Category: <span>Recollections</span>

The chamber is cold, damp and dark. a hard and worn box springs setting on cinder blocks with two blocks more at the foot than the head giving it a pronounced, but not absurd slanted angle.  It is bolted at the top and bottom to a rusted metal head and foot board.  Silence except for the faint sound of water slowly dripping somewhere in the distance and a clock, ticking, ticking, endlessly ticking.

Hooded with heavy material so no light seeps through.  Sounds are muffled except for the faint dripping and ticking…  always the ticking.  Wondering if it has been ten minutes or two hours, time has lost meaning in the dark and the cold.  Blood accumulating in your head as your body slopes down feet to head.  Springs not digging into your bare flesh but felt through the thin, worn cover that is the old box springs.  Shifting an inch this way, that the other to alleviate the ache but none of the small movements that can be accomplished yield relief.

Flesh exposed.  Every inch uncovered save for the rough leather of the cuffs on ankles and wrists… and the infernal hood.  Damn the hood!  The cuffs not so tight that circulation is cut, but tight enough to steal all hope of slipping out of them.  Arms and legs pulled taut with rope from cuffs to steel corner posts. No room to adjust, no give to relieve the ache.  Legs and thighs aching from the unnaturally wide angle they have been forced into.

Minutes?  Hours?  Days?  And the ticking…  the ticking.

Nipples throbbing from the earlier abuse.  Was it the clamps?  Or maybe the small nooses that were affixed to them and hung with those weights?  You don’t know. You don’t remember.  Each small torture added to the cumulative ache that just won’t abate.  And why won’t the stinging heat on your inner thighs lessen?  The open handed slaps followed by the … what?  With the hood already affixed, there was no way of knowing what it was … a crop perhaps? Or was it a cane?  It makes no difference as the memories of each lash is burning into your mind’s eye.

And the hardened wax on your thighs and your stomach and your breasts.  How each drop inflicted its own pinpoint burst of pain for just a moment until the next hit somewhere else.  Focusing on the one only to be stolen away by the next.  No time to mentally absorb the one before the next was arrived.

And what did you do to earn the earlier lesson?  And how could a simple question about just that land you in your current state?  How are you expected to learn to please when nothing is told, just punishment received for whatever slight or error that was made with no intent and no knowledge.

And the dripping.  Wondering when it will stop only to hear the tick, the tick.

Footsteps.  You want to beg for forgiveness.  For what you don’t know but that is unimportant.  Please forgive.  But how can you plead?  You are hooded and under the hood your mouth has been pried open with a spider gag, drool running down both cheeks and collecting at the base of your neck in the back.  The hood is wet and uncomfortable back there but there is no way to alleviate it.

And then you feel it.  Cold, hard and slippery.  Your anus clenches as something is worked just a small bit into you.  And then it is gone.  No, it is back twisting and pushing up your ass, forcing itself in.  Wider and wider.  It feels as though it will rip you apart.  And then it is gone.  Nothing.  Your eyes jolt open to more blackness as it is suddenly forced hard and completely inside of you in a most uncomfortable yet satisfying way.  And then … ticking, ticking.

Your mind races.  What have I done?  How can I make it right?  What will please him?  Will I ever know?  And if I learn, will it not just change at his whim?

The feeling of the goose bumps growing as the chill in the basement overtakes the aches and the stretched anus.  The shivering.  It is so cold save for your thighs that still burn.  And the tick.  The tick.

And you hear a whisper close to your ear…  Have you learned your lesson?  You want to scream that you have and that you are sorry and that you will never do it again even though you have no idea what to learn or to do or to avoid.  But you can’t speak more than a guttural moan.  And you drift off, overloaded and overcome.  No sensations.  No dreams or terrors.  Just nothingness.

I’m back.

Fantasies Play Recollections Sensuals

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“I’m going to fuck you so hard, sink so deep inside you, you’ll never work me out from under your skin. Never.” — Samantha Young

While I am not into cheesy sex scenes or novels akin to a Barbara Cartland romance, I love this quote by Samantha Young.

I want to be fucked that hard,again. Hard enough that it stays with you, forever. It is difficult to get amazing sex out of your head. I know even in play, I seem to return to THAT man, in THAT moment in order to orgasm. Not always, but it is handy to have such a delightful memory that it becomes so visceral, in the moment, that you orgasm simply by remembering.

I don’t want a love affair. I don’t want intimate conversations about life. I just want to be fucked, when I feel like it. What is so wrong with that? I don’t want a commitment. I want someone to lick and suck my clit until I pass out in a euphoric orgasmic wave. Is that so much to ask for?

Fantasies Play Recollections Sensuals

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feast_blogAnother gloomy night with the rain pounding against the small windows up high on the wall and the temperatures dropping quickly towards raw and chilling outside and in.  I wish Sir would turn the heat up.  My nipples are full and hard from the cold and I know that means it won’t be long for his cruel little clamps to come out.  Hung upside down from the cellar ceiling and facing the wall with his infernal hoists and suspension straps with my wrists fastened tightly to my thighs, I feel like a piece of meat waiting to be carved for a banquet.  Oh, how I hope he devours me tonight. All because I suggested he take me out, treat me to a night on the town, show my off to the world.

And I wait…  until finally, I hear his footsteps on the stairs, coming down to pay attention to me at last!

Fantasies Play Recollections

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blog pic ropeIt has been a miserable day… getting word of losing a large bid, having meetings canceled and generally being unproductive from start to finish. A wasted day. One that I will never get back. And I know as I near home that she had nothing to do with it but it is she that will pay for the mood I find myself in.

As I walk through the door, I instruct her to bring me a drink and then go lock herself away in her box until called upon. A man needs his time alone to relax and reflect after all, no? As the minutes pass and the glass is emptied, I let the calm of the quiet house wash over me. My mind moves from the day’s disappointments to my woman, my wench, stowed away in the large chest at the foot of our bed. But there is still an edge to my day that will need to be tended to. Yes, it is time.

She had read my mood well and obeyed perfectly. What a wonderful object, my woman, my pet. I find her in the chest, top closed, perfectly still, awaiting me. I open the chest and offer her my hand as she struggles out of the box and onto her feet in front of me. Not a word is spoken and not a word will be the rest of the night. I give her a look, eyebrow raised, that she immediately interprets correctly as she disrobes hastily and again comes before me but on her knees with her head bowed, chest out and hands clasped behind her back. She waits patiently as I walk around her, admiring her curves and deciding just how to take my satisfaction.

I grab her hair tightly and pull her to her feet, kissing her hard with her head immobile against mine. With her eyes glued to mine, I reach down and twist her nipple long and hard. She continues gazing into my eyes but I can see the mist in them as she fights back the pain and tears …

Secured in my stocks, hands and head sticking out of the thick oak plank, too low to stand erect so she is bent over with her ass displayed proudly for me to see. After securing her ankles to the spreader bar, she is immobile and ready for the fun to begin. The long, thin paddle comes out and she bleats after each stroke on that proud butt of hers. What a wonderful ass she has! It is not until she cries out in pain that I realize that both her cheeks and her thighs are throbbing and red from the beating. I put the paddle down.

In front of the stocks now, I pull my pants off and offer her my soft cock, waving it in front of her face, just outside the reach of her mouth and tongue. After a little more teasing, I allow her to work my member to a full erection.

Walking back to her exposed womanhood, I grab a small dildo and the industrial-sized vibrator that I know is her favorite. I work the dildo into her pussy, slowly until it is well lubricated and then start moving it in and out at an easy pace. With my other hand, the vibrator is applied to her swollen clit. In what seems like no time at all I hear her whimpering as she struggles to push back against the vibrator and dildo, ready to orgasm. Of course I pull the tools back away and stand there chuckling to myself as she moans in frustration of almost being there. After a moment or two, I reapply the vibrator but replace the dildo with my now hard member, fucking her hard until she cums. But before I do, I pull out of her and slowly insert myself into her still bright red ass. At first slowly, but with building speed, it is not long until I reach satisfaction, slamming hard into her sore butt cheeks until I cum.

Leaving her in the stocks, I wander off to take my shower and ready myself for bed. Then, letting her out of the stocks, unclasping her ankles and helping her into the bed, she curls up at my feet and falls immediately into a deep and restful sleep. As I fade away into my own slumber, I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

Dreams Fantasies Recollections Sensuals

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My wench, hogtied, with the anal hook and vibrating vaginal insert and 2-inch O-ring gag. Her hair in a ponytail tied to the hook-end pulling her head back as far as it goes. And I, with a raging hard-on slamming my wholeness down her throat … holding it deep until she struggles for air and, after what seems like eternity, my release down her throat while she cums and cums and cums.

Dreams Fantasies Play Recollections Sensuals

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serve1” … it will be painful and rigorous, and the slightest delinquencies will be requited immediately with corporal and afflicting punishments; hence, I must recommend to you prompt exactness, submissiveness, and total self-abnegation that you be enabled to heed naught but our desires; let them be your laws, fly to do their bidding, anticipate them, cause them to be born …”

Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade

Fantasies Recollections

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