Hug

When warm embrace
Becomes tight caress
Imprinted, skin on skin
Essential proximity
My face buried in you
As if you were oxygen
The need to clasp
To hold on tight
That abject hunger
Insatiable need
To inhale you
Drink
My fill
Devour
You.

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Protected: Being There

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Switching

I’m a switch. I’ve never hidden that part of me.

I have more of a tendency towards sub rather than domme, mostly because i was fortunate and blessed enough to have a dom who knew his onions.

A really good dom knows that while he is ostensibly in control, what really matters is knowing the limits and capabilities of the sub in question, and looking out for them. Allowing them to place their complete trust in him. Dominating with loving care and concern, as well as a heavy hand on the ass when a spank is required.

Like I said, I was very lucky.

But i do enjoy the occasional opportunity to top. It’s all tied in with the fact that I’m actually a smidge too feisty to be as submissive as some. Variety is, after all, the spice of life.

And you know how much I like a little spice.

I like being a switch. I’m not, nor have i ever been a lifestyle BDSM practitioner. And being able to switch affords me the opportunity to further broaden my experience. Which can only ever be a good thing.

Meeting another switch, and being enormously attracted to them, was not something i ever planned for. Although, to be fair, how much of my life can i actually plan?

Initially, there was no indication of anything beyond the mildest foray into anything even vaguely associated with control and submission. Sure, a playful spank or two on my ass — but, as i have been told on more than one occasion, my ass does tend to beg to be spanked. It was when he broke from a kiss, while keeping his lips so close to mine that i felt them move as he shaped the words, that the paradigm shifted.

“Push my head down to your pussy.”

I looked at him blankly, not sure I’d understood correctly.

“You want my mouth on your pussy. Even if you don’t know yet that you do. But you need to push my head down there.”

This was new. And oddly exciting. i felt myself moisten, but remained outwardly calm as I put my hand on his head and pushed down.

“Harder. Order me. Force me.”

Using both hands now, I pushed harder, until his mouth found my slit.

He was right. I really did want his mouth on my pussy.

His arms encircled me and his head buried itself between my legs, as my own head threatened to explode. My hand still rested on the crown of his head, to all intents and purposes, “forcing” him to stay there; although i was secure in the knowledge that there was no element of coercion in his behaviour.

As i lay there, the oddness of the reality in which i found myself wandered through my brain. I have this tendency to part-detach from wherever i am and go off on thoughtful flights of fancy — it’s part of what helps me remember where I’ve been and what I’ve done when chronicling the relevant events here. This, despite the almost-all-encompassing and rising ecstasy which often accompanies said flights.

He wanted to be forced to do what he wanted to do in the first place. The act of my pushing him down towards my slick and hungry cunt aroused him all the more. I loved that. I completely understood the feeling, knowing well the delicious thrill of arousal at a word of praise from a controlling Dom, when an act of submission is willingly and deftly completed. But i appreciated it more, having that other side with which to compare.

Then he slid four fingers into me, and i left my flights of fancy for another time and gasped.

He sucked and licked and generally made love to my clit and labia, with a rhythm I’d been enjoying immensely before he began furiously finger-fucking me. I cried out as his hand thrust harder, adding his thumb to the other fingers.

“You– you’re fisting me? Oh my god..”

And I hadn’t even told him to.

I wondered idly if i could feel his cock with my feet, and edged a hopeful toe in the general direction. I heard him moan as I made contact, and started minutely stroking up and down what felt like a long and hard shaft. (It was. It wasn’t the first time we’d met.)

I moaned again as i felt the familiar pressure prior to a gush of juices.

“Taste me,” I told him, to which he replied with an eager and hopeful grunt. A moment later, and i gushed all over his face, delighting in his pleasure at tasting me as much as my own in achieving such a satisfying orgasm.

He raised his head momentarily and, not ceasing his fisting, albeit forgetting his submissive role, urged me to come more for him.

“Give me your come; let me drink you… you’re gorgeous…”

I obliged. Well, honestly, how could i not?

I thought forward to the inevitable conversation I’d have with my best friend the following day.

“Dude! He gives head like a motherfucker. And he fisted me. I think I’m in love!”

As i finally finished, and lay there recovering, he gradually pulled himself back up to lie next to me. He kissed me, and i could taste myself on his breath, and loved it. I hate it when people shy away from bodily juices after they have fulfilled their purpose — it seems so hypocritical.

We lay in each others arms for a while, breathing, kissing and murmuring sweetly debauched nothings. Suddenly i felt the paradigm shift once more, evidenced by the evil glint in his eye.

“Move your mouth down to my cock. I want to feel your mouth around me.”

Once again, we’d switched.

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