A bounty of kink & beauty.

This. This is the most glorious feeling. The movement of his lips to my throat forces my head to dive backwards. My eyes close in a flurry of arousal. My chest heaves upwards, forming a delicate arch in my back. I have to catch my breath at the sudden change in direction. Soft and gentle kisses and licks transcend upon me. I am lost to sensation. A slave to its grasp on me. 

In one action, my physiology changes with a sudden burst of energy. Teeth. Sharp, each one its own bout of wonderful pain. I bend almost impossibly for him now, arching up towards the ceiling in a desperate bid to bring my body closer to him. Perhaps to ease the pain or to condition him to never stop.

He left a mark on my neck today, doing exactly this. He knows that I like it, but I don’t think he quite understands why. I do not like it solely because I enjoy the sensation. I like it because it shows that he can give me what I need. And that is exciting. 

(Source: crocotte)

A modern love story.

The two originated from the tap-tapping of curious fingers, from dirty minds and strong libidos. They came from a warped reality, where nothing was real and everything uncertain. Funny, how those hurdles were overcome. How reality melded into their lives. 

They took time to learn about each other. Spent days immersed in the company of their minds. They became adventurers, trekking through the vast spaces they gave to each other. Their explorations gave them the unique opportunity to question and learn. To grow. Both blossomed as individuals. They had been given the gift of inner confidence that could only come from the acceptance of another.  

Trust became their guiding light, their candle in pitch darkness. It started slowly, a tiny flickering flame. Over time, it grew and grew, until it was no longer a transitory light but a blazing inferno. Not once was that flame extinguished. That is how they got to the point of an irrefutable reality. Trust took them there.

When they met, it was a forceful occasion, their bodies crashed into each other like the waves created from a storm. Bodies collided, eyes feasted. They could do nothing more than to touch and feel. They were checking. Searching for flaws in their matrix, anything to indicate a false reality. Ensuring that they were not just indulging in another creation of their imaginations. Their hands were everywhere. Touching every piece of skin, every curve and grace their two bodies could provide. Searching for cracks. 

They only dared to stop when they were sure. When all four feet were planted firmly on solid ground. When both were convinced the other existed. The motion of their limbs came to a halt, positioned in locations that would become safe havens. They paused, looked into each others eyes, and smiled. That was it. They were in each others arms. They were home. At last. 

“Where is he? It sounded like he left the room. He probably did. But what if he didn’t? What if he is here, watching me? Silently contemplating how my body is reacting to such a delicious pause. 

Oh my…my nipples are hard. I can feel them tingling. He knows. He knows what this does to me. I can feel the warmth in between my legs. I can feel how wet I am getting. 

What is he going to do? Will there be rope? Will I be tied to the bed? Mmm. Or will he make me open myself for him? So open and willingly exposed. What if he hits me and I have to keep my legs spread for him? Mmm fuck. Or…he might feed me his cock with the blindfold still on. Mmm I want his cock. I want to taste his precum. Oh I want to hear his voice. I want him to whisper what he is going to do to me. Mm maybe he will gag me. Let the drool fall from my mouth to my breasts.

Ice. Maybe he will trail ice all over my skin. Oh… or he might insert the cubes into my ass. Or fuck my ass…oh fuck…maybe he will force me to cum over and over again…Until I am begging him for mercy…mmm. 

Oh I’m so wet! I can feel it. Uh…he didn’t tell me not to touch. I can feel my clit throbbing. I can play. Just a little. Oh..mm maybe I can taste myself too.

Oh! My! I am dripping…Mmm it feels so good to touch my clit. Uh, it’s so sensitive…

Fuck! What was that noise! The chair moved. He is here, watching me! He was here all along…”

Submissive Stereotypes.

During my steep learning curve in the world of D/s, I have picked up on two different stereotypes for submissive women. The Shy Submissive and The Strong Submissive. Note: I am basing this on women as I have limited knowledge of male submissives.  

The Strong Submissive.
The Strong Submissive is powerful in her daily life. She knows how to command herself and usually works in a position where she demands respect. Her personality draws people to her when she enters a room. She is quite capable of holding a long and engaging conversation. She a social butterfly. She wears heels and pencil skirts with a crisp white tucked in shirt. When she submits, she can relax into not having to be in control. Dominating a Strong Submissive is thrilling. The dominant can allow her to free herself from the stresses of being so powerful in her daily life. Following orders rather than giving them feels good. She can melt into her submission. 

The Shy Submissive.
The Shy Submissive is calm and delicate. She is an introvert and may come across as quiet and nervous. She has a mysterious allure that draws people to her. She is the girl that you always see at work and want to have a deep conversation with on your lunch break. She reads and talks of things with great passion. Her smile will knock over men and women alike. She will have a small group of close friends whom she bears her soul to. Dominating a Shy Submissive brings huge fulfilment. The dominant can build up confidence and make her feel like she truly belongs. She can both lose and find herself in her submission, letting go completely in a dominant’s trust, control and acceptance. 

So which do you fit into? Both? Neither? The thing is, it isn’t quite that simple. It seems to me that these stereotypes are floating around quite a lot. Subtle remarks in writings and resources seem to suggest that these are the two ‘types’ of submissives.

When I first started reading into this lifestyle, I was instantly worried that I was not ‘submissive material’ because I didn’t fit into the general stereotypes. I am somewhere between the two, leaning quite heavily towards being a ‘Shy Submissive’. I thought that, because I wasn’t powerful and completely in control, I wouldn’t be able to release in my submission. That I wouldn’t find such pure joy from it. 

I have come to realise that it doesn’t matter who you are, how you dress, what you look like, how extroverted or introverted you are or what you enjoy. If you identify a need within yourself to please and serve, you have the most divine power to be the best submissive you could possibly be. You can find complete freedom in submission. A type of freedom that is specific to you and your personality. Share yourself, give yourself to a man who deserves it. Give him you, not a warped, stereotype fuelled version of you. 

Stereotypes shmereotypes. 

(Source: ctboston)

I run my hands along the curves of my body. Every inch craves my attention. My fingers sink into the crevices of my skin as if the two were carved in perfect harmony. Heat is spreading from my fingertips, causing fires and furnaces to burn. I am adding coal to the already raging fire, pouring gas onto the flames. Moments away from an explosion. 

beltzagray:

Delicate by Daisy Oak 

(Source: )

Take the tip of your tongue and be soft. Glide it across the sensitive grooves you have made on my skin. I won’t be expecting such a change in sensation. From heavy to light, harsh to gentle. The sounds escaping me will evolve. Cries and yelps will slip into gasps and sighs as I take in the tactility of you. 

I want you to surprise me in everything you do. I will strive for the same. 

Too turned on to muster the effort to flick those panties onto the floor. Too rushed to undress properly. Too focused on her own desire that she can’t think of the practicalities of her situation. Just as long as her legs can spread wide enough for her fingers to delve into her demanding wetness. Just as long as the bed supports her straining body as it exerts its ultimate power. If everything fits perfectly into place then it doesn’t matter what she does with those panties. The whole world could stop around her and it wouldn’t matter. This moment is her existence. 

I am a slave to happiness. Many things I do, I do with the intent of searching for an iota of a smile, a reverberation of laughter. This is not just for myself, but for others too. It stems down to the very basic idea that I strive to please. I have learnt this to be a rather fundamental aspect of my personality. So if you give me a chance to make you happy, you can be sure that it will translate into the biggest smile fixed upon my lips. 

There is something very special about voiding your mind of all thoughts, leaving it but a blank wall that your consciousness can paint delicate murals on as it gathers momentum once more.