“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.”
More specifically? I am thinking of the way you turned liquid on my hand, of the way your climax made you seize and then convulse. The way pleasure … fluttered up your spine. The way your orgasms exploded, then reverberated, then, and over time, decayed. The way you pulled yourself into a ball, as if you needed to protect yourself as the orgasm thundered , then rippled through your body. The way your release echoed through you like a rifle shot in a box canyon
I am thinking of how you quaked for me. The way you lost control — eyes closed, nerve endings snapping like a downed power line — and how exquisite your debility looked.
Right now, I am writing … recording the smell of you, the taste of you, the sound of you to my memory.
I am thinking of heaven
[Please do not remove the caption from this post. Thank you]
I used to run a blog a couple years ago that was just public nudity and sex. Common tags were #exhibitionist, #road head, and #upskirt.
It kind of blew me away how many people signed up for the updates. No other blog I’ve ever run came close. The next benchmark would have been 100K when I pretty much reached the end of the Internet and closed up shop.
One thing I found was this Public Sex kink was by far the kink I had most in common with others. I don’t consider rough sex a kink, by the way. I consider it just the way I am.
Public sex and nudity. God, I love it.
A little selfie flash of your ass jewelry in the canned goods isle becomes “Oh honey, you are driving me insane!”
No panties, bent over at the gas station, flipping your skirt up when nobody else is looking: “Oh this is fucking torture.”
Finger yourself with your legs up in the car while I drive: “Fuck it, I am pulling over now. Now!”
I am going to pull over and somewhere I know only a few people are, like a park or the back of the grocery store. I am going to leave the car running, A/C on, and rip your clothes off in the back seat.
I am going to make you cum. A lot.
I’ll roll the window down and bend you over as I eat your pussy from the back, so your naked tits hang out as you orgasm when I finger you. I am going to fuck you so passionately, then open the door, make you kneel by the car, and cum all over your beautiful tits and wait for you lick them off.
I love to bitch and moan about how the images depicted in Tumblr aren’t real.
Shocker!
Everyone wants to look at beautiful things. Everyone appreciates the perfect form.
And as much as we all talk about normalizing the “average” person, we all continue to blog and reblog the beautiful people.
I get it. I do. When I was in the Marine Corps my best friend and I made a pact, if we ever got above 130 pounds, the other would hunt them down.
Ok, that didn’t work out as planned.
I gained an ENTIRE person in less than a year – yes, I DOUBLED my weight – in a year. Doesn’t matter why, it just happened.
Years later, I lost 100 pounds. No pills, no surgery, just hard work.
Lost 100 (actually 96) pounds, gained 57 back.
Fuck me
I don’t look like I imagined, hell…. I barely look like anything I can tolerate.
And yet, I love to play.
I am a masochist, I am a heavy bottom. We can play on Sunday and I will be asking for more on Monday.
I love the sting, the thud, the smack – I love the marks, the reminders.
Once I’m cuffed I don’t care what I look like, all that matters is implements are being whacked against my body. Except that I do care and I’m horrified.
Do I stand there, arms cuffed above me wondering why my belling is rippling? Ugh. Yes, I do.
Do I grimace and imagine what someone is thinking why do my thighs keep shaking? Oh Lord, yes.
Do I think, “why aren’t they with someone attractive?” Yup.
Do I think they are comparing me to others? Welcome to my life.
Do I wonder whether they are secretly wishing they were with someone else? Sigh.
I mitigate at every opportunity. I pull. I tug. I twirl.
Beating me? Latched to the suspension point I will dance and move about.
Have me bent over? I will tug at my drawers and maneuver my body.
My entire existence is dedicated to mitigating how offensive by body is.
Wow. That sucks.
There is nothing I love more than the hell that is rained down upon me during a beating.
There is a release in pain.
I have endured more non-negotiated beatings than I can count.
That I have amazing people willing to give me a beating within negotiated limits is FUCKING AMAZING.
Do I wish that I looked better while they did it? Oh, fuck yes. I’m embarrassed to even ask.
But. I’m a hypocrite.
I want “people” to be body positive even when I am not.
So, here is me being body positive.
Actually, that is lie.
Here is me being proud of marks.
Please ignore the awfulness and just appreciate the hard work that the Domme did.
Sir's submissive 