Confession: Just like Molly I was a biter.
The worst sort, an uncontrollable tearing at the skin bitey puppy. I gave bites that would hurt, bites that came from nowhere and shut down arousal quicker than having cold water poured over you unexpectedly. Bites with added sucking that would leave incriminating marks, marks that gave away what was supposed be kept discreet. Or worse still bites that left teeth marks on intimate appendages. Ouch.
Most upsettingly they were bites I didn’t want to inflict, bites that were out of my control. Just like a puppy who takes play fighting too far, I didn’t know my own strength. Seeing the marks I had caused without meaning to made me feel like an evil violent person. It wasn’t sadism, it was simply careless, a lack of conscious mindfulness. I loathed myself under my shame face.
Like a puppy I grew out of my bitey phase, got over using my nippy needle teeth to gnaw on unexpecting flesh. I learnt to (mostly) control those primal urges that made me want to clamp down, teeth sinking into soft flesh with a vigorous shake of my head.
Or at the very least, I learnt when the compulsion is reaching overload and I give a warning, allowing my intended bitees to restrain me, pin me down or face my snapping jaws in another direction. I’ve even been known to gag myself with the nearest scarf or rope bundle to prevent unintended ouchyness. Or worse, bite myself, leaving bruises that ache for days. Aches that make me glad I chose to chew myself.
Receiving bites, however, is a whole different story. In the role of bitee I have conflictions, much as any other pleasure/pain activity that I like to indulge in. Bites hurt and I hate it and I want it to stop but oh fuck, when it’s happening I cannot deny the effect on my treacherous vagina. I love it, I get a buzz from the pain and when it stops I want it back again.
It evokes a rampant response, a sure-fire way to stoke my inner passion furnace and make me pounce right back. Growling and scrapping as puppies do. Luckily those that know me well don’t stop at my initial “stop it, ouch” reaction, no matter how much it looks like I hate it.
Like the Fiend, wrapping me in a struggly kind of cuddle and unleashing an assault of teeth on any and all flesh within range of her snapping jaws. It hurt and I squealed and wriggled to get away but seemingly cava makes her grown extra octopus limbs and I was trapped. Screwing up my face and objecting just enough to encourage, her enthusiastic chomping had that undeniable effect. That overload of “ouch” that becomes an explosion of “yes!”. She decorated my body in tiny little mouth marks, to remind me and to admire.
Tiny marks similar to those left on my finger after pup discovered the unexpected incredible power from administering her jaws to my digit at just the right moment. Clamping down despite my objections, understanding the subtle flickers on my pain-face that show it’s laced with arousal. Building a soft pup mouthing through to firm pressure until it sparked a direct connection with my cunt and prompted a most unexpected orgasm. Clever pup, lucky me.
It was the wonderfully terrible twosome of the Fiend and Pup who discovered the joy of cunt biting. Discovered and shared, much to my delight and pleasure. Sinking teeth into the fleshy part, gentle bites that spark fire and feel so good.
I’m learning to harness to power of bites again by paying attention to what I enjoy on the receiving end. Aiming to recreate the gentle building of pressure on fleshy parts, without the over-enthusiastic puppy traits that cause pain and result in arousal shut-down. When it comes to biting I want to give as good as I get.