Afterburn

Through dumb luck we found ourselves kidless at home this evening. A rare occurrence. I, of course, was hoping we’d squeeze a little action in and I was not disappointed. In fact, it’s entirely possible I’m writing this in the gap in the action. The first act, in which Thumper got his ass thoroughly whipped, is over. Act two, if it happens, would be all about Mistress Belle Fille.

It started out with us watching an episode of Mad Men downstairs while she worked out on the ellipse (yes, that’s the big evening without kids – catching up on our stories like a couple of old ladies). The intention was to continue watching more episodes upstairs after her shower, but somehow it never happened and before you know it I was all naked and subby on the bed next to her.

“Get the flogger.”

Gasp! She’s gonna beat me! Sweet!

I got the little rubber flogger and handed it to her and naturally assumed a very submissive posture. Ass in the air, head down on the sheets, she said, “Stay just like that. I’ll be back…”

I stayed as directed. My knees were apart, so my ass was spread with the sack hanging freely from between. I enjoyed being in the classic position of one dominated, enjoyed that I was like that at her command, enjoyed the feeling of the breeze blowing through the window moving around her cock and balls. I felt very calm and at peace.

She reentered the room and sat down on the bed behind me. I had no idea what she left the room for as I assumed I was about to be hit with the flogger and couldn’t imagine what she needed from elsewhere. Then, I felt a cold cream being applied to my scrotum. And then I smelled it. Icy Hot. Lots of it.

Jesus. H. Christ.

I whimpered in anticipation of the pain about to come. It always goes on cool and soothing. Then the fire starts. And this time, she followed the package directions and “applied liberally”, so the fire started hot and just got hotter. While I was writhing on the bed, nuclear fusion taking place between my legs, she started to flog my upraised ass.

Truth is, the Icy Hot hurt so bad, the flogging was almost incidental. Waves of burning heat crashed into my scrotum, receded slightly, only to crest higher the next time. Sweat broke out all over my body. I bit hard into the blanket. Realizing we were alone, I got vocal. I screamed. My eyes watered. It hurt so bad. And all the while, she was flogging my ass.

Eventually, the Icy Hot started to wane. She got up again and came back in with a wet washcloth. I think (it’s hard to remember, even though it just happened) I grabbed the cold, wet cloth from her and pressed it against my nuts. It was like pouring gasoline on a fire.

“What the fuck is on here?!” I yelled as the renewed burning intensified.

“Just water,” she replied, laughing.

Remember, kids, a wet washcloth actually makes Icy Hot hurt more, even when you think it’s almost run its course. Do not try this at home.

Eventually, it did run its course and settled into the cold afterburn stage. All the while this was going on, she was still flogging my ass. Running the rubber tendrils down my back, across my ass cheeks, between my ass cheeks (where, it’s worth noting, she also got some Icy Hot), then fwap! Again and again. Raining down a half dozen or more blows at a time, alternating between cheeks and my upper thighs.

After a little bit, the pain stopped being so harsh and shocking. It turned the corner into something else. It’s hard to describe since it hurt just as bad, but I stopped crying out with each blow and started sighing and moaning and sometimes not making any sound at all. It started to feel warm and almost comforting. Instead of flinching and leaning away from her blows, I started to edge closer, moving my ass higher to meet them sooner. Everything I wanted, everything I was, all I’d ever be, at that moment, was the sweet pain. I wanted it to go on and on. I never wanted it to stop. It was just. So. Wonderful.

Then it was over. She had a light sheen of sweat over her (it’s rather warm today) and had had enough. I could have kept going indefinitely. Regardless, I laid across her legs, still on my knees, and hugged close to her thighs and just basked. Angry red and purple streaks were raised on my rosy cheeks while the most contented afterglow radiated within me. This is something else I can’t describe. It’s like a post-orgasmic glow, but different. All I wanted to do was stay like that, hugging her legs, moaning little moans with my eyes closed, thanking her, telling her I loved her. Rapture. Pure rapture.

I can still feel the stinging as I sit here and type. I want it back, that feeling. I want her to hit me some more. Hard and fast, like before.

Only this time, no Icy Hot, please.

Nuts!

Even now, after Belle and I have done so many things with (and to) one another over the past six months or so, I still find it difficult to tell her about some new perversion lurking deep down in my nether-psyche. There’s still a layer of embarrassment mixed with vulnerability mixed with guilt that gets dredged up alongside the revelation. No, there aren’t too many things out there that are actually new (as opposed to variations on already established themes), but even taking something we already do at one level up to the next is hard for me to talk to her about.

While I was on my trip, during the evening I couldn’t sleep, while looking at too much porn and struggling with the fact that I couldn’t relive my surging desire while simultaneously unable to stop building on that desire by looking at the fucking porn, I found myself more and more desperate for some kind of sensation.1 Had I the appropriate tools, I’d have probably gone after my ass since it can provide me with a lot of sensation. But I didn’t have the appropriate tools and nothing at hand I could press into service. All I had was my brain, my hands…and my balls.

In the past, I’ve found pleasure in the sensation of having my balls squeezed and pulled or even stung by Belle’s little flogger. Enough that I could see, through the crack of the door, that there was a larger room back there. A deeper desire for testicular torment. I suppose one could make the argument that enforced chastity is, in itself, a form of extended cock and ball torture, so it’s not much of a stretch to think someone who gets off on that would get off on other forms of CBT.

*smack* *whack* *THWACK* (Yes, it was just like an episode of Batman.)

I started smacking them around. Gently at first, but later with more force. Testicular pain is, as any guy can attest, unique. I’m not aware of any other part of the body being able to generate the same kind of sensation. Plus, it’s form changes as it becomes more intense. Low levels of force create small, localized ripples that can make you jump but are over as soon as they come into being. Ratchet up the force, and you’ll find yourself experiencing pain that reverberates through your whole body. It will radiate out of the testes, flood from head to toe, and quickly coalesce into an aching, cramping pool in the pit of your gut where it lingers. This is not the surface pain of being flogged or spanked. This is interior pain. This is reaching deep inside, to the center of one’s being, and making it hurt.

All the plastic in the area complicated the vector of attack, but also did a good job of keeping the targets together and vulnerably positioned. I found that, even in the middle of a series of steadily building smacks on either side and the resulting waves of pain crashing over me in quick succession, that I wanted it harder, more painful. Each time, after a dozen or so strikes, I’d end with a hit as hard as I could possibly bring myself to use. Then, I’d writhe on the bed, doubled over, holding gently the objects of my torment, and absolutely luxuriating in the sensation. Once the pain had fully retreated, I’d crave it all over again. Really, I craved it. I could not get enough.

I also found a certain amount of psychological interest in doing this. The idea that I would actively inflict pain on the one part of my body I’ve always been conditioned to protect – to exploit the most potent of all a man’s physical vulnerabilities – was incredibly stimulating. I was pushing myself to find my limit, to hit my most delicate body parts harder and harder each time. I’m not sure I found that limit. Each time I ended with a harder smack than the last time (and suffered through the resulting torment), but never found one that went too far, that hurt too much. In way, it was kind of scary.2

Eventually, I had to stop. The abuse had left my balls swollen, flushed with color, and aching. They ached all the next day, but not in a way that made me sorry I had done it. On the contrary, the lingering pain left me desirous of the time I’d be able to do it all over again.

And that led me to last night when I finally found the intestinal fortitude to tell Belle that I wanted her to hit my balls. I felt very vulnerable and even embarrassed. She took it in stride, though, and did her best to make me feel at ease for telling her. But then I went further and told her I was also fixated on crushing them using a physical device (like maybe this, or that – but don’t even get me started on this admittedly non-crushing yet still deliciously evil thing *swoon*).

At this, she balked. Belle’s got this thing about bringing objects into the mix of our sex (which is hard to avoid when playing with BDSM). She continues to deal with it to this day. I don’t think she’s entirely comfortable with the cuffs and straps, etc., involved in bondage and flogging. She’s resisted the introduction of a strap-on for me to use on her saying she prefers the real thing (which is sweet) even though she’s never had a high quality dildo inside her and certainly not while it was strapped to my bucking hips. She hardly ever even puts me in my collar.3

Also, there was a tone in her voice that she meant to be playful, but I heard as bordering on teasing or mocking. Not only didn’t she want to add any more accoutrement to our portfolio, but she seemed a little squicked-out by the whole crushing thing. That sent me into an immediate subby tailspin. I closed my eyes, unable to look at her.

Luckily, we worked it out. As usual, “working it out” means I gave in. Hitting, slapping, punching the testes is OK, crushing them will not happen. I have to admit that I’m not sure how I’ll approach the next revelation regarding my ever-evolving perversions. I know I need to communicate and tell her what I’m thinking and what I want, but I still fear being judged by her. It’s still very hard to unearth and expose these things that have always festered secretly inside me. I can’t say this experience helped me get past that issue, but I’m sure it was the right thing to do and a step in the right direction.

I don’t know. As long as she occasionally punches me in the balls, I’m sure it’ll all work out for the best.

1 Desperately seeking an alternative to orgasmic release is, for me, one of the signature components of denial. It’s what leads me to find sexual satisfaction in her orgasms and powers my desire to serve her. It also leads me to try or imagine things I wouldn’t have otherwise.

2 I know, I know. This is potentially dangerous stuff. Don’t worry, I have a pretty good resource and am aware of the potential issues.

3 All that said, she sure does like her vibrator, doesn’t she? 😉

Thrice

Belle let me come three time last weekend. Three times in three days (only once inside her). I feel somewhat bad for not coming over here and posting about it (and even worse that I ignored the blog all week), but the truth is, after the three orgasms, I didn’t really feel like it. Every little bit of whatever energy I use to write what I write had left me (plus, I have a very busy week at work). Not only that, but (of course) my sub reservoir was totally drained.

The first orgasm was pretty straightforward. Shortly after getting in the room, Belle and I got into bed. I fingered her to orgasm and she told me to have my way with her. For a few moments, I thought she was going to keep me waiting, but she’s excessively nice to me. My resulting orgasm came quickly and explosively.

The second time, she had me blindfolded and tied to the bed and had just abused me with the flogger, ice, and wickedly cruel nipple clamps. Again, she’s crueler in my mind and I though she might have been stroking me just to leave me edged and horny, but she kept going and I eventually came like fountain. Whatever had spurted onto her hand she smeared all over my lips. All I could do was laugh hysterically at this, though I kept my mouth clamped shut and wiped the spunk off as soon as my hand was free.

The last time was Sunday morning. She had ridden me to her own orgasm and wanted me to go too, but something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t come from underneath and had her roll over but couldn’t come from on top, either. Eventually, she let me jerk off and that felt almost as good as fucking her considering how long it had been since I had been allowed to enjoy my own hand all the way to pleasurable orgasm. Masturbation is quite unfairly derided, in my opinion. I really like it (and miss being able to do it).

The week passed with me slacking off on my duties until Wednesday when I finally confronted the mountain of laundry that had piled up. I don’t feel as though I’ve been of much service to her, partly because she’s on her period now but mostly because, as I said, all my submissive juices were juiced out of me. Yes, I’m one of those guys. I told Belle last night that I wanted us to get back into the rhythm, though. My 41-year-old libido has finally recovered from all the ejaculatory action of the weekend and I’m getting horny again. I know I said in my last post that I wanted to take a break from the dom/sub thang, and I guess we did, but mostly because I wasn’t energized and she was on the rag. I still haven’t come since then or had any sexual contact with her at all. She never released me from my servitude, though, and I’ve been faithful to her control over my sex even as the meat between my legs made it presence known this morning in a way that suggests the lizard within is starting to stir.

She’s left me out of chastity for the week, so this morning as I was in the bathroom getting ready for work, I snuck a little edging in. I’ve been counting how many times I can rapidly stroke myself before feeling the urge to come. I got up to over 120 before having to pause the first time. After a few moments of rest, I’d go again and find each time the number – unsurprisingly – got smaller. The last time, I only got to the high 30s before having to stop (and even then, a little bit leaked out). I bet I got about 400-500 strokes in. As long as she keeps me out of lock-up, I’d like to keep up this training program. I’d like to be able to stroke myself 1,000 times and not be close to coming. We’ll see how it goes.

I don’t expect to get much more time to practice, though. I leave town Monday for a three day conference and she’s said she thinks I need to be locked up before I go. Normally, business trips are an opportunity to consume porn and jack-off like a rabbit, but that was all before the new paragdim. If I’m really lucky, her period will end soon and she’ll let me service her a bit. That’ll leave me nice and worked up for the trip, and well motivated to keep up the blogging.

I want

We leave today for our three-day, two-night, adults-only trip to the charming B&B next to a river in the boonies somewhere. Apparently, there are things to do around the B&B, but I don’t care. If it were up to me, we’d never leave the room and stay naked the entire time. It would be hour after hour of debauchery and dirty, nasty sex punctuated with occasional beatings (and maybe some sleep).

Belle has been keeping me on a pretty short leash. It’s been days since I’ve been allowed to have sexual contact and last night she told me that was on purpose. She says I need to become stronger. More motivated to see to her pleasure. That’s why she only let me massage her feet, even though she had made enough comments during the day as to my obviously desperate state to lead me to hope I’d get some action (which, of course, is code for “she gets some action”). I rubbed with abandon. At one point, I was practically masturbating her feet.

I feel as though the cock’s hard all the time now. I’m so desperate for any kind of sexual or even sensual contact and she knows it and does nothing about it. I can’t give her just a peck. When she’s near me, I want to give her deep, reaching soul kisses and I find my hands on her tits and migrating south to rub her mound through her clothes. I can feel the static sexual charge crackling up and down my spine.

This afternoon, when we’re in the room, I’d want her to tie me up and hit me. Besides the sex, I’m craving pain. I want to be tied up, hit with various objects, have my nipples clamped cruelly, the cock slapped, my balls squeezed and crushed. Oh, Jesus, I almost want to be hurt more than I want the sex. It’s been so long. I want to be tortured and used and abused. I want her to tie me up and then sit on my face until she comes. I want her to ride her cock to orgasm, but every time I get close to coming, I want her to slap my face or reach back and crush my balls. I want her to cuff me and leave me that way all night. I want to be collared. Oh god, do I want to be collared.

Then, of course, there’s my ass. Whenever I’m like this and locked-up for a while, my ass (which, for me, is a valid and available sexual organ) beckons – “Always open!” it says helpfully. She’d never do it, but I’d also like her to violate my ass while I’m tied to the bed. If we had a gag, I’d want her to put it on me so I couldn’t complain or tell her to stop (note to self: get gag). I want my ass pounded, fast – really fast – and hard until my prostate sings and my entire body burns with the feeling of it.

Can you tell? Can you tell how surreally horny I am?

But, when it’s over, when all the reservoirs of frustration are drained and I come off my hormonal high and back to earth, I just want to fuck her. I want to fuck and fuck and fuck her in the sweetest way. I want to be in her body like when we first started to date. And then I want to take a week off from all this. I want to be able to come on to her like any other man can with his wife. I want to have normal, vanilla sex a half dozen times just so the sturm und drang of denial leaves the memory of my body and my Belle gets to be just my wife for a little while.

And once that’s done, I want her to tie me, beat me, and lock me because where I am right now – seathing in my own sex – really isn’t such a bad place to be after all.

Whimpering, doggie-style

My dog hates it when Belle beats me. I’m sure he thinks that if I’m getting the crap beat out of me, then he’s next on the list. The problem he presents is twofold. We can’t leave him outside our room because he’ll want to come in and will sit out in the hall and whine, scratch, etc., eventually waking the kids. Having him in the room is problematic since he’s a major distraction. Kinda hard to really get off on being whipped when the dog is pacing around whimpering and trying to sqeeze into places too small for him. By the time she was through working her aggression out on my ass, the dog was hiding under the bed and didn’t want to come out.

“Thumper’s Choice”, for those who are curious, involved being tied to the bed on my stomach, wrists secured by handcuffs, handcuffs strapped to the headboard, ankles separately cuffed and strapped to the footboard. I could almost raise myself up on my elbows and knees. She blindfolded me, rubbed some Icy Hot on my nuts and nipples, and proceeded to flog my ass with her little toy flogger. I call it a toy because it’s just a bunch of thin rubber cords on a plastic handle. Not the most beautiful of implements, but it was what we got at the beginning of our exploration. While it looks like a toy, it definitely does not feel like one. When she gets going with it, the resulting stinging and burning can get pretty intense. Still, I’d like to get something a little sexier.

It was a longer session that usual, though I can’t tell how long. I kind get all timeless when she’s hurting me. I know it was long enough for the Icy Hot to stop burning like a motherfucker, so maybe 30 minutes? I dunno. There were times when the combination of the burning nuts and the hard, repetitive striking of my ass was nearly more than I could handle, but the times in between were heavenly. She’d lazily brush just the ends of the flogger along my spine, over my ass, and then up between my cheeks. Just when I was grooving to the gentle sweetness of it, arching my back and raising my ass into the air, I’d hear the thin rubber strands whistle through the air a microsecond before they struck me again. She’s getting pretty good at the hitting thing. She even said she enjoyed it. Says it’s cathartic. Well, baby, you can get your catharsis out on my ass whenever you want.

Afterward, she wouldn’t let me get her off. I had to wait until last night for that. She told me to give her a back and shoulder massage (with the oil) before having me use the little pink vibrator on her. Again, not good with keeping time, but she came so hard and so fast it felt like it was over before it even got started. I have to admit, I felt somewhat cheated. Seriously, it was maybe ten seconds from the time I put the vibe against her clit and the time she started to come. Through all this, she never let me get naked – not even when we went to sleep. I wanted to. A lot. But she never gave the word. This means one of two things. One, she just forgot. I can’t explain why (trust me, I just started and erased four different attempts), but simply forgetting to allow me to do this would leave me feeling a little neglected. Kinda like forgetting to feed the dog or something. Anyway, the other option is she was purposefully withholding that permission. In which case, telling me she was doing so would have felt better, as it does whenever she demonstrates her control over me.

Speaking of which, I’m still not feeling the subby vibe. In fact, I’ve been in a funk for about a week and it’s getting funkier. I’m not panicking and questioning my entire world order as I have previously when this has happened. I’ve learned over the past four months that being flooded with all these hormones and abdicating self-determination regarding my sexual satisfaction makes me emotionally vulnerable. The slightest thing can push me into the mood I’m in right now. I know it’ll work itself out shortly. At least, I hope it will.

The organ of the dominant paradigm

I wasn’t going to write about this. It seems as though I’ve been running over here to tell everyone each time we have sex and, I suppose, that would get a little tiresome after a while. I mean seriously, who wants to sound like that guy in high school who told you each and every time a chick let him get to third base?

I wasn’t going to, but I figured out an angle – a way to use what happened to make a point. And my point is, last night we had terrific, mind expanding, deeply satisfying sex and at no time whatsoever were any penises involved in any way. Just the idea of that kind of blows my mind. Never would I have said such an thing could be possible four months ago.

It started in the kitchen. I was throwing together dinner and I think Belle was emptying the dish washer when she slapped my ass with a spatula. Even though it was through my sweats, it kind of stung. She was just fooling around, but when she saw my apparent interest in the sensation (I think I grabbed the granite and bit my lower lip), she did it again. And again and again. Ouch. But, you know, in the good way. She had previously said that that night she was going to do something painful to me, but hadn’t really settled in on what it was going to be. A few seconds swinging a spatula and she knew. That night, she was going to hit me on the ass with a kitchen utensil.

She hasn’t really hit me all that much and never on the ass. Yeah, she’s bitten me there (fucking awesome) and scratched and dug her nails into it, but never hit me. I’ve very much wanted to be hit there and, lucky for me, she found something she wanted to hit me with. Apparently, she finds it amusing that such a common item could be used for such an uncommon purpose. I told her we could find kinky shit to do with all kinds of stuff, if that’s what she wanted.

So, of course, I’m thinking about getting whacked with the spatula all during dinner. Afterward, while I was cleaning up and she was lounging on the couch in front of the fire, I went to her. I needed to kneel there and just be close. The idea of being hurt by her always makes me the most submissive I can be and so I wanted to be near her and show her how grateful I was for what she was going to do. I feel like there’s a room I go to when she’s abusing me and, when I know it’s coming, I kind of stand in the doorway – half in and half out, a foot on each side. And that’s where I was there, kneeling on the floor. Standing on the threshold of my secret room of pain.

Later, in the bedroom, candles all lit and semi-dark, I felt a trembling anticipation. I had placed the spatula on her nightstand (she let me pick which one she’d use). I got up to make sure the kids were both asleep and came back in and closed the door behind me. She told me to strip. I did and stood there naked before her wearing nothing but my chastity device. I’m quite self-conscience of it when I’m like that and the feeling layered on top of the knowledge that I was about to be hurt. I climbed back onto the bed and again, without even thinking about, put myself in a very submissive posture – face down, ass up, rubbing my head up against her torso. I was as deep into the headspace as I can get.

She ran her hands along my back and up and over my ass. At first, gentle caresses, then light scratching, then, suddenly, hard, deep scratching. She raked her nails from my ass all the down my back to my neck, then would pick a spot and dig her nails into me deeply. I whimpered into the sheets and she switched back to the gentle before attacking again with the harsh. She had me on edge and jumpy, hurting me randomly in a way I hadn’t been expecting.

Then she picked up the utensil and moved into position. At first, she hit me lightly getting me used to it. Even then, it stung more than I thought it would. Beforehand, I asked her to eventually hit me as hard as she could just to see what the worse could feel like. It didn’t take her long to get there. Left cheek, right cheek, left, right, left, left, left. She’d rain down a quick series of blows, then stop and stroke the burning surface of my ass with the cold, flat black plastic. I probably would have dealt better had I been tied down. As it was, I writhed and whimpered and cried out with each hard thwack.

At first, it was very hard to take. I liked it, but it was so intense. Much more than I’m used to or was expecting. I didn’t think of asking her to stop, but it was getting difficult to imagine it continuing. After a few minutes, she asked me how I was doing. Was I OK? Long pause. Yes, I was fine. The hitting continued. My ass was stinging and I could feel it radiating heat. At some point, I felt myself start to draw away from the intensity of the pain. It still hurt, but the harsh jagged edges of it were smoothing out. Just as it seemed I was settling in for the long haul, she stopped.

We laid there, kissing, my eyes closed and ass on fire. She asked how I felt. I said I felt like getting hit some more. But she was tired, so it was over for the night. And seriously, I basked. In whatever chemical afterglow follows that kind of punishment, I laid there and wallowed in it. I can’t put into words how it felt. Kind of like after an orgasm, but not. Different. Higher. Warmer. I don’t know. But how I love my Belle for taking me there.

After that, it was more typical of our recent sessions. I gave her a back and shoulder massage with the scented oil while my ass kept up it’s pleasant throbbing sting. Once she had had enough rubbing, she turned over and I used Pink, the little vibe that could, to bring her to orgasm (preceded with multiple soft yet forceful exclamations of “oh god” in quick succession – that was a nice touch). Afterward, she giggled saying the residual sensation of the vibe tickled.

It wasn’t until this morning that I realized we never, not once, even touched the cock during the entire scene. It simply wasn’t a factor, yet I was more than satisfied and she had a terrific orgasm. They can’t all go down like that, of course (she’s too big a fan of her cock), but to be able to pull it off not only absent the organ at the focus of the dominant paradigm’s version of sex but without even considering it is awesome.

Maybe it’s time for a new paradigm.

Hurt me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. Yesterday, it was orgasm denial. Today, pain.


Belle,

As we’ve already established, I like it when you hurt me. So far, this has been mostly confined to pain you’ve inflicted with your hands (pinching, scratching, squeezing), and that’s been good. But I want more. Here’s a list of all the ways I can think of at the moment that I’d like to play with you:

  • Nipples. I love it when you pinch and twist my nipples. You’ve really let yourself go lately and, in fact, have left them raw and stinging all the next day. That’s good! However, I also like the little chrome clothespins we bought. They’re very strong and create a different kind of pain. A longer, burning intensity that builds over time. Also, don’t forget the little clamps attached by the chain. Put them on me and then pull on the chain. Stretch my nipples. They like that.
  • Biting. You know how I feel about this. You can bite me anywhere, any time. What you do to my neck is glorious, especially when it leaves a mark. In fact, feel free to leave marks where they’ll show. I might be ashamed by them, but that’s OK. None of your concern. When you bite my ass, it sends me over the moon. There may be nothing I like better. Bite it harder. You can also bite my earlobes, my ribs, my hips, and my inner thighs. Oh, and don’t forget the nipples again. They’re little sluts, my nipples.
  • Nuts. Recently, you’ve started squeezing my balls. I like that. You can squeeze them harder. It’s a unique pain and one I only want you to inflict on me. Squeeze them, slap them, abuse them. We should read that book you leafed through who’s pictures horrified you. There are so many ways to torture the cock and balls. Binding them with thin rope, in particular, is something I’d like you to do to me.
  • Flogging. That little flogger you bought in San Francisco turned out to be a more serious toy than I thought it would be, but I want to try something heavier. I want you to flog my ass, my chest, the insides and back of my thighs, my upper back, and even my balls. I want you to raise welts on me. I want it to sting the next day. I want you to mark me.
  • Spanking. That nice, wide, heavy wooden Aveda brush? Spank my ass with it. Spank me until my ass glows. You can also use your hands or one of my leather belts. I spanked myself once with my own belt in a hotel room. It was hard, but I managed it. Belts leave lovely marks behind and the sound of them cracking over skin is heavenly.
  • Slapping. Feel free to slap me. What is slapping, anyway, except spanking for the face? Am I accidentally being too rough on your nipples? Am I whining too much for you? Begging just a little more than you’d like? Pull me up by my collar and slap me across the face. Then kiss me.

Regarding pain of all sorts, remember that I want you to push me. When I ask for it to end, tell me you’d like to see me accept a little more. When I beg, tell me how much it would mean to you if I endured it longer still. This I will do – want to do – for you.

In every way yours,
Thumper