After a long hard weekend of abuse last weekend, I had to get up early & pick Blackie up from the airport. I’d missed him greatly, but wasn’t sure of the reception I’d have as I’d failed one task with “MC” (who quickly administered his own punishment). Blackie greeted me warmly, but I’ve been with him long enough to know that appearances (especially those in public) can be deceiving…
Once home, Blackie checked his email & puttered about on the internet for about an hour before declaring it was time for a nap — and clearly it was a directive for me to join him.
I was nervous when I stripped, but when he patted the bed for me to curl up next to him, I was happy and contentedly curled myself around his left side before we both drifted off to sleep.
I awoke, in the same position on my right side as I had fallen asleep in, to the familiar pulling-ache of a hungering pussy — and I knew that Blackie must have been touching me.
Sure enough, his fingers were lightly brushing my tender nipples, causing them to send urgent messages to my cunt. I just laid there while Blackie’s fingers and eyes assessed my used & abused conditions — for Blackie doesn’t trust such things as badly bruised thighs any more than he does normal appearing breasts; he knows better. So rather than having me stand naked before him, just looking at the marks on my body, Blackie prefers to let his touch tell him things…
Trailing his fingers over my skin, each light brushing eliciting shivers, sighs, moans, shudders, flinches & audible air-sucking winces… Things that tell him what hurts where. For while I had reported back to him all the ways I had served, of the abuse I took, Blackie knows my bodily responses are far more indicative of my condition than my words.
As his fingers assessed the damages, they also spoke of his pleasure, his ownership.
“This was done to you because I allow it.”
“This is how I want you to be.”
“This pain I give; this pain I exploit.”
“This is mine.”
Of course, there were other clues, like nipples which grew to meet the palm of his hand, the scent of my pussy warming in the air, and my hips thrusting with need… All these things that tell him how much more I can take, where & when I will break, and, yes, just how greedy his submissive little come-slut is.
When I was trembling, as much from the awe of being under his scrutiny & control as the physical touches themselves, Blackie increased the intensity of his touches. Trailing fingertips became twists & tugs, pinches & pokes. He gave my stinging left ass cheek a slap and then pushed my hip over, having me lay on my back so that he could loom over me… And slowly lower himself to kiss me.
He kissed me long and hard, leaving me breathless… He kissed me as he more cruelly exploited the tenderness of my tits, muffling my moans with his mouth. He continued to kiss me as he trailed his hand down my body to my pubic hair where he grabbed a fistful of hairs — his silent command for me to open my legs wide.
Once they were open, he began to fuck me until we both came; the wordless way passionate couples reunite after long absences from each other.
Now I’d had my romantic homecoming. But punishment was yet to be delivered…
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So you see, not all sex in BDSM relationships involves complicated role play or long sessions of extreme play — or even being under the influence of previous long sessions of extreme use, which I certainly was (leaving me whimpering as Blackie likes). Sometimes we just make love. Or just fuck. Or whatever.
Mixing it up is important, I think. Not just because rough &/or intimidating BDSM sex all the time can be (nearly) as boring as only having vanilla missionary position sex, but because you have to nurture the tenderness, benevolence, & simple kindnesses as much as you have to develop the torture, discipline, & severity.
You may not have to be cruel to be kind, baby; but if you want love & reliance along with your control & sadistic pleasures, you will sometimes need to be kind to be cruel, baby.
Tags: BDSM relationships, serving
