Much as I protest “I don’t know how these things happen to me”, sometimes I do know; I may even admit to occasionally encouraging it.
Every now and then I might hint or nudge, planting seeds of ideas probably with less subtlety than I imagine. Begging paws at the mention of something exciting, a carefully timed and publicised tumblr post or a very obvious “I’ll just leave this here…” Like leaving my anal hook casually strewn in Lien’s room, hoping, knowing, that he would plot and plan….
His energy is palpable and contagious as he realises his ideas. A dark intensity takes over, putting together the pieces of his carefully planned puzzle. I become his toy, to pose and position. I am perfect for what he has planned and he tells me so.
He secures my hands, red rope pulled through the suspension point above me to stretch me out. I don’t fight or struggle this time. I just watch him, determined and focussed.
He puts me on my knees to start, pushing the cold hard steel into my mouth to lubricate and warm. He mocks me for getting off on being choked with metal. My stifled moans giving away the effect of this humiliating act, the hard steel gently rattling against my teeth and pushing down on my tongue.
He slowly slides each hook inside me, savouring my reaction, the sharp intake of breath from the cold, the moans that escape my lips as I move to accommodate, to help him push into me. This time I’m spoiled, this time I get two hooks, each secured in place on the suspension frame.
The addition of the Hitachi magic wand through the front rope intensifies that satisfying feeling of fullness. The vibrations are focussed on my full cunt and felt all over. I rock and writhe, bucking my hips to move the hooks inside of me, tiny movements for overwhelming gratification.
I can’t focus with both holes filled, ropes stretched tight. It borders on being too much to bear. I am a growling panting hot-mess of a girl.
He secures nipple clamps, the pain searing across my sensitive nipples, yet another layer to this already mind-blowing set up. I concur with his praise of “Good girl” with my own panting whispered mantra “I am a good girl, I am a good girl” because I am to take all this.
Never more of a good girl then when he puts his fingers into my mouth “Let’s get all those holes filled” overloading me with sensation and making me cum so quickly. He calls me his “little hot used toy”, clearly aroused from watching me bring his fantasy to fruition.
He steps back to watch, to drink me in, hungry eyes all over my naked writing body. The look of satisfaction on his face shows a flash of deviant genius as he picks up his phone and starts shooting a video, commemorating his creativity.
Contradictory responses fire within me at once. I want to play up for the camera, my inner exhibitionist flaunting the impact of his ingenuity. Yet, equally I feel squirmy shamefulness knowing how dishevelled I’ve become, flushed from orgasm, glistening from the exertion, unable to grasp control of myself and my body which is still rocking against the hooks.
I try to claim back some control, to calm myself, holding as still as possible, looking into the camera with teeth bared in a sneer as he comes to stand in front of me.
“Are you going to cum on camera? I’m going to slap it out of you, are you ready?” I shoot daggers at him, all this and now slaps round my face too?
“Let’s get that pretty little face on camera, now I’m going to slap you until you cum, OK?” I nod and hold back any objections; I stop my lip from trembling and take it. Absorb the impact of repeated slaps to the face until I can’t take any more and twist and turn away from him. Unable to go far, secured like prize meat on the two hooks.
He turns my face back towards him and towards the camera, holding my jaw steady and slipping his thumb into my mouth, pressing against my tongue as a catalyst for the orgasm that shoots through me.
“What if I tap on this?” with an evil smile he tugs on the rope that holds the wand, the buzzing increases as the rope tightens and pulls against the hook in my cunt. The wand bounces along in time with his taps. “This could be so much tighter.” He suggests, pulling on the front rope, rectifying the slackness that has resulted from my constant rocking. Pulling it upwards until I cum noisily.
He lifts me to standing to tighten the ropes. Pulling them upwards, increasing the tension until I’m on tiptoes. I can replace my feet but to do pulls the hooks uncomfortably deep inside, so I stay up on my toes, stretching them out, teetering on the soft surface.
“I like seeing you fuck it” his statement is an instruction for more, I rock my hips, fucking myself with the hooks. The intensity has increased now that I’m standing and in this predicament, but he doesn’t care, he just wants to watch and enjoy. His words encourage me “Fuck it, fuck it, come on, fuck it….” My movements becoming an uncontrolled frenzy but yet he tells me I’m “so beautiful to watch”
He’s practically smug, bathing in the beauty of his brilliance and once again turning the camera on me “I’m making homemade porn right now” he tells me, promising to watch it back and enjoy it again later, again and again.
The camera recording his accomplishment is focussed on my face. Luckily he knows well that the expression of pure hatred is far from how I feel; he requests it, insisting “Come on give me that look”. He knows the one, the animalistic snarl of my inner creature revealed, responding to stimuli with raw abandon.
The tell-tale blaspheming that precedes an orgasm gives me away. He comments on how I squirm but I’m certain I don’t hear him, overwhelmed with sensations. I growl “fuck, fuck, fuck” and shoot him that angry look that belies my true feelings. What could be mistaken for hatred masks my “oh my wow, how lucky am I?” truth.
He tells me I love being a toy to be used. Lucky for him, he’s right.
I tell him he’s encouragable. Lucky for me, I’m right too.