I was never a lady. I never clutched my pearls at the stories of boys with loose morals or girls labelled “great dinner dates”. I never worried about my reputation. Sex is just something that I’ve always considered separate. It’s a need like any other and, more than that, it feels so good. I cum easy, hard and often… why deny myself the simplest of pleasures for fear of shocking the common folk? Because of that, I never fell into that trap of determining my value by the number of cocks I let inside my dripping wet holes. My body is a temple, but it’s also a party. You don’t need to handle me with kid gloves; I don’t want you to.
Maybe that’s what makes me such a good slut. I love the thrill of new experiences. I love that jolt of excitement when I meet a guy, and I just know I’ll have his cock down my throat before the night is done. Have you ever sat across from a man in a bar and let him order you to spread your legs to reveal your pussy to anyone walking by? Ever fucked in an alley with a man whose name you didn’t know? What about in a church’s backroom, knocking the extra hymnals off a shelf? I have, that’s what I live for.
And now, here I am, excited to be starting something with a creative guy willing to continually push my boundaries. When you get so much pleasure from one upping your own sexcapades it can be difficult to find that new challenge, the next thing you can add to the spank bank (so to speak).
The reality of the situation was further driven home when I was surfing the internet, procrastinating on finishing my last paper of the semester, and I came across a funny little meme. It read: everyone is a “freak” until you meet a FREAK. Now you’re tied up with something in your butt wondering how you got here on a Monday. Literally my life story. So… with that long unnecessarily preamble, let me tell you about my Monday night.
I am such a good and obedient little sub, I swear. I’m perfect at listening to commands and executing them without hesitation… given the right motivation. So when he took out the rope and tied my hands behind my back, I didn’t even flinch. Have I mentioned the way that rope makes me feel? There is something to be said about the way my tummy does a flip when I feel that fibre rub across my body. The way you can tell he knows how to use those hands (for good? For evil?) as he ties them with the perfect mix of tenderness and security.
Now, when the nipple clamps came out, I may have lost my composure for just a couple of minutes. I have really sensitive nipples, and those nipple clamps may actually be manufactured by Satan himself. I honestly and truly hate them with a passion that burns deep within my soul… so I’m not sure why my body betrays me by making them stand so erect as he threatens them. I’m perplexed on how my pussy responds with that sticky juice spilling all the way down my thighs as well. It’s strange. Either way, with my arms behind me I didn’t get much choice in the matter and protests have a tendency to bring out the opposite of the desired response, so I tried to control myself. He eased me against the wall and attached a long chain to the clamps. The cold metal shocked me as it hit my soft, hot flesh. I closed my eyes as he fastened my bonds to the ceiling. Tighter and tighter still until I had no choice but to raise myself on to my tiptoes or risk screaming out as the clamps were pulled tight. Deep breaths. Concentration. Those were the only tools at my disposal as I heard him reach into the chest beside us.
Those damn clips.
With the clamps secured at the base of my nipples, which were hard enough to cut glass, he had ample room to secure those painful instruments of death on to the ends. I will not repeat the thoughts that were running through my head at this point… they were definitely not those of a good girl. My calves were starting to burn, I knew I couldn’t keep the position and to top it off he was torturing my nipples.
The man is a
creative genius. Monster. Something. He is definitely something.
He ordered my legs spread and began to tease my defenceless body. As he played, I felt my resolve slip away, and my body relax. Until I felt the pull of the chains and reality intruded once more. I often wonder how much joy he gets from watching me make those impossible decisions. There is something almost sacred about the mix of powerlessness and control when one is faced with the choice of surrendering to ecstasy at the expensive of extreme pain. I don’t exactly hate it.
I did hold my composure enough to keep myself from dropping on to flat feet, but it wasn’t easy. More deep breaths. More concentration. More rummaging through the torture chest. He pulls out the big purple cock. Lubed up with my juices, he pushes it inside of me. I feel that prickle of humiliation as he fucks me hard like the whore I am so thankful to be. The mix of agony and desire are a powerful drug and my body thrown into turmoil. Nobody coaxes out that feeling quite like him. For him, I will gladly degrade myself and beg for the plug in my ass. Even on a Monday.