Ok, I’m going to keep things short for now since I should get to sleep soon (or, you know, probably not). Anyway, slutpet and I had an extended play session the other night.
I swear, I didn’t do anything different, it wasn’t meant to be as long and drawn out as it was… But it began with some general slavery. He stripped and presented me with his collar. (He’s been doing that more and more and I love it.) I put it round his neck, and he put on his latex gloves and a pair of black vinyl leggings. Then he washed my feet, massaged them, and rubbed lotion on them. I recently developed a bit of a fetish for having my feet washed, it just feels so relaxing yet powerful. Back to the story. Once that was finished, I slipped on my thigh-high black boots and leaned back in the computer chair to watch some naughty videos he downloaded, using him as a bootrest. He remained on all fours in front of me while I reclined, content to browse and watch as I saw fit. When I grew bored with that I decided to try a simple eyeshadow blending technique on him to see how it would work. I blended bright electric blue into vivid hot pink, creating a sort of purple in-between. It rather looked like a soft sunset. Threw on some black lipstick and shiner. He asked to see me in a dark red lipstick I have that he’s never noticed. He loved it.
I think he said something about feeling particularly owned and loving it, and I playfully shoved him to his back, standing over him with my boot on his chest. In my sweetest voice I called him every dirty name I could think of and more. "Slutpet, carpet, whore, bootrest, fucktoy, plaything, slut, masochist, tramp, object, mine, doll, dog, slave." Soon I will upload a picture of some of the marks I left that night. My boot print on his chest was the first one. The sharp edges even cut into his skin just a tiny bit.
I let him up and had him fetch my crop, then shoved him back down by his hair. Placed my boot on his back and beat his ass with it, alternating between hard poundings and using the end to tease his exposed asshole, his balls, and his cock. He shuddered, dripping, and begging silently for more. I let him up again and had him hold on to the short “pull-up bar” chains that hang from the ceiling in our bedroom. From our hookboards I began to choose crops with which to further beat him. I was not gentle. Five clothespins were clipped along his ribcage on the sides of his body. “Do you want to play a game?” I asked. “Yes, Miss,” he replied without hesitation. “In this game, I pick a flogger and we see how many times it takes me to knock the clothespins off.” He hesitated, whimpering. “They’re on pretty far… That sounds really painful.” I laugh at my little masochist and begin to flog him again. I hit the clothespins anyway and watch as he flinches, both of us smiling. “That’s not so bad…” I run my hand along his cock as a reward for taking my pain. “I know,” I croon. He can see himself in the body mirror throughout this entire ordeal. From time to time when I know I have pushed him too hard, found his pain threshold and gone just beyond it, I pause. I wrap my arms around him, one hand on his cock, and lean up against him so he can see in the mirror about half my face peeking at him from behind his own body. I am always smiling, and I always win him back over to play some more.
We moved to the bed, and he begged not to be finished. Asked me to do anything with him, asked if I would like to try knife play. I have a fetish for blood, in theory. We have never tried intentionally making him bleed before, and while I am not fully opposed, I know it is a fine line we walk here. I lay him down, gently, and get instead my Wartenberg wheel. I run it all along his torso, gently at first, then begin to add some pressure. I try using the pins to scratch him gently, and he smiles, that fiery look in his eyes begging me to keep going. I do for a while, never drawing blood but leaving some definite scratches behind. Finally I switch to the knife. It is very sharp, in fact I later discovered I cut myself without knowing. Yes, that sharp. I turn it so the dull side is facing his flesh and use just the tip, drawing it along his skin gently. I know how this feels, a sort of scratch like the wheel was. I even go so far as to bring it close to his cock. He protests, I insist he trusts me, and I am rewarded. I do not cut, I do not scratch, I simply prove to him that I am careful, that I can be given full trust. He gives it over. I carve the word “SLUT” into his chest. No, I did not cut deeply I still used only the tip of the blade, but I went over it enough times for it to turn bright red. Still no blood, we have not reached quite that point yet. Enough with the knife, I put it away. He protests, and I explain that with such a dangerous item I feel it is better to begin with a a foundation of good, if less satisfying experiences upon which to build further. I must prove to myself that he does enjoy this torture, prove to him that I will not go too far. He agrees, understanding. This is why I am the Dominant and he the submissive. To this, as well, he agrees. As a final reward for his efforts, I allow him to be used as my fucktoy, bringing myself to a wonderful climax upon him. He gets his as well, and we are both thoroughly satisfied in our own strange ways.
Would I like these things? I don’t know. But I still fantasize about them.
I want to have pet as a subtle 24/7 slave. I want him to have rituals he follows, such as presenting a kink item (his collar, a crop, a flogger, etc) to me or kneeling and kissing the top of my foot when he wishes to be played with. I want him to kneel before the bed every night, look into my eyes, and ask if he may be allowed to sleep beside me. I want him to have simple, menial tasks that he performs just for me, such as brushing my hair or rubbing my feet. I want, sometimes, to be able to put his collar on Friday night and not take it off until early Monday morning. Other times, I want him to just hold me, to watch me fall asleep in his arms and adore me silently. I want the smell of vanilla to become an instant turn-on for him, because of how many times I’ve used vanilla candles for wax play. Once in a while I want to torment him for days on end, deny him and make him beg for attention, put him in chastity if I wish, then watch him either drop and beg silently when I remove. Or, maybe, watch him steal the key from me forcefully, take it off himself, and then rape me violently.
Maybe someday I’ll find out. Right now he’s moaning in his sleep, poor dear.
So, lately pet and I have been doing a lot more switching. I hinted at as much in my last post, and as of yesterday I have two stories for you.
The first has faded a bit in my memory, probably mostly due to the events themselves… I’m uncomfortable with breath play in general. I will give it, but I’ve never been able to take it. But he was feeling Dominant, and he wanted to see what I would do. He was fucking me, hard, pounding relentlessly, and then his hand was on my throat. I bit my lip, unsure, but didn’t shake him off. I just stared into his eyes with mine, wide and a little scared, he later told me. His grip got tighter, and to my shock I didn’t mind very much… I was so focused on the pounding, so caught up in the pleasure and the pain mingling that I let him. And I liked it.
Then yesterday we were both feeling a little bit aggressive, but he was feeling more Dominant than I was. The printer wasn’t working, of all things, and he was getting really upset with it. I told him that bending me over and fucking me doggy-style would be a great way to vent his anger. Then he locked the door. I squeaked and he began undressing, commanding I do the same. I did, and he motioned me to come and mount him while he sat in his computer chair, still fighting with the computer and printer. I eagerly slid myself onto him, and was frustrated but delighted at how he paid me no attention. It didn’t last long, however. Soon he had thrown me roughly onto the bed and began to pound me, harder than I usually like that early in the sex. But at that moment I loved it. Again, he grabbed my throat, and this time I wasn’t shy or unsure, but it was still a little frightening in a wickedly thrilling kind of way. At some point I made a joke about either how he could pound harder if he was using standing doggy, or about how I was disappointed he hadn’t started with it. Again, he took me at my word and yanked me to the end of the bed, flipping me over, and proceeded to start slamming me from behind. It hurt so good and I screamed, so much so that he actually asked if I was ok. I laughed and told him “harder!” He didn’t ask again. He did, however, grab my hair, my neck, my hips, his hands couldn’t seem to find the right position on me and just kept scrambling everywhere. It was amazing. At one point he grabbed my ankles and bent them upward, using them for leverage while he did his level best to see if he could break me. I just screamed for more. I came, wildly, and he didn’t even try to tell me to be quiet. Soon he flipped me back over and made me come for him again. His staying power was epic, he just kept on and on. Then it was his turn. He wanted to try a cumshot on me again, but found he was having just a bit of difficulty. So I threw him down and took him in my mouth, something I never do with nearly as much eagerness. Eventually he decided he wanted to try something new, and put me in our gas mask. He laid me back down on the edge of the bed and began to fuck me again while I lay gazing up at him trough the eyeholes. Just before he finished he pulled out and got right up above me, so all I could see was him, and came all along my breasts and neck.