This week’s Laughter prompt  really works for me even though this is a H diary, nothing written specifically for the prompt. H is funny. We spend so much time laughing. It’s one of the reasons I love them. 


Very much enjoying the trend of walking in to a half-naked H that current visits have established. They are hot. I love being able to instantly ogle.

I was apologetic as I embraced them (damp jacket discarded) about my cold hands. It was bitterly cold outside. They genuinely didn’t seem to mind. They wanted the hugs more. Good because I wanted those hugs desperately too.

I didn’t time it, so I might be slightly off but it took them all of oooh, 30 seconds to find and poke the chest bruises they had left on me a few days earlier.

To be fair I’d have been disappointed if they hadn’t.

I’m a complex beast.

And I think it took maybe a further 30 seconds to dig their teeth into said bruised flesh.

God, I love my life.
As I say, I’m a complex beast.
Who loves pain.
And pleasure.
And ultimately the two are the same for me so, yay, win.

So, where was I? Oh yes. Moaning and writhing in pain caused so wonderfully by H.

Moments later I was doing the same thing but on the sofa, on top of H. Much more stable with added frottage benefits. Rawwrr.

As the biting got intense I buried my head in their shoulder. When they let me breathe for a moment (probably just giving their jaw a break from all the nomming) I gently turned my face to delicately kiss their neck.

Encouraging noises led me to suck a little harder, louder encouraging noises prompted me to get my teeth involved.

At any moment I expected them to pull me away, to growl and exert control.

Well they exerted control but not as I expected.  When I slowed my sucking and nibbling they used the hand cradling the back of my head to push me deeper into their flesh, forcefully into their flesh. So I bit, dug in my teeth and continued the sucking rhythm I’d established.

As a reward for continuing (what else could it be?) they bit down on my neck causing me to bite harder so they bit harder…you don’t need me to elaborate on that cycle I’m sure but damn, it was hot. So, fucking hot.

When finally I pulled away, there was a pretty lil’ purple bruise left on their skin. I was quietly proud. Hopeful that they’d enjoy their souvenir as much as I enjoy mine.

From snuggles and kisses I was encouraged down onto the floor. Kneeling in front of someone is such a powerfully submissive act.

From bitey, nom your neck off me, I knelt pliant, meek, ready to be used. H kicked my legs apart. A hot gesture that left me in a predicament. Leggings on wood flooring are very slippy. My legs were splayed past the point of comfortable balance.

Then they kicked me straight in the cunt. Time and time again. Watching my face, reading my reactions making me come just from that intense shocking pleasure. I was enraptured.

Then I slipped, my legs slid wider and I shot out my hands to hang onto H. I giggled. They smirked.

It was still part of that super hot scene but completely ridiculous too. It added to the experience, didn’t take any of the intensity away, just changed it.

Sexy and funny do go hand in hand. H may well be the living embodiment of that.

Once I was securely in place again I looked up and strained towards them for a kiss.

I’m a total kiss whore. I love kisses. I give them with nary a thought to those I love. I crave them back, there’s something so explicitly loving about kisses. Intimate. I think that’s why I love them so very much.

I was expecting a kiss.

H spat on me. On my cheek, across my eye.

I recoiled. I always do. In shame. In submission. Never in fear. I looked away from them, down towards the floor. I felt small, degraded, put in my place. Aroused.

When I lifted my gaze (as I always do, of my own accord or by their hand lifting my chin) they were smiling at me. What was in that gaze? Sadistic delight in my humiliation? Oh yes, for sure but also pride and love, a whole world of love.

I never wipe their spit off me. Never been explicitly told not to but I’ve never really wanted to. Except I kinda wanted to as it was obscuring my view. But I didn’t try to remove it. I blinked a few times and then H rubbed their spit away from my eye and into my cheek with their thumb. Showing mercy and furthering the degradation in one simple action.

My heart beat more intensely, or so it felt, at that act. Which took my degraded self, dusted me down and lifted me up. Gave me a non-verbal ‘good girl’ mixed with ‘I cherish you’

I melted.

I melted forward into their embrace. My face between their deliciously pert breasts. Their chest is a wonderful place to be. I kissed and emboldened by earlier reactions I raked my teeth across their skin. They wrapped their hand in my hair and held me tightly to them so I continued to suck and bite and as I did I pressed my body between their thighs and against their groin.

I was completely involved in giving, listening to their wonderful moans and whimpers, feeling the pressure of their hand in my hair, making sure they were enjoying what I was giving.  Love bites are a kind of violence I enjoy bestowing, they’re quite sensual for me, I get lost in the push and pull, in the gasps and the groans. And then there’s a pretty mark left afterwards. I felt proud, even though my face might have said ‘Oh, oopsy!’

I sat back on my heels as they pulled themself free of their underwear. I licked my lips, waited eagerly ‘til they let me sink my mouth around them. I love the feel of them against my lips, their taste, salty & sweet, musky and fresh. I love their hardness beneath their silky soft skin. The way their balls wrinkle and crinkle to the squeeze of my hand.

I love the way they breathe, short gasps, shallow sips of air. As they took their cock in hand I watched, waiting for their orgasm, wanting to taste them. Observed the tautness in their body, the quiver as they got closer to coming.

When they came, I dipped my head to taste them, their come dripped down my chin as I sucked and licked. When I stretched up to kiss them I leant in and snuggled them tightly to me.


And fully clothed.

It made me smile. I’d been used, given pain, brought to orgasm and not an item of clothing was out of place. Like a magic trick.

Ta da!

Happy, contended, kicked and degraded Victoria.

Oh, and there was a little extra frisson of humiliation that evening when out at H’s performance night I nipped to use the facilities. As I checked myself in the mirror, I saw a white mark on the stomach of my T-shirt. After a short period of wondering what the fuck it was, I realised. It was H’s cum.

My cheeks went as red as my top as I realised and I smiled. I didn’t try to hide it, though.

Complex beast, yep, that’s me.