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Did you know that a really profound boneshaking orgasm will make me speak in tongues?
Yes, really. Somewhere in my brain I'm thinking "yes! faster! harder! don't stop!", but what comes out is "Gugvunt roonlib! Blagwiss! Urp flugboo!"
Or something like that, anyway. One day I'll record it and give you all a good laugh.
So, yes, Kev did show up tonight. He'd forgotten (?!) his Big Bag of Toys and Games, so, he said, tonight we were going to improvise with common household objects... the objects in question being clothespegs, of which I happened to have a shiny new pack handy. (No, I don't have a clothesline. Why do you ask?
)
So, shortly afterwards, I had a line of clothespegs from the top of each breast to the nipple, and another horizontal line of them from the nipples inwards - about twenty pegs in all, I think. Yes, it hurt like hell - almost as much as the one clamped onto my tongue did, and far more than the ones on my labia. Those were the ones I was expecting to hurt... but the ones that pushed me right up to my limit were the tongue and the left nipple (I never realised till tonight it was about ten times more sensitive than the right one. What's that about?). Only the thought that I could - in theory - stop him at any time stopped me from stopping him. I stayed very still, kneeling up on the bed, drooling and squeaking, while he flicked at the pegs and made scratches down my back and shoulders with his nails and another peg. Then he took the pegs off, slowly, one by one - and that hurt even more than putting them on had. And then he pushed me onto my back and held me down by my arms while he fucked me, slowly and deliberately, bruising my arms and the scratches on my back making me squeak some more - but it wasn't until he flipped me over and finished me off doggy style, hard and fast and bruisingly deep, that I started babbling strange words in between chewing holes in the sheets...
I'm sorry we didn't get any photographs of me all pegged up. I know a few of you would have liked that, but I'd left the camera in the living room and Kev didn't want to leave me and go fetch it. I'll take some of the bruises tomorrow - they're only a bit pink tonight, but I have a feeling every peg will be delineated in purple by morning. And I promise to make sure the camera's in the bedroom next time.
In the meantime - because there ought to be pictures - I give you a few that James captured while I was amusing him on the webcam a week (or two?) back:
Just sitting chatting naked
Standing up
Bending over
He asked if I could suck my own nipples...
I ache all over, inside and out, and my tongue is still sore as hell. Life is good.
(Edit: One of my American readers wants me to clarify "clothespegs" - apparently in Yankspeak those are the wooden ones without springs. Well, these were the plastic kind with springs - it'd be difficult to clamp the other kind onto somebody - but in English they're still called pegs.)
Yes, really. Somewhere in my brain I'm thinking "yes! faster! harder! don't stop!", but what comes out is "Gugvunt roonlib! Blagwiss! Urp flugboo!"
Or something like that, anyway. One day I'll record it and give you all a good laugh.
So, yes, Kev did show up tonight. He'd forgotten (?!) his Big Bag of Toys and Games, so, he said, tonight we were going to improvise with common household objects... the objects in question being clothespegs, of which I happened to have a shiny new pack handy. (No, I don't have a clothesline. Why do you ask?
)So, shortly afterwards, I had a line of clothespegs from the top of each breast to the nipple, and another horizontal line of them from the nipples inwards - about twenty pegs in all, I think. Yes, it hurt like hell - almost as much as the one clamped onto my tongue did, and far more than the ones on my labia. Those were the ones I was expecting to hurt... but the ones that pushed me right up to my limit were the tongue and the left nipple (I never realised till tonight it was about ten times more sensitive than the right one. What's that about?). Only the thought that I could - in theory - stop him at any time stopped me from stopping him. I stayed very still, kneeling up on the bed, drooling and squeaking, while he flicked at the pegs and made scratches down my back and shoulders with his nails and another peg. Then he took the pegs off, slowly, one by one - and that hurt even more than putting them on had. And then he pushed me onto my back and held me down by my arms while he fucked me, slowly and deliberately, bruising my arms and the scratches on my back making me squeak some more - but it wasn't until he flipped me over and finished me off doggy style, hard and fast and bruisingly deep, that I started babbling strange words in between chewing holes in the sheets...
I'm sorry we didn't get any photographs of me all pegged up. I know a few of you would have liked that, but I'd left the camera in the living room and Kev didn't want to leave me and go fetch it. I'll take some of the bruises tomorrow - they're only a bit pink tonight, but I have a feeling every peg will be delineated in purple by morning. And I promise to make sure the camera's in the bedroom next time.
In the meantime - because there ought to be pictures - I give you a few that James captured while I was amusing him on the webcam a week (or two?) back:
Just sitting chatting naked
Standing up
Bending over
He asked if I could suck my own nipples...
I ache all over, inside and out, and my tongue is still sore as hell. Life is good.
(Edit: One of my American readers wants me to clarify "clothespegs" - apparently in Yankspeak those are the wooden ones without springs. Well, these were the plastic kind with springs - it'd be difficult to clamp the other kind onto somebody - but in English they're still called pegs.)
