Once again, I am taking a small pause from my DO: Fusion 2011 recaps. This post was too much fun to hold til whenever I finished writing about my highlights, which should be by Wednesday.
My life this past year has been filled with happy random…luck; I don’t know how else to explain it. From my spectacular time at Summer Camp, which opened me up to my solo kink world, to finding my kinky family, from chance encounters, to just so happening to hear about amazing funness, I can’t explain why my life has been so good. Karma?
So when I just so happened to check Gray’s Twitter feed, and he just so happened to check in not an unreasonable distance away from me, and I just so happened to text him in jest… I think you know where this is going.
I woke up Wednesday morning thinking about all the errands I needed to accomplish by Friday. By noon, I had a date. By nine, I was awash in kinky happiness.
Through multiple texts, we settled on dinner at his place. I brought a small brick of Gouda and an old bottle of champagne. My work held me late, making my arrival time 8pm instead of the planned 7-7:30pm. I scrambled to get ready, choosing a simple dark gray skirt with a black concert tank top and my black Vans sneakers; comfy and cute.
As I got ready, I was angry outside forces were hindering my evening. I HATE being late; to me it is a sign of rudeness and an insult. Keeping Gray abreast of the situation, he calmed me down with reassuring messages. “No rush. The food and cigars will be here.”
As I drove to his address, I intentionally made myself not think of work. My mind drifted back on our encounters at Fusion: the Cigar Social, our play date, Recess. I played an R&B album, concentrating on my favorite sensual songs. I let my thoughts wonder, fantasizing about what might happen that night. Being single for over a year, I’ve become well versed in the art of self soothing.
Making the final few turns to his place, I passed both a school and a church; I snickered a little.
I found the house. I parked. I made sure to grab everything I’d brought, and walked to the front door. I pulled open the screen door, but then stopped, pausing in an odd moment. There was movement inside and Gray opened the door.
“Hi.” He wore black dress pants with a black buttoned up sleeveless collared shirt. His rope pride patch was sewn over his left peck. I loved how the shirt showed off his arms.
“Hi, there’s no doorbell.”
“No.” I stepped inside.
“You said I was suppose to ring the doorbell, and, if you didn’t hear me, to text you, but there is no doorbell.”
He smiled and hugged me. I let my body relax into his, feeling the warmth of this cherished individual so close to me. Releasing me from his arms, and closing the door, he asked, “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. I’m sorry I’m late. Work ran long and… yeah.” He hugged me again, this time a little tighter. My head rested on his shoulder, my arms around his chest. I was so happy to see him, to be near him. My life, as of late, has been full of happy surprises.
Taking the cheese and drink, he invited me to sit at the dining room table. Funny, I sat in the chair the same way I used to in Math class in high school: my legs dangling off to the side, my chin resting on the top of the back, my hands perched beside my face, like a little bird on a line, or a puppy peaking out from the covers. I didn’t make that connection til just now.
The kitchen and dinning room were one open area. The stove sat five feet from my seat. Gray placed my contributions to dinner in the fridge while he chatted with me. “How was work?”
“Frustrating. We had to finish this one project today before we left, which made us run long. But I’m better now. I forced myself to relax.”
“Is that a euphemism for masturbation?” Items put away, he stepped towards me.
“No, I made myself stop thinking about it. I showered, changed, listened to music in the car. I didn’t want to bring that nega-tivi-ty…” Gray began massaging my shoulders, my back, my neck. My head collapsed forward, my shoulders slumped in; my body leaned into his hands.
“What were you doing at work?”
“Changing labels. One company bought another. So we’re re-branding everything.”
“Ah, repetitive work.”
“Very. We worked on cables today and…”
“Distracted.” He laughed. He massaged me harder, deeper.
Switching to my front, Gray again worked my shoulders. Stepping in close, my head found his stomach. My hands lightly traced up and down the backs of his legs, then lightly squeezed and caressed his ass.
His hands slipped into my tank top and began playing with my breasts and nipples. Grazing my sides, he reached around, unstrapped my bra, and gently pulled it off of me and out of my shirt. Placing the undergarment on the table, his hands again found my breasts. “That’s much better.” This time I laughed, but only for an instant. He caressed my breasts, pinched my nipples. I gasped; I moaned. I was lost. Fuck work.
Finished with his relaxations, he sat down. “Take off your shoes.”
Remembering my lesson from camp, I turned and presented my ass to Gray as I straight-leg bent over and slipped off my shoes. “Place them, along with your bra and bag, by the door.”
I gathered all the items, flitted to the door, almost skipping on my toes, and placed my things on an empty shelf. Flitting back, I stood waiting by his side. We had previously negotiated an overarching D/s vibe to the night, and it felt like the night had begun.
“You can sit back down.” Again I sat with my legs off to the side, which happened to have me pointed in the direction of Gray’s seat.
“You, with the pretty handwriting, are going to take notes.” The reason our date was setup was to practice for a class Gray will be giving at Rope Camp in which I will demo-bottom. I recognized the notebook on the table; it was the same one he used at Fusion for the one class we both attended, Creating Your Ideal Dynamic. I picked up his pen and tried to twist it or click it open. “Pull it.” I did; it opened. “It’s like a cock: something pops out when you pull it.” “Ah.” I smiled.
We began discussing ideas for his class, Rope and Cigar Play. And though this was the initial reason for our encounter that evening, I had a feeling my night would not end once our brainstorming was complete.
Gray had some rough ideas for the class, breaking it down into three sections, throwing out thoughts for each one. He encouraged my input and feedback. I liked helping him, liked being a part of the process of creating kinky fun in others’ lives. As part of one section, he tied his lighter to my left wrist. As it dangled, I liked the weight of it. The gesture was a simple way to feel connected to him. It stayed on most of the night, even after I left. (In fact, I will be returning it to him at Rope Camp.)
Happy with those rough thoughts, he transitioned the process downstairs. I carried down the notebook and pen. He closed the blinds to the deck outside and instructed me to disrobe. I made a small pile of my clothes in a corner. He experimented with ties and harnesses, constricting my movement or helping me to stay in certain positions. I noted different ideas that worked and what equipment he would need.
As we experimented, one of his home hosts arrived. I greeted him, waving while in a compromising position. He came downstairs, grabbed laundry, and walked back upstairs, pleased we were having such fun.
At one point, Gray had a chest harness on me that restrained my arms behind my back. Gray took this opportunity to tickle me relentlessly to “test to see if I could get out.” I scrambled about, giggly uncontrollably. Later, after releasing my arms, he again played with my breasts and nipples. On my knees, I nuzzled against his crotch.
“Since you’ve begged so well for it…” He removed his cock from his pants and allowed me to worship it. He pinched my nipples harder. I moaned, taking still more of him into my mouth. “See, you give head so well when I hurt you. But that’s enough. You don’t get it all yet, little cum slut. Just a taste.”
He removed the harness, me still on my knees as he loomed above me. “Before our first date, I explained sex was off the table. But since this is not out first date, no promises, but it is an option.”
“Okay. It is for me too.”
“Do you have any restrictions?”
“No, I’m good. Whatever you want. Just, if there is anal, there must be copious amounts of lube.”
Finished with experimentation for now, and hungry from the late hour, Gray had me put my clothes back on. This time he took the notebook and pen and instructed me to grab the leather cushion from the ottoman. We went back upstairs; he was ready to eat.
When I sat down at the table, Gray had me cut bread for the Gouda, as well as slice the cheese. He pulled out our meal: a prepackaged add-water-and-saute cuisine. As he cooked, once my work was complete, I sat in my previous fashion again, watching him and smiling. The meal ready, he brought over the plate and a glass of water, as well as the utensils. He had me set the cushion by his feet. I knelt on it and placed my head on his knee.
He began eating as I rubbed my head against his thigh. His right hand found my hair and softly caressed my head. His house host joined us to chat. While eating, his house host’s partner came home as well. All four of us relaxed at the dinner table, talking about this and that.
Each time Gray wanted to feed me, he gripped my hair, pulled up my head, and slipped the fork into my open mouth. He broke off bread and pieces of cheese to eat himself, as well as to feed to me. He brought the water glass to my lips and I sipped gratefully.
Of all the time I spent with Gray that night, my favorite moments were by his knee. I had not had any significant amount of D/s interaction in a long time. I forgot how good it felt to be at someone’s side, to give up control so totally, to be appreciated for just being there. If nothing else happened that night, if no orgasms came and no bruises rose, I would have been happy to just be at his knee.
After dinner, Gray had me go back downstairs to retrieve a few pieces of rope, his humidor, his flask of whiskey, and his Klingon shot glass. Handing him all the objects, once again he had me sit on the cushion, this time my back towards him. My butt rested on my feet, a mistake I would soon regret.
He had me take off my shirt. Then Gray began tying a chest harness tight against my skin. I remember the feeling of his hands working, his warm breath against me, his arms wrapping around me, the burning of the rope being pulled quickly over my skin. His work was unrelenting, but my body was not. My legs began to burn. “My calves,” I whimpered. “My stupid stupid calves.” Thankfully, he finished quickly. Pleased with his work, he took a picture of my back.
Clearing the table, Gray asked me to put on the cotton shirt and panties I’d brought, as well as my shoes. He had me grab the cushion, as well as his shot glass, and we stepped out onto the deck. Unfolding a camp chair, Gray sat while I knelt on the cushion by his knee. Again my head rubbed against him and his hand found my hair. Gray unwrapped his selected cigar and poured himself some whiskey into his shot glass. He offered the drink to me, but I politely declined.
“I recently learned I liked whiskey, but in combination with other things. I like whiskey & ginger and whiskey & coke…” Gray leaned over, slipped his hand into my hair, and began kissing me. I tasted the drink on his tongue, on his lips, on his breath. As he ending the embrace, I licked my lips, tasting both him and the liquor.
“Did you like that?”
“Well, now you know another way you like whiskey.”
“Yes, whiskey and kisses.”
Gray asked me to sit in between his knees. I slid the cushion over and sat, leaning against his inner thigh. “I love curly hair,” he said, running his fingers through my strands, pushing them this way and that.
I felt the heat as Gray held his cigar near the back of my head just behind my ear. Reaching down, he used the ash to mark where my nipples lay against my shirt. Pulling the fabric away from my skin, he used the cigar to burn matching holes. Once the embers died, my nipples peaked through the shirt, my piercings helping to hold the fabric in place.
Gray sat back and smoked, building up more cigar ash. When he had about an inch worth, he asked me to push my boobs together and broke off the lump into my cleavage. I liked the look so much, he took another picture for me. Reaching down, he crushed the ash against my skin, rubbing it into my chest. Leaning down further, he began massaging my clit through my panties.
“Is that the right spot?” A breathless “yes” left my lips. Using the cigar, he again burned through fabric, holding it away from my skin, this time waiting a bit longer.
“Oh, your panties are on fire.”
“What?” Gray pulled out his knife and cut the sides of my underwear. I pulled the offending fabric off, laughing rather loudly.
“Are you sure they’re 100% cotton?”
“Yeah, I thought I read that.” Practicing a few more times, we soon learned it took the fabric longer for the embers to die. Gray hypothesized it was the weave of the material. I just found it funny.
The “fire crotch” incident allowed time for yet still more ash to build up on his cigar. Gray had me hold my hand below him as he held the smoldering tobacco by my clit. As he turned it, the lump eventually fell and I caught it. He reached down and used my hand to crush the ash onto my clit. He guided me as I masturbated with the burnt flecks. “Now remember, when in class, you will do this til I tell you to stop. And you have my permission to cum.” He pulled my hand up and shoved my fingers into my mouth. “How does it taste?” Extricating my digits, I concluded, “Like ash, with a hint of me.”
Sitting, smoking, staring off at nowhere, my head against his inner thigh, Gray asked me, “What do you think?”
“What do I think or what am I thinking?”
“I think class is going to be fun. And I’ve been thinking there is no other place I want to be right now.”
Ready to go back inside, Gray instructed me to again grab the cushion as he gathered his things. We again made our way downstairs. He had me set the cushion back on the ottoman while he turned out most of the lights. Standing in front of me, his hands went to the back of my neck and my hair.
“We’ve technically finished our practice for class. Can you stay a bit longer?”
“Good.” Gray gripped the back of my tank top and quickly ripped. The sound and feel of the action jolted me. He pulled at it again, and once more, before lifting the offending fabric off of me.
“I want you naked, on the floor, your lips on my shoes. 1. 2. 3…” I quickly disrobed, stripping off my skirt, socks, and shoes, shoving them aside. My lips found his feet at 10, kissing and caressing his toes through the soft material.
“I’m going to give you ten good strokes and you will thank me for them.”
Grabbing the back of my harness, he wrenched my body onto the small bench under which my clothes laid crumpled. My face against its soft cushion, Gray tilted up my ass.
“Your ass is quite exquisite. You love your ass, are proud of your ass. You wrote poetry to your ass.”
Oh God, he read that. I’d recently written a poem in tribute to my ass and posted it to my FetLife account.
He began spanking me, hard slaps against each cheek. His hands squeezed my hips.
“Is this it? Is this that spot you talked about, where you want people to grip, to hold on?”
“Yes.” Pinpointing the bone, he pushed down hard. The pleasure and pain were immeasurable.
“Grip the handles.” My hands held the side handles of the bench. I don’t know from where, but he pulled out what felt like a large cane; I later learned it was his Whomping Stick. With each hit, I began counting in my head. First, to twelve. Then, to nineteen. At one point, I told him a count. “No, these are not your counting strokes.”
He set off a barrage of hits. We he finished, though my ass was sore and I whimpered in pain, I smiled a little. “That was sixty-nine.” I think he huffed a laugh.
His hand was now on my pussy; his fingers slipped inside me. My hips bucked, riding his hand once more. I groaned, feeling his fingers knock against my cervix. And the first one came.
“Oh God. Oh God! Fuck! I’m cuming. I’m cuming! I’m cuming for you Gray. Shit!” The warmth rolled through my hips, into my legs, and across my lower back. I cried out in pain and pleasure as my first orgasm surged in me.
Gray lifted my face off the bench, but kept me on my knees. Grabbing my tattered shirt, he placed it on the cushion.
“Sit on the bench. Spread your legs.” I again grabbed the handles for support.
He began whacking my inner thighs with the cane. Sharp stingy strokes licked my skin, burning me.
“Good, you didn’t close your legs.” I wanted to, but instead began counting again, not focusing on the pain.
One of his hands cupped my cheek. The other slapped me across my face. He gave equal treatment to both sides. “How does that make you feel, when I slap you?”
“Happy that I can please you.” He slapped me twice more.
“It does please me to slap you.” Again and again, he warmed my cheeks.
Taking up the cane once more, he returned to his burning lashes on my thighs. My toes and feet curled up, pointing to the floor. My grip on the bench handles pulsed with each new blow.
Without warning, once again he began pinching my nipples and wrenching my breasts. My back arched towards his ministrations. “Kiss me,” I heard him command, the breath of the words brushing my lips. Our mouths ferociously lapped at one another. There was desperation in his lips, a wanting need I had not felt before. It was as if his command were more of a plea to me and I had given him the gift of my lips.
His hand once again made it’s way inside my pussy. With a better vantage, I lifted my hips to him. I leaned back, my body now finding the wall. As I rode his hand, I dared a peak from my closed lids. His eyes were a wonder to behold: concentration, control, dominance, in complete command of me and my body, and he knew it.
“I want you to tell me when you are about to cum.” Hearing those words alone incited the process. I felt my inner walls begin to contract.
“It’s about to happen.”
“Good. Cum for me.” I rode him harder, my body thrashing and jostling back and forth. I gripped my inner muscles against his hand, could feel his strength inside me, and came again, screaming.
Barely down from my high, he again put me on my knees, my face on the soft cushion.
“I am going to give you ten strokes. For an idea of how they will feel, some will be like this.” He hit my left ass cheek hard, but thuddy. “Others will be like this.” He hit my right ass cheek, harder still and very stingy. “Each time I give you a stroke, you will count it out loud and thank me for it. Are you ready?”
One. “Thank you.” Two. “Thank you.”
Three. Four. “Thank you.” “Thank you.”
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
“Thank you.” “Thank you.” “Thank you.” “Thank you.”
Each stroke increased in force and sting. By seven, I had started to cry. Eight began the sobs.
“Are you sure you want to take these two last strokes. They will be much harder than the rest.”
“Yes! Please!” There was desperation in my voice now. I wanted, no needed, to do this for him, to please him.
Nine. “Thank you!” Ten. “Thank you!” With the last stroke complete, I began weeping from the pain. I was glad my shirt was under me, catching the tears and snot that now flowed.
Accelerated up off the bench and onto my knees, he said, “Hands behind your back.” His cock was hard and waiting for me. “What do you want?”
“Please let me suck your cock. Please fuck my face. Please. Please.”
I took him into my mouth, slowly bobbing my head up and down. I lifted myself up on my knees for a better angle. I used my tongue and played with his cock, grateful for the gift of him inside me. He pulled it out and guided my head to his balls, but one still lay hidden inside his pants.
“Now, let’s have you thank me properly.” Gripping my hair, he pulled me towards the chair in the middle of the room. Unzipping his pants, he pulled out all of him. Again I went for his balls, sucking and caressing them with my tongue and lips. He moaned his loudest when I worked them, so I focused my attention there, transitioning back and forth between them. I went back to his cock for me, loving the feel of his shaft stroking in and out of my mouth. I licked up and down the sides. I brushed my lips against the head. I loved worshiping his cock.
Standing, Gray grabbed me by the back of my harness and pulled me into the bedroom: I crawled as quickly as I could to keep up. Flinging me onto the mattress on the floor, he disrobed. Naked, he joined me on the bed. I again went back to worshiping his cock. Soon, though, he brought my body onto his and began eating me out as I sucked his cock and balls. I don’t know how long we were in that position, but my jaw grew sore from our play. As he licked my clit and began fingered ass hole, I came again, twice. He allowed me to fuck his face as he fucked mine. We must have done this for at least thirty minutes.
After my second orgasm, he lifted my legs off of him, but again had my face in his crotch working on his dick. I heard the rip of a wrapper.
“On your back.”
He pulled my face off his cock, pushed me onto my back, and again fingered me. Once the condom was on, he used the harness to get me on my knees, doggy style, with my back arched.
“Ask me. Ask me. Beg me to fuck you.”
“Please fuck me. Please. Please.”
He thrusted into me hard. Expletives escaped my lips. The warmth and force of him inside of me was difficult to bear. My abdomen and pussy lit up with sensation. I moaned, I screamed as we fucked hard and fast. It was almost animalistic, his hips ramming against mine, my hips bucking against his. Using the harness, he shoved my hips onto his cock, riding me like a jockey urging his thoroughbred down the home stretch. I knew we wouldn’t last long; it was too much, too voracious, too fast. But, for as long as it did last, I screamed and moaned in ecstasy.
When finished, two sweaty lumps of flesh, exhausted and high from the night’s adventure, Gray untied my harness and we cuddled and chatted for a bit. I shivered at times, the after shocks of my orgasms popping in my body. I ended up going into two hysterical giggling fits. The first was in response to the end of Captain America, which was quite a crappy movie, who’s premise seemed to be a two hour setup for a crappy joke.
The second, though, was more personal. I learned Gray would actually be staying, off and on, at his hosts’ home til mid-November. After giggling uncontrollably, I explained the trigger. My mental touchstone for him had changed. In my mind, with all of our interactions, one thought continuously looped through my head. Spending time with Gray is awesome; he lives in Pittsburgh.
Now that that statement had changed, it was as if a small avalanche of thoughts and emotions tumbled down my consciousness. The laughing was the joy of the possibility of seeing my friend more, being around him more, playing with him more than I ever dared to hope.
Getting up from bed and checking his phone (while reassuring Ten he did not burn my crotch), Gray remarked it was late.
“Ah, no. It’s after 1.”
“1am! Shit. I really hope my roommates didn’t bolt the door.”
We bid goodnight and I texted him once more once I got home safe.
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