The Whipping Girl

I have a confession: I don’t love the singletail, at least in W’s hand.  There are implements I do love, even ones that hurt, that even as I am hurting I am getting something from them, something that when he stops using them makes me disappointed for that half-second: “No really, stopping now?  But why?!?”

The singletail is not one of those. Every moment it is in his hand, I am praying he will put it down.

That said, I don’t think I am supposed to love it.  I don’t think he wants me to love it.  I think he may even want me to fear it.

He could wield it in a way that I enjoy the experience. He has. Intermittently, in between slashing me with it, he does. So I know he can. He just…doesn’t.  He uses it precisely as it was designed to be used: slashing pain, punctuation, something harsh and brutal.

And, yes, contrary to what I just said up there, in a fucked-up way, I do love it.  Not so much the whipping itself–it hurts in a way that I definitely do not like–but psychologically,  it trips some messed-up trigger in my head to have him do that to me, knowing that he could be sweeter, that he could do it in that almost-kissing way that I so love, but chooses not to. He chooses to hurt me that way, knowing that I enjoy it the other way, knowing that it truly truly is pain, and that my body will show the evidence of my suffering later, in angry slash marks criss-crossing my tender flesh.  Slash marks that I will later cherish.

Yeah, fucked-up.

There’s always that moment of fear, of dread, the moment when he is getting ready to strike, when I don’t know which it’s going to be. A moment when I want to wait for it, in case it’s that feeling I love, the zing and heat; but truthfully, if I could just run away at that moment I would, because I am so sure it’s not going to be that, and waiting there for it in the off-chance that it is just seems stupid. Or stupidly hopeful. Or hopelessly optimistic. Or incredibly masochistic.  Whichever, it doesn’t matter.  I can’t run away.

Except when I can.

This past weekend W and Ad put a rope around my neck, and, giving me a long line, looped it around a pole and made me a tether ball.  They bounced me back and forth between them on that rope, around and around the pole as they chased me, or I ran from, whichever one was wielding the “lesser of two evils” implement.  It fits that W’s weapon of choice, at the end, was the singletail, with its history in the brutality of slaves, because the “game” was inspired by W’s impromptu photo session in the hotel room a short time before, where he posed me as slave being auctioned off.

Down in the Day Dungeon, they continued that theme.  At the end of it, Ad had a cane in his hand and W the singletail, and it was my choice which was the worse implement to endure. I chose the cane pretty consistently, as W almost lazily flicked the whip back and forth, taunting me with it.  That is, until Ad decided he’d had enough of me trying to dodge them both and decided to hold me against him as W whipped me.

The image of that is burned into my mind’s eye: Ad with one arm across my chest, the other holding my arms where they were tied behind me; holding me against his body, so big, so hard and wide, his legs in a V, trapping me; the rope stretching from my neck to the pole, and W in front of me, watching me struggle, flicking that devil whip lazily back and forth.  Until he wasn’t, because then he was slashing me here and there, flicking it against my belly and thighs, so incredibly precise, never coming close to Ad’s bare legs just beside mine.

There is something very primal in being held that way, clearly against my will, by human hands instead of by rope or leather.  The feeling of being overpowered was intoxicating.  It reminded me of laying in W’s bed between the two of them, and feeling one of their sets of hands on me, holding me down, while the other fucked me with mouth or fingers or cock. It reminded me of Ad reaching up and grasping the back of my hair as I fucked W in the girl-on-top position, holding me there, reminding me that while I may be physically “on top” at that moment I would never, ever be psychologically on Top, and even physically I was only there because he and W permitted it.  It reminded me of W’s hand on the back of my head as he fucked my throat while Ad fucked me from behind–I was not pleasuring them, they were using me, using my body, using my holes.

Goddamn it was hot.

And yes, I cherished my slashmarks.

HNT – When I think about you…

When I think about you, I touch myself… The Divinyls (and Jade)

Another in the cage series from my Dear #16 post and The Mason Jar, the post I submitted for e[lusts]’s inaugural edition. (If you haven’t checked out the other sexy bloggers from the first edition of e[lust], do it now–you won’t be sorry!  Don’t worry, I’ll still be here, my links always open in a new window.)

Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday, everyone!

And to check out the other lovelies joining the HNT parade, visit Osbasso!

The Heart of Darkness

“…the heavy, mute spell…that seemed to draw him to its pitiless breast by the awakening of forgotten and brutal instincts, by the memory of gratified and monstrous passions.”

Joseph Conrad, The Heart of Darkness

“You make it easy for me to wake up wanting to rape you,” he said.  All I’d done was get up to use the bathroom, then crawled back into bed and curled my back against him. He’d drawn me tightly in to his body…then tighter still, throwing a heavy leg over both of mine, then an arm across my shoulders, closing a hand around my wrist.

You may recall that I don’t like being pinned, but I schooled myself to lay quietly, trying not to let my panic telegraph itself to him.

I swear that man can sense my fear like a hound scenting a rabbit, and just like the hound, his blood rises to it.

He tightened his grip, he pressed his weight into me, pinning me further beneath him, to the mattress.  My heart raced. I couldn’t hold still any longer, but when I struggled, minutely, trying to loosen his grip without fully waking him, he clamped down harder.

And then he was on top of me, holding both wrists, kneeing my thighs apart, thrusting blindly into me. And my body, god, my body opened to him of its own volition, it doesn’t listen to my brain, it betrays me, it gets wet, it pulls at him, sucks him inside me, even while my head is saying otherwise.  His hands were hard on my wrists, his weight crushing me. I gulped air, struggled in earnest.  And felt the rising heat of my excitement that the struggle induced.

The first slap, coming so unexpectedly out of the darkness, shocked me to stillness.

Hands are an amazing tool. He does not often simply hit me, with his hands. Hard, thick hands and fingers, though he uses them to pry me open, though he spreads me and pinches me and grabs me with them, he doesn’t often use them as bludgeons. He slapped me, my face, my breasts, my thighs…each one a shock, each one a betrayal, somehow, of the intimacy of his bedroom, of the darkness that cloaked us. Somehow, it was all the more shocking because he did it in the dark, in our bed.

And all the while he fucked me, deep, long thrusts, opening me, my body responding while my head reeled, while I fought demon images of my own.

At some point he tied my hands above my head.  And then one leg. He stopped slapping me, but the sting remained, there, in my mind. The sting and the shock.  And incredibly it continued to fuel me as he pushed into me, fuel me to a ferocious kind of desire until I was thrusting and pushing back at him, devouring his body with mine, the pain in my wrists and my ankle be damned.  I was devoured and devourer, I was taken by the darkness and I was the darkness itself.

Later, lying in his arms, the darkness once again a thing of comfort embracing us, he used a length of rope as a gag and then laid my head back down on his chest, and I felt an obscure kind of comfort in that, in the enforced silence, as I made peace with my own heart of darkness.

The first edition of e[lust] has arrived!

And I was one of the volunteer assistants as well as a participant in this first edition!

As many of you know, with Sugasm on extended hiatus, the lovely and talented (and possibly masochistic, for having taken it on?) Dangerous Lilly has revised & renewed the Sugasm concept of a writer-driven showcase for sex-bloggers called e[lust].  I’m thrilled with the new look and with knowing this valuable resource hasn’t been lost–I hope you will be too.

Please take some time to visit all the wonderful writing showcased here, as well as popping by e[lust] to check out the new look and read a note from the editor–she welcomes comments, suggestions, and has started a poll regarding the voting system.

e[lust] #1

Nov 17th, 2009

by admin.

HNT Courtesy of Coy Pink

Welcome to the first edition of e[lust]! Below is your source for inspirations of lust and sexual intelligence from a wide range of sex bloggers. Want to be included in the next edition? Submission period opens for e[lust] # 2 on November 20th – subscribe to the RSS feed and Twitter for all updates! Check out the submission guidelines and rules of general conduct here.

This week’s top three picks as chosen by fellow e[lust] participants:

At Your Service - His hand pushes on my thigh and I turn away from him, allowing him to inspect my ass. His hands spread my ass cheeks and again I flood with wetness.

Cinderella – “‘I want to fuck you…’ he growled, nipping at her neck and kissing down over her breasts, biting at her nipples through the fabric, making her cry out.

Anal Sex Pt 2: The Ins and Outs of Butt Sex - Butt sex is what you make of it. Enjoy yourselves, be careful, and try everything that looks interesting.

Editor’s Pick:

The Slut Chronicles #5 – The Flight Delay – “When her eye caught his blatantly checking her out, he only grinned wider, with no remorse at all and it was she who blushed furiously.”

A note from the editor: And so it begins…

See also: Pleasurist’s #54 for your sex toy review needs.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days.  Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Writing

Just A Little Taste
Older and Better Than Ever
Good Morning
Your Eyes
MFM: The Student. The Teacher.
Get Me Off
The Club & Introductory Note
Don’t Come
The City
Howl at the Moon
Rimjob
Consumed
The Devil Inside
One of the Greats
Room Service

Kink & Fetish

A Busy Night
Bad Taste?
Protocols
The Illusion of Beginning: Pt 1
“You hit me…”
Reconnecting
Too Many Buttons
Nadia’s Wishing Box
The Mason Jar
So Sexy Boots

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Swing Shift Vol. 18 – Safe Sex and Getting Tested
Libido Resurrection Programme™
Check Up
Oh, Baby, Baby
UnderRated: Fucking the Mind

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Vixen Invites
I’m Quoted in Time Out NY!
Top Five Tuesday – Euro Studs
She Makes Me Feel Like a Whore

Birthday Pretzel

New post over on APL: I love you. And you, and you, and you…

I started that post over here originally, wanting to share the sexy fun I had Thursday as first W, then A, turned me into a pretzel.  But then I ended up thinking too much and it ended up being a post about whether monogamy is realistic rather than the sexy post I had originally planned…

But I couldn’t leave you all with only the “head thoughts” post, now could I?  THAT original post goes something like this:

Early morning at W’s. A rough two days for me in various ways, so though I was at the Mean Guy’s house, he wasn’t especially mean, and we had two days of mostly vanilla time.  Except for sleeping in shackles. Oh, and except for the shelf, too.  Hehe. But that’s for another post. Anyway.

Thursday morning comes, and I awaken thinking about the fact that I have spent two days at W’s with no rope on me. I look over my head at the ropes on his wall, imagining them wrapped around my wrists, as they have been so many times before…

And before I know it, W is on top of me and my wrists are tied. “Did I say that in my outside voice?” I think. But no, we’re just “In Sync.” And then suddenly he is pushing my ankles up too, and my ankles are tied to my wrists, up there by my face, and I am a pretzel, and he has access to all of me, and he is fucking me…and his mouth is on me, and I can’t move…

He gets up and goes to his dresser.  I hear him rummaging around, tho I can’t see what he’s doing, or what he brings back to use on me.  In fact, I don’t know what he is using until later, when I look down beside the bed and see the fat wooden dildo laying there on the floor.  All I know is the feeling as he pushes it inside of me, the feeling of being split open, of being stretched wide, of being so damned full, of it pressing up into me, hitting that favorite spot inside, the feel of his hand grinding it into me and his mouth, hot hot hot on me, and me with my legs tied up and my body folded in on itself, me unable to move, just a hole, a slash waiting there for his mouth and hands and cock.

And then later that night, after work and birthday dinner, I am home with Ad and we crawl into bed, our bellies full of a fine food and our veins and our heads full of wine, and he kisses me deeply, as if to drink the wine from my mouth as he pushes his cock into my tender flesh.  I gasp and open to him, I am wet and deep and he is thrusting inside me and then suddenly he draws my legs up and pulls them over his shoulders and he presses down onto me, into me, heavy, compressing me, my ankles crossed behind his neck, my knees up in my face and once again, I am pretzel girl.

A birthday pretzel.

Eden Cafe

I’m sure many of you know that I write occasionally for Eden Cafe (if you don’t, hop over there and check out my author profile, or my latest article, “My Boyfriend’s Closet.”) I’ve got a banner up for it over there in my sidebar, and I mention my writings here every so often, but I’ve never really talked about Eden Cafe itself in my blog.

What is Eden Cafe? Eden Cafe is the blog community for EdenFantasys.com, an internet sex toy retailer. I found it when a fellow blogger started a gig as an editor there. I took a peek at the site and found that I really enjoyed its mixture of news, reviews, blogs, sex & relationship talk. Eventually I ended up writing an article for their Word of the Week section (one of my first was the word “twat”, which is amusing as I just got done seeing Pirate Radio at the theater, in which one of the main characters is named Mr. Twat. Since he is British, it is pronounced with the long “a” as in “hat,” a pronunciation I remarked upon in my WotW. Anyway, I digress.)

So why all this now about Eden Cafe? Well, they have a contest going over there, and the prize is one of those most coveted of toys, the stainless steel Pfun, Pure Plug or Fun Wand. And I’ve been wanting one of those for awhile now. The only reason I didn’t buy one yet is because I haven’t been able to decide which to get. Well, the only reason before this contest. Now I am waiting to see if I win one!

So hop on over there and check out the contest, or even if you don’t dig contests, check out the site. There’s a lot going on there that I think you’ll enjoy.

Interconnections

I came down from W’s bedroom yesterday morning, yawning and sleepy after a restless, but satisfying, night in his bed shackled and, for most of the night, in four-and-a-half-inch heels. It was sexy, and in that odd way, comforting, to be in my shackles all night, to feel their weight on my wrists and ankles and throat, to feel his hands gripping the chains, pulling me against him, at intervals throughout the night.  It gives me a very different emotional feeling than sleeping next to him unshackled. Unshackled, he is my lover. Shackled, he is my Owner. Two beautiful, and beautifully distinct, situations.

When I got to where I keep my purse & phone, I saw that my SO had left a text message for me, as he usually does, first thing in the morning. And I felt a sweet bite of longing, of missing him, so sharp and sudden it surprised me. I had only been gone one night!

I am accustomed to missing W. Our interactions are intense, whether we are playing or even just being “vanilla,” and usually of short duration, a couple days at most, intermixed with emails and an occasional phone call, so in between I suffer bouts of subdrop or longing to be with him, to sleep with him or feel his hands on me or fuck him or feel his power over me or simply sit and talk to him.  I’m used to that, it’s part of what we do, a kind of bittersweet backdrop to all that we do and are.

Feeling that for Ad that morning was a different, surprising thing.  Although it has happened when I have been away for several days, the fact of the matter is that we live together, we see each other and talk to each other daily…so it’s less likely.

I kind of liked it. I love being with one of my two men and talking about the other, I love the way we all share thoughts and joys and our lives. The intermingling  and interconnectedness – it just feels right, as does the co-mingling of Ownership and romantic relationship.

Then there are times when it all comes together, and we are sharing all in the same space, like we did over Halloween, and it’s like this wonderful synchronicity of love and kink and sex and fun and joy, and I drink it up, let it fill me and sustain me until the next time. Because those times aren’t as often as I’d like, to be honest. The times when I get to have them both at once.

I very much enjoy being played with by two men. I always have, way back when my ex used to play with me with other friends of his, to the occasional times that Ad played with me with a D/s couple I used to date, to more recent times with W & Ad. And of course the public scene Ad and I did with B in Chicago. I’m an attention slut, I guess you could say. (Ya think?)

That extends to the bedroom as well. I recall the GF saying that three-way sex with the guys was the hottest thing she’d ever done, and I concur. There’s just something about all that male sexual energy focused on you… Plus, to be blunt, all those hands and mouths and cocks…

I worried the first time it happened that it would be, well, boring, I guess you could say, for the one while I was engaged in activities with the other.  Because it’s not like three-way sex with two girls and a guy, where we are all three engaged/touching/sharing/exploring, even if you aren’t the one actively having intercourse (my guys aren’t bisexual.) But they both enjoy watching me being used by the other (and/or “helping” by restraining me, pulling on me, touching, pinching or grabbing me, etc.) as well as ordering me to service the other, so it didn’t turn out to be an issue. Again, my guys play very well together.  And I do so enjoy being the favored toy.

I woke the morning after Halloween sandwiched between the two of them. They hadn’t fucked me the night before.  I had fallen into bed when they were finally finished with me, wiped out after the intensity of the play we’d engaged in.  My ass and cunt were pretty well used. The next thing I remember was waking up with hands on me…four of them. Big, rough, men’s hands, on my hips and breasts, in my hair, squeezing my ass, exploring the folds of my girlparts and my ass, arousing and manipulating me before I was fully awake.

I opened my eyes to see Ad awake and looking at me with that look, the one that says he wants me, and he wants me now.  Without a word he pushed my head down between his legs, where I found his cock jutting up, long and hard. I was thrilled with this initiative on his part: the last time we had been together this way I had had to take the initiative because he was still in an uncertain stage about all this.

I eagerly took him in my mouth, loving the feel of him swelling and growing harder when I looked up at him, and then over at W to see him watching me.  I knew W would get off on seeing me give Ad head; I wasn’t so sure Ad would respond that positively–but he did, moaning and thrusting his cock deeper into my mouth. I’d been practicing taking Ad deeper and deeper into my throat, and had succeeded in deep-throating him a few times, getting past my gag reflex as he slid all the way down. I knew W would love to see it…so I began working my way up to it now, sliding my mouth farther and farther down onto Ad’s cock with each thrust, stroking and drawing him up and into my mouth, letting my throat loosen and open for him.

I knew I was pleasing W when I heard him get the camera.

Several pictures later, W was laying beside us on the bed again, and Ad pushed me towards W’s waiting cock. As I knelt between W’s thighs and took him in my mouth, I felt Ad get up from the bed and move behind me.  My cunt clenched in excitement as I realized what he was going to do.  As I took W deep into my mouth, I felt Ad push my thighs apart from behind and slide his cock against the wet folds of my pussy lips. I moaned and pushed back, opening for him, but he teased me for a few minutes, sliding his cock back and forth along my slit as I struggled to concentrate on W’s cock.  Then, with one swift movement, he slid all the way inside me.

W swelled hugely in my mouth and his hand came down on the back of my head, pulling me further onto his cock, as Ad thrust deeply into me from behind.  I gagged, feeling W hitting the back of my throat, but he held me there, cutting off my air as Ad continued to fuck me from behind. When I started to choke he would let me turn my head away to catch a quick breath, saliva drooling out of my mouth and down his cock, before he grabbed me by the hair again and continued fucking my mouth. I was, truly, being fucked in both ends, rocked gently or savagely between them, in and out of rhythm as we learned this new dance, all of us connected one to the other, with me as the link, a living tinker toy creation.

Almost Forgot-An HNT!

I’ve got an HNT up over on A Poly Life: Ocean Blue, my little ocean-in-a-bathtub. AND it’s got a click-thru, a new thing I learned to do.

Halloween Treats

If the first half of my Halloween weekend was mostly tricks–canes and spankings and rope–the second half of Halloween was all about Treats. With a few tricks thrown in for good measure, of course–he wouldn’t be The Mean Guy without tricks, now would he?

First, a treat for you: pics W just sent me of the stocks scene and me tied to the chair.

Yeppers, that's my SO in a kilt-can you say "yumm"?

Isn't the new floor pretty?

There are actually a few more pictures, one showing the pretty glass buttplug quite clearly, and the other illustrating quite well my entreaty to W for the cunt clamp–hands and legs open. But I don’t think I’ll post those here.  You’ll have to look for them later on Bondage Demons.

So okay, where did I leave off?  Oh yes. Me, on the floor, in stocks, a 2 inch buttplug in my ass.

First of all, I love a buttplug once it’s in there. Nice and full, with that feeling of being stretched, and the glass ones are heavy, an unexpectedly delightful feeling. It’s just the getting -in-there part that sucks.

Only, if I’m being honest, that part doesn’t actually suck either. There’s that edge, that feeling of being forced, of having him leaning on me, holding me down, pinning my body in place with his. What a deliciously helpless feeling that is! His body so heavy on mine, the feel of him on me so confining, and I fight without meaning to, my head wanting to comply, but my body responding, resisting, of it’s own accord, until my mind begins to follow suit and I feel that incipient panic that being pinned always generates.  And then it’s a mind game, in which I am trying to calm myself inside as well as out, and all the while I am telling myself, “submit, submit, do as he wants, open for him,” as he twists and pushes the plug inside of me, not shoving, nothing as harsh as that, but inexorably working it into me, his voice in my ear by turns cajoling and telling me that I will do what he wants, one way or another. And of course I will.  I always do, in the end.

What followed was playtime. I have (again) very little recollection of the particulars, but I do have an amazingly telling picture of Ad sitting in a chair, watching me. I don’t appear to be doing anything, being in the stocks as I am, but he just has this lovely, bemused expression on his face.  Here, I’ll show you.

Well okay, you can’t quite catch his expression, but trust me, he’s got that little quirk to his mouth that he gets when he’s laughing at me. Not that he would ever laugh at me. (Right?!)

Just another evening at W's...girls in stocks, ropes everywhere...

I think what was going on was that I had decided, for some strange reason, that since I had lost a lot of weight since W had first fitted the stocks to me, if I just pulled/twisted hard enough, I’d be able to get loose. And pull and twist and try I did…  Apparently my wrists hadn’t lost any weight, nor had my ankles, because I never got loose. It was when I landed on my back at one point that W came out of watching/photographing mode and decided that I was obviously begging him for the cunt clamp.

Oh my. To say I love the cunt clamp is a serious understatement. I love the cunt clamp. It clamps down tight, but broadly on my lips, with the smooth, wooden hook inserted deep into my hole, the hooked end curling under like loving fingers pressing into my g-spot. Did I say I love it?

So yeah, I am quite sure my body was begging for it, even before it knew it was an option.

By the time it’s in, and on, I am panting, wriggling, grinding myself onto it as far as the stocks will allow.  It’s a little different, though.  With the buttplug inside of me, with it so large inside of me, I can feel both toys pressing against each other.  I am incredibly full.  It nearly drives me out of my head.  And then, oh my god, it starts to happen, the first wave of orgasm starts to crash over me. I feel my body beginning to tighten convulsively as the orgasm rolls through me–and suddenly it is not just acute pleasure, but pain too, as my asshole contracts around the hard, unyielding–large, huge, gigantic–buttplug.

Does that really make a difference, you ask? Um, yeah. It does.  And I can’t do a thing about it (ever tried to stop an orgasm in the middle of it?) It rolls through me, torturing me even as it pleasures me.  Such exquisite pleasure/pain! And I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t stop it. Domination by orgasm.

And all the while, the boys are not having to do a thing to me.  They are just sitting back, watching the show.

At some point, my shoes came off. Now if you have followed my tales of W and I, you know what a shoe slut the man is. Not having heels on is not okay. But, he’s also a very flexible man, and when presented an opportunity…well, he can adapt with the best of them.

He took a cane to my feet.  Since they were bare and all.

Guess there were some tricks left for me after all.

Tricks & Treats

Confession time: sometimes, I can’t remember everything that happens. I mean, I remember things in broad outline, but the details…get a little fuzzy.

Take Halloween, for example. It was an AMAZING day and night and day…but…I really can’t remember the details.  You know, the order of things.  Where they all fit. There’s all these snapshots I have in my head, snippets of memory, but they are like random photographs all tossed in a shoebox, and I only have a vague recollection of how they all fit together.

Sometimes, in the middle of things, I want to say “Stop!  Wait, I have to write this down.” Especially when someone says something so perfect…  There were several of those moments, laying in bed the next morning between my two guys. I do remember that. That they said the funniest shit. That I said, “Oh my god, I SO have to remember that to use in my blog.” How fucking hilarious is that, to be trying to remember shit so I can record it here.  From now on I need a notebook at my side at all times.  And guys? If you’re reading this, be prepared to stop at any moment so that I can write stuff down.

Of course we could just install video cameras all over W’s house like he suggested.

NOT.

Seriously though. It started Saturday morning when Ad and I stopped by W’s to get my running shoes.  Actually, we stopped by to get my iPod and running shoes, but I forgot the shoes.  (Already the forgetting had begun.) That was bright and early in the AM. Ad and I went to work out at the Y, then he was supposed to drop me at W’s for the weekend.  I invited Ad in for coffee, and then we all went out to breakfast, and at some point I realized that what I really wanted was to have both my guys together that weekend.  I wanted them both to beat me and fuck me.  I’d been jonesing to be done by the two of them for a while now, but it’s never quite worked out since the first–and only–time we’d done it.

Until Halloween night.

The guys were both very enthusiastic about the prospect.  Ad left W and I alone for awhile. He’s so very, very thoughtful that way, wanting to give us time alone to catch up.  He returned later that evening, sometime after W caned me and made me drink his pee and before my new pretty glass plug was inserted. I know this not because my memory is clear–sometime after those two events my memory starts to get hazy–but because Ad brought the buttplugs with him. Oh, and because there’s pictures of him inserting it, and in the pics I have stripy cane marks, so I know that was after the caning!

W says we’d forget everything if we didn’t have pictures.  Maybe he is right.

Somehow, after Ad pushed the smaller buttplug into me, we all ended up going upstairs. Once there, Ad first tried to have me just hold onto the back of a chair while they caned me.

Jade being still: FAIL.

Picture this: me holding onto the back of the chair you see in this picture. (No the pic isn’t from that night, this is just for, you know, atmosphere.)

So there I am, trying to be properly obedient, holding on to the back of the chair, when I see the two of them advancing on me–each with a cane in his meaty little fist. I do what any self-respecting well-trained submissive would do: I start begging for time.

“No wait, okay wait,” I say, backing away.

“Put your hands back on the chair,” says one or the other of them.

I do, but then I twist and turn and whine and beg some more: “Seriously, wait, wait just a minute, okay? Just give me a minute, okay?”  As though a minute will change anything.

W stops and shakes his head, and I know what he is about even before he turns all the way around.  In a minute he returns with rope. Pretty soon my hands are properly tied, and I’m not going anywhere.  Well, almost not.  I did pull the chair across the room at a couple points, as I tried to avoid the Boys With The Canes. They have very different styles, do my guys, but (ahem) they seem to play well together.  It was fun…painful fun, but fun, and listening to them count off, “1…2…3!” and then whack me at the same time, or feeling them alternate their strikes like some kind of perverted drumbeat, was a hoot.  W hits a LOT harder than Ad, but Ad likes to do this quick whackwhackwhack thing all over the place that pretty much makes up for the strength of the strikes. I was panting and sweating by the end of it.

I think they were pleased as punch with themselves.  Boys will be boys, right?

Huh. “The end of it.”  Again, I don’t recall how we got from one thing to another. I think that W may have decided it was time to move me up to the larger size buttplug. If ya’ll recall, I had a big fat FAIL on my calibration for the 2 inch buttplug. I now realize that it wasn’t ME that was a failure, it was the plug. I am in love with my glass plugs. Maybe a little less in love with the 2 inch one than the smaller one, but still, love is love.

However–and this is a big however–that doesn’t mean my ass welcomes it with open, um, open…  Well, suffice it to say it ain’t easy to get it in there, no matter how good it feels once it is.

This is where the difference in their two styles comes into play.

Ad probably would have laid me down and teased me and rubbed my clit or maybe let me touch myself as he gently pushed it in…or maybe gently pushed until I started resisting and then let me off the hook. W was having none of that.  Just as with the chair, resistance was not an option.  Out came the stocks.  I know I’ve written about the stocks, and probably posted a pic of them, but in case I haven’t, this is what they look like (and me in them.) Again, this isn’t from Halloween night, but just to give you a feel for what those evil men do to me.

Or at least what W does to me. It was his notion that I needed to be thoroughly and properly restrained in order for the buttplug insertion to be done correctly. Or perhaps he just didn’t want any more of my squirming.  In any case, I was soon face down, ass up, legs spread, ready to have a two inch buttplug shoved up my ass.

I tried to be good.  Honest I did.  I tried to relax. I tried to breathe through it. I tried to open myself to it. But soon enough I was panting and begging, saying, “no no no” over and over again, and “I can’t I can’t, really, I can’t,” while Ad slowly pushed and twisted it into me.

All this time, W was taking pictures, very removed, very much the observer.  Ad was almost coaxing me, like trying to convince me.  And I wanted to do it for him, but I couldn’t help it, I was fighting it.  And then W was suddenly there beside me, one hand on the back of my neck and the other on the buttplug. “Do it,” he said in my ear. “Push back onto it.  I know you can do it.  Do it.  Do it now.”  And that’s all it took.  That’s when I knew it really wasn’t my choice any longer. That’s when I knew that whatever he wanted, I would do.  When he told me to do it myself, to push myself back onto it, when he told me to do it because he wanted me to–all resistance drained away as neatly as water sluicing down a pipe.  I sighed, a deep, satisfied sigh, and I pushed back onto it, crying out as the widest part of it seemed to split me in two, and then sighing as my body closed around it and all I felt was that unique, lovely fullness. And when he praised me, when he told me, “Good girl,” in my ear, it was worth all the discomfort.

Then Ad was there, and he was fingering me, shoving his fingers into me and I was moaning and panting and coming, while W took more pictures.

I don’t recall now why I did it, maybe I was trying to escape, but at some point I flipped completely over onto my back, still in the stocks.  W took that as an indication that I wanted the cunt clamp inserted.  I mean, obviously I did, I had my legs spread wide open for him, it was of course an invitation, right?

Oh wait, you don’t know what the cunt clamp is? Hmm, well, maybe that will have to wait for my next post…