So.. .. Ye wish a fantasy, do ye?

 ~ perfect companion and personal royal handmaid writes ~

> His arms are made for me to kiss and lick. His filthy good chuckle~ the way he growls comments abut my womaninity as i lie completely exposed to his gaze. The way he binds my breasts~ the way he looks at me when i am kneeling next to his chair while he smokes. the things he says ~ real or erotic fantasy~ he means them. Even while his mind is manufacturing more juice, more power. i believe he has been totally sincere with me~ i cling to that. such life and such unkindness in one person~ lead me to your true kink~ the dark fantasy killing me of you being handled by the domina with Medusa locks. the phone rings, you hear it but are restrained in the midst of ecstasy and painful pleasure. no candles~ just her switching you while you tremble at her touch. And NOT the way you look when you are spilling in me and trembling. there is no cleanness in these thoughts. i will to be enough, i will this crazy perfectness to walk us home. i will to love when love seems the shattered remains of our wrecked lives.

Spankings are personal. Your hand; my body across your lap; across the arms of your chair; my commands.

“Do not touch my hair. Do not pull it or twist it in your fist or breathe in its scent," i speak through anticipation and unease. “Nautiman, when you begin to cherish your personal space with me you will have access to my hair. In the meantime, go get the hairbrush while i wait in your chair.”

Watching you as you disappear upstairs i take a calming breath and position myself to sit at your feet on a pillow in front of your big chair. Freshly damp dried hair floats over my shoulders and almost reaches the top of the pink corset laces.

When you return i must meet your eyes. The look of predatory lust and amusement steadies my resolve. I say softly, “You will lovingly and carefully brush my hair. Slowly. Each stroke will be counted. Step over me and be seated.”

At thirty strokes i stop you before i get lost in the touch and the feel of your hands and say, “i am satisfied that my hair is attended to. Now brush down my back, loosening the laces of the corset first. Pay close attention to the sensitive spot between my shoulder blades which you are still unaware of.”

You relax a bit as you enjoy the strangeness of this encounter as i continue, “Brush my shoulders gently and down to my breasts. I want the bristles clipping my nipples back and forth, up and down. Do not stop.” I pull the corset down which hides the childbearing portion of my body. It helps me to relax as you thoroughly arouse me with this newest sensation.

i take a deep breath, gather my wits, turn and look directly into your sea-spray eyes, “Stand me up now.”

You take my hands as i stand but you remain seated awaiting what i will say next. The bulge in your shorts decides my next move. “Strip yourself to your briefs. Then strip me of only my panties leaving the corset where it is. Twist my panties around my ankles after you position me across the arms of your chair.”

i continue,” i want you to bend me over, my ass exposed. Use more pillows if you need to. Make sure my ankles are secured together but leave my hands free.”

You move with such assurance and your cock is tight against your briefs, your magnificent thighs straining fabric with each step. Your hands are on my hips and panties fall with one motion, already dampened with pussy juice. you put one hand on my sensitive spot and use your thighs to brace my legs as you push me and i fall across the chair arms. My hair falls forward across my face, crackling with energy and i stare at the carpet. I motion you to stuff two pillows in the seat so i am fully supported.

Speaking through anticipation and desire, “Come kneel down so you can look me in the eyes." I hear your pulse and mine as i continue, "You took thirty strokes of the brush on my hair. Now begin gently with the flat side of the hairbrush. Two swats at a time, each ass cheek, then repeat the motion with the bristle side. I want you to do this continuously, evenly. Starting slowly, building in intensity. Each stroke with the flat side counts towards a reciprocal thirty. And hard does not mean fast!”

I wait for the first touch and i hear you take a deep breath but neither of us speak. As the hairbrush spanking intensifies, you stop using the bristle side and hit me a bit harder but measured. I lose control of my breathing when the brush hits my tailbone and dimples. You pause momentarily to run a hand across the red marks and i know i can trust you to ignore my squirming and carry out my instructions.

I manage to turn my head and when you look at me i say, “Bring your cock here and don't take it out until you put four more hard strokes across my thighs.” The sting is unbearable and I scream into your cock as you silence me with your hardness. You forget the brush for a moment while my hair falls into your thighs and my throat takes your thrusts.

I push you away with my hands. “Continue,” i say with tears in my eyes. The last eight to ten strokes are across the fleshy part of my ass and there is no new place for the brush to fall. Measured and harder your strokes as i moan, not sure i can take one more; tears spring forth in earnest.

The cessation of the smack of hairbrush on my body contrasts oddly with your breathed growls and my ragged sounds. Of your own volition you come around to my head, lift my chin and kiss me deeply. Looking at my face you decide that i am alright if aroused and shaken.

That look alone steadies me. “Thank you,” i say, vocal cords trembling like my legs, “Now cock my ass and pussy from behind and do not prolong your orgasm. Wrap your hands in my hair and do not let go until you are done.”
Every bit of spanked flesh protests the pressure of your body, but we move as one and the feel of you deep within me, guiding me with your hands is as close as i know to next being last always._

PLAYLIST: Martina McBride ~ “Emotions” and “Wild Angels”

BREAKING THE BONDAGE ~ ~

Nelle's story from "The Opposite of Sex"

I read this on my way to the brink. It resounded.

Her husband had come home from work. The kids were gone. They decided to grab some afternoon delight. She was all stressed out over her hectic responsibilities and school schedules. I remember her saying,"I was chatty, on top, rocking my way to a quick orgasm, when he stopped me."

Pick the rest up from her own words:

But only stopped me for a moment. When I grabbed his hand and moved it away from a tender spot he said, "You really are feisty tonight, aren't you," but he seemed amused. "I am only going to whip you with one thing today." he said. "You choose."

That quieted me down. I knew immediately what I wanted, but it is hard for me to say it. The truth is it is easy for me to be silent and compliant, like a doll. That is a vacation. Admitting I like being hurt, want to be hurt, making me participate in choosing how to be hurt always makes me stumble. Its much easier, cleaner to be forced, than to be an accomplice. But accomplice I am, and I finally wrapped my mouth around my answer.
The problem with me is that when I am angry, stressed, I am unreachable in the opposite direction from where subspace takes me, and it is that much harder to get me there at all. I think of it as being too mean to be hurt. So when he had whipped me for a time, taking breaks now and then to gag me with his cock, and I was finally breathing rhythmically, yelping occasionally, calm, he stopped and asked me if I would like to come now.

I wasn't sure if that was a rhetorical question, so I puzzled on it a minute but he seemed to be waiting for an answer, so I asked, "Would you please hurt me for a while more?"
Now he paused, "I think I can accommodate that request."

And that freed him up I think, to let loose. He still had the belt in his hand so seconds later I was back in my space. Marking each blow with my breath, having no thoughts other than that. Meditative, calming, peaceful. He went out of his way to make it hurt, walking around to the side of the bed to lay the belt across my thighs then across my calves which screamed with the new sensation. Cramped and panicked, I twisted to the side in pain and he waited until I rolled back to lash me again. He found my sit spots and whipped relentlessly, he pushed my legs apart and whipped my pussy and I couldn't help but kick my feet and scream, but I kept my knees right where he left them. He walked around to my feet and whipped me the other way, laying the belt along the length of my back with the tip ending up on my shoulders and then seeing how calm and quiet I was becoming held the belt shorter and started whaling on my shoulders and across my back so hard I was pressing into the bed, so hard the breath was being pushed out of me. I could hear the light slap of leather against his shoulder as he raised the belt over his head each time before bringing it down, now across my ass, it seemed as hard as he could, it seemed harder than he had ever hit me before. But I was long beyond pain, beyond myself, into bliss. He shoved his cock into my mouth again for the zillionth time and I noticed that he was harder than ever, wider, scraping my teeth and stretching my mouth to the limit, and I realized hurting me this way was arousing him, and I wondered what I had done to this otherwise gentle man. But I didn't ponder long.

"You are going to come NOW." He said. "Come here."

Just what the doctor ordered.

THE FIRST TIME FOR ME~~The first time i met him, he used the belt on me. He used the flogger he made especially for me first, but then for some reason, the belt came out of the closet. All i remember is:

I looked him in the eyes afterwards and with tears still on my face admitted, "No man has ever laid a belt on me since my dad whipped me when i was a child. You are the first."

All I remember is the NEED. I would not tell him my threshold level of intensity. I left it up to him. The willing suspension of belief in order to have this happen was the overriding factor. I wanted to be hurt at that point, proved the wayward wife for I could not accept my own intuitions and decisions. Instead, I found myself face down on a literal stranger's bed, not shackled or blindfolded. Afraid of pain, afraid of being weak, afraid of the NEED, yet totally aroused by his command, actions and sure touch even then.

first recollection: I stretched my arms above my head and grabbed fistfuls of coverlet. The unfamiliar manly smell of the bedding added to the strangeness of the whole encounter.  I think he spread my legs wider apart. The stinging of the flogger was replaced by the sound of the belt. He held the tongue and the buckle together and made a strap of it. He seemed to experiment with places and intervals. I did not know when the next blow would fall, or how hard it would be.

When he stepped it up after i refused to answer his queries, "Are you doing okay? Talk to me!" it didn't take long.

Something broke free inside and every sound was magnified; meaty slap of leather on parts of my back and ass. A couple of times lengthwise on vulva. I was agonized and squirming. I heard the sound but it didn't land for it was him i think hitting himself. Once more, this time across my upper arms and that is all it took. I buried my face in the bed and cried for it all. All at once, something breaking in my chest and belly that felt like phlegm loosened, oil-covered feathers released, breaking concrete. Disappointment that i couldn't take more. Relief that the pain would soon either be over or be more than i could bear.

He saw i was sobbing and i heard the belt hit the floor. I remember him getting on the bed and covering me with his body, his cock was hard in the crease of my ass, his breath coming up to my ear. He moved my hair away so he could see my face. He stretched himself out to match me and covered my fists with his hands, calmed me.

The only thing that came out of my mouth was, "I'm sorry." Over and over. All the years; all the bondage releasing; all the fear coming up like bile. He stroked my hair. I do not remember if he took me anally from behind or how long it took him or even if there was penetration. All i remember is the shame and the need and the release and the humiliation of having a totally HOT stranger privy to my innermost horror, that and the self i had denied for so many years.

I started to love him then i think. For the way he was amused that at first i didn't know how to move. If he bound me or flogged me i was rooted to the spot. For the respect he gave to my shattering. For having taken the good from his own horror; being willing to share an unveiling.

The strangeness lingers on still. I don't get many of his concepts yet about intimacy and how he flows. i am so headblind. Sometimes i know he is pleased, but he keeps me apart from much of his life, even as he offers me the sanctuary of his arms. i never know if he is satisfied with me unless he uses words(a poor substitute for me really listening). Although watching the expression on his face as he enters me and says something like "intoxicating" is a pearl i carry, but i am not telling where.

Playlist: Natalie Merchant: Live in Concert (NYC Central Park)
"My Beloved Wife" "After the Gold Rush"