It’s as though a storm descends on my little bed in my little bedroom in my little flat. With the crop, I swipe flashes of red through the tension between our two bodies – nervous and electric. There’s a pleasant symmetry in the matching crop and collar, a connection that reminds me that we’re in this together.
I softly patter leather against his skin to encourage blood flow to the surface. This grows to cracks, whacks and sharp breaths that hiss from between his gritted teeth. Enthralled, I watch as his pale skin stings and stipples, thanks to scratches, slaps and my hands, rougher than they’ve ever been.
All the while, I feel grounded by the smooth dip of his lower back, by his hard, thick cock – never far from my mind – and by bitemarks which mark my territory across his body. There is a new, freeing sensation of static that sets sparks up and down my skin and my pussy aflame.
I’ve been asking ‘what number?’ – from our agreed-upon scale of 1-10 – in order to gauge how he’s coping. He says ‘four.’ I overestimate my softness and there’s a real whisper of something less than pleasure from Flint. I place the crop next to the bed and focus our attentions on the vibrator. Its snarl signifies a change. Flint’s hands are bound. I trail it along his torso, tease the soles of his feet and press it gently against his cock. He is straining and panting, and my voice is steady and low, cutting through the chaos and commanding. In absolute control. My eyes are stinging because I don’t want to miss a moment of wriggling and ragged, hitched breathing.
He asks me to let him come. I don’t. There’s denial and sweat and salt and pulling. He asks me again. I don’t. There’s buzzing, teasing and my hand around him. Soon, though, there is pleasure. And then, there is a stillness.
I take off the collar, make sure he is okay. Later, we drink champagne and I can relax. It’s the night we decide, officially, that we’re ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’. This sweet conclusion is at such odds to what we’ve just been through together that it still makes me laugh.
While I feel ready to sub, I’m also wary of how vulnerable I’ll need to be. Before tonight, I wasn’t fully cognisant of the actual pain involved, or of giving myself completely over to Flint. My natural instinct is to rail against being told what to do. But I am aroused and intrigued and excited to make the first blows towards breaking down my barriers.