Saturday, April 10, 2010

Caning and cumming and kissing and cocksucking

The title says it all, really.
And yet it doesn't, really.
A surprise Friday evening visit.
His cock in my mouth for 30 minutes.
A very happy cock...

And kisses... there is no point in rhapsodizing over his kisses because... well, first of all there is no way to properly describe them and second of all I start drifting away when I remember them. And you must understand that I am quite a serious fan of kissing, with very high standards. If he paid me a visit and did nothing but kiss me I would be transported. Does that give you some idea?

The cocksucking... I've written about this before. I'm a natural. I am very, very good. World class. Very creative. Very... um... stimulating. In the other post, I speak of being trained to do some good old basics in addition to all the heavy moan-inducing stuff that I really should patent. Well, lately there hasn't been much demand for the classics. He is quite happy with a steady diet of the chef's specialties. I feel very gratified and appreciated and... treasured.

My butt hurts.
He caned me.
He caned me very high up on my generous ass.
He had me thrust said ass up as I bent over his cock.
He thus had a perfect view over my curtain of red hair to the dark red welts on a field of pink from my having previously been spanked as I bent over the bed reading the French translation I had made of m own poem Surrender.

I was aching to be caned.
I needed to be caned.

It was that same odd dichotomy. I don't "need" the pain the way a masochist might. I certainly don't like the pain. And the pain from being whacked with that strip of wood is particularly hard to bear, even now when he holds back so much. For such a very extreme sadist, he is being awfully gentle with me...

So no. I don't like being caned. But I love having been caned. I love the way my flesh reverberates from the blows like a bell that has been struck by an external clapper. I think any of you who have ever been caned knows what I mean... how the vibrations travel down through you, down through the muscles, and then builds and swells and blossoms into pain that continues for days. You move, you sit, you stand, you gently touch the spot with your fingers, and the pain is always there, worse in the aggregate than the momentary slash of the attack. But oh, what a beautiful pain it is! It speaks to my obedience, it speaks to my submission, it speaks to my acceptance, it speaks to my vulnerability, and to how it never occurs to me... it truly never occurs to me not to yield to whatever he does to me. He takes me wherever he wants to go, and both the journey and the destination are always more exciting, more beautiful, and more fulfilling that I could ever possibly have imagined.

Besides, to have found out later that I was caned for aesthetic reasons... how can I not love such a man?

And in the end, he rewarded me.

He gave me the rare gift of an orgasm.

I lay back on the bed after he left and reached down to my cunt and found it was very swollen and sloppy wet. And I decided it was a waste to save my gift for later. So I lay there and gathered up the effluence with my fingers and stroked my clitoris and the inside of those swollen lips and took my time as if I were fondling his cock rather than myself. I gave myself to the sensuous beauty that filled our room, inhaling his beautiful, natural scent that now clung to my body. I drifted in contentment and love, submission and adoration, and such a sense of security that I felt embraced even as I lay there alone on the bed.

It doesn't matter what name one might give to whatever he feels towards me. I will not speculate, I will not make things up that aren't there. He treasures me. That I know for sure. And the way he treats his treasure, the way he takes care of me, the way he mentors me, the way he respects me, the way he admires me even as he controls me and hurts me and bends me to his purpose... he gives me more in so many ways than any of the people who have ever claimed to love me.

And so I came.

And whether it was due to the state of my emotions, or the level of arousal, or the gradual springtime decease in my psychotropic meds, or any other unsuspected factor, I came in a way I haven't for a while.

I think I have mentioned before that my normally quite cataclysmic orgasms (when I am allowed them) have become somewhat muted over the last few years. Again, I'm not sure of the cause, but suspect it is a combination of age and meds. My precious, rationed orgasms are muted and different. The explosion comes mainly from the chest up, an outpouring of sobs and tears, with little or no pelvic involvement.

Not this time.

There wasn't a major earthquake in my womb,
but seismic activity was definitely detected.

A beautiful gift.

And I have been glowing ever since.

2 comments:

Paul said...

OG, this sounds absolutely wonderful, I'm really happy for you.
Love and warm hugs,
Paul.

nancy said...

Beautiful, simply beautiful.
I love your description of caning!
Wonderful words for a bright Spring day.