concept: you’re naked, bending over my lap with handcuffs holding your wrists together on your back, a vibrator stuffed into your hole and my hand spanking your bare ass with varying strength and speed, and I’ve got a timer started to see how long it takes for you to cum like this.
I wanna get into a sexual relationship with someone who’s kink is getting slapped purely so that I can say “what did the five fingers say to the face? SLAP!” With the full force of consent to comedic violence
Miss Eden Newmar is the queen of a terrifying, surreal world. Cricket, curious to learn more about the horrific show they’re broadcast on, goes to the red room to learn more. She’s quickly drawn to Eden’s whip like a moth to the flame; bound tightly for Eden to use as they please. Miss Eden unleashes pain on Cricket like she’s never felt before, her every dark fantasy coming to fruition. Pushing her to her limits, Cricket is fucked until life and live broadcast seep together past recognition.
Now live on Patreon. Live on ManyVids June 2nd, 2018.
⏤ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: a series of 26 smutty drabbles taking a look into the sexual side of your relationship with Namjoon // alternatively, namjoon’s a-z smut drabbles
⏤ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: namjoon x reader
⏤ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut
⏤ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9k ⇥ hnnnn these are drabbles I promise
⏤ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: dom!Namjoon, sub!Reader, bratty!Reader, dirty talk, anal, blowjob, choking, collaring? (like he presents her with a choker), daddy kink, pussy slapping, exhibitionism, voyeurism, creampie, creampie eating, fingering, gagging (with a pair of panties), hair pulling, face fucking, temperature play (cold), anal play, guided masturbation, degradation, kisses, cum eating, marking, possessive!Namjoon, nipply play/torture, nipple clamps, cunnilingus, pain kink, orgasm denial, orgasm control, orgasm denial, use of safeword/safe colour, praise, double penetration, overstimulation, forced orgasms, bondage, spanking, teasing/edging, thigh riding, use of sex toys - vibrators/dildos/anal plugs, flogging/flagellation, mutual masturbation, watching porn together (they’re watching their own sextape), aftercare, this list of warnings is unholy and i’m going to hell
⏤ ᴀ/ɴ: IT’S MY BEAUTIFUL NAMU’S BIRTHDAY!!! THEREFORE HAVE THIS BEAUTIFUL LIST OF 26 DRABBLES FROM A-Z! There’s quite a variety, from longer scenes to short scenes, and some written out as short AUs and some as just descriptions! Either way, I hope you enjoyed this! unedited because I’m trash :))
⇥ this was suggested to me by the beautiful @btsracket, she has her own A-Z Namjoon Smut Drabbles so you should definitely check it out!
⇥ happiest 25th birthday to the love of my life and my soulmate Kim Namjoon. I love you to the moon and back and further beyond the farthest galaxy ღ
please never play fight me w/ actual slapping or choking because I’ll get way too excited and it will make me uncomfortable b/c it probably is inappropriate for our relationship
Not A Tumblr Dom just left after a fantastic date. We got pizza, watched Zoo, and then, while we were still cuddling on the couch, he started punching the fronts of my thighs.
He hit both of them at first, and then switched to primarily focusing on the right thigh, which was at a better angle for him. He punched me hard and really pushed me. At one point he told me, “I’m not holding back.” He wasn’t using his whole body, of course, since we were sitting, but he was hitting me with a lot of force.
He had me tense my muscle and punched that, which was even more painful, and then he had me stand up while he punched, which meant my leg couldn’t be relaxed. I had to hold onto his shoulder while he hit me, since there were several times I definitely would have fallen over from the impact if I hadn’t been supported by him.
We moved to the bed and he hit my thigh with the bike tire jack I have, and then said he could hit me win the sweet spot. So I flipped over and he started hitting right where my ass and thighs meet. With a good rhythm and the right angle and strength, that jiggles all the right bits and it’s super sexy and it’s the sort of thing that I could maybe cum from, if I got my mind and the sensations all lined up right (and maybe with a little clit action, too).
I asked if he wanted to hit my cunt from the front, and he did, so I hopped on the bed and turned over. He started hitting, and told me I could tell him if he should hit harder or softer, so I did. I think sometime maybe I could cum from that, too.
He switched back to hitting my thigh, and also used the knife straightening steel I bought for that purpose. It’s thuddy! He hit me with that, switched to the jack, and then went to punching again. The impact on the already reddened and raised area was a lot to handle, but I held out and took more than I thought I could.
We cuddled for a while after I couldn’t take any more, and then he headed home. My right thigh is super messed up. Where he was punching is red and really raised and engorged with blood. It hurts quite a bit to move my leg, and it’s even more painful to bend my knee or walk on it. I’m really pleased with that, especially since I’ll be doing quite a bit of walking over the next few days. He’s so much fun!
Also! During the really intense punching on the couch, Not A Tumblr Dom told me he was proud of me for taking so much for him! That made me grin and do a happy little butt wiggle. I’m proud of me, too. I took a lot of pain and I was such a fucking champ about it!
I just dommed Reaction Junkie in a way that really worked for me. It’s not the first time I’ve tried, but the way it went this time was just…something entirely new and exciting and wonderful. I wasn’t intending for it to happen, but it just sort of did.
I assertively asked him to beat the shit out of me, thinking it would be a normal scene with him topping/domming.
Then I started saying things like “When are you going to start? Huh?” at the beginning of him hitting me. He beat me with his hands, his elbows, his feet, his knees. Slapping, punching, elbowing, kicking, kneeing. I groaned, moaned, and screamed.
When I’d had enough, I fought back and stopped him. I started hitting him, and he got subby. I was dominant and aggressive and we ended the scene with me straddling him and grinding against him and making out like crazy. He was subbing out and I was feeling in control, getting what I wanted. It was ridiculously hot. He said he loved the new energy I’d brought and I loved the entire thing, from the beating to the switch to the making out.
I’m having to pull an all-nighter for work because I’m doing a training all week, but someone still insisted that it was very important for me to do something for them, so that sucks.
On the other hand, I just had a very lovely evening with The Violinist where he came to my apartment (instead of me having to drive). When he first arrived, we talked about our days and he did some rope with me. Throughout the evening, I tried to be good about responding with his chosen honorific-type address, his name. Of course, I failed to do it consistently enough, and each time, he’d smack me hard on the sternum. I like to think I improved after the corrections. I know that I definitely felt more natural saying, “Yes, [The Violinist]” and “I’m glad, [The Violinist],” and such as the evening progressed. After he put on a chest harness that made taking deep breaths very difficult, he started hurting me, eliciting gasps and whimpers and yelps that made him grin.
Turned on by my suffering and the d/s-y use of his name, the obvious next step was for him to fuck me hard. He pushed in, clearly loving it, and told me, “I missed my cunt.” Then, when he flipped me over to fuck me from behind, he told me, “I missed your cunt.” I responded in kind, that I’d missed his cock. I loved hearing both of those things from him. It makes a girl feel good to know that her cunt is satisfying enough to miss. And it makes me happy to have someone say that it belongs to him, not to mention the second meaning of cunt that tells me he missed me. (Which he also said outright in a super adorable way, “I missed you. Like, way more than I thought I would.”)
He thrust deep, hurting me even more (better) in that position. He went hard and fast, and I pushed back into him, his cock slamming into me. He sped up, his breathing changed, and then he came, sliding in and out of me several more times as he did. He pulled out and we cuddled as he basked in his post-orgasm glow.
When he came out of it, we kept playing. He teased me and grabbed me and drew out some lovely pain noises as we kissed and touched each other. Eventually, he pushed my legs up and started slapping the backs of my thighs rapidly and hard. I gritted my teeth and groaned from the sting. When he stopped, he smiled at me and said, “What’s a warm up?” in a laughing tone of voice. I smiled back and said, “That is a warm up.” The way his eyes lit up almost made me regret saying that.
He repeated the treatment, and when he paused, I dropped my legs and rolled over onto my stomach, whimpering. He asked, “What?” and I pouted and said, “That hurt.” He laughed a little and replied, “I know. That’s why I did it.” Then he knelt on my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. I began to wince in anticipation, gasping when he moved. When he resumed smacking my thighs, I gripped the sheet and cried out. I was relieved when he started punching instead. He started pretty light, but as he got more comfortable with the position and my ability to take what he was doling out, he hit harder, alternating between the two legs.
Of course, he’d intersperse this delightful thuddy pain with more smacking, which made me thrash. To no avail, of course, since he was on top of me, keeping me where he wanted me. When he finally stopped, I turned over, laying on my back and looking at him. I said I’d enjoyed it, and he said, “Well, at least the punching.” I did like the punching more, but told him that I liked the slapping as well, since “I like bruises and slapping breaks things” (clearly coherent after that bit of impact play). I also said I liked the fact that he was on top of me, since it made it easier to take the pain. He lifted my legs to admire his handiwork and, after seeing that the right was more red than the left, asked me, “Should they be even?”
I cringed, not answering at first, but knowing full well that I would throw myself under the bus. I hemmed and hawed for a moment until he made me answer. I looked down and said in a small voice, “Yes, they should be even.” He was pleased, and lifted my leg back up. Instead of slapping it, he punched it, not starting soft this time. He punched repeatedly, hard enough that I could tell I wouldn’t be able to take it for very long, even though I like and can handle thuddy better. He was beating the shit out of me now, and clearly super into it. I teared up a bit from the pain and feeling bad about wanting to make him stop. I resisted safewording for a little, but as I turned onto my side and he held my leg in place, the pain and (totally unnecessary) guilty feelings about wanting to put an end to the impact made me start actually crying. I managed to whimper out, “Red, red!”
Without hesitation, The Violinist stopped immediately and lay behind me, holding me as I cried. I apologized for safewording, to which he responded, “No.” I know it’s not something to feel bad about or apologize for, but I did. I communicated that to him and told him that I was okay, I just needed it to stop. He was entirely understanding and reassured me repeatedly that it was fine and good for me to tap out when I need to. That’s obviously the response I should expect, but it’s nice to have it happen.
We cuddled, kissed, and played a little, and then he asked me if getting off would help me get work done. I said, “Whatever you want, [The Violinist],” and he told me to give him a real answer. “Well, it couldn’t hurt?” I responded. He laughed and told me I could masturbate. I caught the wording and asked if I could come.
“Ask again later,” came the obvious response. I lay back and pulled out my bullet, pressing it to my clit. The Violinist sat next to me and watched, slapping and punching my inner thigh occasionally, which both turned me on and distracted me. I settled into a groove and he got on top of me, pressing me into the bed, his thigh between my legs. I moaned and started fantasizing hard. My orgasm snuck up on me, and I almost forgot to ask permission. Almost.
I opened my eyes and asked, “May I please cum?” He responded, “Ask again later.” I tried again, with what I thought was a good enough correction, “May I please cum, [The Violinist]?” but he repeated his previous response. My eyes widened and I worried my orgasm would be ruined. I said, “May I please cum, [The Violinist]? [The Violinist], may I please cum? Please, [The Violinist], may I cum?].” It was some of the most genuine begging I’ve ever engaged in. I was frantic and heartfelt and incredibly desperate. [The Violinist] finally granted me permission and I got back into it. I started to cum and he wrapped his hand around my neck, squeezing. I felt it in my head as my orgasm continued, and rode that lovely combination of sensations as long as I possibly could.
When I opened my eyes, [The Violinist] was looking at me. He looked pleased and said, “Your face when I told you to ask again…” he trailed off, closed his eyes, and made a pleased noise, like he was savoring the memory. Hearing him say that was a big turn on. I really enjoy how much pleasure he took from my reaction to him playing games with my head. Sadists are fun.
What a lovely evening. The fucking and the beating were quite satisfying, and I’m even optimistic that I’ll get bruises out of it. I’m so glad he came over. It was something that both of us needed, even outside of the fact that it was incredibly fun. It was a lovely preward (pre-reward?) for staying up all night doing work.
The Unknown Quantity and I found a space and started a brief negotiation. We’d done a fuller one the previous day. I told him where my new bruises were so he could hurt me, and told him I didn’t want my arms tied that day. Then he grabbed me and basically tossed me to the floor. As the scene started, I added a few more things that I didn’t want, including that I didn’t want my tits punched, only slapped. He listened and acknowledged what I was saying as he tied my legs.
When I was done talking, he started with the hitting. He didn’t think he was much of a sadist, but I can tell you that he very much enjoyed my pain reactions throughout the weekend. My poor inner thighs were already bruised from The Violinist, so when The Unknown Quantity started hitting me, it hurt more than it normally would have. I started struggling, and he grabbed my hands to hold me down. I squeezed his his thumb so that I could take more and move less. When I told him that’s what I was doing, he nodded and allowed me to keep holding his hand while he hit me.
Eventually, he needed both hands (the better to hurt me with, of course). When he returned to the grabbing and beating, I tried to be good and stay still, but I started thrashing. Reaching out in desperation for something to hold, I managed to grab the edge of the mat with my left hand, but my right hand grasped at nothing. I was trying not to kick, so I made a fist with the right hand and slammed it into the mat. The Unknown Quantity saw my half-failed attempts to control myself and stopped hurting me for a moment. I caught my breath while he stood up and grabbed a bundle of rope. He put it on my chest and said, “Hold this right there.” I clenched the rope in my hands and channeled my desire to struggle into squeezing it tightly.
He moved back to my legs and held them down. After he slapped my thighs a few times, the next thing he did challenged my desire to take as much as possible, physically and psychologically. I felt something digging into my leg. Something sharp. He was using the same thing he’d used the night before, but now my legs were even more sensitive. It felt like he was going to push the point right through my skin each time he jabbed it into my thigh. I was shaking with the effort it took not to move from the pain and the mental anguish. A bolt of fear shot through me each time I felt the sharp object pressed into my flesh. I trembled, part of my brain in a half-panic, part of it trying to be logical. He wouldn’t break the skin. We haven’t talked about it. We didn’t negotiate that. But what if he just pressed too hard? No, he must know how to use whatever it is he’s using. He definitely wouldn’t break the skin…Right?
When he put the thing away, I was relieved for a moment. Then he started using his hands again. At first he was just punching my thighs, maybe throwing in some smacks. Then he grabbed both of my legs, holding me down. He knew I’d react strongly to what he was about to do, and he didn’t want to get kicked. He started slapping my upper left inner thigh. He did this rapidly and repeatedly, the pain building as he brought his hand down on me. I writhed around, clenching the rope in my hands as tight as I could, trying to take the pain. I attempted to kick my legs, to no avail. He’s stronger than me, had a good grip on me, and I was beneath him. As he continued slapping, my pain noises started getting louder and louder until I screamed. Each strike hurt worse than the last and each strike ensured that the next one would hurt even more. Finally, I couldn’t handle anymore, so I managed to get out a “Yellow! Yellow!”
He stopped slapping and switched to lightly, very lightly running his fingers along my reddened inner thigh. I twitched. He’d made my thigh so sensitive, that the lightest touch hurt. The Unknown Quantity seemed delighted at this discovery, and increased the force he was using until I asked, “May I please have some water?” I was thirsty, but I also needed a break from the torture he was inflicting on my body. He stood up and told me to stay put. When he came back with my water, he instructed me that I was still not to move my hands or the rope from where he’d put it initially. He helped me drink some water, and I took a breather for a minute or so.
When I indicated I was ready to start again, he pushed me back down. I was still holding the rope, but now he wanted to hurt my tits. He reached for the rope and I slowly let go, loathe to lose it. The Unknown Quantity considered for a moment and then told me, “Put your hands on top of your head, and keep your elbows on the ground.” I did as I was told, assuming a position that left my breasts completely exposed and vulnerable. It was also a position that was impossible for me to hold properly as he slapped my tits, hit my battered thighs, and grabbed them to dig his nails in. Every so often, a strike or a squeeze would be so hard that I would lift my hands off my head for a moment. Each time, I returned them, wanting to follow instructions. I cried out and thrashed around, trying and failing to keep my elbows on the ground. Any time I lifted them up, The Unknown Quantity would give me a look and tell me to return them.
At some point, in the midst of the pain and the fight to keep position, something happened. I started laughing. He continued to hurt me, and I kept laughing. Reaction Junkie had pointed out that laughing is sometimes my response to getting hurt. This was different, though. I couldn’t stop laughing. I was cracking up. Holding position was a lost cause as I gave in to the uncontrollable laughter. I wasn’t able to tell The Unknown Quantity that I needed to stop, but by the time I managed to choke out, “I think I’m done,” he was already taking the rope off. “I know,” he replied, which gave me a nice little shiver and cemented my subby feelings. We cuddled and talked for a while as I finally managed to get my laughter under control. I felt warm and giddy and very contented. When we stood up, he said, “This time you’re going to do something for me.” “Clean the mat!?” I said in an excited tone. He replied that yes, that was what he meant, and I ran off to grab some wipes.
That was a fantastic scene, and I really enjoyed the feeling of being pushed until just cracked up, laughing too hard to continue. The Unknown Quantity is hella fun, and, just as importantly, I feel super comfortable communicating to him what I need, before, during, and after scenes. I told him what kind of rope I didn’t want that day and that I was okay with my tits being slapped but not punched during this scene. I let him know when I needed breaks, and that I wanted to grab something so I could take more pain. He’s also observant and perceptive, which is important and sexy.
After The Unknown Quantity and I hugged and went off to enjoy the party, I went to find a place to sit down and recover from the scene. I got sidetracked by talking to people, and wandered between a couple of groups. Then I started feeling very tired, so I found a chair and sat down. I almost fell asleep sitting up, so I got up and went over to another group of people I knew. The drop expanded from tiredness to me feeling sort of sad and down, and I decided to go be by myself for a little while to recover. I nabbed a spot on the couch, curled up, and took a nap. The sounds, of impact, groans, screams, moans, and background conversation were the perfect lullaby.
Reaction Junkie and I had plans to do dinner and head to the party together on Saturday. Also, he’d just gotten a kitten! He’s fostering the adorable critter, and I was definitely excited to meet her. I headed to his place and was greeted at the door by an adorably post-nap Reaction Junkie holding a tiny creature in his arms. I squeed over her and provided some highly intellectual commentary. “Kitten!” We played with her for a while, watching her run around and play with toys.
Finally, we had to go eat, so we headed out. We ordered and I pulled out my card to pay for both of us. Reaction Junkie said he’d been planning to treat me, which was super sweet. I’ll have to let him do that another time. I don’t mind paying most of the time, depending on circumstances, but after dating someone who basically never paid, and when he did pay, wanted me to pay him back, I’m happy to be dating someone who is at least willing to pay sometimes.
After dinner, we headed back to Reaction Junkie’s place to wait for our ride and play with the kitten. We waited for a while, and then decided to just take the train in. When we got to the station, we ran into another friend of his. That’s something I like about him. He knows a lot of people, which means I get to meet a lot of people. It reminds me of how meeting MLAM greatly expanded my social circle, and definitely for the better.
When we got to the play space, I again felt no urge to do my customary social-anxiety-hide-in-the-bathroom-for-five-minutes thing, and simply started talking to people. I started chatting with a guy from happy hour who I’d spoken with a few times, Denver. He’s a subby type, and we started flirting a little back and forth. Eventually, I suggested a scene, and he agreed and we negotiated, although he wanted half an hour to settle in. Obviously that was fine with me, and I continued talking to people until he came over and asked if I was ready.
To be honest, I was nervous about being more than incidentally toppy in a public space, especially with someone new. We talked for a little while, he showed me the hitty things he’d brought, and I relaxed a bit. We found a space to play and I had him take off all his clothes except for his underwear. I started warming him up with my hands, spanking him and scratching my nails down his back.Then I started using the implements he’d brought. I hit him with the ping pong paddle, the nice side of the mean paddle (per his request), and a crop. I was talking to him and looking for reactions the whole time, but it was a little difficult to hear and my heart/vagina wasn’t really in it. We had kind of an awkward rapport. I did enjoy hitting him though.
About when I was feeling done with the scene, we got interrupted by some people who were going to do something in the space we were in. It was bad that we got interrupted, but I was also a little glad. Trying to do something I’m not confident about, in public, and without being into it was an unpleasant experience. I checked in with him afterwards and he seemed agitated about being interrupted. I asked him about it and he said he wasn’t, but he definitely seemed like he was. I asked him for comments and he said it was mostly good, but that I should take it “more seriously.” Either that or take a different attitude, like a high school bitch type. I know I may need work on my domly dom domminess, but also, I’m just never gonna be like that to any significant extent. I have much more fun being sarcastic and snarky and talking to the person I’m playing with and being a bitch and having fun with it. Maybe that just means Denver and I aren’t a good match as play partners.
I was feeling sort of unsettled after the unsatisfying scene, so I went and talked to some happy hour people. After a little while, I went over to Reaction Junkie and informed him that I wasn’t going to ask permission to go to the bathroom that night. He looked at me and said I’d be punished. I responded, “No. I won’t.” because my original intent for the evening was to at least try and be dommy and toppy for him. He’s so good to me, basically letting me sub out nearly all the time when we play, even though I know he’d like to have a chance to be all bottomy with me. I can deal with service topping for him, or having him top from the bottom, and I’m definitely up for doing that, especially when he mixes in a bit of being controlling and using a dom voice. But I also want to be able to just straight up top him, be a bit dommy, and get into the right headspace so I can fully enjoy taking on those roles in and of themselves and maybe even start feeling confident being the one making decisions and directing things.
When I was done talking to Reaction Junkie, I went over to The Unknown Quantity and started talking to him. He invited me to do a scene and my immediate response was an excited “Yes!” I felt like that would be just what I needed to pull me out of the funk I was in.
In the morning, The Violinist and I both slowly woke up. I rolled over and gave him a good morning kiss. In return, he grabbed me and started hurting me. Sigh. How do I find such lovely men? He started punching my inner right thigh, working to “even out” the two sides of my body. I realized I had my mean paddle in my purse, so of course I told him. He pushed me towards my bag, telling me to retrieve it. I grabbed it and handed it to him. Next thing I knew, I was on my back and he was smacking my leg with the paddle. I fought not to make too much noise and grabbed a pillow to help me stay still. As he repeatedly hit my leg, I bit down on the pillow to stop myself from screaming.
When he finally stopped smacking my thigh, I needed a moment to catch my breath. He looked down at me, taking in my reactions to the treatment he was doling out, and grinned at me with a sadist’s grin. He leaned down and very lightly bit the bruise on my left inner arm that was the result of The Unknown Quantity’s rope. I yelped and pushed him away. I said, “Ouch! That really hurt. A lot.” He just laughed and hurt me some more.
All of my suffering was turning him on a lot. He grabbed a condom and started fucking me. I started rubbing my clit while he used my cunt. I don’t normally get off during piv for a number of reasons, but I thought it might be possible. Then he started making those kissing noises at me, instructing me to reach up and kiss him. This time, however, he was entirely out of reach. I whined at him and he told me to pick between kissing him and an orgasm. I responded, “A kiss!” and he let me reach up and grab his hair and pull him to me. I don’t regret that decision. I’m always really happy to find someone I actually enjoy making out with.
He motioned for me to assume the position, and I turned over, head down, ass up. Although he’d fucked me like that before, this time he took advantage of his knowledge that when he thrusts deep, it hurts. He fucked me so hard from behind and slammed into my cunt so deep that I actually pulled away a couple times. Each time I pulled away, I moved back, of course, because I know my place. I cried out and trembled, trying to handle his cock and not move. When he came, he came hard, making sexy noises and collapsing on top of me. I know he came hard because when he got up to deal with the condom, he couldn’t walk straight and almost tripped. Hee hee.
We cuddled and talked for a good while after that. He asked what I was doing after the next happy hour. I said I might be able to have him over, but I wasn’t sure. I do like this guy quite a bit, but I was, to be honest, leaving my night open for Reaction Junkie. I enjoyed The Violinist’s conversation and company a great deal, and I’m looking forward to getting to know him better and connect with him more. He’s mean and I like it. Eventually it was time to go, and he sent me off to see my parents covered in bruises I had to hide or brush off and feeling satisfied and happy.
I drove The Violinist and myself back to his apartment. We stopped on the way to get food, since I was starving. The first thing he said when we walked through the door was, “Strip.” I smiled, relishing being ordered around. I took off my clothing and we talked and ate. He was sitting in a chair and instructed me to sit at his feet, which I appreciated. When we were done with the food, he grabbed me and tossed me onto the bed to start hurting me. He’s most definitely a sadist, judging by how thoroughly he was enjoying my reactions to the suffering he inflicted on me.
He pushed me over so that I was face up on the bed, and got on top of me. He’s a boney motherfucker, so when he jabbed his knees into my already tender thighs and leaned his weight on me, it hurt like hell. He was slapping my thighs and tits, and then started punching. The thighs I could handle, and, in fact, I like having my thighs punched. But the tits? Oof. I much prefer having them slapped. I felt his fist pounding my flesh and writhed and fought my instincts, trying to stay still.
Throughout all of this, and the rest of the night and the next morning, he would make kissing sounds at me, like you would make to get the attention of a dog or cat, and lean just out of reach. I’d have to stretch up, usually worsening whatever pain he was currently causing, and struggle to kiss him. I don’t like kissing most people most of the time, but I enjoyed both the belittling, degrading nature of the game and the way he kisses.
We have an ongoing joke that he needs to even out my bruises after he spent one night giving all of his attention to my left thigh. I foolishly pointed out the bruises on my upper inner left arm to him. He started to press on the bruise left by The Unknown Quantity’s rope, but I jerked away and told him it was incredibly painful. He was feeling magnanimous, I suppose, because instead of using those bruises against me, he grabbed my upper right arm and dig his thumb in. I thrashed around, but of course I had no hope of stopping him. He left two obvious thumb prints on my arm, which, in combination with the ones from The Unknown Quantity on my left arm, mean that I’m back to constantly wearing a sweater or hoodie at work.
The Violinist wasn’t done yet. Far from it. He started grabbing my sensitive thighs and digging his nails in. I struggled and half-tried to get away, making nosies that were much louder than they should have been. I pressed my face into the bed as The Violinist mercilessly squeezed my thighs. I tried and failed to stifle a half-groan, half-scream, and he pushed my head harder into the mattress. He continued to work at my legs with his hands and I kicked and struggled not to be too loud. As the pain grew, screams turned to whimpers, and whimpers into tears. I’d started crying.
While crying isn’t a safeword for me, upon making someone cry, some people choose to stop of their own volition, especially when the crying wasn’t expected. Although I know crying doesn’t bother him (he seems to enjoy it, in fact), The Violinist allowed me to have a chance to catch my breath and stop crying. When I had recovered, we got back into things, him hurting me, me making pain noises. Eventually, he pushed me towards the bathroom and told me to take out my tampon.
When I returned, I lay down on the bed and spread my legs for him. He pushed his cock into my cunt, and I moaned. He has a nice cock that hurts a bit when he pushes it in the whole way. When he discovered that I made pained expressions and noises when he did that, he was delighted. He fucked me hard, continuing to hurt my tits and slapping me in the face a few times. He motioned for me to flip over, and fucked me from behind until he came, groaning and panting.
When we’d both caught our breath, he let me go get my vibrator. He wouldn’t tell me that I had permission to cum before I got close, so I started masturbating with some trepidation. I hadn’t gotten off since the previous Monday, but this time, the arousal from the party and playing with The Violinist did the trick. Within a few minutes, I was close. “May I please cum?” I panted. He waited a couple of beats before giving me permission, and I came hard, shuddering and moaning. I continued to experience aftershocks from the orgasm for several minutes. We cuddled up and both passed out, exhausted from the evening.
Bringing this to happy hour and asking Breastie to hit me with it, and giving permission to/asking Buzz and a couple of other guys to join in the impact was an excellent decision. At least, it was a decision that shows what a dumb cunt I am.
Bruises from happy hour on Tuesday. My friends are pretty effective considering they were just smacking me around a bit at my request. Breastie was especially harsh.
Of course, I left accidental bruises on her and Buzz, which both of them seem pretty happy about. (What dummies. Who would be happy about bruises?) And learned that wow. I really like hitting people. A lot. Like, a lot a lot.
Note: I know this is a month late. Sorry! I’m working on catching up, but I’ve been so busy at work and socially.
I had plans to grab dinner with MLAM and Reaction Junkie before the Tuesday happy hour. MLAM and I were to meet about an hour before Reaction Junkie would show up, and have a little time to walk around and catch up one on one. As I rode the train to meet MLAM, I started feeling very nervcited. I hadn’t seen him in months, and we hadn’t talked much lately. When the train stopped, I walked slowly over to the escalator and took a deep breath before getting on. I looked around as I rode up, wanting to spot MLAM. I stepped off, turned, and saw him. I gave him a big hug and he picked me up, grinning. I felt my feet brush against someone and I turned around to see Reaction Junkie. I squeaked, happy to see him, and gave him a big hug as well. I was glad he was there because I love spending time with him, but I was also a little disappointed not to have any time one-on-one with MLAM.
I introduced the two men, both of whom have been major parts of my life, and we started walking. They’re both the bizarre kind of human being who is completely devoid of social anxiety, so they immediately began conversing. I joined in, as well, and we walked to the vegan restaurant for dinner. While we were there, the two men were both being dommy and mean, telling me to do things hurting me subtly , teasing me. They were basically co-domming me. It was a heady experience, feeling submissive towards and dominated by two people at once. I’m not sure if I was having a total blast or was completely miserable. (And of course that’s a lie. It’s obviously the former.)
After we finished eating, we headed to happy hour. I have to admit I was still feeling rather nervous. That resulted in me acting out a bit with Reaction Junkie. I tried to play it like it was me being toppy, but it was really something of a performance. As we walked, Reaction Junkie called me out on my nervous behavior and I worked to reign it in. Reaction Junkie had originally been planning to skip happy hour and go to a meeting, but he didn’t feel well, so he stayed. When happy hour began, I talked with people, introducing MLAM to some of my friends and other partners, but I tried not to be all over him because I wanted to let him do his thing or be too clingy. Looking back, that was silly. We hadn’t seen each other in months, so of course it would have been fine for me to glom on the whole night.
I spent some time in a lovely little cuddle pile with Anderson Cooper, Kitten, Reaction Junkie, and someone else I didn’t really know. The whole time, however, I was watching MLAM out of the corner of my eye, wondering when it would be appropriate to grab him and go upstairs for some time with him in a play-friendly setting. Finally, I decided I didn’t want to wait any longer, and I sidled up and asked him if he wanted to go up with me. He did, and we headed up.
As soon as we got upstairs and I put my things down, he grabbed my hair and led me around the space. He told me to put my glasses in my bag and dragged me back towards it. I asked what he wanted me to take off, but he said he’d take off what he wanted off. I like that answer. I certainly don’t mind when people I play with allow me to take off what I want, and when I’m just beginning to play with someone, that’s the proper way to go about it, in my opinion. But having him tell me that he’d do it, and knowing that I’d take off what he told me to. Mmph. It’s the little things, and he’s very good at those small details, creating and solidifying the dynamic.
Next, he started leading me around my my nipple, which hurt like fuck. He pushed me down on one of the ottomans and I sat facing him, waiting expectantly. He began hitting my left leg a bunch, slapping my thigh repeatedly to warm up, and then hitting me harder. At one point, he stuck his hand in my face and instructed me to lick. I obeyed, although I wasn’t sure why he was doing that. Then, as he slapped my leg again with his wet hand, I remembered. It makes it hurt more because less gas is trapped between the hitter’s hand and the hittee’s body. (Or something physics-y like that. I think that’s right?) I’d forgotten that trick. He continued hurting me, and played with my mind, acting like he was going to hit me, then not, then going to hit me again, again not hitting me, finally hitting me, etc. By the end of the first round, I was shaking from the pain and the mental stress he was putting me under.
When we took a breather, I looked over my body and saw the marks already beginning to form. I asked MLAM if he would show Reaction Junkie how he did things, since he’s so good at leaving the kinds of marks I love. I almost didn’t ask because I didn’t want Reaction Junkie to feel like I was saying anything negative about him, but I know he’s not like that, so I did. They both stood over me. MLAM showed him things as they talked, Reaction Junkie tried them out, and they both mostly ignored me. It was objectifying and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
They both began hitting me. My legs were shaking and I was breathing fast as the two men beat my legs. When Reaction Junkie hit my right outer thigh, which he had destroyed the previous weekend, it overwhelmed me. I curled up around myself and had to take a break. Reaction Junkie got me some water and I caught my breath. When we resumed, I had one man on each leg, each hitting me and toying with me. MLAM showed how much he enjoys stressing people out psychologically with mindfuckery and headgames. It makes the pain worse with less effort from him. I lay back on the row of ottomans and closed my eyes. They were both beating me hard and fast, slapping and punching my thighs. I was shaking and groaning, struggling not to be too loud as I reveled in the sensations I was experiencing.
When there was a lull in the impact, MLAM asked me, “How do you feel about your ribcage?” I was confused for a moment, having gone into a headspace, but then agreed to having him hit me there. I lay down on the ottomans. MLAM started hitting my back, smacking down forcefully with open hands. It stung like fuck, and that mingled with the pain and fear and stress from when they were both hitting my legs. I started crying. I decided we should stop. Partially because I was about done, but more than that, because I don’t want to make people uncomfortable. This was a happy hour, not an official play party, and even if “light play” has no real meaning, I feel like someone crying could have been upsetting to someone in this non-play party context.
I cuddled and talked with MLAM for a little while after the scene was over. When I felt recovered, I got some water downstairs. When I went back up, MLAM was standing with a group of people that included Reaction Junkie. I went and stood by MLAM for a while, and I was thinking about joining Reaction Junkie when MLAM told me that if I wanted to go be by him, that was fine. I didn’t want to leave MLAM, but I also did feel the need to be by Reaction Junkie. So I cuddled up to him and spent the rest of the night talking to him and the rest of the group.
I had a great night, but MLAM apparently did not. He told me later that he felt like a third wheel, like he was intruding. That’s not at all how I felt about him being there. I didn’t realize he would feel that way at all. It didn’t even cross my mind. It likely would have been better if MLAM and I had had some time for just us before meeting up with Reaction Junkie. When I talked with Reaction Junkie about things the next day, he admitted that he had felt similarly, and had been trying to stay out of our way. I’d spent more of my concern about hurt feelings than necessary on Reaction Junkie, and not enough on MLAM. I regret not having alone time with MLAM first, and not spending more time with him at happy hour. Next time, I’ll do a better job of actually talking to people about how they want to interact in situations like that. I’m still very glad MLAM came to town, and the other two times we got together went much better. I do miss him, and I hope to get a chance to see him sometime in the near future.
Reaction Junkie started in on my beaten and already beginning to bruise thigh. He brought his open hand down on the spot, slapping hard, and mixing in punches that made me groan and gasp. Then he began throwing elbows again, his weight slamming into me behind the elbow. With the rope now gone, I had to exert more control over my body to fight the urge to struggle. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to change what was happening, and the attempt to get away or stop him would only result in my situation getting worse. As he hit me deep and hard, I wanted to safeword, at least to say “yellow” to make the pain lessen or maybe move to a different part of my body. But at the same time, I was hesitant to test him. There was the chance that he would ignore my “yellow” again, or even ignore a “red.” To be completely honest, I can’t say which outcome would have upset me more – if he had ignored them, or if he hadn’t.
Before I could put that to the test, the pain from the impacts and the racing thoughts about safewords and not being able to stop him and the fear all became too much and I began crying. Reaction Junkie continued hurting me as the tears started to fall. I tried to stop being a little bitch, but wasn’t able to stop crying. Rather than risk breaking his favorite toy with too much intensity, Reaction Junkie decided to stop beating my thigh. He lay next to me, arms around me, and held me. This break from the physical abuse didn’t mean I was free to relax, however, and Reaction Junkie began to talk.
He told me he was going to take a melonballer to my eyes to blind me. Then he would put drops of molten lead in my ears. Not enough to damage my brain, mind. Just enough to destroy my eardrums, making me deaf. Next, my tongue would be cut out and all of my teeth pulled. After he removed my septum, he would burn every inch of my skin, except maybe my tits. When I went to say something about dying, he stopped me and informed me that he would do all this with me sedated and give me painkillers during all of it. The different mutilations would be performed over the course of a few years, giving me time to heal in between. Reaction Junkie promised that I wouldn’t die from shock, adding, “You can’t get away from me that easily.”
He continued, saying that after he’d done all that, mutilated me and destroyed my body, after that was all done, one day he would gently lead me to the car. He would drive me out to the woods, carefully take me out of the car, and then just drive away. I wouldn’t have any idea where I was or what had happened. He might even do it somewhere where if I got lucky and went in the right direction, I could have a chance to wander into civilization. If I did, someone would find me and take me to the hospital. People will try to figure out some way to communicate with me, but it’s going to be difficult, what with me being blind, deaf, mute, and without fingers. Because of course, he’ll remove my fingers before he lets me go. Scientists will want to study me, trying to figure out how I could have survived the trauma. They’ll assume I was in some kind of horrible car wreck. Who could even begin to fathom that someone might inflict such damage on another person?
I was done crying well before he was finished speaking. At the beginning of the story, I’d been amused by the seemingly over-the-top threats, but as he continued describing the mutilation that would be coming my way, amusement turned to some kind of fucked up enjoyment. It wasn’t arousal, exactly, but I got into the narrative and felt strangely comforted. The level of dedication that it would require to keep me like that made me feel wanted and valuable. A favorite toy. A well used, beaten up, and almost entirely broken toy. But a favorite nonetheless.
Reaction Junkie saw that I had recovered from the beating. He asked me, “Do you know what’s going to happen now?” “No,” I responded with some trepidation. Leaning in closer, Reaction Junkie said, “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you until you yellow. And then I’m going to keep hurting you. You’ll probably try to say red, but I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to stop until I feel like it.” As he spoke, I thought about how it felt when he was slamming his elbow into me, about taking more of that, about it not stopping until he decided it should end. Ignoring my “yellow” earlier in the scene had made it clear that I was in a position of powerlessness. It drove home my utter lack of control of my situation. “Red” wouldn’t work, “safeword” wouldn’t work. Nothing would work. I curled into myself and started sobbing uncontrollably.
After making me cry with his words, Reaction Junkie cuddled me close again. He whispered into my ear that there was a DM standing right over us. I don’t like the idea of someone getting the impression that I’m not okay with what’s being done to me (I know, I know. Maybe not the most rational thing in these circumstances, just from crying after being beaten.), so I turned my head and kissed Reaction Junkie. I later found out that the DM had been there for a while and had heard Reaction Junkie talk to me about ignoring my safewords. Thinking about that fact makes me shudder. Of course no one would interfere. He’s my owner and I’m his property. What he does with me is no one else’s business.
Reaction Junkie comforted me and then began beating me again. I begged him not to hit that thigh any more, and he kindly agreed. Just as he was starting to hit me in the tits, a DM came over to us and let us know that time was up. Reaction Junkie had been abusing me for too long. Or, from my perspective, not long enough.
Big-ass thigh bruise my owner gave me at happy hour last week.
He slapped the same spot over and over and over again for a good ten minutes or so. At first it didn’t hurt that much, but the repeated strikes eventually melded together into a low, stingy, burning pain. I endured it well until a couple minutes before he stopped.
That’s when I looked down and saw that this pattern of broken capillaries was already blossoming over my thigh. Once I noticed it, each smack started to hurt more and more, even though my owner wasn’t hitting me any harder. The psychological impact had outmatched the physical.
I was a very good girl and took as much as my owner could give out, and he far exceeded both my, and, I think, his, expectations for how long he could hit me bare handed. This beautiful mark was our reward.
I want to take enough to get marks like these, even if I have a love/hate relationship with caning.
One of Reaction Junkie’s friends gave him a golf club with the head removed. It’s wicked. Stings like crazy and stupid painful. I don’t like it. It’s bad enough that we used it the other night for punishment, even though impact is usually a reward.
One strike for each minute I wasn’t doing the work I needed to be doing. I ended up getting ten on the fronts of my thighs, but I was much more focused than I usually would have been. Especially when he left it on the desk in front of me as a reminder.
Hopefully we can work up to me being able to withstand as many strikes (likely on freshly slapped/warmed up areas) and as much pain as this looks like it took.
I want marks like this. I imagine I’ll have to be a brave little toaster and handle lots of stingy warm-up before the caning even starts. And then handle someone winding up and going hard on my ass. Restraints and a gag will probably be in order, even if we do it at a playspace.
The cruel reality of marks like this are that you can only get them with NO warm-up. A good warm-up reddens and swells the whole area and the distinct contrast of the cane mark is lost. You will have to be very, very brave to get these marks. Good luck and have fun!
I had gotten a different impression from my partner who gave me the most pretty marks, MLAM. The warm-up wasn’t for me to be less uncomfortable/in less pain when the real hitting came, it was to get the blood to the surface and prime the area for bruising.
Perhaps the techniques for leaving distinct cane marks could be different than the techniques for leaving lots of bruising, although I did get plenty of nice and distinct paddle marks. Thank you for sharing this, though! I almost prefer no warm-up sometimes. The pain from the actual impacts is awful, but I really hate the slapping warm-up. The impacts can come one, then some waiting time, another, some waiting time, etc, but the slapping is just constant stinginess.
I think I’ll need to test this out. Have someone give one buttock a nice warm-up, and nothing for the other, and then have them hit me equally hard with the cane on both sides.
I want marks like this. I imagine I’ll have to be a brave little toaster and handle lots of stingy warm-up before the caning even starts. And then handle someone winding up and going hard on my ass. Restraints and a gag will probably be in order, even if we do it at a playspace.
I get hurt pretty frequently, and that’s often done via impact play. When I saw this gifset, though, I realized that I rarely get spanked or hit on the ass, and it’s been ages since someone made me bend over their knees or lay across their lap and spanked me like a naughty little girl.
I think part of why I want to be spanked is that it can be seen as humiliating. Children get punished that way. Making me, a grown woman, bend over your knee and receive the same kind of punishment a little girl might get is insulting, infantalizing, and belittling. Especially when you run your finger along my cunt and comment on how wet I am and how much I’m enjoying it, playing with my clit and pushing your fingers into me, making me moan. Maybe you make a comment about how this is the proper punishment for me, since women are basically children, anyway. I start to protest, but you stop me and, instead, order me to agree. You spank me again until I cry out, “You’re right. Women have the emotional and intellectual abilities of children.” You stop hitting me and tell me to continue as you press a vibrator against my clit as I say “We need men to keep us in line and teach us how to behave. Spanking is the right way to punish a woman. We need the pain to drive the lesson home. Being hurt helps us learn.” As I continue speaking, saying more and more misogynistic things, you point out how much I’m moaning and whining, calling me a “gender traitor” and telling me I’m taking feminism two steps back. Finally, you tell me to cum, to get off to all of the awful things I’m saying about women. A moment later, you feel the orgasm hit me as I shake against you.
There’s also the roleplaying/ageplay related aspects of it. I could be the naughty Catholic high school girl who gets sent to the principal’s office. When I enter the room, you make me bend over your desk and spank me as punishment for talking during class. As you do, I’m ashamed to feel my pussy getting wet and warmth growing between my legs. When you’re done, you tell me my panties are a violation of the dress code, “Take them off and hand them to me.” I hesitate, knowing that if I do, you’ll feel that they’re wet. You sternly say, “Now.” And I bend down, slipping them off. When I give them to you, you feel how soaked they are. “Why are these wet? you ask, already knowing the answer. "I…I don’t know, sir,” I respond, embarassed about my arousal response to being spanked. “Bend back over the desk,” you instruct me. I comply, anxious and excited for what might come next. You begin spanking me again, this time on my bare bottom. I squirm and a moan escapes before I can stop it. I hear you chuckle softly. You run your hand down my ass and push it between my legs. I gasp, shocked that you’re touching me like that. When I start to protest, you shut me up by pushing two fingers into my aching pussy. I moan again, and you say, “What a dirty little slut you are. Pussy soaked, moaning with the principal’s fingers inside you. Tell me you’re a slut.” I hesitate, and you pull your hand away, giving me a sharp smack on the ass. “I’m a slut! I’m a slut!” I yelp. “Good,” you say. I hear the sound of a zipper and start to turn around, “Sir, what are you doing?” You grab my hair and push my head against the desk, “Did I say you could move, slut?” “No, sir,” I whimper. “Then don’t move. As for what I’m doing, I’m treating you how girls like you deserve. Giving you a punishment that might actually stick, since you’re a perverted slut and enjoy being spanked.” Before I can respond, you grab me by my hair and pull me to the ground. “Get on your knees, slut.” Shaking with arousal and not a little fear, I obey. “Now,” you say, pushing your cock between my lips, “Let’s see if you can’t do something more useful with that mouth of yours than disrupt class.”
I also like the dd/lg dynamic that could be in play for spanking. Instead of being treated like a naughty little girl, I would be a naughty little girl, getting punished in an appropriate way. Of course, after I was suitably spanked and had learned my lesson, you tease and play with my cunt and ass until I’m begging to cum. Instead, you throw me on the bed, undoing your pants. You grab me and push your cock into my tight cunt. I yelp as you start fucking me, making it hurt. I get used to the feeling and am just starting to get into it when you pull out. I whine, but then feel you pressing against my ass. I try to scramble away, but you grab me and shove into me, stretching me. I gasp and say, “No, Daddy, please! It hurts!” You ignore my begging and continue pushing into my unlubed hole. You tell me, “Hush. Be brave for Daddy. Don’t you want to be a brave, good little girl? I know you do.” I whimper, but stop begging you to stop. After a moment that feels much longer, you say, “You’re such a good girl. Daddy’s all the way inside you.” Before I can respond, you start fucking my ass, grabbing a handful of my hair, pulling my head up. I cry out, saying, “Oh, Daddy, please! It hurts so much.” But I don’t try to get away. I want to be a good girl for you. After a moment, I’m used to it enough to push back against you. At that moment, you slam into me and stay there, cumming in my tight little ass. I hear you grunt and moan, and that’s the final straw. I cum, and cum hard. As we both collapse into the bed, I say, “Thank you, Daddy.”
PS. Oops this kinda turned into a set of mini-fantasies instead of just a comment about wanting to get spanked. I’m guessing that’s okay with y'all.
Just as quickly as the knife had become the focus of my attention, it was gone. My trials and tribulations were far from over, however, and Reaction Junkie began to use his hands. He started hurting me, hitting my tits and my stomach with open and closed fists, making me breathe heavily and gasp with the impacts. Still blindfolded, I was taken off guard when the first slap hit my face. Then there was another, and another. These were hard slaps, and as I yelped, he told me to be brave and take them, making it clear that he’d read the post I wrote about wanting face marks. Everything I said in the post is true, but imagining how painful and difficult it would be to handle enough impact to get a mark, and thinking that he meant to leave one on me during that very scene was enough to freak me out. My whimpering intensified. Then, suddenly, bright light hit my eyes, making me squeeze them shut. There were tears in the corners of my eyes from being poked with the knife and from the face slapping. I peered out from half-lidded eyes and saw Reaction Junkie’s grinning face. I grinned right back, and he leaned down for a kiss.
The blindfold now gone, the scene continued. Reaction Junkie began smacking my outer right thigh, warming it up. Then he began punching it increasingly hard. What had been controlled movement on my part turned into writhing, and then thrashing. Grabbing my leg, Reaction Junkie held me down and still and began elbowing me. The first time he did it, I was unprepared for how much it would hurt, and I cried out in surprise and pain. He repeated the action, kneeling next to me and dropping his elbow into my thigh, putting some of his weight behind it. I felt a deep pain each time, like he was hurting me all the way to the bone. I started whimpering, and felt the tears starting. Reaction Junkie made fun of me, asking, “Are you going to cry like a little cunt?” I nodded, and began crying. Just like a little cunt.
I took as much of the elbowing as I could, but after only a few impacts like that, I felt like I was going to break. “Yellow, ” I panted out. Reaction Junkie just looked at my frightened face and pointedly ignored my request to dial things back. He slammed his elbow into me again, just as hard as before. As he set himself up to do it again, I started to breathe faster and faster, half-panicked at the thought that there was nothing I could do to stop him. I watched him dropping his weight into me again, his elbow landing hard, and groaned loudly in response, the tears rolling down my face. He hit me again, and then again. Finally, he decided to stop. It wasn’t anything to do with me wanting him to, of course, but because he felt like it.
Just because he stopped hurting me that way in that location didn’t mean he was stopping altogether. He straddled my legs, sitting on them. That put weight on my now battered thigh, making me grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut from the pain. He started slapping my tits and my face. I struggled, but my arms were bound and now my legs were held in place, so it was even more futile than usual. When he paused for a moment, I realized that my thumb felt numb. Not an emergency, but also not something I care to experience for longer than necessary. I opened my eyes and asked Reaction Junkie if the rope could come off. He sat me up and obliged me, wanting his toy to be fully functional. By the time he finished untying me, my thumb was back to normal.
When the rope was off, Reaction Junkie allowed me a few moments to rest. He comforted me, telling me, “There, there. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.” By the end of the night, those words would provide no solace. To the contrary, because of the way he was saying them, and because he would tell me such things in the midst of frightening me and hurting me, each time he said them, I became more and more certain that he would do the very things he was saying he wouldn’t. Promises not to hurt me meant pain was imminent, guarantees of safety meant certain danger. In my mind, reassurances turned upside down into threats. In fact, Reaction Junkie eventually had to switch to telling me “You’re not safe. I’m going to hurt you. You’re in mortal peril.” to convince me he meant me no harm. My mind was thoroughly and deliciously fucked.
When I stopped crying, Reaction Junkie resumed his lesson about what it means for him to own me. He made a comment about the horrible things he could do to me, and I replied that he probably shouldn’t do some of them there, at the playspace. He looked at me and, using that voice, he said, “I don’t think you understand how much power I have when it comes to you.” He reminded me that I’m his property, that no one else cares, and that he could kill me and no one would even notice until it was too late. Then he began to hurt my thigh again.
Here’s the state of my kink toys after Wednesday’s date with The Anarchist Economist. Also a picture of my butt in adorable af panties I wore.
My initial thought after our first date was that the first time we played, we would just stick to impact and topping things, and not veer so much into me saying words at him or being dominant. The more our texting turned towards sexting, however, the more interested I became in calling him names and making fun of his small cock. He shared quite a few fantasies with me, and I got off thinking about doing those things to him. As you’ll see, we didn’t totally avoid playing with power.
I should have known he’d be able to pull out my dominant side, since during that first date (which I’ll have to write up someday) there were several times I found myself wanting to grab him by the hair, push him up against a wall, or put my hand around his throat.
Summary: Wednesday afternoon was so fucking wonderful! We have a lot of shared interests in a lot of different ways. TAE is intelligent and adorable and interesting and educated and sexy and goddamn does he have the most delectable reactions. Also, apparently in addition to being good at topping, I can be quite the dommy little d-type when I’m properly inspired by the right subby person. I guess I don’t hate power dynamics; I just like them in the other direction these days.
When we got to my apartment, The Anarchist Economist and I talked for a little bit, and I showed him some of my toys, including impact tools and dildos. I suggested that we go cuddle on the couch and watch some Leverage (anti-corporate direct action, anyone?) and cuddle. I figured it would help me, and probably him, relax and get comfortable. Plus, Netflix and chill is a great way to get things going.
We settled in next to each other and started watching. Gradually we started touching more, and then started kissing. I climbed on top of him, straddled him, and got to work learning his body, likes, and dislikes. Neck stuff (including hand(s) around the neck, unf), ear stuff, nipple stuff. Especially biting. Hard biting.
I told him to take off his shirt so that I could mark him in less visible places. I reciprocated by taking off my own shirt and he was super into that whole experience. We kept making out and I bit the shit out of his neck and shoulders. I grabbed him various places, and we had a quick conversation about pressure points. It seems obvious now, especially because I’d never really thought about it prior to going to some kink events, but most people don’t necessarily talk about using pressure points as a distinct activity.
TAE said something about me spanking him and asked if he could take off his pants and underwear. I let him know he could leave on or take off whatever he was comfortable with. He took it all off, and happily jumped towards the bed. At this point I was still intending to mostly stick to the topping and impact, and not veer off into being too dominant, but all of his reactions on the couch had me starting to feel dommy.
We started off with me spanking him and getting an idea of his pain thresholds. He’s one of the weird ones who likes stingy pain, which is very exciting to me, since the people I usually hit much prefer thuddy. I used a bunch of my hitting implements on him to see which ones he liked and which he didn’t, and, to my delight, he liked the things that I use the least.
After I’d spent some time smacking him with things, he yellowed (after making this…trilling(?) noise? that I’m going to take as a pre-yellow warning), so we cuddled on the bed and made out more. At some point TAE asked if he could be on his knees, and he knelt in front of me as I was sitting on the bed. I really like the look of him on his knees looking up at me.
He asked me if he could watch me masturbate. My initial response was to say no, since I have some anxiety around orgasms, but then he started sucking on and licking my tits and making more of those amazing noises. He was so desperate and needy and kept bucking up into me. Fuck, it makes my cunt clench just thinking about it.
I changed my mind about masturbating and had him lay next to me on the bed to touch me while I used a vibrator. I told him to give me part of him to grab, and instructed him to tell me about a fantasy. He told me a couple that involved elements of cuckoldry and name calling. Normally I have to work fairly hard to fantasize so I can get off, but this time he did that work for me, so I came quickly and I came hard.
The Anarchist Economist was super into it and said many nice things to me. I was tempted to get him off, but I was feeling dominant, so I told him he couldn’t come then and there. Instead, I instructed him to do it later and send me pictures (he did and it was hella sexy). We lay there and cuddled and talked about kinks and ideology and politics and life. One of the things we talked about was Not A Tumblr Dom and potentially doing things with all three of us, which is an idea I am very into.
We decided to go back to the couch and watch more Leverage. We got maybe twenty minutes in before we were all over each other again. He really likes having his hair pulled, and I really like pulling his hair. I’m certain he has no idea what happened in that episode.
We both had places to be, so we walked to the train together. While we were waiting, he told me about a scene idea that I had independently had and am very excited about having someone to potentially do it with: black bloc/cop beatdown scene. I’d previously imagined being the one receiving the beatdown, but I can certainly be the one dishing it out, instead.
The whole afternoon, there were a lot of check-ins on both sides, and he complimented me so many times I lost count. And his reactions. Oh god his reactions. I’m wet just thinking about the noises he made and the way he moved.
Right now I’d like to be at someone’s feet, crying and begging.
I want to be beaten and hurt and told what an awful person I am, how terrible I’ve been, how much I deserve what I’m getting. I’ll ask what they’re talking about. I’ll try to say I don’t know what they mean, that I haven’t done anything. I’ll express confusion, exasperation, anger. I’ll tell them I wasn’t expecting this scene and I don’t know what they want me to do, that I’m no good at roleplay, especially unexpected roleplay. All to no avail. The kicking, punching, kneeing, elbowing, smacking continue.
Finally, I’ll throw myself at their feet and beg. Beg for it to stop. Beg to be forgiven, apologizing over and over again despite having no idea what I’m even apologizing for. I want to wrap myself around their feet, curling around them as they continue to hurt me, kissing their boots, hugging their legs, and sobbing. I want to work myself into a frenzy of tears and shaking and “I’m sorry, please stop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I’ll never do it again, I’m sorry” until I’ve reached an almost meditative state of hysterical groveling.
![[3.10.2016] Big-ass thigh bruise my owner gave me at happy hour last week. He slapped the same spot](https://64.media.tumblr.com/83a8ad91d762062d11220988b6cf9b2c/tumblr_o4548fub9g1s8bp28o1_1280.jpg "[3.10.2016] Big-ass thigh bruise my owner gave me at happy hour last week. He slapped the same spot")
