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Diamonds are Forever

So the exploratory date with Easy Rider was quite the success.

The shtick with him is a far cry from my usual search for emotional connection and affection, but it was definitely fun. I’m left feeling a bit shell shocked and confused at first, trying to work out how to process a totally new kind of ‘relationship’ that basically involves me heading to his house for a quick glass of wine, an exchange of pleasantries, and straight down to hot play and brutal sex before heading home an hour later.

It’s the equivalent of a mid-week therapy session – in fact, half an hour spent bending over in stocks feels just like I’ve completed a particularly tough yoga class. And the timing works well for The Husband too. I’m home in plenty of time to carry on the fun with him, and we even get to have dinner together.

I enjoy his creativity and enthusiasm, and the prospects for exploration are very promising indeed. Now that we know we’re sexually compatible, we exchange increasingly detailed messages on ideas and preferences. This involves my love of cum, and his enthusiasm extends to him heading straight out for a blood test and the all-clear.

On the second visit, my nervousness is dramatically reduced but the excitement isn’t. After the perfunctory glass of wine and a quick snog, I’m chained to the cross and grinning with anticipation as he lurks next to his table of implements deciding what to do first. My grin soon shifts when he starts to test my reactions to the flogger, paddle and crop.

It’s all going swimmingly as he releases my wrists and shoves me on my knees, fucking my mouth and turning me into an gagging, eye-watering, drooling mess. I am continually surprised how much I enjoy it.

Eventually bending over the horse, he introduces me to his vibrating butt plug. It’s ingenious and absolutely delightful. So much so that while he fucks me hard and increases it’s intensity in my bumhole, I very nearly cum standing up – no mean feat. The session ends with me on my knees and him cumming all over my face before taking a photo for The Husband.

It’s a unique set up that lasts way longer than any of my other friendships. Primarily because it’s only an occasional thing. But also because it’s a very straightforward arrangement. The boundaries needed to be worked out initially, especially while I reconcile the fact that this one is not going to involve date nights with pizza and cuddling – just two people who like each other indulging in brutal, depraved sex.

My boundaries are further tested on one particular session which puts me off returning to his playroom for a while. And it’s not even his sadistic creativity which pushes me to my limits. It’s my own aging, broken body! I’m bent over with my legs spread and neck and wrists locked into the handmade stocks. Apart from the impressive array of anal toys, the enduring memory is of the toil it took on my aging knees and hips to stay in that position for a prolonged period of time. My reward is being sent home to The Husband with a bum full of cum contained by a very pretty diamante butt plug.

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Whiplash

The first time I drive over to his place I am more nervous than I have been on any other date so far. And understandably too – while we’ve agreed that I’m making an exploratory visit, I’m going to a total stranger’s house to potentially get restrained, flogged and fucked. But as The Husband points out while he excitedly helps me get ready, what’s the worst that can happen? As usual, I give him the address and for the first time, agree a code text message and time limit in case of any problems.

Bizarrely, Easy Rider lives 2 streets away from The Mechanic who I’m in the throes of a complete ‘boyfriend experience’ affair with. Although we’ve never really talked about exclusivity, I still feel kind of shifty as I pull up to Easy Rider’s place. I’ve even asked for him not to leave any marks this time as I have a Mechanic date the following night and haven’t quite worked out how to broach the subject with him yet.

I’m nervous and flustered as I ring the doorbell, with very little idea of what to expect. The run up has been unusually swift and the ground rules have been basic. He’s way more confident and a reassuring presence on his own turf. The house is cosily warm with music playing and incense burning. He leads me to the kitchen counter (again!) and pours me a glass of wine, stroking my hair, wrapping his arms around me and telling me to relax. He’s remarkably soothing.

I’m wearing a long wrap-over dress over a corset, stockings and no knickers, perched on the kitchen stool with a glass of wine in my hand. We make comfortable small talk as I start to compose myself. He kisses me confidently and I start to feel wobbly with anticipation as he caresses my tits and squeezes my nipples hard. But my nervousness increases my silly jokes and smartarse comments until he shoots me a stern look that literally makes my ovaries twitch. After kissing me hard, he disappears briefly returning with some adjustable nipple clamps which he slowly and deliberately attaches as I stay perched with my tits exposed, increasingly turned on.

I’m grinning stupidly as he leads me to the playroom and stands me against the St. Andrew’s Cross facing the wall and attaching a collar and leather cuffs to my wrists.  My sniggers soon subside as he tries out a number of light flogging implements and eventually inserts the anal hook which he attaches with rope to the collar and gradually tightens. When he unties and turns me around, he’s naked with a huge hard on and a cheeky determined look on his face. He pushes me to my knees, grabbing my hair to shove his cock hard down my throat, making me gag and my eyes water. And just as I think he’s about to cum, he bends me over a horse structure and fucks me hard, telling me what a good slut I am. It’s so much fun.

But where I would usually collapse in a heap on a comfy bed at the end of a vigorous session, I’m left standing in the middle of the room, wobbly, vulnerable, and decidedly unsure what to do. I quickly return to the kitchen to retrieve my dress, cover up and finish my wine. He’s pleasant, but affectionate after-care doesn’t really seem to be in his skillset and I actually have to ask him to come over to my side of the counter to hug me.

He has taken some extremely hot creative photos of the proceedings to show The Husband.  And before I go, he asks if I want a leaving present and fetches his favourite crop. I obediently lift my dress and bare my arse, bracing myself nervously. When it happens, I jump 3 feet in the air, yelling even more expletives than usual, and for a prolonged period of time until the initial shock starts to subside. He takes a glorious picture of my arse with a glowing red line all the way across before sending me on my merry way home looking completely wrecked and ravaged.

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Easy Rider

Years ago, when The Husband and I were on our painful break, I had a brief dalliance with the kink scene. A chick from work was being paid on the side for running a BBW chatroom. Chatrooms and message boards were all completely new to me, computers were the size of giant pumpkins, and I could have vacuumed the entire house in the time the dial up internet took to load a single page. But the possibilities for a 30-something working single mother to meet people without going out on the piss every night off were appealing. The work chick set up my computer, explained the basics, and sent me on my way. And before long, I had migrated to the BDSM arena, utterly fascinated and completely immersed in the chat about pain, restraint, humiliation and punishment.

Clearly, The Husband is extremely sexually submissive. And up to that point, I had taken on the role of Domme with style and enthusiasm. But I was equally drawn to his rough, assertive dominance and now I was keen to explore just how submissive I could be.

It was almost 20 years ago and he was my first internet date and my first proper Dom. He was a short, stout, rich, older arrogant bloke – all features which fit the profile. But he lacked the kindness, sensitivity and intelligence that I now understand are central to the whole thing working effectively. While I was fascinated by the lifestyle, I was ridiculously naive, heartbroken and damaged, and the whole episode makes me uncomfortable to think about even now. Basically, it was doomed for failure because neither of us actually liked each other, let alone ourselves.

On the other hand, I was able to explore some of my biggest fantasies and had some of my hottest adventures when he escorted me to some incredible parties, ones I would have been unlikely to find on my own and even less likely to ever been brave enough to go alone. The parties were pretty vanilla group sex affairs, and I adored them. The BDSM exploration was far more psychological and at first, I enjoyed the novelty of doing whatever I was told. I also enjoyed lightly exploring my pain threshold with nipple clamps, spanking, hot wax, and restraint. Obedience and pain were so deliciously different to my usual preferences.

While my exploration over 2 decades ago was merely toe dipping, the visible BDSM scene is now way more complex, and divided into an increasingly accessible and titillating array of specialist, nuanced sub scenes. I’ve said it before, the contrived amateur dramatics of the mainstream fetish scene does very little for me. I have no interest in drinking cheap wine and eating cocktail sausages with people dressed in ill-fitting latex and dog collars talking about the comparative size of their butt plugs. And while I’m aware that the club scene is more sophisticated nowadays, I’m feeling too old for clubbing right now and may well need to build up to that once I’ve met a suitable mentor.

But I still adore being sexually submissive. Being dominant at home, and a strong feisty woman in my everyday life, it is a delicious and welcome relief. The right combination of words, eye contact and sexual confidence turn me into a quivering wobbly mess. So it’s no surprise that I’ve been starting to explore this a bit more in my online discussions and in real life.

He is single, early 50s, reasonably fit looking, has a cheeky glint in his eye, and is a biker – we name him Easy Rider.

I’m not actively looking for a new friend when his message pops into my inbox. But he’s interesting, flirtatious, kinky, and can string a sentence together. And he has very particular tastes which he gets down to it pretty quickly, sending me pictures of his playroom. The décor is more 1980s suburban blokeyness than the classy chrome glamour of the movies. But the homemade St Andrew’s Cross, stocks, and horse, as well as the table laid out with an array of toys, butt plugs, whips and crops, shows an impressive degree of skill and imagination.

And he has a really great looking cock. I know it’s not supposed to matter, but it does – a fact that I am increasingly coming to realise on my current quest.

I’m heading out to see my friend’s band play and arrange to meet him beforehand. I would know too many people in the first pub he suggests, and there is an unusual amount of activity in the city that night, so by the time I manage to park up and meet him outside the third meeting place we agree on, we’re both a bit over it. But we eventually get a table in a notoriously shitty pub and get down to talking details. He’s a bit shorter than I had imagined but I like the cut of his jib and he’s wearing a lovely pair of cherry red Doc Marten boots.

We share a lot of the same music tastes and a disdain of the mainstream BDSM scene. It’s all going so well that I ask him outright about his politics. This is becoming a thing for me now – I’m sick of emotionally investing in a scenario only to find out that he’s a racist, homophobic, misogynistic prick. He deals extremely well with my interrogation, but as we walk towards his car I’m still unsure if there’s much sexual chemistry between us and detect a slight whiff of chippy defensiveness that is decidedly unattractive, especially when I’m looking for a sexually confident and dominant partner. My main reservation is whether I’m too feisty for him and whether his squeaky voice has the gravitas needed to pull off the patter effectively.

But the kiss goodbye is encouraging and the messaging over the next few days is increasingly hot. He regales me with tales of his ‘pussy pump’ and ‘anal hook’, toys that even a supposedly enlightened chick like me has never even heard of. And when he encourages me with the words ‘good girl’ he definitely has my attention.

The thought of him torturing and using me has also piqued the interest of The Husband, who is completely getting off on the prospect of being made to watch. I put the proposal to Easy Rider and he’s equally excited by the idea… all 3 of us are keen to explore the possibilities.