Challenged

keep-yourself-on-the-edgeSo, I decide to set Chloë a challenge…

It’s actually quite a simple one. Having selected what I deemed to be the most appropriate of her numerous vibrators, the challenge is simply for her not to cum until I tell her she can.

Now, I know for a fact, that with the particular toy I’ve chosen for this challenge, should she want to, Chloë can bring herself off in under two minutes, but tonight I want to see how long we, by which of course I mean, she, can deny herself.

I hand her the vibrator, and on my mark she begins. The vibrator I’ve chosen for her has only one power/speed setting, so there can be no cheating on her part.

Sensibly, Chloë keeps the vibrating tip as far from her clit as possible; slipping it inside her and angling it as far from the “danger zone” as possible.

 

#WickedWednesdayEven doing this, after less than a minute, Chloë’s nipples stiffen and she begins to nibble lightly on her bottom lip.

I tell her she has to work it in and out. Nodding, she complies.

90 seconds gone and I can already see how wet she is; her cheeks are flushed and there is an obvious tightness around her eyes

If Chloë were doing this entirely for her own pleasure, she would be playing with her nipples, tasting her juices from her fingers, doing anything to heighten her arousal. Tonight however, as she works those buzzing inches of plastic in and out of her cunt, she is trying to resist; to deny what her body is already beginning to crave.

Three minutes gone, and the soft moans begin, her breathing deepens.

Four minutes and a flush begins to spread over her neck and collar bone.

Five minutes, and she is struggling to keep her hips from moving, desperate not to fall into the rhythm that will carry her to her end.

Her eyes are closed. The moans are increasing in volume. The tendons in her neck show the increasing strain that she is enduring.

Ten minutes, she changes hands; her head now rocks from side to side.

Twelve minutes; tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes; her hips are now moving in tandem with her hand, forcing the vibrator deeper and harder.

Fifteen minutes and the tears are flowing freely. The muscles in her stomach tighten. Chloë swaps hands again.

Seventeen minutes; her body rocks slowly from side to side as she wills the tension inside her to dissipate. She begins to whimper. Soon she will start to beg for release.

Nineteen minutes; her face is as red as her hair, as red as her arse after a thorough thrashing. “P…Please,” she pleads.

“Soon. Not yet,” I reply.

The seconds tick by… Twenty minutes… Twenty one… Twenty two,,,

“Please, Mike! Please!” she begs from behind clenched teeth.

I count down slowly in my head from ten; knowing Chloë has already surpassed her previous best.

Eight… “I… I… Can’t take much more…”

Seven… Chloë’s movements become increasingly animated.

Six… She clenches the sheet beside her, her knuckles turning white.

Five… “Oh, Mike… Pleaseeeeee…”

Four… “A little longer, sweet girl.”

Three… “Oh… Ohhh… Ohhh…”

Two… Every nerve in Chloë’s body is inflamed with the need for release.

One… I take a deep breath

“Now, little one. You may cum now.”

In that instant Chloë’s back arches off the bed, she throws her head back, crying out; pain, pleasure, anguish and relief.

She lets the vibrator slip from her cunt; she doesn’t have the strength to switch it off.

I move beside her, hold her, comfort her as her climax rips through her; draining away her tension as it saps the last reservoirs of strength.

“Did I do well?” she asks at last, “Did I please you?”

“Of course you did,” I reply softly, holding her close; lending her my strength.

 

Mike

A Stripper’s Tale – by Katie

This is a moving, and extremely erotic tale about a young woman and her first experience of adult performing in the pubs and clubs of Edinburgh.

I’d like to thank Katie for sharing her experience with us.

Chloë
__________

A Stripper’s Talyou-can-look-but-don-t-touch-11e

In order to keep myself fed and keep a roof over my head when I was a student, as well as having a part-time job working as a leisure attendant, I also earned quite a fair bit of additional money through stripping. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, and had I been in slightly less of a financial black-hole, I might never have done it. Certainly, if a friend from my course at Uni hadn’t mentioned the fact that she did it, and the money she made from it, I doubt I would even have thought of it.

Of course, it wasnt something I could do without discussing it thoroughly with my then boyfriend (now hubby). We talked about how he would feel at the idea of me getting naked in front of crowds of men, we talked about how I might feel doing the same, we talked about alternatives and could we do extra shifts at our respective part-time jobs to bring in a bit more money.  We discussed so many options that my head sometimes spun. Eventually he gave me his blessing in that if it was something I thought I could do, he would support me, and would I mind if, occasionally, he came along to watch.

I should add, that the thought of me performing in front of him as part of a crowd was a huge turn-on, and even if I hadn’t gone through with it, the thought of it meant that the sex we had that night was pretty damned fantastic.

Now, Edinburgh has a number of strip-pubs in its infamous pubic triangle, just adjacent to its main financial district off Lothian Road.  These places are always on the lookout for new girls to perform, and with an introduction from my course-mate, I got myself a job and was booked to perform.

While these places look pretty seedy, the one I worked in was well run. The girls were looked after, we were given explicit instructions on what we could and couldn’t do (the main no-no being accepting money for additional services on the grounds that it could get the pub shut down and me charged for prostitution, neither of which would really have helped my situation), and if there was ever any improper conduct on the part of our clientèle, the management would act swiftly to deal with it (all the private dance booths had panic buttons installed).

Having been along a couple of evenings to watch from behind the bar, I was asked if I would be ready for my first performance on the next Friday evening shift. I was hesitant, but I agreed. Before I took to the stage, I needed an outfit, and I modelled a number before hubby and I agreed on one that was sufficiently classily  slutty and, most importantly, easy to get out of.

The Friday night came round and I grew increasingly nervous as I watched the girls in front of me take the stage. I had thought it would be easy. Being no stranger to casual nudity, often frequenting then, as I do now, nude beaches, I was no stranger to being naked in public. As much as I tried to tell myself this was no different, the reality is, they couldnt be more so.  On a nude beach, everyone is naked, and when everyone is naked, nobody notices your nakedness. Here, people were paying to see me naked, to watch me undress in front of them, to perform for them, to be an object of desire, something to focus their repressed fantasies and lusts on.  No, it was most definitely not the same thing at all.

More than once, as the other girls stripped and teased, while I waited my turn, I felt like running for the door, but then, almost without warning, I heard the words Lets hear it for our new girl, the sexy Katherine (yes, I used my full name as my stage name), being announced over the PA system.

I stepped out nervously. The applause and whistles seemed genuinely appreciative as I started to move with the music. I closed my eyes, shutting out the 30 or so guys in the room, and just let myself move with the heavy bass rhythm of the tune that was playing.

The standard routine was to perform  for three songs. During the first, you simply danced as sexily as you could removing any outer layers, until by the end of the song, you were in your underwear. During the second song, you teased and flashed and danced and, by the end of it, you would be naked. The third song was all about the performance; bumping and grinding, playing with your boobs, fingering your cunt, generally tuning on the crowd until they were baying for more.

I allowed the music to carry me along for that first song.  I knew I was committed but, even then, not sure if I could actually do it.  Then I saw him, sitting at the end of the bar, smiling at me, wanting me.  Hubby had come along to watch and it gave me the confidence I needed. I was no longer performing for a group of random strangers, I was performing for hum.

I don’t remember much about the second song apart from the fact that, by the time it came for me to remove my knickers, they were extremely wet. If it wasn’t for the dim lighting in the place, I’m almost certain that my juices trickling down my thighs would have been clearly visible. Some lucky punter got a present when I kicked them off and they went flying into the crowd.

For the remainder of the performance, I was vaguely aware or the whistles and the cheers as I performed.  Every man bar one in the room believing that the performance in the room was for them alone, and one man knowing that it was. By the time my routine was finished, I was on such a high, emotionally and sexually.  I gathered up my things went backstage, quickly covered up and made my way to where hubby was sitting, giving him a wink.  Lying to the guy on the door, I told him I was popping out for a smoke and that I’d be back shortly, I stepped out into the Edinburgh night. A few moments later hubby joined me.  We didn’t speak, we didn’t need to, our need for each other was palpable.

If you know Edinburgh, then you will know that the area in question has a multitude of alleys and closes that were handily convenient for what was to happen next.

Dragging hubby into one of the closes, I braced myself in a doorway as he proceeded to fuck me, hard and fast from behind as I furiously rubbed my clit.  I came almost immediately. His urgency was almost as great and it wasnt long before he needed to cum.  He pulled out.  I turned round, dropped to my knees, took his cock in my mouth and was rewarded with a lovely thick load.

After I’d got my breath back, and made sure there were no obvious signs of what Id been up to, he walked me back to the pub and wished me luck for the rest of the evening.

I did three more turns on the stage that evening and made about £150 in tips from my private dances.  When I got home I was still on such a high, that hubby and I ended up fucking until the early hours of Saturday morning.  Each description of each dance would earn me another seeing to.

I performed a couple of weekends each month from then on until I finished University a little under three years later.  On the whole I enjoyed my time, and I like to think I made more than a few people happy.

Katie xx

Copyright©, 2017, Katie

All rights reserved.

A Valentine’s Day Thrashing

keep-calm-and-brace-yourself-140I am bent over the arm of the sofa. I haven’t been bad; He promised me a thrashing for Valentine’s day. And now, here I am, waiting to receive my gift; shivering in anticipation as I await the kiss of His belt.

He takes His time; He knows how much I love/hate the suspense of waiting. I can hear him slowly pull the belt from the stays of His slacks.

“Are you ready, little one?” He asks softly, tenderly, lovingly.

“I am, Master. Oh yes, I am,” I reply, trying to keep my voice level, not wanting to show Him just how eager I am to feel that particular stinging heat across my backside.

And yet, while I just about manage to stop my voice from betraying my excitement, a part of me over which I have no control reveals my secret. He runs a hand up the inside of my thigh; His fingers slip between my folds; letting Him feel how wet I’ve become.

#WickedWednesday“Naughty girl! You really want this, don’t you?” He teases.

“Yes, Master, I really do. I really want to feel your belt on my skin.”

“Very well,” He says, “But you must mount each stroke.”

“Yes, Master.”

Anticipation builds.

I hear a crack and a swish as He prepares. A shiver runs through me. My cunt aches; a hot, wet ache of anticipation.

***SwwiisshhSLAP!***

The first delicious stroke. “Ohhhh… One!” I moan.

“Good girl,” he chuckles. His belt rains down again.

“T… Two!” I sob.

Again and again, the beautiful pain intensifying with every lick of the leather on my skin. I choke out the numbers as hot tears stream down my cheeks.

I love/hate how it hurts. Each stroke adds to and intensifies the burning pain, multiplying it, not adding to it.

“Nine…”

“T… Oh… Ten!” I cry. Simultaneously longing for Him to stop and continue. Wondering how many more I can take, how many more He will make me endure.

“El…Ele… Eleven…” My voice is hoarse, I can barely force the word out. Lights flash behind tear-strained eyes.

“Twe… Twe… Twe…lve… Twelve!” I gasp. Can I  take any more.

Suddenly He is before me. He takes my face in His hands, holding me tenderly. A soft, loving kiss as He runs his fingers through my hair and wipes then tears from my eyes.

“My good girl,” He says softly, “My wonderful good little girl.”

My heart almost explodes just hearing His words.

“Are you ready for your next present?” He asks.

I nod, managing to smile despite the searing pain in my buttocks; which I know must now be redder than the hair on my head. “Oh yes, Master!” I respond eagerly, “Yes, I am ready.”

Chloë

TMI Tuesday – Choices, Bonds & Significant Others

Choices, Bonds & Significant Others

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these, so here goes.

1. Are you “in love” with your significant other or are you simply compatible. Scientist claim that being “in love” only last within the first six months of a relationship.

Mike and I have been together for nearly 12 years and I would say that I am still very much in love with Him.

2. Do you solve problems with your significant other (s.o.) or are you the real and only problem solver. A relationship has a stronger bond when both people in the relationship work toward resolving issues whether it be with kids, finances, management of home, etc.

Mike is probably better at solving “big” problems than I am, but we always tackle them together. We value each other’s views and opinions.

3. If you live with your s.o. do you both do chores and have equal amount of chores in the household? Research shows resentment mounts in couples who have an imbalance in household chore duties.

This is a tricky one. In general, we each do our share of the housework. We both cook and clean and look after our son. Having said that, we do have a D/s relationship where He sets me a number of tasks. These can be domestic chores or something else entirely. In that respect, I suppose I have more “chores” than He has.

4. Is your relationship meaningful to you for companionship or is it personally fulfilling? Marriage in the U.S.A. has changed over time from being for survival (home, food), to companionate love during most of the 20th Century, to 1960s to present being about personal fulfillment.

Both! Absolutely no question. Mike is my companion and soul mate. But, at the same time, He is my Master, my Guide, my Instructor. Mike allows me to grow, caring for me and directing me; allowing me to strive towards the best version of me I can be.

5.In general do people think of you as a “couple” with your s.o. or do they connect with you individually just as much as a connecting with you as a couple. (Do you feel you’ve lost your individuality since being in a serious romantic relationship?)

We are very definitely a couple and very definitely individuals in partnership within that couple. The D/s element does not change that. He may be my Master, and I am most definitely His submissive, but He cherishes my sense of self. I submit to His will through choice as an equal, He does not force me to it.

#TMITuesdayBonus: You are invited to a large cocktail party at a fancy country club where you know no one. When you arrive, the room where the party is being held is already half full of people–naked people. How do you react when you enter the room?

Given that we have been active on the swinging scene for a long time, this sounds pretty typical of quite a few of the parties we both host and get invited to. Neither of us have any issues around nudity, so we’d just get out of our own clothes as quickly as possible and join in with the festivities.

Chloë

The Colour Of Love

my-love-is-like-a-red-red-arseIt’s probably fair to say that most people would find the way Chloë and I “celebrate” St. Valentine’s Day as being somewhat unconventional.

That’s not to say that we can’t do the whole “romantic thing”. After all, the meal I’ve prepared is in the oven, the champagne is chilling nicely, the table is set with candles waiting to be lit, and there is the softest goose-down cushion on Chloë’s seat. Preparation, as they say, is everything after all.

Now, while Chloë can be as romantic as anyone else, it’s no big secret that two of her favourite things are my belt and my cock. And with our offspring handily packed of to his grandparents overnight, what better to give her for Valentine’s Day than the two things she most craves and desires?

#WickedWednesdayThe order of the “gifts” is important. If I were to thrash her after she had sucked me, she may possibly take that as a criticism of the blow-job she has just given me. As Chloë said in her previous post, no woman wants to be marked down on her oral skills. So, with that in mind, the correct order is to have her bend over and accept my belt.

The number of lashes has still to be determined. It would be remiss of me if I did not giver her the attention she craves; it needs to hurt, but not too much. This is, after all, a statement of love and adoration, not chastisement.

Once she has endured and enjoyed the stinging kiss of the leather, and her arse is glowing a lovely deep shade of crimson, then as a reward for being such a wonderful submissive, she can savour my cock before sitting down to the meal I’ve prepared for us (remember the cushion).

Afterwards, I will run her a bath, let her soak and relax, pouring wine into her glass as the water soothes her aches and pains. Then I will treat her to a full body massage before fucking her mercilessly like the cock-hungry slut she is.

Red is the colour of love, and who said romance is dead?

Mike

Greedy Girl

i-am-a-greedy-girl

I‘ve said it before, and I will almost certainly say it again, but I love sucking cock.  Something about the image chosen for this week’s prompt really spoke to me.

There is only one thing that is better than having a lovely hard, thick cock to wrap your lips around, and that’s having more than one cock to suck and worship.

#MasturbationMondayLet’s be honest, as women, none of us want to be told that we suck when it comes to sucking. I know I’m not the only woman that takes pride in her cock-sucking abilities. After all, when you get down to it, giving head is probably the most “active” sexual activity a woman will participate in. I’m not knocking fucking, Thor only knows how much I love a good, long, hard fuck; but aside from the way I clench and grip they guy’s cock inside my cunt, or the pace with which I ride Him if I’m the one on top, getting fucked, just like getting eaten out, is something that is done to us women. Much as we enjoy it, no matter how enthusiastic we are, we simply just have to take it as a woman.

TOSPSucking a cock is different. Sucking a cock is all about me and my abilities. It’s about what I do to actively give pleasure to Him. It’s about how hard I get Him, how much saliva I use, the way I use my tongue, they way I use my lips, the depth with which I take Him, the pace with which I move my mouth up and down, back and forth along His shaft. Sucking a cock is all about me and how good I am.

Nothing makes me happier than hearing Him moan with pleasure; letting me know how much He is enjoying my attention. Hearing two or more guys telling me how much they are enjoying what I’m doing with my mouth simply intensifies my pleasure, making me even more eager to please.

I love the way they moan, call me a “Good Girl”, a “Dirty Slut”, an “Amazing Cocksucker.” I want to be told I am the best they have ever had as I taste the pre-cum oozing from the tips. The deepening/quickening of their breath as their climaxes approach thrills me. I want them to reward me with lovely thick loads of their rich, maleness.

For once, I have control. I could, if I were a bad girl, deny them and suffer their displeasure, but to deny them would be to deny myself; and why would I ever choose to do that? Why would I choose to deny myself the reward I have worked so hard and so diligently for? The reward I crave.

No, instead I use my control to take each of the cocks in turn to the brink, to take each load in turn and savour it on my tongue before swallowing it down, to milk every last drop from the first cock before prompting the second’s eruption.

Give me one or more cocks to suck on, and I am a very happy little slut indeed.

Chloë