Welcome Home Fuckery

WARNING: This blog contains some very sexy fantasizing about being trapped and punished by a load of guys.

Around this time last year, the shirt that Colin Firth wore when he played Mr. Darcy in the BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice went up for auction and fetched a tidy 25k. I wrote a short blog on it, which was a bang on reflection my state of mind right then. My man had gone away for a few days, and I was feeling lonely and lost without him.

I’m reminded, because he went away for a few days again recently, and I missed him terribly.

I kept myself busy though, distracted myself nicely by writing my Slave-Market fantasy. He got a couple of drafts of it to read while he was away, and I dunno if that was cruel of me or not. It certainly got us both super-horny for each other. 

Alternative Ending

The first draft had a completely different ending:

Your eyes flick up to meet mine again and you stare directly at me, your complete lack of fear is absolutely fascinating. Though I am sure I have attracted attention before, no man has ever dared to look into my eyes. It captivates me, and for the first time in my life, I feel a singular attraction. The danger of this new feeling entices me, it is laced with another newness, but I do not identify that emotion-reaction straight away.

It’s only later, when we are alone in my playroom, and you are using my tools against me, abusing my body, driving me to heights of pleasure I didn’t know exist, that I discover how thoroughly all-consuming submissive vulnerability is. You own me, and your need is savage. 

And when I am broken, having come multiple times, when I feel I cannot keep going any longer, only then do you finally take me. You plough your hard, wide cock into the depths of me. I moan under you, under your onslaught, but you have not a care for my sensitivity. You thrust, grunting with your own need until you yourself come, spurting your load deep inside me. 

And I realise I cannot put you aside, it is too late.

I am your slave.

But this felt wrong. I don’t think the character I’d written would allow herself the remotest possibility of losing her own self-control, never mind of letting a slave control her.

There were two possible alternative endings I was considering. Either she’d arrange to make a demonstration of him, proper public punishment style, maybe even wielding the whip herself. Or she’d ask for a demonstration of his prowess. The second won out and that’s how the dem-slave class came into existence. And I did so very much enjoy writing in the dem-slave scene.

Another thing I really liked about that story was the idea of there being a drug like the little blue pill, that would not only keep one hard for hours, but also would NOT allow that person to ejaculate, no matter how intensely their dick was played with. My man loved the thought of this, and it lent itself so well to him being away and the two of us feeling desperate for each other. Neither of us allowed ourselves relief while he was away.

Which leads me to the point of this blog. The night he got back, he ruined one of my bras. And it was so hot.

Coming Home

When he got back, after we’d had our grateful “I’m so glad you’re with me again” hug, he ordered me to undress to my underwear. Being all prepared, I slipped off my dressing gown. He changed as well.

Have I talked before about men in joggers? You know, how it is, when a guy is semi-hard, or just beginning to stir? You can see how their dick pushes the material out, and it hangs straight down all around it. I find this so sexy. I’m a perv for men in joggers.

We sat at the kitchen table together, him in his T-shirt and joggers, me in my bra and knickers, and we ate some bread. He told me about his trip, I told him about what I’d been up to, and all the while we were staring our lust at each other. His glance kept sliding down to my bra clad tits, and I was loving this attention from him, feeling all warm and slutty in my undress.

When we were done eating, he had me stand up in the middle of the room and he took the belt from my discarded dressing gown and wrapped it around my head, binding my eyes closed. I heard him clattering around in the drawers and the next thing, he was pulling on my bra. And I heard the first snick of the scissors before I realised what he was up to.

Wanton Destruction

“Hey!” I said, feeling it appropriate to offer some protest of indignation at this obvious attack on my bra. My fingers rose, found his wrist. He slapped my fingers away.

“Be still,” he said. 

Grinning, I carried on trying to stop him, though the bra was already ruined. And that’s how I found myself standing there with my wrists bound behind my back by his hastily retrieved belt. He got on with wrecking my bra, pulling the right cup away from my tit again and chopping the material out. 

“Ow!”

He’d let the wire snap back onto my tit, squashing it. He pulled it out and slipped the wire under it, and then gave up with the scissors. He reached into the left cup of my bra, took my tit into his hand and lifted it to the point of pain, dumped it on top of the cup.

Then he untied my belt from my head then and sat himself down on the bench. 

“Come here,” he said. 

I went to him and stood before him, my right tit hanging down over the wire, left pushed up by the material of the cup. Uhhh. He reached around me, took my bound hands in his and pulled me to him, so close, my hips were tilted upwards, my knees pressing lightly against the bench between his legs. I watched him take my left tit into his mouth. 

Watching men sucking at my tits is such a turn on for me, and he was doing a marvellous job. He had it held in his hand and his other hand came up and took my right tit. He pushed them up and together, so my nipples were very nearly touching, pressed his thumb down into my right nipple, pressing it deeply into my tit, as his mouth teased the other. Oh, the pressure on that nipple, how it spoke to my clit. 

I watched his bearded chin, his lips, as he tilted his head to kiss the undersides of my tits. He drew back his thumb, and my nipple popped out from under it, uhh and then he was licking across them and I was getting all wet and desperate. Ready for a good fucking.

I asked for it. Politely of course.

“Not yet,” he said around a mouthful of tit.

Uhh.

A Little Cock-Worship …

He got his dick out then, nice and hard, the end of it shining under the lights, looking quite delectable.

“Also ready for a good fucking,” I said. 

But he pushed me down onto my knees. I went as gently as I could, with my hands tied behind me and I knelt there, staring at his dick, a grin pushing at my lips. He took matters into his own hands, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling my head down to his dick. Lovely.

I pressed my face into the crease where his thigh met his torso and licked him there, tasting his skin. And I gave him a bit of the cock-worship we both so love, taking him deeply into my mouth, sucking and kissing his balls, licking around the whole area. Uhh, completely in my element there on my knees before him with my hands bound behind my back.

… and a Fantasy

He shared a fantasy with me then, as I suckled his cock, and it was tailor-made for me. 

I’ve been obnoxious again and this is my punishment. I am trapped in a box just tall enough to stand up in, but small enough that when I reach out my arms, I can comfortably touch any part of the walls. There is no way out. There are holes in the walls, through which random strangers can stick their dicks. I must make them come. It doesn’t matter whether I use my hands or my mouth, or even if I bend at the waist and get the longer dicks into my cunt. The only important thing is that I must make them come. 

I’m naked and there are cameras in every corner of the box. These cameras are filming everything I do. They focus in on my cum-soaked tits, my mouth, or my hands, or between my thighs which are dripping with my own juices and the cum from those I’ve taken inside me. These images are being broadcast to the room outside of my box, so the guys who I am getting off can watch what I’m doing to them, to the guy on the opposite side of the box. They can see just how much this degrading depravity is turning me on. 

There is an endless supply of men and I’m going to be here the whole evening, getting them off, drinking down countless amounts of cum, covering myself and the floor in it.

That’s how naughty I’ve been. 

Mmh.

He helped me up, turned me around and untied my hands. Standing behind me, he pulled me to him and held me. I could feel his heart beating in his chest and I wrapped my hands around his arms where he held me. Such sweet relief to be right there in the circle of his embrace.

Feel and Breathe!

He bid me lie back on the sofa and I did. 

“Close your eyes, just feel and breathe,” he was grinning at me when he said these words. I grinned back at him.

A moment later, I heard him kneel down before me, and I felt something teasing around my labia. 

“It’s gonna be cold,” he whispered. And his barely heard warning touched me like a caress.

It was my glass dildo, he’d chilled it in the fridge, and it was covered in the new lube we’d recently acquired. Ahh, the coldness of the glass. It contrasted with the burning sensation the lube was creating and all my focus was on my cunt. It intruded into me, just the very tip of it and I caught my breath; it was so cold. He pushed it deeply inside me then, twisting and turning it, changing the angle of it, ahh the sensation was borderline uncomfortable. The ridges and knobs rubbing about inside me, spreading the lube around. In contrast to the coolness of the glass, the burning sensation this new lube was creating throughout my cunt was giving me such a sensory contradiction, it was all I could feel.

Then his gorgeously warm, wet mouth closed around my clit and my urgent heat returned. His beard prickling my skin at odds with the gentle, slick warmth of his tongue, licking around my clit. Mmmh. He began thrusting the dildo into me, deeply and rhythmically, aiming for my g-spot. It brought my attention away from my pulsing clit, those cold ridges slowing down my building orgasm. They dragged out of me at an angle that stretched my cunt wide open. He was pulling it downwards as he pulled it out, oh and it felt so unusual, and as I got used to it, so fucking good.

I felt myself getting so close, moaned once into the noises he was drawing from my cunt and he stopped what he was doing, pulled that cool glass out of me and slid his dick inside instead. It felt feverishly warm, alive and fragile in its hardness. And I wanted to suck it into me, envelope it with my cunt, it triggered me into a bout of pure love for him and I sighed again, feeling and breathing. Feeling every inch of him.

He fucked me tenderly, and his fingers found my clit, squeezed it gently, rhythmically with his thrusting. Building me up again and as I tipped, he spoke.

“I ordered some.” 

“Uhhh, mmh. What?”

“Little blue pills. We’re gonna fuck you up royally next weekend.”

Uhhhhh.