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Posts Tagged ‘bondage’

  1. An Almost Threesome

    March 13, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Happy girl kissed by two young boys

     

    Ever since my friend told me about her experience with the pizza delivery man, my fantasies have run rampant with visions of sir tying me up and offering me to a stranger. I’ve had threesomes before, but they had all been F/F/M. I’m usually the wingman to the main couple (a male and a female) in the threesome, and I was comfortable in that role. Being the main dish, so to speak, had never been a fantasy of mine until the delivery man anecdote. That situation changed everything and gave my spankbank a jumpstart.

    I shared my ideas with sir, of course. We talked about my past threesomes and what I enjoyed about them and didn’t. The truth was that I liked orders, and when left to my own devices, I had a tendency to be reticent and observe. So having someone tell me to, “get on that dick” was really helpful to me. I also liked having a plan. Now I knew that sex didn’t need a map to every nitty-gritty detail, but I liked having an overview of activities for the threesome.

    What can I say? I’m a planner.

    My experience with “just let it happen” usually meant that nothing happened, or the orgy you hoped for evolved into something different entirely. None of that was wrong, and sometimes it was awesome when I got the unexpected. When it came to satisfying my personal tastes in the bedroom, though, I wanted someone else to be the boss who gave me orders and who followed a general plan negotiated upon the desires of everyone involved.

    The more sir and I talked about it, the more the fantasy threesome became something we both wanted to try in real life. He wanted to give me the gift of a M/M/F threesome, and I wanted to be his fucktoy to be shared and used. We discussed the details and negotiated the rules. We agreed that: I would be blindfolded the entire time, there would be no double-penetration (I was too nervous to relax enough for anal penetration), and I didn’t want the stranger to kiss my lips (on my face). And sir had a friend that he thought would be perfect as our third, because the friend had had previous threesomes and was sexually adventurous. Our stars had aligned.

    The night arrived and sir left me tied spread-eagle to his bed and blindfolded to answer the door. I had watched him light the cluster of votives on the bedside tables, and the lights had been dimmed before I was blindfolded. Music played quietly near my head, and to calm my nerves, I focused on my breathing. I thought I was managing rather well, all things considered. I could barely make out the soft murmur of voices through the closed bedroom door, and my heartbeat accelerated when I heard the scrape of chairs against the tiled floor of the living room. It was almost time.

    The bonus of being blindfolded was that I could focus on my other senses. I didn’t care if I found the friend attractive, and being unable to see helped reinforce the parameters of my role as a pleasure toy. You don’t ask your toy if they’re in the mood to play. You just play with it. And that’s what I wanted. I offered myself as a fuck toy to my sir, and he had seen fit to share me. I felt thrilled, and simultaneously, like there was a cloud of butterflies trying to break free of my stomach. Gross but true.

    It was sir’s hands that touched me first. He kissed me, and I recognized the feel of his lips and the scent of his skin immediately. I responded eagerly as his hands began to explore my body, and when they hovered over my pussy, I silently begged him to fingerbang me. I wasn’t disappointed. He made me orgasm several times in that position, and then the bed shifted beside me. I heard the clink of chain and recognized the sound immediately. Sir had a flogger in his hands. I struggled against my bonds, knowing that he was going to flog my thighs and pussy. Again, I wasn’t disappointed. There was the rush of air as it was thrown, and I squealed and thrashed as the strands landed on my most sensitive parts. At different moments I wondered when the friend was going to jump in. I thought that since he wasn’t into BDSM per se, that he might wait until we turned from the bondage aspect and toys to straight up sex.

    Sir didn’t give me much of a chance to ponder the situation. He stole my breath as he rode my body, his large hand squeezing my neck. I felt the keen edge of a blade scrape against the curves of my breasts, and then the stinging slap as he brought the edge of his palms across my nipples. I was buffeted by sensation and unable to anticipate any of it. Eventually he untied me and made me sit up. He snapped the leash on my collar and led me stumbling from the bed. I was ordered to bend over and present myself to the stranger, and I did so with my face burning. I couldn’t see the man, of course, but I could feel his proximity. My ass and pussy were on display for his approval, and the fine hairs on my body stood at attention, waiting for the feel of his skin against mine. Every particle of my being waited in anticipation for the stranger to touch me, but again, I was mistaken.

    Sir pushed me to the bed and thrust his cock in my mouth, and I was distracted from the question of our third by a trip down the spiralling rabbit hole of hypnosis. Sir painted a tale of wealthy men at an elite club, where I was the entertainment for the evening. After he brought me out of my trance, he put me on all fours and fucked me from behind until my arms were too fatigued to hold my body in position any longer. Briefly I considered the other man in the room with us, but my thoughts didn’t dwell on him. My body was being pushed to endure, and at that point, I only had enough energy to hold on tight for the ride.

    After sir had finished with me, I lay in a heap on the bed, not even trying to peek around my blindfold to see what the men were doing.

    “Stay,” sir told me. “Good girl.”

    I had moved beyond caring about the stranger. My body was spent and thoroughly used. I had fucked, sucked, and taken all the pain and humiliation that my owner had chosen to lavish upon me. I wanted nothing more than a shower, an extra thick cheeseburger, and a bunch of snuggles. And water. Water would have been nice too.

    I think I might have dozed off, and then sir was beside me again, tucking me into the crook of his arm. I asked if I could take off the blindfold, and he said yes. It took a moment for me to catch my bearings again, and then I inquired about his friend.

    The man had gone home without ever touching me.

    I met the friend the next night, and we all had dinner at a Turkish restaurant. He was humorous and gruff, and despite his reticence the evening before, I liked him thoroughly. I suppose we never know how we’ll act in a situation for certain until we’re actually in that situation. And I would be lying if I didn’t say that I was a teensy bit disappointed that the friend didn’t participate. Apparently we had blown his mind with the stuff we did in bed, and he had only wanted to watch. He told sir later, on an occasion when I wasn’t present, that he had felt like he was watching a sex show. I think that’s a compliment? Sir joked that he should have ordered the friend to fuck me while he went into the other room and watched The Walking Dead.

    Nah.

     


  2. Wonder Woman and Bondage

    February 5, 2015 by Heather Cole

    I have loved and idolized Wonder Woman since I was a little girl. I had Wonder Woman underoos, and my cousins and I spent hours wreaking havoc around my grandparents’ farm playing Super Friends. Even at that age I was frustrated that there were so few female superheroes. I didn’t realize that Wonder Woman began as a comic in the 1940’s or that she was into bondage, domination and submission, and spanking parties. If I had known that… well, my childhood probably would have made a lot more sense.

    Many thanks to our friend, Ashley, for finding this article about Wonder Woman’s fascinating roots.

    “If you’ve never read the comics written by Marston and drawn by Harry G. Peter, Berlatsky’s book is particularly eye-opening. It’s not just that Wonder Woman gets tied up more than other heroes (although she does) and that she does plenty of tying up herself. Marston was a psychologist by trade, and his particular views on gender, sexuality, domination, and submission (which were all, in his mind, inextricably linked) are on full display in his Wonder Woman run. There are scenes of children learning to be submissive on Paradise Island, stories where Wonder Woman fails because she isn’t dominate enough, lurid images of women trapped in cages (and, sometimes, lurid images of Steve Trevor tied up). And there are those weird spanking parties.”

     

    I’m falling in love all over again. Fetch me my magic lasso!

    Read the entire post here: Why Early Wonder Woman Was a Champion of Feminism… and Bondage over at io9.


  3. The Missing Tea Strainer or Kink in the Afternoon

    September 18, 2013 by Heather Cole

    Master had been specific in his instructions, and he had relayed them carefully to Miss so that every detail could be satisfied. As with all his tasks he wanted her to succeed, but she also knew that any failure on her part would be met with swift correction. Those were never good days. Stifling a shiver, Miss hurried down the main stairs, one hand trailing the polished mahogany banister. Her slippers were almost silent against the thick Persian rug. The closer she came to the kitchen, the stiffer her posture grew. By the time she faced the others, she no longer resembled her master’s companion that occupied the upstairs.

    Miss stalked along the line of domestic staff as they stood in readiness for afternoon tea. The master of the house had expressed a desire to take his tea by the lake, and his staff had scurried to rearrange the repast from indoors to out. Miss was responsible for coordinating them all, and she tugged at their skirts to make certain they hung properly. She pinched the tender sides of underarms to make certain they paid attention and fired questions in rapid succession, expecting a nod of agreement before she had finished the sentence. Her attitude was one of military precision, and the intensity of her inspection made the scullery maid devote some thought to fainting.

    “You need a hat, Marguerite, or the sunset will turn your complexion ruddy,” Miss scolded. “Master dislikes his girls looking like farmhands. You have the cello, I see. You’re going to play Bach’s concertos, yes?”

    “Yes, Miss,” Marguerite replied with a curtsy.

    “And you have a stool to sit upon?” Miss thrust a straw hat into Marguerite’s hand and gave her a pointed glance.

    “Yes, Miss. But I’ll need help carrying it all out to the lake. It’s difficult managing the cello and bow in addition to the stool.”

    Cold blue eyes stared at Marguerite as a silence grew between them. Miss stared at the girl as if she had never before in her life encountered such a bold specimen. Embarrassment stained Marguerite’s cheeks a deep red, and finally she dropped her eyes to the floor in defeat. She should have known better than to mention it and risk Miss’s temper.

    “I’ll… I’ll somehow manage it,” Marguerite stammered.

    “Of course you will,” Miss replied and briskly rubbed her hands together as if she were dusting off a bug.

    Next in line was the scullery maid, and Miss surmised from the woman’s quivering body that something had gone amiss. “Did you assemble everything as instructed?” she asked.

    “Yes, Miss,” the scullery maid said. “I have the tea service and the linens, the hot water and the tea, of course.”

    “Excellent. Then we’re ready to adjourn to the lake?”

    “Well, there’s a slight problem.” The scullery maid’s eyes squeezed shut, and Miss heard her inhale deeply. “I can’t find the tea strainer.” Out came the girl’s breath in a rush.

    “What do you mean you can’t find it? We use the damn thing every day. How on earth could you lose it?”

    “I don’t know, Miss. I swear I don’t. Yesterday I washed it and put it away in the cupboard just as I do every day.” She wrung her hands. “I swear, Miss. I’ve searched the kitchen top to bottom.”

    The expression on Miss’s face could only be described as a gathering of thunderclouds, but when she spoke, her tone was low and quiet. Her hand lashed out like a snake to grab a fistful of the scullery maid’s auburn locks, and she yanked the maid’s head back to expose her throat. Whimpering, the maid clutched at Miss’s skirt with frantic fingers.

    “Now see here, girl. You are going to find that tea strainer in the next ten minutes or Master won’t be able to have his tea. If he can’t have his tea, he will take it out of my hide. Your failure becomes my failure. And the tender skin of my backside is worth more than you’ll ever earn in your worthless life. Mark my words, girl, if I must bear the lashes for your mistake, I will deliver them to you with none of Master’s restraint or benevolence. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

    The maid was crying now, great sobs wracking her chest.

    “Don’t waste our time with tears. Go find the strainer.” Miss released her, and the maid staggered. Clutching a handkerchief to her red nose, the scullery maid dashed out of the room.

    Miss sighed loudly and threw up her hands in disgust. “I swear, Marguerite, even if she finds the stupid thing, I may still string her up as an example. I can’t have you girls thinking that this sort of thing is acceptable.”

    “No, Miss,” Marguerite murmured.

    Thank goodness she only had to play the cello.

    afternoon tea aged