#tit slapping

Horny as fuck. Send me the start of what you want to do to me or your favorite fantasy and let’s have fun. 

Kik: celestialdreaming

Part 6

When I woke up from my nap, I felt less tired, but still kind of down. I looked around the room and saw Reaction Junkie. I decided I should go join the group he was talking to and cuddle up to him, thinking that was likely to make me feel better. I walked up and leaned into him. We greeted each other and he returned to what he had been saying while I sleepily cuddled him. As I listened to the conversation, I started to feel better.

When there was a break in the conversation, I told Reaction Junkie about my scene, which he’d already heard about from The Unknown Quantity. I also shared how I’d started to feel super tired and kind of down afterwards. He seemed concerned and asked if I needed to leave. I definitely didn’t, but it was nice to feel cared for like that. I was feeling a bit better after I talked about it, and I started to get more involved with the conversation.

While we were talking, Reaction Junkie grabbed me somewhere, and I saucily told him, “That’s not where it hurts.” The Unknown Quantity had clearly told him about the intense thigh slapping and how sensitive I was, because he grabbed my left inner thigh. I yelped and he picked up my leg, throwing me off balance. I grabbed onto him with both hands to avoid falling. He pulled my left leg up far enough that the position forced me to stand on tiptoe on my left foot. The pain and the control he was exerting over me started bringing me out of my low mood, and as we continued to play, I came out of it completely.

As we played and he hurt me, we talked. I brought up something I’d been thinking about for a few days. I’d had some feelings (read: twinges of jealousy) when I watched him playing with Legal Lolita on Wednesday. Part of the reason was that I wasn’t doing my normal logic-based countering of those feelings, but when I thought about them some more, I realized I had felt the most bothered when they were kissing. I’m not big on kissing with the majority of people, for a number of reasons, but I very much like kissing Reaction Junkie. For example, the other weekend, just as I got out of my car to head to his vanilla friends’ party, he pushed me up against the side of the car and kissed me enthusiastically. It was dominant and passionate and I just about melted.

I’d realized most of what had made me uncomfortable about watching the scene he had with Legal Lolita was the kissing part, and that those feelings stemmed from the fact that I feel like he and I don’t kiss enough. Instead of bottling it up or trying to subtly encourage him to kiss me more, like I might have once done, I decided to just tell him I wanted to kiss more. So, while he was grabbing my bruised inner thigh, I said, “I like kissing you and we should do it more.” I was nervous when I said that, so when he responded that he also like kissing me and that “we don’t kiss enough,” I was relieved. “Kiss me,” he ordered. I smiled at him and obeyed. He repeated this command throughout the night, which was incredibly sexy for multiple reasons, and made me feel warm and fuzzy in all the best ways.

The group decided to sit down and Reaction Junkie chose a high chair. He pulled me to him so that I was between his legs and continued squeezing my thigh and hurting me. Eventually he said, “Get a coil of rope out of my bag.” I did as I was told and handed it to him. He tied it tight around my upper left thigh and pulled it taught around the arm of the chair. I enjoyed the pain this caused, but what I didn’t realize was that he had more than one reason for doing it. Not only did it make it easy for him to hurt me, it left him with his hands more free to do other things.

He started punching and slapping my tits, focusing on the right one. I’d told The Unknown Quantity that I didn’t want him to punch my tits, but Reaction Junkie owns me, so he obviously has no restrictions on what he does to me. My body and mind belong to him, so he can do whatever he likes to me. He punched and punched, and I winced and yelped, fighting the urge to pull away. I lost that fight a couple of times, and because my left leg was still in the air, as I leaned back, I almost fell over. Reaction Junkie saved me each time, although it wasn’t entirely out of concern for me, since he grabbed my tit to pull me back towards him. At the same time he was pummeling my tit, he was pulling the leg rope tight, hurting me multiple ways at once. As he watched my pained and pleasured reaction to the treatment, he grinned at me and said, “Oh, I like you.”

Eventually, as the breath was knocked out of me with a punch, I felt like I was getting close to a limit of what I could take from being punched. I asked him if he would please switch to only slapping. He opened his hand and brought it down super hard on my tit. “Like this?” he asked. I said yes, because, although it hurt, the pain was much less concentrated than with the fist, and I felt like I could handle much more of it. Reaction Junkie slapped and grabbed and squeezed and pulled my breast tissue away from by body, and I trembled with the effort it took to handle the pain, and because my cunt was soaking. I was happy and smiling and, at the same time, grimacing, moaning, and groaning at the suffering Reaction Junkie was causing.

When I felt my tits, the right one (the one he was hitting) felt full of blood. I thought it was pretty likely that I would get a nice big bruise, à la MLAM. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Next time, I’ll have to be a brave little cunt and be better at handling more. I want to be black and blue and red all over from Reaction Junkie. I love the reminders of who my body belongs to and what it’s for.

The party ended and a group of us, including Reaction Junkie, The Unknown Quantity, and me, left the play space and headed to get food at a diner. There were actually some decent vegan options, and I ate my mac ‘n cheese and chicken fried seitan while chatting with people. We were all happy and laughing, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Reaction Junkie and I got dropped off back at his place, and we headed inside. We had to play with the kitten for a while (poor us, tossed right in that briar patch), since she was full of energy and needed to be tired out. Eventually he and I both fell asleep. I woke up several times in the night with the kitten running around the bed or climbing on me, her little claws digging into sensitive skin, including my tits. Finally she tired out and fell asleep, purring, in the crook of my arm. I finished a lovely day by cuddling up and sleeping with two adorable, wonderful creatures.

I had a ridiculously good time at the party tonight.

My first scene (with The Unknown Quantity) ended because I was laughing too hard and couldn’t stop, just from the endorphins, and the main result was an incredibly sensitive right inner thigh. Then I got incredibly sleepy and down, so I napped to the sounds of screaming, moans, and all kinds of impact.

When I woke up, I tottered over to Reaction Junkie and glommed onto him and listened to the conversation. During a break in the talking, he asked me how I was doing. I told him about being sleepy and down and a short while later, he was grabbing and squeezing my right inner thigh, making me cry out in extreme pain.

Part 5

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.

I managed to wake up before The Super Sadist on Sunday. I laid there for a little while, trying to decide if it was late enough to try to wake him up with a blow job. I determined that it was, in large part because I didn’t feel like waiting any longer to get my mouth on him again. I pulled down the blanket and was just starting take him into my mouth when he pushed at me and rolled away from me onto his side. I giggled a little at his sleep-rejection and considered trying again. I decided not to, because, although I knew he had very enthusiastically consented to getting a blow job to wake up, I’m still not comfortable pushing that on someone who is actively rejecting it.

I tried to go back to sleep, but he was being a huge bed hog. Which, obviously, is his right as a man. I was lucky he allowed me to sleep in the bed, considering sleeping on the floor would be perfectly fitting for a little bitch like me. Eventually, I went to the couch and half-slept there for a little while until he woke up and came out. I told him what had happened, with him rejecting the oral sex alarm clock, and his reaction was basically, “Damnit!” Looking back, I feel bad that I didn’t immediately drop to my knees and suck him off then and there. We had breakfast and talked about what we were going to do that day. The Super Sadist described our plans by saying, “I was thinking I’ll beat you and then we go get vegan food.” Seriously, y'all, I get used by the best men.

Before the beating began, we talked for a little. At some point, I admitted in an embarrassed voice to liking something I feel like I shouldn’t like. I think it might have been that I enjoy when he calls me dumb. He responded, “I know.” He says those words with this tone…I can’t explain it very well. It’s a combination of understanding, condescension, and amusement. I love it. It makes me feel like he gets where I’m coming from, and, at the same time, it makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, knowing that he can read me so well. All of me is open to him, available for his use, even my inner thoughts and reactions. And of course, when I told him I like it when he says that, he looked at me and said, “I know.”

We finished talking, and The Super Sadist cleared space so we could settle in for a long beating session. He had me hands and knees on the floor, ass in the air. I closed my eyes and listened to him move around, trembling slightly in anticipation. He started beating me, warming me up at first, and then hitting me harder. He struck at my ass and thighs. He beat my shoulders. Hands and fists and feet, elbows and knees. Implements. A dowel, a metal rod, a broken off mop handle. A riding crop. His belt. Whipping me with rope. Next, I bent over the couch and he continued the pounding, focusing on my ass and thighs. As he started punching them, I started to moan. There were a couple times his fist hit the back of my upper thighs, I almost felt like I could have cum. Hands are my favorite things to get beaten with. It’s personal and intimate and degrading and insulting. I love it.

When he was finished (for the moment) with my ass and the backs of my thighs, The Super Sadist told me to turn around so he could start in on my tits. Before he began, I said to him, “You know how I don’t normally lube much?” He said yes, and I told him he should feel my cunt, that I really enjoy having someone hurt me, feel how wet I am, and then make fun of me for it. Most of the time, even when I’m very turned on, I don’t get very wet. This time, however, when he put his hand between my legs, he could feel my sopping wet cunt. I think he was prepared to make a mean or teasing remark about how wet I was for my benefit, since I’d said I enjoyed it, but instead he said, “This is actually pretty ridiculous.” I blushed and looked down.

Before I recovered from being identified as a painslut, he started hitting my tits. He slapped them, punched them, smacked them. I tried to keep my hands behind my back and give him the access that is his right. At one point, it got to be so much that I leaned into him and pressed myself against him, hoping to escape the beating. Instead, I got even harder punches in the tits, and a couple times in the ribs. I thoroughly deserved those. I shouldn’t have moved. Eventually, though, I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him and shaking, and begged him for a break, to stop. He didn’t have to agree, but he kindly did.

I had some water and watched him prop a window open and light a cigarette. Before this point, he had been smoking outside, like he always does. This change let me know I was in for a treat. We’d talked about me serving as an ashtray for him, which is a bit of play I’ve wanted to try for a while now. He had me kneel before him, mouth open, as he started smoking his cigarette. When he was ready to tap the ash into my mouth, I stayed as still as possible and closed my eyes, afraid of being burned. I felt the heat of the cigarette near my mouth, then tasted and felt the ash fall onto my tongue. He smoked the whole cigarette using me as his ashtray. He paused to take a few pictures, each one meaning the lit cigarette was near my mouth longer. He finally finished, but waited a little while before giving me permission to go spit it out and wash out my mouth, extending the experience. Finally, he let me rinse out and start to get ready for my next use.

We got up to his room and he told me to take my clothes off. I stripped while he got some things together. He had a hood in his hands and asked me if that’s how I wanted my hair. Seeing the hood got me excited, so I quickly put up my hair. He pulled the hood down over my face, a hole over my mouth to allow me to be as useful as possible. I lay back, now unable to see what he was doing. The uncertainty that comes with having my eyes covered made me tremble. I really do enjoy not knowing what’s going to happen next, whether because I’m blindfolded, or because my partner is being unpredictable. It drives home the fact that I’m not in control and that anything could happen.

After the hood was in place, he leaned back away from me and pushed my legs apart. I thought he was going to start fucking me or hit me or something, but instead he spit on my cunt. I whimpered when I heard and felt that, since spit is the most gross. Which, of course, he knows. That’s why he did it. Next thing I knew, he was on top of me, his cock in my mouth. He fucked my face, his cock hitting the back of my throat and making it hard to breathe. He stopped, and then I felt him tying rope around my ankle. He bent my legs and tied them like that. When he finished, he said, “I don’t know how we handle being in public.” “Why?” I asked. “Because I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you.” came the ridiculously hot answer. Hearing that he’d been wanting to use me and abuse me, and that he’d been thinking about it made me a happy and wet little cunt.

Done with my legs, he spread them again and pushed his cock into me. I moaned, feeling his cock filling me, and heard him say, “Fuck, you’re tight.” He fucked me hard and deep, hurting me and making me feel good in equal measure. I whimpered, and he pointed out that it was my fault this was happening. He was right. I didn’t clean my ass out for him to use before I came over. If I had, he’d be using that instead, which would hurt less. I need to be a better slut for him, and I deserved the hard use my cunt was getting.

Legolas pulled out of me and made me move to the side of the bed, the ropes making that task more difficult and uncomfortable. I knew what was coming, and with as little hesitation as I could manage, put my head over the side of the bed. He shoved his cock into my mouth and down my throat, and I fought down the panic that always comes with being unable to breathe. He repeatedly pushed his cock in and out of my throat, and I did the best I could to handle it. He told me that he was being too nice to me. He’s always too nice to me, giving me his attention and being willing to use and abuse me. I’m lucky he’s willing to spend time on me when I couldn’t even come over with my ass in the state he wants it. Especially considering the fact that, as he pointed out, he could get a more conscientious cunt to come over instead.

He yanked the hood off at some point, and stopped the throatfucking to let me breathe for a little while. It wasn’t a break, of course, and he lay back while I licked and sucked his cock, listening to his breathing and the noises he made. He pushed me off and it was back over the side of the bed for me, his cock in my throat. Eventually he stopped. He went around to the other side of the bed and put on another condom. I looked at him and he said, “Did you think I was done using your cunt?” before starting to fuck me hard again. He was rougher this time, hurting me with hands while he hurt my cunt with his cock. He slapped me in the face quite a few times, and my left cheek actually hurt for a short time after he stopped.

I started apologizing for not preparing for him to use my ass and promising to do better. I was talking about how I deserved all the pain and suffering he was inflicting on me because I hadn’t come over clean, when he said, “We can make it hurt more,” and told me to turn over so he could fuck me from behind. I turned over, the rope making it difficult and painful to get and be on my knees. He thrust into me again, going deep and making it hurt a lot. I whimpered, but managed not to move away. I deserved it, basically asked for it, by not doing the best I could for him.

He flipped me back over, and continued fucking me as he took the rope off my legs. When they were free, he pulled them up straight and pushed them back, changing the angle and making me moan. He continued fucking me and then pulled out and took the condom off. He came all over my stomach and chest, and all the way up to my collarbone. I sighed, satisfied, when he was done, and looked at how much prettier he’d made me, covering me with his cum.

Perfect Saturday. Friends, food, fun, and fucking.

Two Sundays ago, I spent the evening and the night with The Violinist. The first thing he did when I walked in the door was to institute a new rule. When I’m in his apartment, I’m not to wear any clothing. I grinned (I love rules like that) and stripped. We talked for a little while, and then he picked me up, threw me onto the bed, and we started to play. There was lots of impact, grabbing, scratching, squeezing, and fucking. It was mean, painful, frightening, and hot.

My favorite part of the play we did involved a little game The Violinist was on top of me, pinning my arms and legs down with his legs. I had told him I wouldn’t be able to take as much impact on my right tit as the left because Reaction Junkie had focused on that side the night/day before. The Violinist slapped my left tit hard, kissed me, and then slapped me again. Kiss, slap, kiss, slap, kiss, slap. The switch between the painful impact and the enjoyable kissing threw me for a mental loop, even besides the obvious physical pain. I started trembling, whimpering, and flinching whenever he came in for a kiss.

Finally, he stopped, and I thought it was over. He made out with me, and I relaxed a little until he sat up and said, “That was ten kisses.” My eyes went wide, and I started shaking. These were not little slaps he was going to do. He was going to hit my tit hard, many times in a row. He started slapping, and I fought the urge to cry out. He did five in a row and then paused. I was starting to cry as he began again, completing the other five slaps.

Then he kissed me again. I tried to move my head, desperate to avoid more pain (terrible plan, I know). He forced me to let him kiss me, and then administered five more good hard slaps to my left tit. I was crying pretty hard by this point. He looked at me, pleased with his work, and said, “I think that’s enough for now.” I nodded, unable to answer verbally.

After I’d recovered, I wanted to check in with him, so I asked, “You don’t mind tears, do you?” He smiled and responded, “I like tears.” I like a sadist who enjoys the products of his labor.