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Dec. 12th, 2006 | 10:26 am

This is an adult journal. Most of the content is explicit. Please don't read further unless you're comfortable with graphic descriptions of sex and are over eighteen.

rabbit

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Introducing Atlas

Feb. 7th, 2006 | 07:28 am

Introducing Atlas


I got an invitation yesterday to be used; Atlas wanted to feed me to his inner beast. I gladly accepted.

He pulled my hair and pinched my breasts. He called me a pathetic little whore, he slapped my face, and he hurt me until and past the time I was begging him to stop. Maybe. Maybe he ws just frightening me and interspersing pain. I can't tell, the morning after. He put a collar on me, last night, and I lost myself. This morning, the tops of my breasts look like two swollen strawberries, and the underside of my left breast has a massive gray bruise. The rest of me appears the same, but I'm sore everywhere, and weak. My face is still warm from the slaps.

He rained come down onto my face and rubbed it into my skin, and the first part was warm all over, like being showered with diamonds, and the second part was revolting.

He read me well. He'd push me until I was ready to cry, ready to run away, hurting and scared and confused and flinching, and then he'd give me moments of relative calm. I feared him. He plays roughly; he doesn't hesitate to make me sting or burn or recoil. I knelt in front of him and sucked him off, but he never let me forget what I was (his toy) and how much my feelings mattered (not at all). He made me choose between giving myself to him and retreating to safety at least a couple of times, and I was thrilled and shamed and touched by the process.

All in all? Ridiculously intense. I'm getting wet and aroused typing this up. I've been thoroughly used, thoroughly dominated- aggressively and utterly convinced to give up control and allow myself to be subjected to terror and pain, and It. Was. Glorious. He stopped at the right time. I was willing to give him more, but my conscious, thinking mind realizes that I wouldn't have been able to accept more easily.

I used to wonder why I felt as if I hadn't really experienced domination before. I've been flogged, spanked, and tied down. All of those things I could accept easily; my brain stuck around, and I was still fundamentally me.

Last night, I was me, but more primitive. I was literally begging him not to hurt me, and it wasn't feigned, or planned, it was just begging. I was reduced to animalistic reactions (in fact, the thought "he turned me into a wounded animal" has been running through my head like an electronic banner). Often, I couldn't speak. Except for one thinking-judging corner of my brain, I was helpless. It's just what I've been wanting, in retrospect, and I'm so glad that men who can offer such an experience really, truly exist- especially men who will drive me home afterward, check in with me frequently during (which he did, albeit subtly) and help me process through what we've done together.

So, yes. Atlas. He's intense. He fucks with my mind. I glory in it.

I'm glad I was given this opportunity to experience a heavier side of BDSM. It confirms something I've suspected: that I want it. On the other hand, now I'm much more respectful of how mind-altering and frightening and complicated it can be. I suspect that it'll take a few days for my breasts to heal, for my mind to wrap around what I signed up for, and for my instinctive reactions to calm down. I'm this combination of happy and after glowy and horrified at what happened. See also: satisfied, like a cat who ate the cream, enjoyed it, and got to stretch out for a nap afterward.

Whew.

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Hugging Hyperion

Jan. 22nd, 2006 | 08:48 am

Hyperion held me close in a bone-melting hug for full on minutes. When we finally pulled back, I met his gaze with mine, and we kissed, softly. We pulled back and smiled, and kissed again, and then again- little, gentle pecks. I nuzzled my cheek against his, and sank into him for another hug. This time, instead of pulling away, I whispered "My bag is still in your trunk..."

I don't know if I'll get to kiss him again, but it was nice. =)

I seduced Hercules yesterday morning by kissing his knuckles. We were lying in bed together, and my mouth ran over them, feeling the bump and curve of his hands. I flicked my tongue between his fingers and bit the flesh between his thumb and his forefinger. He prodded my lips with his forefinger and when I drew it into my mouth and sucked on it, he moaned.

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I'm flogged again... beguiled again... a simpering, whimpering...

Jan. 16th, 2006 | 07:44 pm

Hercules bound my hands behind my neck, forced me to my knees, and flogged my back and my tits with clothesline. *long sigh* It was phenomenal.

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See Circe. See Circe flogged.

Jan. 14th, 2006 | 08:48 am

It was a fabulous party. Men and women in gorgeous costume thronged the rooms; the music was just low enough to make conversation possible. Hercules spanked me in the back room; Apollo flogged me shortly thereafter.

It was my first flogging. He started off lightly, of course, but not condescendingly light. It was like getting a stingy thuddy massage on my upper back and buttocks. I was entranced; my back warmed. The blows felt different on each part of my skin. A flogging really is something special. I felt myself melting into it, and I was disappointed when he stopped a few minutes later.

He's promised me a later bout with a paddle and other toys. Sign me up!

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Introducing Hercules.

Jan. 12th, 2006 | 09:54 am

The man I want to spend the rest of my life with has a tempting mouth. He likes to nuzzle my breasts with his nose and his lips, and I like to watch. He knows how much it arouses me to see his lips moving over my nipples, and he makes me wait for movement; he'll give me a slow suck here, or a little flick there, or a brush with both lips, but he waits until I'm near coming before he gives me the pulsing, suckling, lapping rhythm that I crave, waits until I'm moving my hips and rubbing against him and asking him to do things to me.

I can only find words of one syllable when I get this way. "Suck," I'll say, or "Rub," and my voice comes out in this aching shout. What I mean to be a seductive murmur of command ends up being an overloud beg.

Sometimes he presses my breasts together and sucks on both nipples at the same time. It's shocking to me how erotic that is; it moves me to a place where I'm no longer in control. A year ago, I discovered that I could straddle his chest, put my breasts in his mouth, and come by rubbing against him as he suckled me.

His name is Hercules, and he is the god of my breasts.

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I met two men recently.

Jan. 11th, 2006 | 09:50 pm

The first man put his fingers in my hair and threatened to pull. I moaned against his cheek, and his hands glided over my skull, tugging at my hair gently, promising a hard pull, and I wanted it. He caressed my hair with a rendingly soft assurance of violence until I was whimpering against his ear and squirming against his chest.

"I like to do this in public," he said, ruffling my hair, "walking in the park or over a bridge; in the grocery store. I want to force you to be quiet when you need to moan," and I whined involuntarily. Funny. That's the first- no, second time- that talking during (was this sex? No, not quite, but just as pungent and physical) lovemaking had made me hot.

Then it came, the jerk backward, my exposed neck, and his lips moving over my skin warmly. I felt an aching wrench in my stomach and I heard a gasp escape from my chest.

I wish he was here now. I want to feel the blush in my cheeks and the moan on my lips. I've been thinking about him for days.

I'll call him Poseidon.

The first time that dirty talking during sex made me hot was when (I'll call him) Apollo flipped me over onto my stomach on the bed, spread my legs, and rubbed me from behind. "Just lie back and enjoy it," he said in a whisper, but... what a whisper. It was fierce, overwhelming and confident. Not a boy's whisper. "You know, I think I could break you fairly easily."

"How would you break me?" I asked.

"By forcing you to the limits of your tolerance for physical stimulus," he said. "Like this." He grabbed my hair and pulled back (oh!), and then his lips were on my neck and his hand came down hard on my ass (six times), and I felt that rush of adrenaline and flush and weakness and moisture.

I had hoped that he'd say mentally, emotionally, by making me cry.

Who knows? Maybe he will.

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