CW: Knife Play
I came back from R’s with a borrowed scarf, a smile and various ouchy marks.
It was a lovely visit.
He is a good friend, one of the first people I met on the kink scene and firmly one of my favourite people ever.
We get each other. Our author brains are synched and we have a way of communicating without words which feels magical even to me.
He met me from the train station and it was a delight to see his face and give him a hug after a year of not having him around. We chatted easily and on several topics before we approached the subject of what to do.
We’d agreed mid pandemic on play once we could. So a lot of the he-haw, hmmm of it was put to one side. From a list of possibilities I told him what I was open to and he started showing me the kit.
First out was a thick bamboo cane I volunteered to help him work out which end was the best to fit a handle. It definitely had some oomph to it. My arse quite enjoyed it though. I am a fan of the thump and sting variety of pain derived from such an object and I do like to make myself useful.
R let me sit down. It was so he could lift up my skirt and use my thighs as a canvas, this thin little evil bugger left me with a noughts and crosses board…oh, I mean the cane, not R. I’d never be so rude. To his face. Probably.
It’s amazing how little effort a well-practised meanie needs to put in to hurting a person. All kinds of cane like things met my thighs, including one absolute beast that hurt with the barest tap. He might have grinned quite wide and wickedly when he pointed out he was hardly putting any effort in. I worry I’ll find out how it feels with effort put in at a further point. Once I had tried out a few evil sticky things, the conversation went back to what R could do with me.
And through negotiation and some forceful manouevering I ended up on my knees bent over the sofa, my knickers lowered to mid thigh. It was the first time we’d done anything overtly sexual but it didn’t feel at all strange. His fingers inside me, his other hand gripping my hair and pulling my head back, it all felt so good. I made a lot of noise, my cunt got sloppier and louder with every thrust and I moaned and yelped and groaned constantly. I was well finger fucked.
Then my knickers replaced, we snuggled.
We went from snuggles to danger doodles.
Well, that’s what I called them. R sharpened his ‘cute’ lil knife and showed me it’s sharpness on the flesh of my thigh.
“I do like to doodle.” He said.
“You can doodle on me.”
It’s kinda weird how soothing it was watching him carve curves into my breast, coming up first as just white scratches then filling in pink and later red. I was aware of having to stay very still and I could feel the pressure of the knife, featherlight, but I was most absorbed by the artistry of the picture unveiling.
A beautiful goldfish…well, red fish really. We chatted a while, relaxing.
Until the whips.
Oh, I love whips and R has some gorgeously evil fuckers. Stood by the door I took hits from all kinds of stingy, rubbery nasties. Heavy and hard their snap thrust deeper than a more traditional whip. R could only hit me so hard, the set back of play in a flat not a dungeon. But the taste was divine.
Especially when I felt the familiar sting of a parachord whip. I love all kinds of pain and I really can’t pick a favourite but that sharp, stinging long lasting burn from the lash of a whip, with the accompanying crack. It hurts so much but it feels so right.
And that is why I wore a light scarf back, to cover the whip marks of joy that crisscrossed my flesh.
R made sure I was okay, gave me time to recover and told me this was just a taste, there will be more later.
Amusing photo of said danger doodle below. I love how it looks like the fishy is swimming into my bra.