Archive for the ‘breath play’ Category
What a wonderful weekend I’ve had! Play every day! But let me start with Friday night….
Our local dungeon was having a Victorian theme night. Since this is a serious fetish for me, my Master indulged me by agreeing to go (and dress up in a kilt for me! Phwoar!)
So in the evening, I took a bath and shaved off any undesired body hair (that being most of it!) and did my make-up, and got into as much of my period Victorian dress as possible on my own. Which wasn’t much: the chemise, corset (un-tightened), real silk stockings, and boots! When my Master got home, he tightened the corset (the man gets way too much delight from tight-lacing!), put on the petticoat, bustle pad, and then the skirt and bustle, and then finally the beautiful jacket.
For me, getting into this outfit is part of the foreplay, as the authentic period layers are put on me, I can feel myself sinking back in time, to be that modest Victorian lady who didn’t even want to expose her ankles (although half her bust was just fine!), who was helpless and submissive, who lived first under the command of her father, and then her husband. My favorite fantasies are of my skirts getting flipped up, and my virginal self being beaten and then “used vilely.”
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Yesterday was just … wow! I don’t know how I’m going to be able to get it all down – so much to write about!
It could have just been a disaster. I’ve had a seed of unhappiness all the time in the back of my mind because, with being sick right now, my pain tolerance is that of a wimpy gnat. Or something smaller, a wimpy amoeba! I knew my Master could work around that, but it’s still very upsetting, to take something like a good old OTK spanking and have it go from something that I can take for hours without crying, and from which, if he hits my “sweet spot” repeatedly my Master can get me to come, to a place where after the fifth or so spank I’m crying and not sure if I can handle it, and most certainly not able to orgasm from it. That puts a whole new meaning to “sucks.”
And, I was not in a very good mental space. I’d been waiting for a scene, even the pathetically lessened scene that most likely awaited me, for two weeks. I really can’t live without scenes. And when they don’t happen for a while, I start getting really antsy and unhappy. (And by “a while,” I have to admit I really mean more than one week. Yes, I am a slut. Any problem with that?) That morning, my Master got up and got right on his computer. I’d been up hours before him, horny as all-get-out (and scared, too. Even though I know he’ll never “break” me, I do know that he can dish out a hell of a lot of pain, and I have no idea if it will be the cane – well, it’s pretty much always some of that! – the tawse, the evil martinet, or something worse: lexan-cane-from-hell, a vile nasty paddle, and there are toys collecting dust in the toy box, never yet used on me! But it’s good that after almost two years, I’m still quaking in my boots at the beginning of a scene!)
Anyway, I made him breakfast and he stayed on his computer. Once he gets on the computer, he can stay on there all day, and I was getting concerned by this. I read for a while, reading the Victorian Erotic Discipline novel I’d ordered, trying to stay calm and be ready for the scene. But the hours went by. Finally, I decided it might be best if I went to have a nap, and he could wake me up when he was ready. But that was a bad plan – once in bed, my mind turned to all the ways things might go wrong. He might just stay on the computer all day, leaving me alone and miserable in bed until I finally got up to go out with him that night. I did my stupid thing where I worked myself up to a lather, thinking about all the terrible things that could happen (or not happen, as it were.)
By the time my Master came in, I was a sobbing mess of a girl, not at all in a place where a scene could or should happen. He was wonderful, as always. He held me, and soothed my fears. After a while, he’d calmed me down (by assuring me that he had not forgotten the scene at all, that, yes, he still wants to do terrible things to me, etc.) and he sent me off to go to the bathroom and then put on the spandex “punishment” shorts. But in the bathroom I started crying again, terrified of doing a scene in the state I was still not-entirely recovered from. I ran back to the bed-room, into his arms – sans shorts.
Well, he was very nice to me, but made it clear I had disobeyed and there would be consequences for that. I went and put the shorts on, finally, and then, to get me into a better headspace, he put me in the lambskin leather straitjacket with velcro removable “tit flaps” he has. That always does the trick – I can’t wear it without sinking immediately into happy sub-space. Then, the fun began. He had been going lightly on me over the past few months, because of various illnesses (on both our parts) and because of the messed up work task that robbed me of my health, and various other very good reasons. But I had convinced him that I didn’t really want or need him to be gentle with me, so he put that all aside. He let me lie in my new, improved head-space for a bit, touching me at his pleasure. But then, to my delight, he pulled the “tit flaps” (heehee!) off the jacket, leaving my breasts exposed and ready to be tortured! And oh, was I ready for that! I’ve been having so many fantasies recently of having my breasts pinched and clamped and otherwise abused – I had had this one recurring fantasy of him then taking the chain, hanging it over his cock, and making me blow him. Now, I’d never told him about this fantasy, but after pinching my breasts to great effect, he reached for the nipple clamps, put them on (and all that that entails, with the tugged “testing to make sure they’re on tight enough, and ooops, the one on the left nipple popped off – making the poor little slave gasp – so now we’ll just have to put it back on tighter – tug and repeat…) and then, then he straddled my leather-bound chest, hauled the chain up over his cock to the base, and pushed his cock down my throat! I was in heaven! My dreams were coming true! I kept my head at an uncomfortable angle and tried not to scrape him with my teeth (my jaw is pretty small) and also tried to show him, by enthusiasm, just how thrilled I was.
This went on for quite a while, my nipples being tugged quite hard with every movement by either me or him, and then he pulled me onto the floor and had me continue the blow-job, kneeling. I must have hit the floor pretty hard, because of the bruises I found on my knees the next day, but it didn’t bother me at the time! He pulled the tight-tight nipple-clamps off (yowch!) while I was kneeling, and then hauled me up on the bed for more breast torture, pulled a blindfold over my eyes, and got a short cane and started caning my breasts. Oh, I wished that could go on forever! That is such exquisite pain! But then he decided that my inner thighs needed caning. Ugh! Oh, my inner thighs are such pussies – my breasts can take so much, even when my pain tolerance is low, but my inner thighs are another matter. I tried my best to keep my legs open, and I partially succeeded, and thank the gods, he let me off with three each … but then, as if to make up for that kindness with cruelty, he hauled my legs up and over my head (as I lay on my back) into the position I have to rate “worst of all.” And he gave a good solid thwack! of the cane. I lost it. My legs came flying back down as I yelled “FUCK!” at the top of my voice. I can only say in my defense that my inner bad girl jumped out to try and defend me. Not one of her brightest ideas! He had my legs back over in but a second, and made me take the rest of the caning, and I honestly can’t tell you if it was six or 600, it was that bad. Then, it was right on to the next thing – he pulled me backwards across the bed, until my head hung off the other side, and then he pulled my face under him, and shoved his cock in my mouth, his balls covering my nose. Which meant that I only got to breathe when he let me. I have to say, this might just be the best way to do breath-play, ever! Meanwhile, he flogged my inner thighs and pussy, which was a nice change from all that caning, and only ever really hurt when he’d hit my pussy just right. I was aware of it going on, but was more focused on not missing any opportunity to get oxygen in my lungs. Again, I really have no idea how long that went on – since I was blindfolded, bound, and on restricted breathing, my concept of linear time had gone right out the window.
Then, a long spanking happened. He was quite aware that this was not something I’d enjoy, that it would be hard for me. But he did it anyway. And he let me know that a proper caning was next on the agenda, so that the whole time I worked to make it through the spanking, I knew that worse was awaiting me. My Master always keeps track of how many spanks he gives me – I never know, except that when I’m well it’s never enough. Now, when I’m not very well, it’s all too much. Not in a bad way of course, just in an intense way. My Master said later, during post-scene snuggles, that, really, my illness doesn’t get in the way, it just makes things easier for him! So, interminable amount of spanking later, I am allowed to go to the bathroom (still in my straitjacket, so my master has to walk me over there – with a good grip on my hair, of course!) and pull down the punishment shorts for me. I was allowed the dignity of peeing alone, but I have to say there’s not much dignity left when I can’t wipe myself, and he has to do it for me!
Then, the promised caning. I was screaming in pain by the second strike, and kept it up for the next 10! After that, he quickly grabbed a tawse and got in some good whacks while I shrieked like a banshee. Then, he roughly pulled the straitjacket off me, and, with me still snuffling, pushed himself roughly into my pussy. He only fucked me until I came (which was somewhat painful right up until I suddenly needed to ask for permission to come) and then … he had been threatening since before the scene started that today he was going to fuck me in the ass – for the first time ever. I was terrified – even though I had been begging him to do it for months, fantasizing about it every time I masturbated. But the reality was scary – he had put in butt-plugs and the like, but I hadn’t been really fucked in the ass for about three years, so it was as scary as it was the first time. My Master did it just like my fantasies – pushing into me in one thrust, and then fucking me just like it was my pussy. Oh, it hurt – so good! Just like my fantasies, that burning, intense, and oh-so-profoundly intimate pain. It was a reverse of our usual sex – normally I’m having intense pleasure, and I pretend it hurts, and beg him to stop. This time I was in intense pain, but moaning in pleasure, and unable to help myself from moaning, “Yes… Yes….” I had decided that I was perfectly happy just being like that, and that orgasms were entirely unnecessary, when my Master leaned forward and started rubbing my clit with his big strong fingers. I came immediately, and after he took his hand away, the pain had turned entirely to pleasure and I melted into pure bliss as his cock kept working in and out of my ass.
But the pleasure wasn’t over! Then, grabbing me by my hair, he pulled me to the bathroom. I didn’t dare hope for another of my dreams to come true … but when he pushed me into the tub, my hope soared. He stepped in over me, and I leaned back – excited but very nervous. He told me, “It’s coming now,” and a hot stream of urine caught me on the face (being a smart girl, occasionally, I had closed my eyes and mouth) and then moved down my body, while I writhed and moaned. When he was down to a few drops trickling out, I looked up and I suddenly wanted to express my gratitude – he started pulling me up from my reclining position, and I eagerly fastened my mouth on his cock. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that his urine tasted not at all bad. I suppose he’s just such a perfect Master that he pees tasty pee! Anyway, I was surprised when he pulled me off his cock and stood me up (carefully – I was rather unsteady on my feet!) Later I realized that I had unthinkingly done ATM (Which I had always said I’d never do – I have to stop saying “never,” when it applies to sex!) and he told me he pulled me up because he wasn’t sure I was with-it enough to know what I was doing. (Happily, I happened to be quite clean back there yesterday!)
Seeing what a woozy place I was in, he turned on the shower and rubbed shampoo in my urine-soaked hair. He treated me so gently and lovingly – joking with me as I toweled him off. He took me back to bed, and I gave him another blow-job, my fingers caressing and light scratching his balls. After all that had happened, it didn’t take long for him to him to shoot deep into my throat. We lay together for a little while, and then I noticed he was still rock-hard. I teasingly asked if he wouldn’t mind me “bouncing up and down on it” for a while, and he said, “Go for it,” so I climbed on top of him and rode him with all my skills, using every trick I’d ever read about or discovered on my own to bring him pleasure (and, uh, me too!) I kept going for so long that my core muscles started to rebel — my stomach and back muscles were aching in a way they never had, before! Then, he had me finish him with a final blow-job. It was then that I was quite surprised when he said I still needed to be punished for not obeying him about the punishment shorts, and for that moment where I screamed “fuck” and got totally out of position. He said there was nothing for it but twelve from the cane.
He had me get dressed for going out (we were going to dinner and then to a bar for the Liquid Munch – a gathering of local perverts) and I had suggested to him that I wear the new short jumpsuit I’d gotten in England (and expensive purchase, but so worth it – it’s all military styling and sexy cut) and fishnets and boots. He added I could put on my make-up after, which was very considerate of him. However, he added that he wanted me to remember that I was his, a concept with which I had perhaps gotten a bit fuzzy, and so he wanted me wearing regulation school knickers under the ensemble, which he knows humiliates me. So I went and got dressed, caught my breath, and walked back to my doom with a brave smile. He bent me over and I got the first six over my clothes, and I managed to keep from crying out (although not from wriggling in pain.) Then he had me take off the jumpsuit, (“What, Sir?” I asked in shock – I had just gotten dressed, after all!) and then gave me the last six over my knickers. I was not at all quiet for that last set!
Then we went and got a lovely Japanese dinner, and then walked to the bar. Many of our friends piled in, and besides seeing my wonderful doctor (who is a pervert of the highest order) I got my friend to join us. of course was running the event, which I think was quite successful. My Master gave me $5 to put 18 songs on the jukebox, and a guy who had put some songs on had walked away leaving 17 songs free, so I got to program 35 songs – I basically did the soundtrack for the whole evening, with some help from & .
I was quite exhausted by the time we got home, but it was just the thing for a sick girl (or at least a sick me!) Mind-blowing sex and good companionship are really the best cure!
Thank you, Master!!!