The 1st
"Poetic, would you like some ash?"
She looked over at me, huge smile on her face, a two inch head standing vertical on her cigar.
"Oh God, yes," I said, my submissive voice squeaking out. "I've cried each time ash was flicked into the tray."
On my hands and knees, I crawled towards her. Stopped. Sat on my feet. Opened my mouth wide and put out my tongue.
She rolled the ash into my mouth. I held the lump for her and the rest near her to see. I looked at her. I smiled with my eyes. Made a small connection.
"Thank you," she said. "You can swallow."
I closed my mouth and grinned. Then crawled away, happy.
The 2nd
"Poetic?"
He had a pretty head of ash ready for my mouth. I extracted myself from my corner. Bodies squeezed together to fight off the chill in the air and the wind that assaulted us on the balcony.
I crawled towards him, head bent. Rested my hands on his knees to keep balance. As I was about to sit on my feet, his hand found the back of my head. Gently petted my hair. I stayed as I was. Head bent. Forehead near his crotch. A feeling of connection being built. I nuzzled a little. Purred a bit. Felt warmth even though it was so cold.
A small touch on my chin signaled for my head to rise. I looked into his dark eyes. Saw him, and his ash.
"Open your mouth. Wider."
I did as he told. Tilted my head back. He rolled his ash into my mouth. I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened again. Looked into his eyes once more. Our gaze locked. I felt transfixed.
He brought his cigar to the side of my face. I felt the heat near my skin. Heard the burning of my hair. Didn't move because he didn't want me to.
A caress of my chin closed my mouth. His fingers traced across my cheek and back down. I closed my eyes. Leaned my head into his touch. Let myself get lost in our shared moment.
His hand stilled. I opened my eyes again.
He thanked me. I thanked him. And then crawled back to my spot.
The 3rd
He looked over at me, a knowing grin on his face.
"Poetic?"
He was only two seats away, yet he was the hardest to get to. We'd all huddled in close, trying desperately to fight nature. I backed out, swiveled around, and meeped as I sat in place in front of him.
His eyes were intense. His small smile almost mischievous. His hand reached behind me. Grabbed my hair. Controlled my head. Brought it forward.
I opened my mouth. Stuck out my tongue. He rolled his ash. I felt the heat of the cherry near me. He kept his eyes on mine. Saw his control over me. My submission to him. Had me close my mouth. Thanked me in his quiet yet strong voice.
I smiled and thanked him as well.
Crawled away. Found my spot. Snuggled up to those beside me. Happy to be around people I don't see nearly enough.
He had never fisted anyone before. For some reason, this surprised me.
He showed me his hands. He wondered if I was sure I could take him. I smiled and held back a chuckle.
We moved to near our original spot, though this time we would share a sheet with other friends. I laid my chuck on the floor. He found a glove and lube. In retrospect, I suppose I was already well slicked from fucking Slut, but in fisting using more lube is never a problem.
He started slow, fingering me with just a few digits. Because he'd never done this before, I thought I had to talk him through it. I asked the number of fingers inside of me. I requested he insert another.
And then I had to ask permission.
"Sir, may I cum?"
"Yes, you may."
My lesson ended there. He, in fact, needed no instruction.
I orgasmed two or three times just from his fingering. With his digits playing in my pussy, he explained he'd seen fistings before. (And, to be fair, I am well trained.)
With all of his fingers in place, I ushered him inside me.
"Push. Push. Push..."
And he was in.
And I was screaming his name, writhing in ecstasy.
Every time I felt the wave approaching, the warmth growing, I asked permission. And he always gave it...except once.
One time he said no. And I begged. I begged and begged just wanting to feel the muscles contract, feel the high from his manipulations in my pussy. And when finally said yes, I came so hard I almost cried. Tears built up in my eyes.
"I lurv da frl of you feestin mepussah."
"What was that?"
Less lost in the mumbling of a woman cumming, I said, "I love the feel of your fist in my pussy."
But then it was time for us to end.
He built up the rhythm of his fist fucking, pounding me harder and harder until once again I came, this time finally crying. My tears sweetly slid down my cheeks, kissing my skin as I screamed his name, thanking him for my orgasm.
I popped NHF's fisting cherry.
"Who are you going to fuck with that?"
"Her."
I had remained at NHF's knee, watching the various happenings, as Slut delighted in her scene with Dov. However we did have a play date set. Me and her, my vagina and her fist. This however was augmented when she approached me wearing her big blue cock.
With an audience of two in tow, NHF and a kinkster, and a service top to boot, my One Rope Partner, our little party moved towards the end of the room previously occupied by WykD_Dave & Clover who had since departed.
Laying down a sheet and a chuck, the fun began. Slut stripped off my clothes, and ORP began tying me. Using some hojo rope (oh, how delightful) he restrained my arms crossed behind my head. He also frogged both of my legs.
Slut playfully beat me with her big blue cock before slipping on a condom and lubing up.
And then began the fucking.
Slut and I have fucked before. In fact I broke in her big blue cock when she first bought it at last year's FetFest. As she pounded, and I screamed, I asked permission to cum. Thankfully, she gave it more often then not.
But, being as I was acting kind of bratty, and we both were in a playful mood, this would not be the only activity for our scene.
With a stroke of genius, Slut grabbed her knitting bag, pulled out some string, and wrapped it around my boots.
"But you're a puppy."
"I'm a puppy for some."
"You're a puppy playing with a pussy all wrapped up in string."
For my snark, Slut used her knitting needles to strike my nipples. And, when once again I ask permission to cum, she began punching my chest. Five hits. I waited, endured the pain, before I was finally given permission for my ecstasy.
As we were fucking on the sheet, I had completely forgotten we had an audience. That is until the audience members joined us on the floor.
NHF again wore his leather harness, but this time with no other clothing. The kinkster donned a strap-on. The pair, right next the fun Slut and I were having, enjoyed some fucking of their own.
As Slut and I continued our amorous interaction, I asked for a position change. My legs had begun to cramp. With a simple push, I ended up on my side. Slut then went back to our fun.
Soon, though, I had to end our fucking. Though my legs had had a momentary reprieve, they'd begun to cramp again, and now the strain on my neck had grown to more than noticeably uncomfortable.
Rolling me onto my back again, Slut and ORP began untying me. I looked over at NHF and the kinkster, who had since ended their time as well, and sought out aid.
Gaining permission to call him Sir again, I asked, "Sir, can you hold up my leg please?" His aid attained, being polite I uttered a "Thank you Sir" while trying to relax my legs and neck.
Soon I was free of my bindings, happy glowy from my time with Slut and her big blue cock.
But there were still more orgasms in my future Sunday evening.
Connection. Appreciation. Care. Love.
Watching WykD_Dave & Clover play Sunday night in a small side room of the dungeon was so powerful, so moving, I started crying. Seeing what they had. Remembering what I didn't.
Quickly and quietly, I slipped out of the space, grabbed a tissue from the rest room, and re-entered, taking my seat again. I wiped away my tears. I brought myself back.
NHF had not seen me when he first entered the room. Didn't see me as he surveyed the space. He chose a seat across the doorway from me, close to the opposite corner, and watched the rope scene as well.
I remained as I was, a quiet little church mouse taking in the play.
But when I returned and sat again, I suspected he saw me. It wasn't until I looked up and over at him that our eyes met. I gave him a smile.
He, in turn, pointed at me and with his index finger beckoned me over. I got up from my seat and quietly scurried towards him. His finger now pointing down towards the ground, I knew my spot.
My head was soon on his knee.
I didn't know if he saw me cry, didn't know if he gave the silent command because of my strong reaction or just because he knew I'd want it. But I do know being at his knee made me feel better.
He is not my Sir, nor is he my Daddy, but in that moment NHF was a good friend.
My scene finished with NHF, I again found my head on his knee. We both relaxed by the wall, he in his chair and me on the floor, coming down from the high of our intense interaction.
As I rested there next to him, by chance I had looked over in the corner nearest us and had begun watching an intense impact scene.
Noticing my locked stare, NHF leaned down and whispered in my ear.
"That's Roughinamorato. I love to watch him play."
I had never heard of Roughinamorato before, could not recall ever seeing his face, let alone watching him play. And yet as I sat there, gripping NHF's knee, I was mesmerized.
And even as NHF walked away, I stayed.
I pulled out my notebook and began jotting down bullet points from our scene, my way of processing the play and solidifying the memories for later.
Yet as I wanted to write, absolutely needed to write, I found myself often stopping to watch Roughinamorato beat on a beautiful woman.
His target was the body of a gorgeous young lady with long brown hair, her arms secured behind her back in a chest harness. They played in a empty corner, just a sheet underneath them.
My gaze was first drawn to them because of a loud pop! that cracked throughout the dungeon. Rough was using long clown balloons in some odd fashion.
At first I was upset by the noise, annoyed even; I was, after all, coming down from an intense scene. But then again because of the noise I had looked over and saw them, saw him, so maybe it wasn't so bad.
As I watched him, he mercilessly punched the woman's chest. He kneed her ass. He pulled her this way and that, using the chest harness to toss her around, pick her up and throw her down. His hand around her neck, he squeezed, even as his lips teased her, so close to her mouth.
As I sat watching, a burning urge grew inside me. I wanted to see them kiss. Wanted to see his lips on hers. Even as he held back her breath, his mouth never quite touching hers, I wanted to see that release.
It was obvious I had begun to watch their scene more than half way in. Still, I pulled my eyes away, quickly lowered my head, and walked myself step-by-step through the flashes of my scene in my mind. I worried if I watched Rough for too long, I would begin to loose bits and pieces of my own play. When I looked up again, the woman was folding up the sheet; their scene was over.
I was grateful for the now lack of distraction, yet sad that I'd only gotten a taste of seeing Rough's work. Soon after they departed, I walked upstairs to finish my writing, wanting no other scenes to draw my eye or mind away from my notes.
Saturday night, however, was not the only time I saw Roughinamorato play.
As I sat on the floor beside NHF, my head resting on his knee, his hand naturally went to my hair. At first he gently stroked my locks. Then he gripped my strands and began to pull. He alternated between a light and rough touch. I closed my eyes, soaking in the feeling.
Gripping my hair, he pulled my head, guiding me in between his legs, positioning me over his right boot. While wrenching my curls, he began tapping his boot, lifting the toe up to my clit. He teased me so, combining his rough hair pulls with his boot slapping my pussy.
As he warmed me up, I heard NHF speak. Without my realizing it, Scotty had come over and sat near us. As NHF continued to pull my hair and tease me, he spoke to Scotty, telling him about our planned scene. As much as I wanted to greet Scotty properly, I was...occupied.
Guiding me by my hair again, NHF positioned my body over his knee.
"Get comfortable."
My chest rested on his thigh as I braced myself for what I knew was to come. His spanks started softly, sensuously. Then he increased his intensity. Finished, for now, with my ass, he told me to sit as I had before, but now in between his legs. My head on his knee, I went back to watching the motorcycle suspension. NHF's hand found it's way back to softly caressing my hair.
As I watched the wacky scene, I felt the gentle touch of NHF's fingertips against my arm. My bra strap had slipped down. Lightly he tucked it back up under my vest.
When it seemed like the rig would soon free up, NHF told me to go get some paper towels. I scurried through the dungeon, retrieved them, and returned. I offered the towels to him, and asked if I could again sit by his knee. He granted my request, grabbing me by my hair and pulling me back down to the floor.
As the motorcycle suspension finished up, NHF prepared for our play. Standing, he went to his toy bag and laid out his floggers and his leather harness. Instead of having me rig his carabiner, he enlisted a friend to help. With a length of rope, his friend attached the carabiner to the top of the rig.
When NHF was finished, he approached me. I had remained seated on the floor by his chair. His tall broad frame towered over me. Reaching down, he offered his hand to help me stand. I accepted it, planting my feet, standing with his assistance. Still holding my hand, he led me to under his rig.
Standing in front of me, NHF slowly unbuttoned my vest. Hooking his finger into one side, he slid the fabric off one arm, slowly walked around me, and loosed the fabric from my other arm. Standing behind me, he unhooked my bra and dragged it across my body.
Once back in front of me, he spoke.
"Remove my leather. Don't let it touch the ground."
He wore a leather vest. I got behind him, hooked my fingers into each side, and slid the piece off in one long languid motion. Removed, I held his vest to my chest. He took off his shirt, and handed it to me as well. Telling me to put his things aside, he instructed me to get his harness.
Using his chair, I put down his leather vest and his shirt, picked up his harness, and rushed back to him.
"You're going to help me put this on."
Unsnapping one side, he pulled his leather on over his arms. Following the line of the leather harness, I found the snap behind his back and secured it.
"Go get your underwear."
Once again rushing over to our things, I pulled out my pair of red panties, the same ones I'd flung earlier during the Cabaret. When I returned to under the rig, it was time for the rest of my clothes to come off.
But first, before my final disrobing, NHF lightly grazed, and then pinched my nipples. Ratcheting up the pain, he pinched and pinched until finally I broke out in a scream.
"That's it. That's what I want to hear."
Again he abused my nipples until once more I cried out. He loved to hear my screams.
Trailing his hands down my body, NHF now wished to remove my red rope. I'd wound my hemp around my hips, split it at the middle, and wrapped around my legs, all the way down to my boots.
Finding the ends at my heels, he started with my right leg, untying the hemp. When he reached my skin, he slowly dragged the rope across it. I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and drunk in the feel of the rope. He repeated the process on my left leg. As he neared the end, he took care to pull the hemp across my chest, scissoring over my nipples.
"Take off your boxers. Put on your underwear."
He stood on my left as I bent down, presenting my ass, and slid my black boxers down. Slowly I lifted one boot, and then the other, out of my boxers. Carefully I stepped into the legs of my panties and slid them up over my ass, arching my back as I stood up.
"Don't move."
Taking my boxers, NHF put them aside, as well as my rope, and returned with his own coil of jute. After first showing me how he wanted my wrists, he tied a two column tie and pulled my arms over and behind my head. He wrapped the excess thrice around my chest under my breasts.
Slipping his fingers under the wraps, he pulled me in close. Gripping my hair, he first punched my back and then kneed my ass.
Releasing my strands, he unwrapped the rope, dragging the jute across my chest. Brushing the rope across my face, he raised his jute to his carabiner, tying my hands above my head. It was time for his toys.
Starting with the medium flogger, he danced the leather over my face. I took in the scent, the touch of the straps. Stepping back, he began his strokes softly. Slowly gearing up, the hits at first felt like a warm massage. But then he hit harder. And harder. Once good whack made me tear up. He checked in with me, making sure I was okay. I was, but I knew what was to come.
His strokes became wallops as the flogger pounded my upper back and shoulder blades. A few tears fell and I gave a small wail.
"That's it. That's what I want."
Grabbing my shoulder, he turned me to the right. After a quick warm up, again he applied his punishing blows. Gripping my hair, his lips to my ear, he gave his praise, turned me, and beat me again. Through my cries, through my tears, I still heard his voice.
Finished with his first flogger, he grabbed my hair and once again kneed my ass.
"You take a beating so well. You like this, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I could fuck you right now if I wanted to."
"Yes, Sir."
"I could bend you over and pound you right here."
"Yes, Sir."
Next came the thick aromatic flogger. Like the first, his initial blows were comforting. But, soon enough, his intensity increased. With his hardest strokes, I began to wail. This pleased him still more. Again he turned my body, hit me hard, praised my pain, turned me, and beat me again.
The stronger my wails grew, the more he praised me. A constant chorus of "good girl" spilled from his lips.
So happy was he with my pain that, when he finished with his second flogger, he grabbed my hair and pulled, not releasing me til I screamed.
"You know what's coming next."
"Yes, Sir," I said through my now stuffed up nose and free flowing tears.
"You take this and then I'll let you down."
"Yes, Sir."
It was time for his third and final flogger. Stiff straps of leather brushed against my back. My skin was raw enough now that just the feel of them hurt me so. Even as he began softly, I cried. I knew I would take more, but just the feel of them, the lightest of brushes gracing my skin, was painful.
With his first good hit, I let out a wail. Gripping my shoulder, he turned me and let loose with a punishing set of blows culminating with two incredibly hard hits. I burst out sobbing, tears flowing, wailing out my pain. Grabbing my hair, his voice was once more in my ear.
"I want you to take another set. I want you to either take the hits or I want to hear you scream."
He turned me. I knew they were coming. I had not stopped crying. He again gave me a few hits to prepare myself. And then three intense walloping hits were the end. I sobbed uncontrollably. I wailed. I cried. I hyperventilated. I didn't know if I would ever catch my breath.
"Good girl. Good girl."
He stood in front of me, his flogger somewhere else. Quickly he untied my wrist rope from his carabiner and allowed me to slowly lower my hands. Removing his jute, he said, "Don't move." I stood in the middle of the rig, still crying, feeling alone though I could hear the sea of people in the dungeon.
"I've got you." He returned with paper towels in tow. Wiping away my snot and my tears, I kept saying, "Thank Sir," for his kindness.
"Sit down on your butt."
Getting down on the floor, I sat on the carpet. Sitting behind me, he encircled me with his legs and laced his arm around my neck.
"Raise your arm."
He squeezed my neck. I remembered from the last time we played to turn my head slightly and make myself, with all my might, keep my arm up. Like the time before, I felt the tingling in my forearm, but I refused to let it fall.
And then the world went black.
In a flash of images, I saw something...but I can't remember what. I was somewhere else, in a different reality that felt as true as any.
And then I opened my eyes and saw a ceiling. What? What? Where am I? Was that a dream? That dream wasn't real?
"Do you know where you are? Do you know where you are!?!"
And then it all came back to me. I felt his arms around me, his body next to mine, heard his voice, and I remembered.
"Shi...Shibaricon! Shibaricon!"
"It's okay. You're okay. Come here."
He laid down on the floor. I splayed across his chest, holding him tight, finding my breath and myself again.
"Do you feel safe?"
"Yes."
And then it was his turn to cry. I held him tighter as we cuddled on the floor.
Later, when I glimpsed my bruises from our scene, they made me think of wings. They were a pair of wings I had more than earned.
I saw him in the hall among the crowd as I briskly exited the Cabaret.
"Hey, I just need to give a friend a band aid and I'll be right back."
When I returned, he was standing right where I left him, talking with friends. There remained a large mass of people in the hallway.
As we stood, talking over the din, I spoke to him about my reactions in scenes. I told him about the sobbing, the tears, the snot. I informed him this type of reaction would most definitely happen, but also reassured him it was a good sign.
With the crush of people around us, he wished to move into the dungeon proper to talk more. Walking through the crowd, the sea parted for him. I followed behind.
We settled in a corner of the dungeon free of equipment in what was section seven of Ropen Space. Sitting on the carpeted floor, we were able to hear each other more clearly.
The subject of marks arose. I love bruises, but asked none be given to my face. In a shared moment of bragging, he lifted his shirt to show his whip marks, and I in turn pulled up my shirt and twisted my head to show my marks from a Handsaw scene.
I spoke about how I loved impact: punching, kicking, elbows, knees. He obviously knew I loved rope. He confessed he was not confident in his rope work. I imparted a helpful fact: I would keep my eyes closed for the majority of our play.
He told me his plan for what was to happen. He would tie me up in possibly a simple chest harness, flog me with three separate floggers, and then knock me out.
He pulled out his toys from his bag. The first was leather with a moderate amount of tales. The second was soft supple leather but with many more straps than the first. The third was hard, stiff; I knew it would be very stingy.
Then came the question of language.
"You can call me Sir, not Daddy. Daddy denotes a relationship and deep meaning."
"Yes. Actually I'm looking for my Daddy, and you're not him."
"Yes, but you want a leather Daddy. That's why you like me."
With my head bent down, and biting my lip, I sheepishly said, "Yes."
Then it was my turn to talk about language.
"You can call me bitch, slut, cunt. Anything sexual is fine with me, but don't call me stupid or anything like that. I won't buy it. I know I'm smart and it'll take me right out of the scene. Actually, I really love being called a 'good girl.'"
Our plan made, with a shared awareness of where not to tread, we sought out a place to play. But, as we walked through the dungeon, every piece of equipment was filled. Heading into the hallway, again bursting with people, we checked all the smaller side rooms. There too each piece of play equipment was occupied.
Heading back into the main dungeon, again through the sea of humanity, for a moment people got in between us. When I did catch up to him, I slipped my hand into his.
"Don't want to loose you."
"Right. People seem to get out of my way."
Standing almost a foot taller than me, with a brood frame to match his height, yes the crowd of rope enthusiasts parted for him.
I must confess: I really liked holding his hand as we walked through the crowd.
With no better option left to us, he chose a rig for which we would wait. Next to his chosen frame sat a stack of chairs. He pulled down one for himself and invited me to sit as well.
"Umm, may I sit on the floor with my head on your knee?"
He gave his consent.
The rig we wished to occupy was currently home to a motorcycle suspension, a clever scene that included projections, a helmet, and gloves.
With NHF seated in a chair, and my head on his knee, we patiently waited our turn.
"Ah... fuck me!"
When my alarm woke me up from my nap, I was grumpy. For a moment, I didn't remember where I was. For a moment, all I knew was that I wanted to go back to sleep.
And then I remembered I was at Shibaricon. And then I remembered I was going to a cigars, boots, and chocolate social.
Pulling myself out of bed, I hastily took a shower and assembled my outfit for the night, an iteration of my school girl uniform with the addition of my boots.
With my bootblack kit and hoodie (in case of chill) in tow, I headed downstairs. I was fashionably late as I exited the lobby onto the private patio.
Though there was much room, unfortunately the patio was long but not very wide. It was rather like a large hallway that was missing one and a half walls. Still there were friends in attendance, smoke in the air, and bootblacks already hard at work. I set my kit aside, pulled out my cigar accoutrement, and breezed my way through the crowd giving greetings.
"Hey pretty girl," said Gray as I passed by him and many other seated gentleman. I smiled, then paused for a moment.
"Hmm...?"
"What? You're a pretty girl." He casually rubbed my thigh and ass.
Was that on purpose or just a coincidence? I didn't want to know.
Moving past the awkward moment (which I will explain towards the end of this month), I continued to mingle.
Surprisingly, happily, I saw a familiar face. Even in the dim light, it was still easy to recognize NHF. He, along with other folks from Minnesota, had made the trek to Chicago.
With a stick ready to smoke, NHF allowed me to give service as I helped him light his cigar. We got to chatting about Shibaricon and our lives in general. I mentioned Doc and Green Eyes, wallowing & dancing. He praised me for my openness.
Feeling brave, I inquired about his dance card. He said it was mostly empty. We agreed on a play date for the next night, after the Cabaret.
With a head of ash now atop his cigar, NHF granted me the pleasure of eating it from his hand. Without missing a beat, we fell right into the D/s dynamic we'd had on my last night in St. Paul, the last time I'd seen him, the first time we'd met.
Grabbing my hair, he guided my head to his palm. Completely covering my mouth, I ate my treat from his hand. He then allowed me a modicum of freedom to move my face about as I liked and sucked his palm.
NHF turned out to be the appetizer for my evening. With official introductions given, I was granted the pleasure of eating from both of Gray's female companions' hands. Then Jocasta, a wonderful woman who gifted me not only rope but cigar boxes in our last encounter, also offered her ash to me. Lastly Lochai, ever the dirty man, served up his ash on the chest of one of his girls. I was able to share my treat with her as our lips both tasted his flecks in a kiss. To end my ash eating, Lochai granted me a smoke kiss.
As I drifted away from the seated group, I found myself back next to NHF. Once again feeling bold, I asked if he could grant me the pleasure of his smoke in my hair. As he got closer, very close, I felt the heat both from his breath and his body against me.
We stood, me in front of him. My ass near his crotch. His hands on my hips. I found myself needing to bend down for things. My water bottle. My chocolate. Each time I presented my ass. Once his hand slipped under my skirt, caressing my ass, the touch I had hoped for through my nonverbal hints.
As more people filtered in and out, MattP and Inretrepida arrive. As we chatted, NHF decided to sit down and invited me to relax next to him. In doing so, I knew this brought us back to the same level; the D/s moment had ended.
Well, mostly.
When a student from my cigar play class approached, I knew I had just what she needed: an Acid Blondie. It had been gifted to me earlier that day, and now I was gifting it to her.
With my preferred gateway cigar, I demonstrated to her the service/ritual aspects I'd talked about in class. I removed the cellophane, took off the band, wet & cut the end, and offered the tobacco back to her. As she held it, I produced my flame. Her stick lit, I again reminded her to not inhale.
Soon she had a head of ash ready for my consumption. Her hand out, my treat before me, my face was soon in her palm. As I ate her ash, I felt a familiar hand in my hair.
"You'd better eat that ash right."
NHF's voice in my ear made this new experience I gave to my student so much hotter, at least for me.
My treat finished, NHF's hand slipped from my strands. We all went back to chatting. The D/s moment had passed. But I still had a play date set for the next evening.
Bravery accomplished.
My Last Night: Choked Out
As we all walked back into the Naked House, I offered a small reprieve for NHF. Since he had missed my previous strip tease, I thought I could instead give him a sensual unzipping of my Zim jacket.
Settling back into the living room, everyone sat on the couch... except NHF, who stood in the middle of the room right behind me, right where I thought I would be dancing for him. I could hear and feel him take his shirt off. I then felt his whisper in my ear.
"May I take control?"
His arms around me, I leaned my head back and brushed my cheek on his chin. Gripping my hair, his free hand found my zipper. Slowly, oh so slowly, he crept my zipper down my jacket.
I rolled my body into his movement, snaking my flesh so that I might get close to the heat of his hand, so that I could add to the sensuality of the experience. Releasing my hair, his finger hooked into the top of my jacket and slipped it over my left shoulder. I curved my arm and shoulder inward, helping him.
"Let me do all the work," he whispered.
I damn near melted right there.
"Press your body against me."
He requested what I already wanted to do.
NHF began running his hands all over my body, exploring my flesh, my curves. He caressed my breasts, squeezed my hips, gripped my ass. Trailing his fingers back up, NHF pinched my nipples. I let out a small yelp. "That's what I like to hear."
Gripping my strands once more, NHF used the hair guidance system to reposition me in front of the fuck bed. Again his hands explored my body as I pressed my flesh into his.
"She's leaving tomorrow?"
The disappointment was shared.
NHF sat down on the bed, spreading his legs wide. I followed, nestling myself into him. I was again surrounded by his arms. His hands once more went to my breasts. He began pinching them again. He wanted to hear me scream. After another yelp, this time I whispered to him.
"You can pinch harder."
He increased his pain, until finally my voice built up and a scream exploded from my lips. NHF gripped my breasts hard and pulled my body close. I rocked my hips on the bed and into his crotch, the passion of the moment overtaking me.
But it was time for the intended fun. NHF prepped for my choke out. Sliding his arm around my neck, NHF lightly squeezed and released. I told him how his grip hurt my wind pipe a bit. NHF instructed me to turn my head to the right. He tried again. My wind pipe now eased, NHF told me to raise my left hand. This would be his signal for when to stop. Once my arm dropped, NHF would no longer squeeze.
The first time he choked me, I lost control of my left arm before I went out. My head leaned back. I began giggling. I was loopy and happy, smiling with a breathy laugh.
For his second choke, I again lost control of my arm before I went out. This time my forearms and fronts of my thighs tingled. I grumbled a little, but was curious about the new sensation.
For his third choke, I pushed myself to keep my arm up. I could feel it wanting to drop, but I held it up, not wanting to be disappointed once more.
Suddenly, everything went black. A flash of images rushed towards me. I had a vague dream of walking on a side street in a residential neighborhood.
Gently, my eyes opened. I heard music. I couldn't remember where I was or what I was doing. In a rush, it came back to me. NFH still had his arms around me. I could feel his chest against my back. I felt exhilarated, yet comforted.
NHF complimented me, noted how I didn't resist at all during my chokes, completely submitting to his will.
After a few more breaths, NHF got me to stand up and sat me in the comfy chair I had previously used for bootblacking. I grinned ear-to-ear, swimmy loopy happy.
My Last Night: NHF Introduction
Shivering, but smiling, I sat in a chair on the side porch, joining Belarian and the Naked House Friend as they enjoyed some cigars. Introducing myself, both NHF and I were able to put faces to FetLife names.
Almost as soon as we began chatting, I noticed NHF had a nice head of ash on his cigar. Being the cigar slut that I am, having just met this person, I asked to eat ash out of his hand. He politely declined with a "Not yet."
Instead NHF watched as I partook of a treat from Belarian's hand. I stood up and checked that the backyard was clear, including the neighbor's sight lines. Bending over, with just my Zim jacket on, the covering slipped up my ass, exposing my no-longer-hidden nudity. I happily licked and sucked the salty flecks from Belarian's hand.
In the chill of the Minnesota evening, the three of us began talking about our journeys in kink. I mentioned Suicide Girls, Bound, the Ex, and my DO adventures. Belarian and NHF spoke about the Minnesota scene, jumping neck deep into the fun, and meeting each other at a most opportune moment.
As we talked, NHF's cigar built up ash. Once again, I asked to eat it. This time he gave his consent with a question. "May I take control?" I whole-heartedly submitted.
NHF rolled his ash into his hand and passed his cigar off to Belarian. With his free hand, NHF gripped my hair. Holding me back as I went for the ash, NHF guided my head as I licked and sucked away the salty flecks. NHF quietly whispered his enjoyment, pleased as I ate his ash. I would have relished the feast for longer, but NHF stopped me, holding my head back and pulling his hand away.
As we continued to converse, Scotty came back out. It was time for him to go. He said his goodbyes, including giving me a hug.
Soon after Scotty left, PrincessA and Hautewerk found us outside. Our conversation continued, mostly centered on the Minnesota kink scene. PrincessA mentioned her interest in finding a knife top. NHF voiced his skills in that area. This information piqued my interest, as well, though I kept my opinion to myself.
NHF also mentioned how he enjoyed knocking people out. I pipped up, saying I liked breath play. NHF then explained how, when he makes someone pass out, it wasn't breath play. In fact he was instead restricting blood flow to the brain, a technique he'd learned through martial arts training. This intrigued me even more. I said I would love to have him choke me out. PrincessA, listening to our conversation, was skeptical.
By this time, Belarian again had ash to give. He asked me for permission to rest his ash on my tongue. I allowed his play, asking him to be very careful. He was only able to manage a little; I was tentative, nervous. PrincessA asked for the same treatment from Belarian. He was able to get more into her mouth. Belarian, in turn, asked NHF to place the rest of the ash into his mouth.
"Tell me if it is too hot." As Belarian and NHF played, the last of the ash fell to the ground.
"It was too hot, wasn't it?"
NHF, by this time, also had more ash. Again I asked to partake of his treat.
"May I take control again?"
Gripping my hair as he had before, NHF guided my head. Instead of bending my neck and eating from his hand, NHF instead moved his hand, dragging his palm and fingers over my tongue and lower lip. He turned my head to the side and lightly kissed my cheek. As I tried to kiss his lips, he held my head back, keeping my lips at bay. Instead he gave me just a hint of the affection, teasing me so.
"You make excellent noises."
"So I've been told."
"I want to choke you out."
"Okay."
We headed back inside.
