photo shoot trip, day 4: more actual photos

I told Lucas I could handle more bondage, but he didn’t immediately take me up on it. The white summer dress I’d been wearing had inspired him to do something with his sunny yellow rope, but after that we just kept working, slowly, through the clothing options.

The next day was my last in town. Counting backwards from the flight time, we’d have to wrap up shooting by about 4:00 to allow me plenty of time to pack up my voluminous wardrobe, so it was going to be a short day.

He requested my quasi school uniform — blazer, little pleated skirt, white shirt, knee socks (and fishnets), and tie. I put on the shirt and skirt (with push-up bra and white cotton panties). But I’d forgotten my tie at home. Dammit! He rummaged around in his closet and then produced a dark grey silk tie he’d bought to wear to a recent funeral. I draped the tie around my neck, with the wide part hanging much lower than the narrow, started wrapping and twisting the silk, decided I didn’t have enough length, undid my work a little self-consciously, and tugged the wide end down a smidge more. Lucas was still in the room but not obviously paying attention. Around, over and through to the back; around, over and through to the front. Straighten the knot. Slide the smooth silk up snug to my neck. Done! He looked up; I’d gotten it just the right length, he said, sounding impressed.

Once he left the room, I gingerly pulled on the large gauge fishnets; the tights are effectively just a bundle of elastic string, and the holes are so big that it’s hard not to stick toes right through, at every stage. I always worry that I’m about to rip them to shreds.

We did a few shots with the outfit, and then he did a similar tie to the one from the day before, with my arms behind my back. This time he tied me a bit more snugly, and my response was more pronounced. Again, he wrapped the rope across my front, but this time the gesture was accompanied by a mild but sudden and otherwise inexplicable appreciation for the shape of his forearm as he went about the rigging. I’m not very visually oriented, and I don’t consider forearms (or any body parts, really) a turn-on. Since much of what was happening with the rope was behind my back, there wasn’t much for me to see. I think I was responding to the feeling of the rope and my brain simply latched onto the one image that was available.

Once he had me secure, I felt content being held in the rope and found it pleasant. I was a bit surprised to find it faintly comforting. This wasn’t a “scene”, and Lucas wasn’t domming me; there was no deliberate emotional content, nor was there an emotional connection beyond our friendship and the fact that I trusted him enough to do this. But I was having some kind of mild emotional reaction just to the sensation of the rope. I wondered if it was connecting generally with the human need for touch or specifically with my own significant touch hunger. Perhaps both.

We did some shots of my knit sheath dress, which has the silhouette of a cheongsam. Push-up bra again, no knickers. Stilettos. We did some poses with a faintly submissive tone, and then I put on the wrist cuffs. How odd it felt to be doing this for myself, but how much odder it would have felt to allow Lucas to do it. Having cuffs put on me does make me feel a little submissive. It’s a kind of adornment, and thus a temporary marking. It also represents permission to control me. It has significance.

I sat on the black leather couch with my knees together, hands resting on my knees demurely. The combination of being a bit dressed up and sitting carefully, almost studiously, was reminiscent of waiting for a job interview.

He put a golden lock, open, on one cuff, carefully concealing the word “Samsonite”. After taking a few shots, he locked the cuffs together. That instantly kindled heat. But I’m good at hiding my reactions and I’m sure he didn’t notice. “I just have to pop out for a minute,” he joked while I was bound. Har har. We also tried some shots with my wrists cuffed behind my back. When I retired to the bedroom to get changed, I saw that I was glistening and sticky, as I’d sensed.

More rope, less clothing. He’d had the idea of tying the torso without restricting movement and putting a blazer on top. This idea required knickers. It was a karada tie: a loop (the bight) around the back of my neck, straight down the front with a knot placed against my mound, both strands between the legs and up the back, then zigzagging front to back, and framing the breasts. Most of the work was done from behind. I felt a bit shy, but not uncomfortably so. The bondage didn’t challenge me because it didn’t restrict me at all. If there was a challenge, it was the nudity.

More rope, no clothing. Wolf’s cuffs on my wrists and ankles. Lucas had me sprawl on the couch, tied the wrist cuffs together using the attachment points, then tied off to the couch leg. Same with my ankles. “I hope you’re comfortable there,” he said as he turned away. Har har. Again. But it wasn’t actually a joke this time. The batteries in his camera had just died and he couldn’t remember where he kept the new ones.

I was naked, stretched out in the dimness under a spotlight, bound hand and foot, not especially comfortable, and somewhat chilled in his inherently chilly condo.

He could have said, “Now I’ve got you where I want you. You’re at my mercy, girl. I’m going to warm you up ­— well, your ass.”

He could have brandished a flogger, or a cane, or a paddle.

He could have purred in my ear, telling me all the dreadful things he intended to do to me.

But that’s not a game that I wanted to play with him. He rifled through dusty cupboards and drawers for his batteries. Fortunately he found them before I got seriously vexed.


I climb into the bath, water hot as I can tolerate

my movements and mind mellow, thoughts become languid and lax

the heat and steam seem to reignite the pilot light at the meeting of my thighs

feeling vacant yet reawakened, I ache


tough love

Yes, I’m small, and light. Yes, I look graceful — delicate, even.
Yes, you’re taller. Bigger. Stronger. Yes, you can pick me up, toss me around, pin me down.

But I’m strong too. And flexible, and wriggly.
And determined.
So when we wrestle, I will give you a run for your money.
And the only way you’ll win clean
is if I want you to.

This shape reminds me of a heraldic maunch, minus the pendant part of the pendant sleeve, of course.



As I suspected would be the case, the antics described here might have been the climax, but there was still some dénouement yet to happen.

That morning had been pretty hot, and I was still feeling warm in the evening. So at bedtime, he was lying on the bed, propped up a bit against the wall, and I knelt between his legs and gave him oral again. Since I’ve started to feel comfortable with it, oral has often been a feature of playtime.

I touched him with hands and lips. Kissed his thighs and ran my lips lightly over the hairs there. Kissed his hips and inside his hipbones. Nipped at his abdomen. That whole area from bellybutton to mid-thigh that I had been giving a wide berth as though it was marked out with danger tape. Because, I had thought, that’s where sex comes from, and sex is dangerous.

But I felt safe. And under my lips and hands and eyes, he felt… admired. A welcome novelty with a refreshing lightness. A particular smile in his eyes that I’m not sure I’ve seen before. An openness.

And then, slowly and with care, he tied my wrists together with a strip of soft leather. And then got me on my back and fucked me hard. And with my bound hands around his neck and pulling him close, and my gaze holding his, he came hard.

He had set the alarm, so we were up a little earlier than usual. But at that point there wasn’t much left to do, just wake up and stop worrying about oversleeping.

With some extra time in the schedule, we couldn’t help it. We fucked again. Again with a blowjob. Again from behind with my ass in the air. Again with my shoulders on the bed and arms outstretched in front of me. When we find something good, we tend to stick with it and explore the nuances.

I usually tense my muscles all over, but this time was different. I relaxed into it and felt very passive, but not like I was merely enduring it. It was more like getting a massage — just lie here and relax and savor it while someone does something very pleasant for me.

Push me up towards the head of the bed, whatever. Splay my knees out wider, whatever. Push me down against the bed, grip my wrists, whatever. I’m just along for the ride.

Fuckfest Winter 2014-15 ends with a bang!

My partner leaves the country tomorrow, so our three-month fuckfest is almost at an end.

Last night at bedtime, I reminded him of the enforced availability idea and suggested that we try it today, 8:00 to 1:00 as we had discussed before. He sounded open to the idea but said he’d think about it. (I sold it pretty hard.)

When I woke up this morning just after 8:00, I didn’t know what conclusion he had reached. I ran through a few scenarios in my mind and warmed up a bit. He woke up a few minutes later, then came over and put his head near my hand so I could stroke his hair. Then, instead of curling up with me for cuddles or chatting like we usually do, he told me to take off my nightshirt and get into position. Oh fuck, it’s on! Hot

For round 1, we did a few the newer positions in our repertoire. He called all the shots, which would be the theme of the day. We both had fun, even though he got tired and wasn’t able to come. (Sometimes pushing limits is a little too much for him and things don’t go quite as hoped, erection-wise.)

We cuddled, with him spooned behind me, and he told me what kind of clothes he wanted me to wear (i.e. accessible). While I was listing off items for his approval, he stopped me in mid-sentence and ordered me into our favorite position for round 2. He managed to come, a bit. All this before 9:00. (Our tempo is usually on the slow side, so we find fast to be new and exciting.)

We got up and had breakfast. Ordinarily, I’d catch up on the sex blogs I’m following at this point anyway, but now it was almost a duty since I was deliberately trying to keep myself warm. A little while later, he sent me into the bedroom again for round 3, which ended up being mostly oral. (Oral wasn’t on the buffet because I still have some hang-ups about it and need to proceed with care and sensitivity. But I was feeling pretty comfortable and relaxed — I suppose two fucks will do that — and decided to make it available à la carte.) He came this time too, a little. I was good and warm and needing a little resolution by this point, so I decided to take care of my end on my own. Gentleman that he is, he offered to help, so I had assistance with my orgasm even though to my mind the theme of the day is his pleasure.

After that, things cooled off for a while, and we went about our day. At lunchtime, I remembered that I needed something from the store for my lunch. He headed out to get it around 12:20 and I offered to extend the deadline beyond 1:00 so we’d have time for both the errand and another fuck. When he got back about 15 minutes later, he ordered me into the bedroom again right away for round 4. He tied my hands, stripped, and pulled my pants and thong to my knees. He immediately gave me what was probably the hardest fuck I’ve ever had, his pelvis slapping loudly against my ass, my tied hands stretched out in front of me to brace against the wall. (I was glad of the earlier orgasm and subsequent vaginal expansion — I don’t think I could have handled his entire length otherwise.) He gave me a pounding, and he came hard. With 10 minutes left on the clock!

Even though the enforced availability game is now over for the day, I’m still feeling pretty warm and wouldn’t mind another orgasm (or four) if I could manage it. So far, the plan is to play again tonight. Further updates as events warrant.

don’t stop at one

I had gone to sleep wondering what would happen in the morning, and woke up the same way.

I woke first, shortly before the original scheduled start time of 8:00. Would he want to try the enforced availability idea after all? The thought of it got me warm and wet. Structured playtime or not, I knew there was a good chance I’d be getting fucked soon. He woke up a few minutes later, and I initiated some cuddling while his grogginess faded.

Nothing at all was said about the old plan… which is how I knew it was still off. Oh, well. But it didn’t make a great deal of difference because we picked up more or less where we’d left things the night before. He informed me that his cock was very hard and then gave me a few ideas of what he thought I might do with that. I asked him which of his ideas he’d prefer, and he said he’d like me to suck on his cock. So I did.

He murmured his encouragement and enjoyment, but called me off after a short time so we could change things up. He wanted a fuck, and so did I. On knees and elbows I was, and good and wet so he slid in easily. My ass was up, my knees splayed wide and welcoming, my chest and shoulders on the bed, my arms outstretched, my hands braced against the wall. His hands held the nape of my neck, pressed down on my back, or gripped my flanks while he pulled me to him and pounded into me.

He came hard, and then it was my turn. Between the Pure Wand and the vibe, I had a good G-spot orgasm, about mid-range in intensity. He asked whether I wanted to try for another, which I did. The second one was good, more intense. After this we got up and went about our morning routine.

Later on in the day, he admired my ass while he was busy with something else and gave me a few smacks. It was game on again. We went to the couch — him sitting in the middle, me on elbows and knees over his lap — and he gave me a spanking. We then retired to the bedroom for more of the same, although it didn’t take long before we were ready for something different. My first orgasm, with wand and vibe, was again mid-range.

The second one, however, was beautiful. The lead-up was very intense, and I didn’t recognize the noises I was making, nor did he. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, just completely in the moment. In fact, I wasn’t so much making noises as allowing noises to happen, as if from a distance. I was in the middle of the experience, and yet I also felt part of my awareness was outside it — it was ecstasy in the sense of its Greek roots: “standing outside”.

This sense of awareness, from both the inside and the outside, reminded me of a couple of times when I’ve been performing. The first time I ever felt it was while singing (solo, a capella) and I knew the words and tune so well that for once I didn’t need to focus all of my attention on my performance. I still had awareness to spare, which I used to observe the reactions and focus of the audience members; they were engrossed, and the whole experience was tremendously satisfying. The most recent occurrence was a solo performance of my own choreography, although the feeling was less pronounced than that first time. This feeling, or part of it anyway, reminds me of some aspects of “flow” as defined by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. (A little research shows some connections but also some differences. A topic for another post?)

If this orgasm didn’t tie for the most intense that I’ve ever had, then it came a close second. After a moment, a small wave of tears washed over me, followed by a giggle fit, where everything was really funny. After some more ministrations, a third, slightly less intense, orgasm soon followed.

I guess the lesson here is not to stop at one.

The next day, my adductors were achy, and I think I’ve finally worked out why: when my knees are splayed wide in leapfrog position, I engage the adductors to keep my knees from sliding further out. My abs, which I had deliberately engaged for the orgasms (5 that day), frequently complained at the slightest movements. I even ended up with a few small bruises from the spanking, which is a first (we’re lightweights).

odd timing, odd day

I was feeling very randy, despite having a collection of very good reasons not to.

The day before, my partner and I had driven to a nearby city so I could attend a job interview. This was during my period, which always wrings me out. I had gotten up earlier than I would have liked, and the drive was about 2½ hours one way. Ordinarily I would have dozed while he drove (as I almost always do), but it seemed unwise or at least undisciplined to snooze on the way to be judged on my suitability to be an employee. I’d started to fret mildly during the drive, so I’m not sure that I could have gotten any rest anyway. On arrival, we stopped for a quick lunch and then I went to my interview. One of the interviewers had asked me almost two hours’ worth of questions, during which time the other had written copious notes and nodded occasionally, which I’d taken as a good sign. Afterwards, my throat had been sore and I was more wrecked than I’d realized. We had immediately gotten back in the car for the return trip, the day had turned sunny and bright and squint-inducing, and I was happy to doze most of the way back. That evening had been a write-off.

As I woke up the next morning, I was already feeling a bit warm, as often happens now, and was in a mood to play. I started out by licking and sucking him until he was gloriously hard and wanted a fuck.

Previously, my habit had been not to have sex during my period — but, to be fair, my habit had been not to have sex at most other times too. These days, we’re in uncharted territory. My cramps aren’t eased by masturbation, and they made the idea of sex seem not fun. But what if I wasn’t actively crampy? I was about to find out.

I arranged the pillow and the bedroom towel, and we had the fuck we both wanted.

It was still fairly early in the morning and there was lots of stuff I wanted to get done that day. I went about my routine as best I could, but as the day wore on I found I didn’t really get anything done: I forgot what I wanted to do, my brain felt scrambled, and my emotions were off. From time to time, I found myself taking a little gasp as a small pocket of desire bubbled up from somewhere and made itself known.

Did I waste the day by reading hot stories, or was I reading hot stories because the day was already a waste? Was I upset because I didn’t get anything done, or did I not get anything done because I was already upset? I didn’t know what to do with myself and I felt overwhelmed with all the things I hadn’t done and couldn’t remember anyway. I think I was still over-tired, as well as wrung out emotionally.

Everything was a mess — the day, my to-do list, my emotions — and I burst into tears. Talking through things with my partner, one thing became clear to me: I really wanted another fuck. A really hard fuck.

We started by working out some details about non-fuck related things, I suppose so they wouldn’t distract me. And then he told me to go to the bedroom and take off my clothes.

I don’t know if it was because he wasn’t as hard as he could have been or because my cunt felt like a bottomless pit of want, but he gave me the hardest pounding I’ve had and I still wanted more, more, more. It never felt like too much; that surprised me a little.

When it was my turn to get off, the orgasm was good and yet I still wanted more, though neither of us were sufficiently motivated to do anything about it. It evened out my mood for the rest of the day, even if I wasn’t entirely satisfied…

can’t wait

He’s up and out the door early, and I immediately revert to my solo morning routine of thinking pleasant thoughts while I prepare to greet the day. I pick up where I left off yesterday evening, thinking on some new ideas for playtime. I clearly have some good material because it gets me nice and wet.

If he were home, I might try to ignore it ‌— he’s busy with a big project today, I’m still self-conscious about taking care of myself when he’s around but not involved, and surely I’m getting fucked enough already…

He fucked me last night. First he did my ass with an anal toy, and then with the toy still in place, put his cock in my cunt and reamed me out. And he fucked me the night before. I have every reason to expect that he’ll fuck me tonight and, if I’m not too tired after the party, tomorrow night too.

But I’m wet and warm now. I reach over, grab the vibe, and deliberate…

Then I heft a toy that was readied last night but not used — a weighty piece of surgical steel with a mirror shine and a graceful arc, icy to the touch. Press it to my wet lips – so cold! And then proceed to fuck myself with it.

I think I can make it to this evening now…

black bra and g-string

Evening. My instructions are to have my bath and then get dressed in a black bra and G-string. The foam cups of the bra are thin and smooth. And small. The bra is still in good nick, but I’ve had it for years and it seems that my shape has changed a little. Specifically, my breasts seem to be a full cup size bigger. I’m spilling out.

He is dressed, sitting on the bed, his back against the wall with his legs outstretched. I’m to kneel, straddling his lap and facing away, then he gently pushes me forward to lie down and rest my chest on his legs. He touches and caresses my exposed ass, my hips. Pulls that bit of string out of the way and touches delicately, dipping down to check if I’m wet.

We rearrange: I let him up, he stands, and I lie back. Standing by the foot of the bed, he directs me to caress my clit. I move the black triangle of fabric away and I comply. My snatch is slick while he watches.

He goes for his shower. Until he comes back, I’m to continue working my clit. The room is cold, so I retreat under the covers. When he returns I’m almost completely hidden in the billows of down and, as he asks if I’ve obeyed his instructions, he climbs on the bed beside me. His face is close. In mute reply, I reveal my hand and offer him my wet finger to suck. “Good,” he says. I understand: my obedience, my taste, our evening.

Now he calls me out from under the cozy covers, onto the floor, on all fours. He tells me to continue with my clit, using the vibe, and I comply. Then he slowly slides his cock into me and works my cunt. Slowly. Smoothly. Slowly. Smoothly. I get close and hover there, the goal just out of my grasp, attention split between cunt and clit, and I ultimately come.

It was sweet, but small. I want, still.

Back to the bed. His fingers slide in so easily and he presses on my G-spot. Not rubbing, just a firm pressure, and he gets me close again. It builds up, and the pitch of my moans gets higher and higher.

And then, oh fuck! oh yes! I shudder and groan, and all the muscles that had clenched and tensed finally relax, and I melt.

take me for a ride

I want to go for a ride, but I want you to drive.

I don’t need to know exactly where we’re going. Take me on the scenic route.

There’s no speed limit here…

Floor it, throw me back into the seat, downshift and accelerate into the curves.

Make me laugh in delight… or swallow my smile until

it turns into a conspiratorial smirk,
my glittering eyes peeking
through lowered lashes.