have. Seeing a man bend his will to mine, to curb his superior strength, and to give over to me his own sexual pleasure is a tender, wild gift. I must treat it with respect and delicate hands. Give it little puffs of love as I pant beneath it and moan about its beauty.

It is less about penetration than it is about obedience. I keep TN and I calibrated through our roles. When he behaves badly, he is punished. I am just and open. He tells me why he’s getting spanked even as the belt laps at his pale skin. “I’m sorry for being a jerk. I’m sorry for not thinking you knew that. I’m sorry for being petulant. I’m sorry for being a dick,” and so on. Sweeter words never befell my ears.

Last week, I was desperate for a session. We had re-hashed the rules and boundaries of our relationship and fucked numerous times, but I was adrift and mildly angry at the world, perhaps at him, certainly at me.

When he arrived 3 minutes late he knew immediately he would be getting at least 3 lashes. He argued with me and I added 5. He huffed at me and I added another 5. He rolled his eyes and I added yet another 5.

My mind was lightening quick, my math smooth as butter, quick as my words. “That makes 18 and I haven’t even finished lighting all the candles. Want to go for more?”

He ducked his chin and looked at me remorsefully. “No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.” I stood there in my grey cardigan and panties feeling 6 feet tall instead of 5′ 5″.

He walked over to the bedside table where I had pulled out our toys. Body markers, a pretty glass butt-plug, lube, blindfolds, straps, and a banana-yellow ruler. I wanted everything within reach, but didn’t have much of a plan.

As I watched him watch me and move against my moves I became more aroused. He was regarding me with eager eyes. He waited for my voice, my command.

I told him to lay on the bed and we talked and I played with his flaccid penis. I sketched an outline of it like a dead body and measured it. Four inches soft as a water balloon.

When the outline grew to 8″ I told him to flip over. His round, white ass high in the air bloomed red as I carefully painted him with his 18 lashes. Then another 5 simply because I could.

I kissed the bright red skin and pulled him up by the shoulder, leaned in and kissed him.

“Let’s go take a shower,” I said then. “I’m shaving your balls and you’re going to wash my pussy.”

A small universe away from that moment I lay with legs splayed and his dark head between my thighs. He made me soar, though I didn’t cum.

When his jaw began to hurt I laughed. “We need more practice, TN. Lots more!” He smiled gingerly rubbing his jaw and agreed, stood up and pulled my bottom closer to the edge of the bed and slipped in deep and long.

Later, in a four-point restraint he dangled in front of an orgasm for so long his body tingled and he writhed and panted and begged for me to stop. I took pity on him and untied him, curled up in his arms and let him stroke me.

He plunged his fingers deep inside of me and burst through my shell and I released a bucket of ejaculate onto my sheets. I saw stars and couldn’t speak.

Cuddled in his arms again he said he was hungry. I agreed. And as I entered the neighborhood diner, my breasts free behind a white t-shirt and my hair home to a little bird’s nest in the back, I felt tough and fine and I sincerely hoped everyone knew what we’d just been doing.

We drove back home under the stars and he gave me a long kiss goodnight at my doorstep. I staggered back to my room which was littered with the proof of our debauched night and flounced onto the bed with not a little drama. Faisal mewed and pounced on me and I put my arm around him and floated away with dreams of dominance and a new sense of my anchor deep down below me.

I have gone to a new side of Hyacinth and staked my flag high and bright. I’m a little nervous and still somewhat shaken, but I much prefer the view from here as opposed to over there. It’s a lot nicer on the Domme side.