NOTE: This post contains explicit sexual imagery and descriptions of BDSM play.

His mouth was wet and hot over mine, as clumsy hands pushed aside the sheets and tugged at clothing. He pulled me upright, running his hand up my back to seize my hair, pulling my neck back sharply. His other hand worked its way around my throat, delicately at first, then with a firmness that never fails to start my entire body humming.

“Do you want to play?” he murmured into my ear. I nodded. “Good. I want to use the clothespins. Get them for me. And your collar and cuffs.”

Several minutes later, I was cuffed and bound to a ring secured above the entry to my bedroom. My hands hung loosely in their cuffs, as I stood completely naked, save for the collar.

“I’m going to start with your nipples.” He stared directly at me as he spoke, another message in his eyes: This will hurt. And you will endure it.

He suddenly moved close to me, his chest against mine, and hooked his finger into the ring of my collar, forcing my head up to look into his face. “Tell me, at any point, if it’s too much. You will tell me if you need to stop. Do you understand?”


“Good. Are you ready?” I hesitated; I was frightened, and must have looked it. Not six months ago, I could barely tolerate a light pinch to my nipples, and although I had endured significantly stronger torture more recently, the clothespins looked…a little scary. But he always has a way of pushing my limits, and so despite my fear, I nodded.

The first clothespin went on, and I almost laughed at how easy it was. The second went on just the same. After a few seconds it started to burn—yet I also felt the tips of my nipples become intensely cold. The fear swelled up again, and I looked pleadingly at him. Take them off, take them off! I thought. But I said nothing.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “Don’t forget to breathe.” I released the air I’d been holding in tightly, and gasped in a few short breaths as the burning sensation became increasingly intense.

And then, in a flash, it was gone. Not gone, exactly – the pain remained, but the rest of me was far, far away. My knees buckled slightly, and I rested my weight on those soft cuffs suspending me from the doorway. I suddenly felt calm and safe, held by these cuffs, held by him, held by him through these clamps and through this granting of pain. I barely felt the rest of the clothespins as they went on—along my inner thighs and ass, up and down my sides. So much sensation in so many places, all mixed together. I hung there, drunk and delirious, as he simply stood and watched me.

I was already exhausted, and the combination of the pain and the blood rushing from my suspended arms was quickly sending me towards unconsciousness. “I should stop,” I said, weakly. He ran his hand along my face.

“I’ll start with your nipples,” he said, and took off the first clothespin.

If I had felt sleepy before, I was certainly awake now. I had almost forgotten the pressure on my nipples until it was suddenly released, and the pain was almost more intense than when they’d first gone on. He quickly removed the other clothespins and unhooked my arms from the ring, and gently led me to the bed. My cuffs and collar still on, he cradled me and kissed my face lightly. “You took a lot,” he said admiringly. I was still pretty far gone, and so could barely acknowledge him. I felt drugged, intoxicated by sensation. He stroked my body and rubbed my ass and thighs where the clothespins had been, then moved his finger gently inside me. “You’re so wet…” I smiled. It never fails to amaze me how such seemingly non-sexual activity can so plainly arouse me.

He pushed in deeper. “Mmm…” With his other hand, he unhooked my cuffed hands from each other, and grasped my right wrist, pulling it down towards his swelling cock. “God, you feel so good,” he said. “Harder.” I stroked harder, and he sighed, increasing his movement inside me. I shifted my weight slightly, until we were half-lying on the bed, each of us firmly stroking the other. The pleasure I now felt was made all the stronger by the pain high I was still riding, and I thrust myself up against his hand, moaning. He suddenly removed his fingers from me and pushed me down on my back, straddling me. “Play with yourself,” he ordered, “I want to come in your mouth.” He pushed his cock up against my mouth, which I eagerly received, running my tongue along the underside of his shaft as he thrust himself deeply into my throat. My eyes watered as I gagged, and pulled away slightly. I was already getting close as he pulled out of my mouth and started to stroke himself vigorously. “I’m going to come,” he said slowly.

“So am I…” He thrust himself back into my mouth as he came, loudly, my own moaning muffled by his cock as I came along with him, grasping tightly to him with my free hand.

We lay, panting, dizzy, clinging to each other. I could barely move, but managed to shift onto my side and pushed myself away from him slightly in order to breathe. He unlocked the collar and cuffs and put them away. My head spun as if I’d woken up suddenly from a deep sleep, or a dream—but soon, as we lay next to each other, I began to drift off to a very real sleep, content and happy and loved, covered in his marks.

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