Release and Relief

Update! Fleshbotted by the lovely Always Aroused Girl, who, I daresay, was kept aroused by tales of my squirtage and so forth. Heh. Thanks babe!

Much of my time spent in the company of the Big Bad Feline is intense and wonderful. Well, all of the time spent with him is wonderful, but it’s the intensity upon which I wish to focus today.

He brings me release and relief. Not just when re-energising the Elegant Slut within, but also as a matter of course.

Here’s a great example:

The other day was a reunion, and consequent celebration, since i’d been away with the small people for a couple of weeks, sans feline.  It had been very tough to lock the elegantly slutty part of me away for a whole three weeks and concentrate on being “Mommy”, but I managed to do so, little realising quite how much it affected me. Until, when I came for the first time on that day, I burst into tears. The release, the very felineness of him, the love, affection, lust and passion that he showered upon me, and just being with him caused me to bawl like a baby, while simultaneously shuddering to a magnificent climax.

He has made a great impact upon me, what can I tell you? And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

********************************************

I call him a couple of hours ahead of schedule, on a day when we had planned to meet anyway, and  inform him that I feel the need to push a limit.

“I feel the need for intensity. I need a release of some sort, and I’m pretty damn amazed that I can even recognise and articulate that, never mind that I have a legitimate and flexible outlet in which to do so. Will you help me? Does that fit with your evil, mean and rotten feline plans for the day?”

There is a thoughtful pause on the other end of the phone, and then a question.

“Intensity, hmm? I’m surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre I can think of something that will help you. Would you be willing to improvise with me according to whatever roleplay i come up with?”

I nod, and then, realizing that a nod is not audible, affirm this verbally.

“So, it’s OK with you?”

No answer, save an evil feline snigger, and a low, ominous purr. (I love when he gets ominous.)

Fast forward to later that day. As always, I have stripped to his command, and then lovingly and carefully removed his clothing, and we are naked and facing each other. After the usual preliminaries, and an extra hug or two, just because he wants them, he grabs me by the hair, and twists my face to look at him.

“You have been abducted by the Big Bad Cat from the Great Ship Feline. You are my captive.”

Our eyes met, and I smile widely.

“I’m your captive? OK. So you’re my captor.”

“That is correct.”

My love of wordplay gets the better of me. Captive? Captor? An abductee of an evil, mean and rotten feline? Surely it would better read a “Cat-piv” taken by a “Cat-por”, or, to stretch the rules of spelling completely, “Catpaw”. I mention as much to the man holding me by my hair, looking deep into his crystal-blue eyes, and am rewarded by the twinkling smile that makes my senses tingle.

“OK, then Catpiv — get on the bed. On all fours.”

Fastening leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles, he secures me to the bed with canvas tapes.

“We alien Felines need to probe you for information,” he purrs, sliding his fingers into me. I gasp — usually he’ll start with two or three and work his way up through four to a whole fist. Today, there are four fingers curling into me and i can feel his thumb exerting exquisite pressure on the nubbin of skin covering my clit, moving it gently up and down but not actually indulging me by stroking the clit itself in any way.

The pleasure factor is immense, and it’s so early on in the game! I asked for intense, and intense is what I’m getting.

Once he has worked my cunt into a bubbling frenzy, loosening and relaxing the muscles enough, he slides his fist into me, and begins to pound my G-spot. I gasp, and cry out, and it only increases his efforts. Leaning over me, he reaches underneath and pinches a nipple until the pain crackles through me from stem to… well, clit, and then I feel him nibble on my ear. I gush, hearing the splatter onto the quilt, amazing myself at the quantity — I sound like I’ve let loose the fucking Hoover dam!

I struggle to maintain my all-fours position, as his weight is entirely on me. He senses this and removes himself, only to untie two of the four restraints and flip me over, so he can access my soft, white, under-side with greater ease.

And then he really goes to town.

I lose myself. Initially, I lose my first two or three layers of reality, and slip into a subspacial haze of happy bliss. He flogs me, not so much harder than before, but more. Just more. Then the subspace engulfs me and I float away, aware of all that is occurring, and yet detached in the best kind of way.

He beats my lily-white (though fast reddening) ass with a bendy cane, real cane, not bamboo, and then applies lavender oil and caressing strokes to ease the effects. He holds me tight, and kisses me, and generally plays an appasionata furioso, using me as though my body were a Stradivarius violin, and he were Yehudi Menuhin.

Lovingly he leads me over to the bed, and gently rubs the tender spots. Then, with no time to even think he snaps me out of my subspace, and orders me to bend over.

“Like this?” I ask, feet on the floor, hands down on the bed.

“Almost. Spread those legs further. Yes. Wider… yes.”

I feel the ice-cold glass slide into me before i register what it is. My glass friend, the handmade glass dildo… and he’s frozen it, god bless his evil cattish heart. I never stand much of a chance around my glass friend. Three or four thrusts into me and I’m moaning, a further couple (pound, pound) and I wail as though I’m a banshee, and the girl-juice (“cunt-juice” as he likes to call it) hits the floor with an immensely splashy clatter.

A pause for effect, as the thrusting slows, then stops, and he hugs me from behind.

“I’ve wet the floor,” I murmur.

He smiles, and the blue eyes twinkle at me

“Yes, but at least that means that there will be a dry spot for us to lie on, on the bed.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes. Time to indulge in the Cat-por’s favourite ritual. The post-coital cuddle.”

Intensity doesn’t get any better than this.

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One from the Vaults

Something I wrote a long time ago, and thought I’d take out and dust off for your entertainment. Enjoy!

I came for you

I suddenly found that i would be alone at home… Had you been available, i would have called you and given you the on-the-spot report, and panted and moaned and wailed your name into your ear.

As it was, i was unable to, since you were — for reasons best known to yourself — unavailable.

You were in my head, though. Just as sure as your hand was in my cunt earlier, so your face, your image was in my head. I kept replaying what you said this afternoon, about how you didn’t want to live your life without seeing me, without kissing me, touching me, fucking me. That this fact, despite being concerned that you weren’t the kind of person who could do “that” again, was obliterated at the thought of not being with me again.

That you said that endeared you to me more than ever.

As i replayed it, i pictured the look that i saw in your eye today, when you finally caught sight of me. That glorious combination of lust and desire, and the almost-certain realization that your hopes of satisfying one or both would be granted in the very near future.

As i touched myself, i remembered the feel of your hands on me. The whispered sound of your voice as you described myriad series of wild fantasies running through your head. The way you looked into my eyes as i softly, slowly and deliberately stroked your upper thigh, bringing your thought processes to a crashing halt. You caught my gaze so intensely because you were incapable of anything else — and you were right to surmise that i liked that. I did, I really did.

As i slid my ever-faithful Rabbit into my cunt, still so slick and moist from your touch hours earlier, i remembered how it felt to be held close to you, to feel your hands run through my hair, and your breath caress my neck. To feel those butterfly kisses across the top of my cleavage and a cool hand slide between to stroke and fondle my breast. I recalled the warmth of your hug, and how wonderful the breadth of your shoulders felt as i lay my cheek on them, and kissed you softly up the side of your neck. Then later, when your wandering hands had distracted me to the point where i had lost the focus to do anything at all, how i sighed and moaned into the soft skin in the corner between your neck and your collar bone.

I love that spot on a man, and i especially love it on you.

The buzzing of my trusty vibrator stimulated me until i moaned aloud — surprising myself. My apartment has very thin walls, and usually my long and feverishly abandoned self-love sessions are guardedly quiet. Today however, it simply wasn’t an option. The pent-up arousal and desire and frustrated, held-in orgasm erupted forth from me as though a dam had burst.

And as i shuddered and came, and felt the juices leak out of me like molten gold, i called your name. I saw your face. And pictured everything I’d do to you as soon as the opportunity arose.

The opportunity, yes… and you.

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Singing disco and squealing with (good) pain

Foreword:
I was all set to write my latest post — and I will, I promise — but then a stat of mine caught my eye. I had a good number day the other day (god bless you Sugasm, you keep my ego afloat) and i noticed one of the hits came from The Perverted Negress, where I often read and lurk, and have done for some time.

She wrote about a time when fucking a FWB and how he was not fazed by her menstruation, and how she’d not appreciated this attitude when she first encountered it, way back when.

And I sat there open-mouthed. Purrrrvert is exactly the same, and my post for today happened on just such an occasion. Small fucking world, huh?

At the beginning, before those devilish pink paws had even touched my lily-white skin, or pulled my pink tabby mane of hair, when Purrrrvert and I went through through an extensive BDSM checklist of things we both enjoyed, or liked the sound of, or had done and wanted to do again, or had done and would really rather not do again, thank you very much — you may recall that i mentioned this list when describing the needle-play demonstration of last week. During this elongated and comprehensive discussion, the subject of menstruation came up.

Up until now, i’ve met with various reactions to the natural function of a woman passing an unfertilized egg once a month, ranging from the “Ugh, you’re unclean and you smell funny, don’t come near me,” to the “Well, I’ll fuck you, but I won’t go down on you,” to the “Who gives a fuck if you’re bleeding… I love you and want you however you present yourself.”

This last attitude being the one held by Purrrrvert, I’m blushingly happy to say.

*********************************

The last time we met was the first time I’d been in full-on flow mode. Previously, he’d caught me a couple of times on the end or tail end of my cycle, but this was the first time I’d been with him, naked, in full force — so to speak. The only difference it made was that I was even hornier than ever — as I usually am during my period.

And is that ever a bad thing? I think not. 😀

Lying face down, after a flogging that had zoomed me at warp speed (his description) to some subspace place out there beyond the realms of conception, he took my glass dildo and began to fuck me with it expertly. Above my groans  of arousal and pleasure, to my astonishment, I heard him singing a little ditty.

“D-I-L-D-O…”

Despite myself, I giggled and then gasped, “I could… be close… to coming… soo–n.”

“Oh no, no,” he sang. “First you have to find me the words for the chorus of the song. And then you may come.”

“Frasher, rasher, hhnnnhhh! masher, rotten, evil, sodding cat.”

“Thank you, my dear!”

I knew I had to come soon, or i might explode — not something one ever wants to do, least of all when bleeding. My mind raced, but the words that usually spring to my ear with such ease and grace failed me. (Bastards.) I started singing, hoping that the muse might come upon me as i did so.

“D-I-L-D-O.. he is D-I-L-D-O.
He is D — desirable
He is I — er… incredible — OK, OK, i stole it from the song, i admit it.”

I was rewarded by hearing Purrrrvert snicker, then by feeling him thrust the glass dildo harder into me, grinding on my g-spot, and giving me cause for alarm that i might release the flood of orgasm that I felt building up inside me — before i was permitted.

I would  never wish to disobey my wonderful Dom.

I continued.

“He is L — er… er… libidinous (phew)
He is D — deep inside me
He is O — my god!”

Purrrrvert burst out laughing. “I love how you amuse me, my pink tabby cunning linguist. You may come.”

I groaned my orgasmic ascent and shuddered uncontrollably as the waves of bliss crashed over me.

Instead of relenting and allowing me to catch my post-orgasmic breath, he merely pushed into me harder, stroking my back and ass, winding his fingers into my hair and pulling, and occasionally dealing me a mild swat, just so he could hear me sigh in the way that i do at the feel of his hand on my skin.

“Do you have another one for me?”

Oh dear GOD.

“He is D — desireous
He is I — inside of me (another laugh from Purrrrvert at this point)
He is L — long and licky (I was grasping at straws, I tell you, my mind was a blank.)
He is D — Dammit, I can’t think of one!
He is O — orgasmic! yes!

“Come for me, my Pink Tabby.”

I came with an enthusiasm i find hard to eloquently express, and within seconds had gushed all over him.

This time he allowed me to catch my breath and calm down, putting his arms around me and holding me as i subsided. It’s something I love him to do, which he knows, despite it not featuring on any fetish or kink list of which I’m aware. 😉

*********************************

Post-coitally, some time later, he began idly playing with a nipple, squeezing it at the tip. Lazily, I looked up at him.

“Would you mind grabbing it from the whole aureole instead of just the very tip? Whenever you pinch or pull the tip, i worry that it’s going to come off. ”

“Like this?” he demonstrated.

“Exactly.”

He continued to pinch, squeeze and pull my nipple, apparently oblivious to the desire it aroused within me, although I knew he knew only too well the effect of the cause.

I began babbling.  “It’s funny — when i was first discovering sex, i could never get why women made such a big fuss over tits and sex. I mean, they’d stroke, and play, but it did nothing for me. Until someone bit my nipple, and sent a jolt of electric arousal directly to my cunt… and that was when I first realised I might be a pervert.”

“Might be…?” he said, extending the grab circumference of his hand to my entire breast (no mean feat, i might add). “I think you passed “might be” a while ago.

I lay there, speechless but for the occasional gasp of (good) pain, and writhing in arousal, as he squeezed and smushed my boobs. Subtly, he nudged my hand down to his cock — apparently hard again so soon after we’d fucked.

I love the feel of his skin. I swiveled my head so my eyes could meet his, holding and stroking him in just the way he likes.

“You’re so bad, darling. It really does it for you, when you cause me pain, huh?”

“It’s not about the pain or causing you pain. I’m not a sadist. It’s the effect, it’s what it does to you. That’s what I love, as much as I love fucking you — and you know I do — I love to watch you melt into a puddle of desire.”

I love it too.

Le deep et happy sigh….

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Different

It was different the second time.

The first time had been —  although I only really comprehended so in retrospect — nerve-wracking.

Would we be a “fit”? Would we be compatible?

Would he like my body? Would I like his?

Would it be like it was with PreviousDom, where i was restricted to the point of not daring to open my mouth except when presented with an upstanding dick to suck? (Incorrectly believing that this was “the one twue way” to submit.)

It had been none of the above, and all my fears had been proved groundless. The experience the first time had been absolutely incredible — and I intend no hyperbole here. I was calm, reassured, and in no way wracked with nerves — on the contrary; rather excited and anticipating the endless possibilities of new experience that lay ahead.

Taking care not to harm a still-swollen cheek after a painful tooth extraction a day or so ago, i kissed him hello carefully. What we have is still very new, but not so new that the shine hasn’t rubbed off a little (in the nicest possible way), and I can sense a certain warm familiarity about the way his lips meet mine — a familiarity that pleases me and gives me a big old warm and fuzzy.

That, in and of itself, was different.

We began the same way as last time, with him spreading out the truly comprehensive collection of toys, ticklers, teasers and floggers  that he owns — and Purrrrvert is a man who believes in pervertibles to an unbelievable extent. He told me that once I’d seen and experienced his collection, I’d never be able to go shopping for anything else again without looking through a BDSM filter at just about every item on the shelf.

(Except, perhaps, condoms. Heh.)

I chose what toys I fancied playing with, taking care not to err on the side of big-girly-wussiness and caution, as I had done previously, and adding to my usual choices of skin-sensation fun-and furry things, several floggers, some rubber and silk binding wires, the blindfold, and bondage (aka hiking) rope. And a vibrating smurf. (Swear to god.)

Then the session began.

He stood me in front of him, and made it clear that he was in charge by removing my clothing and handling my body, piece by piece. Once I was stood before him, naked and trembling with excitement, he bound each breast individually, and began playing with them.

Having never experienced breast-binding before, i was astounded to learn that it heightened the sensations in my boobs more than ever, and the nipple-to-clit hotline along which an electric current usually travels, had suddenly become even more sensitive – resulting in an awareness of my cunt being awash as soon as he pulled me towards him by the tippy-tip of my nipple.

It hu-u-u-rt… but it felt so good.

I brought my eyes level with his — i know how much he loves to look deep into my eyes.

“I’m wet. In fact, I’m soaking.”

His baby-blues twinkled a faux nonchalance at me.

“I’ll check in a minute” he said, almost too dismissively.

I squirmed as I stood there in front of him, his hands groping, stroking and palpating bits of me — none of it reducing the wetness; on the contrary, all of it contributing to yet more gushage.

Suddenly i wanted nothing more than to have him touch me, stroke me, make me come. And he knew, oh how he knew! I could tell, from how slowly he was taking things. He had no need to hurry. This was being done on his timescale, not mine.

Exquisite agony.

“Will you undress me, please?”

Mutely, I did as I was told. Shirt, shoes, socks, pants and underwear. I knelt before him naked, and he took me firmly by the hair.

“I like having you kneeling in front of me,” he smiled, and kissed me again.

(The wetness factor upped itself threefold. I felt like a classic Bon Jovi album.)

He leaned forward and unbound my breasts, only to pull out a long, orange hiking rope, and begin to truss me like a chicken.

“Did you bring your camera with you?” I asked him, as I turned this way and that, surveying myself critically in the mirror.

“No, not today — why?”

“This looks hot. My tits look fabulous. The girls have never been this well dressed. I want to commemorate the occasion.”

“Next time, dear. OK?”

*******************************************************

Later, after he had indeed discovered how utterly awash with arousal I was, and a fisting that brought tears of joy to my eyes with the intensity of the orgasm (although strangely no gush this time… anyone got any idea why?), he bade me snuggle into him, while he held me and stroked every bit of me he could reach.

“Relax, Kitten. You’re always so busy — I want you to relax and be calm and still.”

“But … I’m not good at being passive… and I just want to make you happy… and –”

“That’s fine, but let me pamper you. You’ll have your turn later, I promise.”

So, once again, I did as I was told, although he relented and allowed me to gently stroke his chest and torso. I wasn’t surprised that he did, I believe he likes to be stroked as much as he likes to stroke.

And as I lay there, I reflected on my good fortune. I’d fallen into BDSM, as an experiment, and it had led me to meet this wonderful person who dominated me as much as i wanted or needed, and genuinely cared for me also. And indulged me, and liked talking to me, and discussing stuff with me, and understood me and all my quirky foibles, and contradictions, and all of the other things that define me as me — good and bad.

I’d not only found a wonderful lover, I’d found a friend. A really good friend. A rarity in any walk of life, but especially within the confines of BDSM to find one with whom each others pet perves click a happy fit, and you also get on like a house on fire.

I’m so lucky. I can’t wait until next time.

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Coming into 2009

Thank you and a very happy new year to the sexiest chick on the planet for fleshbotting Elegant Smut again…

It’s not merely titular. That’s how i began the new year — a thundering orgasm, self-administered.

By choice, I might add — my children are asleep in bed, and at nearly-forty-holy-FUCK-that’s-ridiculously-old years of age, i wasn’t really in the mood for mindless alcohol consumption and partying of a non-specific nature simply because 2008 became 2009.

Call me boring if you dare. I make my own way, and my own fun. Haven’t you read this blog at all, people?

I decided instead to reflect on what the past year had wrought, in particular the most recent part — less recent is pretty much all documented here. Kinda — and what the year ahead had to offer. Then, at the suggestion of a dear and very horny friend — I wanked myself into 2009.

And what a way to start the year it was.

2008 saw my first kiss with a woman, way back in April.

Christmas 2008 saw me develop that further into my first girl-girl fuck. It’s an odd way to celebrate Christmas, in particular because that’s precisely what I don’t usually do (celebrate Christmas, not fuck — i fuck quite a lot). But they did, apparently, if the gaily decorated Christmas tree was anything to go by.

And I made her come.

The first time my lips and tongue touched moist girlie flesh — and I made her writhe in ecstasy above my face.

While her husband fucked me until I gushed…

Kinda proud of that, I am. Heh.

It’s the most bizarre sensation — the absorption of the various simultaneous occurrences by my just-hanging-onto-reality-by-a-thread brain. Mouth: enjoying the taste and smell of a beautiful woman. Bazooms: being manipulated, manhandled and pinched by both his and her hands. Cunt being pounded by a long, thick (and need I say rampant?) cock.

Now i understand the meaning of the phrase sensory overload.

In describing the event to aforementioned dear-and-horny-friend the conversation went thusly:

Dear-and-horny-friend : how was your Christmas?

Sapphire: non-existent, darling — i’m a Jew.

Dear-and-horny-friend: Ah but c’mon you must have done something. rescue me here

Sapphire: Well, i had sex with a husband and wife who had a Christmas tree in their living room — how’s that?

Dear-and-horny-friend: Dang, you celebrated the season quite appropriately then.

Sapphire: Well, yes.

I have so much more to tell you about — the twenty minute blow-job, the girl-girl-guy kiss that became a girl-girl-cock kiss… but it’s after midnight and I am tired.

Happy New Year to all of you out there. May the best of 2008 be the worst of 2009.

Sapphire x

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