Friday, July 10, 2009

Sugasm #169


Jenny McClain courtesy of Badgirl’s Hotbox.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #170? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Clothespin Communion
“Surrender to the sensation.”

Remembering the Pain
“And it really was that bad.”

Short And Sweet
“Why don’t you turn over”

Sugasm Editor
Fetish Fridays: Financial Submission

Editor’s Choice
Belonging

More Sugasm
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Thursday, July 2, 2009

Clothespin Communion

His face was intent, intense, as he led me to the chair. I could call him Angel, he said.
But no angel would do what he planned to do to me.

Hemp rope. The earthy raw smell of hemp rope. The smooth roughness of hemp rope. He made a game of it, dragging the rope across my skin, staring into my eyes the entire time. I began to trust this stranger, the man called Angel.

He tied my wrists, right hand first. I watched him passively, now already nearly his, I released. Gave mySelf over into subspace.
He secured my ankles, my thighs, my upper arms. He bound my breasts so tightly to the chair that I could barely breathe. Yes. This is what I wanted, what I needed.

It was my turn.
Trust.
Surrender.
Trust.

I was in the chair, spread eagle, my body exposed, my pussy exposed. Some gawkers stopped, some moved on. One guy watched, masturbating.
Watched the man called Angel as he topped dangerous. This man I had followed compliantly into this dungeon. This man I had never met before who promised nothing, and eventually delivered everything, or at least enough. Yes more than enough.

What are your safe words? He asked
Yellow, Sir, to slow down, check in. Red means stop.

He looked deeply into my eyes. He pinched my nipples, already sore and bitten and bruised, and clamped them with a pair of clothespins. I recoiled from the pinching, the searing, burning and then at last relaxed into the blessed numbness.

He stroked me so lovingly that for a brief moment I forgot that I was in his power. And then he reminded me.
A clothespin on my left outer labia. Such a tender crushing caused me to clench my legs against the bindings. Then breathe it in. Surrender to the sensation.
A clothespin on my lower lip. Exquisite, constant pressure.
A clothespin on my right outer labia. I’m moaning now. The Watcher increases his stroke.

The man called Angel decorated my entire body with clothespins: the soft tender flesh where my arms bend in toward my body, the rigid nails on toes and fingers, folds and pinches of skin and nerve endings wherever he could find them. And he found many. Each clamping required a bit more letting go, a deeper and deeper sinking.
I counted 6 clothespins buried in my left breast, and could not force myself to look at the right breast. I could not see anything anymore. I’d lost track of the Watcher. All I could see were his eyes. The eyes of the man called Angel.
The clothespins on my labia were tied together somehow, and he made them flap by pulling a string. This sent electric pulses throughout my pussy, waves of pleasure throughout my body. I felt safe, beautiful, admired, and cared for in an extreme way. I rode this pleasure, surfing the orgasm, which seemed at once so very close and so very far away.

He offered me his dick, large and soft and pliant and I begged him wordlessly to place it in my mouth. I looked up into his eyes and tickled the head of his dick with my tongue. I tongue fucked his dick, sucking deeply as he pulled in and out of my mouth. His dick was at that beautiful stage where I could still take him entirely into my mouth. His dick was rubbing up against that spot in my mouth just behind my upper teeth, that spot that feels like a g-spot to my tongue and responds like a g-spot in my body. I was very wet and he was slamming in and out of my mouth, and pulling the clothespin string which sent me into paroxysms of pleasure and pain.

I felt his energy shift, gather, as he prepared to come, and then he did. His salty semen spraying into my mouth. I held it and his cock in my mouth, swirling my tongue gently over him. And when he began to remove the clothespins, he kissed me, and I shared the gift of his cum with the man called Angel.

The tenderness of the kiss, the energy of the cum, and the jolting return of sensation when the clothespins were removed were intensely powerful. I lost track of myself , and then he began to lick my pussy. My pussy wet and slick with want. He licked and licked and licked my pussy wet with longing. He pulled and sucked my clit until, finally and with reckless abandon, I tumbled over that edge. Leaving behind simply surfing the pleasure, riding the pain, the bobbling on the edge….I plunged into the sea of this orgasm, and then that one. And then the other, while he licked me and sucked me and drank in my cum.

And in my release I wept. I sobbed as he released my chest harness, then untied my feet and finally my hands. He cradled me closely to his body, murmuring to me sweet words of loving comfort, as I cried.

He dressed me carefully and led me to a bench under the stars.

He held my face between his hands, his right thumb gently wiping a stray tear from my cheek and finally spoke, “What makes you think you are so dangerous?”
What???
“Why do you call yourself dangerous?” he whispered.
I don’t call myself dangerous, Sir. It is the tops that call me dangerous, I sob.
“Why would a Top call a sweet crying grrl dangerous?” he pushed….
It’s because they fall in love with me, Sir.

My tear stood poised on his right thumb. The man called Angel looked into my eyes, and licked his thumb.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Sugasm #167

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #168? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Every Time You Orgasm, An Angel Gets Its Wings
“There is nothing that screams “fuck you” to the pain and the hurt in the world than screaming “fuck me” to the person in your bed.”

HNT: Spanked
“I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. But tonight, I was sure.”

A Thousand Kisses
“This wasn’t enough. I knew that I had to try something else.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Congratulations, you’re invited!

Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Honesty: Religion

Editor’s Choice
Food, fun and commitment

More Sugasm
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Thursday, May 28, 2009

Sugasm #166

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #167? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form.

This Week’s Picks
Bare-Assed Cheek (2): Punishment and Reward
“His finger glides up the inner side of my left thigh.”

Lilly’s Turn - Part 1: Wherein a Power Play is Made
“I asked her, outright, if she considered herself submissive.”

…please…
“Exquisite pain heralding exquisite surrender.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Is Sasha Grey going mainstream?

Sugasm Editor
A Difficult Scenario

Editor’s Choice
Just Looking

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Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Poet Surrenders

We were entwined in the aftermath of loving, drifting in our post-orgasmic state.
Beyond thought. Beyond thinking. Beyond.

In this long-distance affair, we are hungry when we are together. The Poet has had his dick in my cunt numerous times already today, and I am drowsy, content. He hasn't ejaculated yet, although he's come many times. I graze my fingers over his back as we lay side by side, breathing together, barely speaking.

The sheets are a delicious tangle of red and purple. The Princess’ specialty is creating love nests for The Poet and his lover du jour, and she has really outdone herself tonight. There’s a fire in the fireplace, roses in a crystal vase, oranges from her fruit trees. Niyaz on the stereo, wine from Napa, Pellegrino on ice.
The Princess doesn’t play, but she loves to watch. She has draped the Love Nest with beautiful fabrics in a cacophony of colors; gold trimmed saris from India, blue and white batiks from Java, sheer fabrics hand-painted with glitter, laces from yard sales, and gauze from JoAnne’s. She peeks out from behind these cloths like an imp, a pixie, a Fairy Princess. She does not wish to intrude, simply to observe.
What is it that gives her Pleasure? Watching The Poet satisfy the lover? Watching the lover satisfy The Poet? Does she imagine herself in either role? I do not know. I only know that she watches and that she is happy.

I toy with The Poet’s ass as we drift in that nothing and everything space. He shivers and I begin to touch him with more intention. Not harder, not firmer, not looking to do anything to him, simply aware that he is receiving Pleasure from my fingers. We are face to face, eye gazing, breathing together in the Tantric Way. I am holding the male breath, into my cunt and out my heart, and he holds the feminine, into his heart and out his cock. We are deep in this space together. This space of heightening Pleasure, just when I thought I was done.

He whispers to me, “i want to be your Slut.”

I know what he wants but I ask anyway. I want him say it. “What do you want?”

“i want you to fuck me, i want you to fuck me. i want to be your Slut.”

I take this request in. We have not played this way before, and I know he’s never had anything bigger than my finger in his ass. It’s been his fantasy, I see it in his eyes. His need nakkid in his eyes. I would not deny this man I love.

I command his total attention as I reach into my toy bag and pull out my harness. I do not permit him to break contact with my eyes. He is shaking with his desire.

I choose the smaller of my dicks. The blue one. A condom on my dick and my dick in the Harness. Lube on me, lube on him. All the while in eye to eye touch, breathing in and out with this beautiful man who is about to surrender to my male. This man who is discovering his woman.

I hover over him as he lays on his back, legs in the air like a grrl, I find his sweet spot and place my dick right at the opening.

“Do you want it? Do you want my dick in your ass? Do you want my dick?”

In answer to my whispers, he begins moving rocking urgently begging, “please please fuck me.”

And my dick begins to enter him. His movements become fast and furious. I slow him, “breath with me,” I murmur, and as we breathe together, my dick slides in. Smoothly. One motion, to the second sphincter, and we breathe together. Then I glide in the rest of the way. I am deep inside him now. We are eye to eye, I feel his spasm his Pleasure beginning. His woman totally opening in surrender to Pleasure.

His cock stiffens and I begin to pump him, thrusting slowly at first, then ever so slightly faster. I move him around, he is on his left side and his right leg over my shoulder. I am on my knees his ass high in the air. His hand pumping his cock, until I stop him. Let the Pleasure fill you first, I command. Pleasure, Pleasure. Only Pleasure.

I move behind him, Each time we separate, he utters a little cry. It sounds like "don’t leave me," and I come back to him. He is so open now, I shove in. Hard. And pound his sweet ass with my dick, until he is thrashing on me.

And I grab his cock and hand fuck him while my dick ass fucks him. “Come to me, darling,” I coo. “Come, release into your Pleasure. Cum.”

He finally ejaculates, full rich thick white. It flies onto my hands, his belly, the red and purple sheets.

And in his release, he cries. Weeping, his shoulders shaking and sobbing and it touches a tender place in me. I praise him. I love him, I cradle him in my arms, I spoon him, I feed him his cum off my fingers. I hold him gently in this sacred moment. The moment where The Poet discovered his vulva.

The Princess has been peeking. She creeps in and curls in front of him, me behind him. My dick between his cheeks, his hand on her breast. And together we hold this tender woman man until she sleeps. Tangled in red and purple sheets. Beyond thought. Beyond thinking.

Beyond.

Friday, May 15, 2009

...please...

please
ple-
please

She is nearly inaudible. I bend low to hear her. “Yes?” It is my turn to be gentle and soft and strong. “Yes, Seelie?”

Please. Please hurt me some more. Hurt me. Please.

She’s sobbing now, writhing on the suspension. Her ass not merely pink, but deeply scarlet. Our partner has left paddle marks over both cheeks. Her shoulders are covered in whiplashes, the right a bit more intense than the left. I have never seen anything more beautiful.

And I tell her so, whispering repeatedly, “You are beautiful,” as my horsetail flogger meets her back, her buttocks, her thighs in a crisscross pattern that I know from personal experience is unbearable. Or more accurately spoken, nearly unbearable. Exquisite pain heralding exquisite surrender.

The Seelie Eyed Grrl is in the space of total altered consciousness. She does not know what sensation is next. She fights. She cries. She cries. She cries. She is Ours and Ours totally.

“You are so beautiful,” I whisper in her ears, caressing her hair, her breasts, her back, her thighs, her ass, her cunt. I touch her beautiful skin, spreading the sensation, as I lean closely to bite her just under the scapula, grabbing that delicious flesh and rolling it between my teeth. Until only the skin remains trapped in my passion. I long to tear this white flesh. And it is the trust she gives me that permits me, in fact requires me to leave her beautiful body marked, but intact.

I am deeply aroused in her surrender, at our control. Our control of The Seelie Eyed Grrl, blindfolded, bound, wearing only her stockings and her pretty, pretty red shoes.

And I am aroused by the control I have over my own Beast. The Beast who desires more than anything to hurt, to cause deep pain inside this beautiful woman. This Beast who serves only me.

Our Lover loosens her wrists minutely, and fucks her face violently as I stroke and admire her ass. I am eye-locked over her back with him, as he shoves his dick into her mouth. I am eating her ass and see in his face the same greed for her pain and the same respect of this desire. And the great rousing passion at riding this Beast: The victory the strength of control of power.

Then she is tied again tightly in total surrender. I begin to tap her pussy with my deerskin flogger gently, gradually, then more forcefully until I do not dare to push her harder.

And yet, I do.

The flogger cracks and snaps against her flesh. “I can feel how you much want this,” I whisper. “You are wet. You are dripping on the floor. You are so beautiful.”

And he begins to eat her as she finally topples over this edge she has been surfing. Tumbling swirling crying and cuming, her juices are running down his arms, until all is sensation and all sensation is Pleasure. I am cooing in her ears, “i love you, i love you, i love you, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou…”

Pleasure and sensation and love and surrender. We rest, spooning in a blanket. No words. No tears. Sweetness only.

And Pleasure, which begins of course, with please.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

This Week's Picks: Sugasm.

This Week’s Picks
Confessional: Breaking the Girl
“And that’s why I’ll love it, that’s what will fuel me to dig deeper.”

Does Art imitate Life or Life Art?
“We were experimental and conventional and some times both in the same round of sex. ”

It burns…
“And this is no sweet kissing”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
A Porn Customer Protests

Sugasm Editor
Fetish Fridays: Teabagging

Editor’s Choice
Light Me Up Right

More Sugasm
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