Time for some rest and recuperation

I’m headed for my mountain retreat for the next three weeks; I'll be posting just as soon as I come back towards the end of the month. See you then...

Summer, with the utter joy of multiple, deep, intense orgasms

A virgin ice in His hand. Slave’s eyes glued to His as she watches it near the clamp. Slight pressure, slide off, making pink flow into white. The fresh white-frosted ice laid onto her nipple: cold enough to stick and pull her teat up, roll it around awhile. Slave registers her pleasure in a ripple of clutched gasps and a rhythmic flexing of her thighs, as her teat is sucked upwards by the cool command of the coloured melting fuck toy. Simple arousal is now rushing away, carrying her to towards her climax. She’ll need Master’s permission for that, of course. Time to put the clamp back on now. Time to clamp her up well for her moment.

Master’s fingers sliding down her torso, down to her clit. Slave whimpers as His warm soooth pressure splays the flesh either side of her lovely bud. Her head rising and falling, she wants to see but wants to release her everything too and let her pleasure wash over her; slave really can’t decide how to use her body. Lucky slave to be in this dilemma, lucky master to have the privilege of creating it for her.

The ice goes down flat onto her marble and she starts to buck with the effort of containing her climax, asking, begging, imploring Him for His permission to come.

‘Not yet, love. Just be patient a little while longer.’

Master carefully drags the ice downwards as His slave savours the moment’s downwardly rolling centre of gravity. Breasts to clitoris to vagina, teats to bud to pussy. Slave can feel her teats urging her on, her whole body readying itself as her attention winds closer and closer around her loins.

There’s a smear of wetness under her pussy, testament to the delight she’s been feeling and Master can savour its perfume now, so close is he. The patient pink bloat of her lips and the patient pink melt of the ice must meet very, very soon now.

‘Remember Slave, only when I say.’

’Yes, Master.’

A last look from Him and she lays her heart back in the rich joy of her love for him, so happy to be controlled by Him, He who knows just what to do for her. Which is, shove ice, push coolly deeply inside and twitch, twitch with cumming-not tightness. Slave has to work hard to keep her pussy relaxed, waiting for the moment as she mind scrabbles to comprehend the gorgeous fat coldness of the diameters waiting inside her.

‘Master, Mast..., Master, I beg you‘

Master needs to check all is well, he doesn’t rush to reply as He takes His time to enjoy His part in her climax waiting for their minds to completely enter each other. That cool stare of His again, a coolness of wanting to stand time still and expand this moment out into the dark limits of forever.

‘Very good. You have my permission to come.’

Slave’s consciousness blurs over as her mind and body start to break out in orgasm. Breath sweeping out as her delight rushes over her, as her muscles pull her sticky body over the crackling plastic under her. Nipples harden under the clamps, two pinched points of discomfort counterpoint the expanding smooth pleasure that rolls up from between her legs. Bursts of joy light up her mind as her pussy lights up her body with the deeply urgent rolling joy only Master knows how to bring her. Contemplating the sprawling, mewling, crying woman in front of Him, Master reflects how rewarding it is to be with a woman who knows exactly when to come, His Slave with her inner knowledge of us. She knows that her place suits her so very, very well.

She’s riding her orgasm into the pure blue summer sky.


This story, as mentioned yesterday, was suggested by a friend, who graciously consented to its being rewritten here. There are so many other fantasies I'd love to write about. I'm very suggestible in that respect...

Golly gosh

I notice that Belle has finally split with her boyfriend. Looks like we’re getting to the point where among the personals we may soon expect to see something along the lines of “f, 30s, n/s, solvent, with Tendency to Blog Vengefully, wltm...”

Do you believe it is different with every couple?

Well, of course it is, is the short answer to that question. And if, dear Anonymous, that appears insufficient reward for your protracted wait for my reply, then I can only agree with you. I’ve been mulling over a reply to your question for all this time, quite clueless as to how to answer. I am no relationships guru and I’m not keen to pontificate on subjects where my inexpertise would be apparent from the first sentence, so this evasive reponse will have to do for both us. The Summer stories were suggested by a friend and I leapt at the chance to get inside the mood of the moment to explore the emotions that the participants could feel where their carefully ritualised encounter of pain and pleasure was the perfect way for them to express their love for each other. So much of us is shared already, language and culture, for example and there are again many pressures on us to conform and be predictable. What fascinated me about the encounter was precisely its strangeness: that two lovers could find the intimacy they sought only by means of a language of affection that the outside world could never grasp. A wonderfully admirable celebration both of themselves as individuals and their relationship. What could I want to do but write into the rich sensual detail of that encounter?

An article about Michelangelo Antonioni talks of his interest in the gaps between people. Of course, what a fascinating way to put it. The gaps. The gaps between us and how we manage to fill them. Nipple clamps and ice cream is just one way, what others might there be?