Losing the Power of Speech #MasturbationMonday

 

This post follows on from Torn to be made whole and Giving Pleasure through Pain but is works perfectly well as a stand alone too. I’ve just realised how lucky I am. I got 3 pieces of scorching hot writing out of one encounter. H is an amazing muse <3

 

 

“We should get going.” H said as we lay in each other’s arms, replete from kinky fuckery.  “for the BBQ.”

“I should get dressed then.” I replied with a smile, pushing myself up and off the sofa to stand before them. As they lay stretched out, looking up at me intently.

“Well, yes.” They smiled, “though some would definitely appreciate this,” they used their hands and their gaze to indicate my lingerie clad body. ” It’s a mixed group, so yeah, you should get dressed.”

The look in their eyes told me they didn’t want me to. That they wanted to display me in just the ruffled, ravaged state I was in. Fuck, that was a turn on. I wanted that, too. For H to show me off like a prized possession. Hot.

So, I had been told to get dressed so I tried to put clothes back on. I pulled up the waistband of my purple knickers, popped them back in place. As my fingers were still hooked in the waist band H prodded at the forming bruise on the bottom of my tum.  And in reflex, I pulled the material down again, revealing my stomach with a cheeky wink.

I can tell you, those are not words I ever thought I’d type. Seductively revealing my tummy? Yeah, never thought that would be a thing. But it is, it so gloriously is and when they sunk their teeth back into that spot my smile grew. I delighted in their painful gift of worship to my wobbly belly. Glad it was there to get such treatment.

So I want it on record that I was getting dressed. I was being a good girl. It was H who distracted me from that.

I bent forward to kiss them, (they were laying down on the sofa) and their arm came up and rested on my bottom. They slapped me a few times and I melted with a joyful hum. I knew they were going to hurt me. I could see it in their grin as they pushed past me to sit, then stand up. They pushed me down to my knees and forward pressing my face into the cushion and pushing my arse out to be presented for them.

Presented for them to kick. Hard.

I’ve not been kicked before. Well, correction, not more than the odd thump with H’s foot as I was being degraded on the floor the first time we played.  This was kicking as the main attraction.

Hits with heels to the plump centre of my butt, slapping hits with the tops of their foot to my outer and inner thighs. I have not been as transfixed by a kicking foot since Ronaldo left Manchester United (I realise this is a niche comment but it’s staying because it’s true) Each thud rippled through me. Each impact struck pleasure deeper into me. I was coming. Not on every kick but the bruising deep ones where it felt like H’s foot travelled right through me, those ones made me come.

And that folks, is why I know I’m a masochist. I can be kicked to orgasm.

And I was kicked and I came. Over and over and over again.

Until they sat on the sofa and once again pulled me into their embrace.

And asked me a question. I am sure it was a relatively simple one. It could have been if I’d enjoyed it. If I was okay or it could have been a polite enquiry as to the weather. I don’t have a fucking clue.

I tried to answer. I’m polite and eloquent and good with my words. Answering questions is something I am pretty good at.

I couldn’t make words happen.

They were there in my brain. I could sense them, touch them, feel them. There were words present and they were meant to come out of my mouth but they didn’t. I think a few weird noises did but mostly my jaw just hung open and I looked at H and they looked at me and this dazed, confused exhalation of breath tumbled from between my lips in a flurry of unphfph.

They laughed, explosively and hard and I did too as I pressed my head into their chest and they held me. Their chest shuddered with laughter and I grinned so widely at the ridiculousness of it all.

“I can’t word!” I finally said. Something approaching a sentence being formed.

They told me about an instance where they’d experienced the same inability to use words and I snuggled closely to them.  Letting their words reignite my ability to think straight. Revelling in the wonder of a blank mind. A mind full only of pleasure and joy and aching endorphins.  Something I rarely achieve.

Thankful once more for the way they broke me down, broke me to the point of muteness and built me back up again with acceptance, affection and love.

They tried to eat my head. Because nothing stays particularly serious when we’re together. It’s one of my favourite things about time spent with H.

“You can’t eat my head. I need my head. It has my brans in it.”

“True.” They said, still nomming on the top of my head.

“And it has my pretty face on it.” I added.

They nodded. Kept nomming.

“And if you eat it all up, it’ll all be gone.” I added, matter of factly.  “But If you just nibble here and there, you can keep coming back and eating more of me.”

This caught their attention. They stopped sucking my head (what is my life?) and leant up.

“Nibbling?” They questioned, “like this?”

They pounced. Teeth buried in my flesh on top of my breast bone and dug deeper. I gasped, groaned, yelped, moaned. Gripped onto them and tried to push them away, clenched tightly and sprung back, moving then stopping then repeating, all actions made to process the pain, to hold on ‘til it stopped.

I cried out H’s name when it really got to the point of being too much. They let go a second later. Grinned at me. I grinned back.

And then repeated the bite on the opposite side of my chest. As deep as, sharp, as painful and my dance repeated as they clenched harder, sucked and pulled my flesh between their teeth. No playfulness, all primal intent.

“Like that?”

I made an affirmative noise. We laughed. My words were used up once more.

I love H’s words, the way they use them to turn me on, to make me feel special.

I love how they inspire me to write more words every time I see them, they’re my muse.

But I think I love how they take away my words and replace them with ecstasy the most.

Oh, and I did eventually get dressed, in case you were wondering.

 

Their bites made an emoticon on my chest. Adorbs, right?  :3