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Rope

The date is set. It feels like the ideal way to celebrate the end of a stressful work contract. I’m so tired and preoccupied that I don’t have time to get too excited. But on the plus side, the crippling nerves don’t have chance to take too much of a hold either.

As the day arrives, I begin with the expected ‘Good morning, Sir’ message, and he responds with detailed instructions. I am to dress however I feel sexy and comfortable. But he specifies the need to shower and avoid overpowering perfume, leading me to wonder what manner of minger must have turned up at his door in the past.

At the agreed time, I am to let myself in through the front door where there will be a cushion and a blindfold set out in the hallway. The instructions involve removing my shoes, putting on the blindfold, and kneeling with hands folded and head bowed, patiently waiting for him to appear.

I do as I am told, swiftly and uncharacteristically unthinkingly. Despite a minor flutter of panic in case he was about to drop some previously undiscussed surprise on me, I realise that the usual gut-wrenching nerves are replaced with anticipation and excitement. He tells me later that while he was watching me waiting, I had an enormous grin on my face.

As the anticipation builds, I hear his footsteps as he comes to stand behind me and pull me up, wrapping his arms around me roughly. I am swiftly steered towards what I think is the main room, and once again I’m shoved to the floor while he sits on the end of a bed. I know that this kind of thing requires a degree of role playing seriousness but I really am struggling not to chuckle. I’m not taking the piss, I’m just nervously excited.

He restates the purpose of my visit, confirming my consent for what is about to happen, and testing me on the safe words. The smile is quickly wiped off my face when pushes my head down, instructing me to kiss his feet. I really wasn’t expecting that, and I’m not overly enthusiastic at all. Being used as a sex object is one thing, but worshipping the manky feet of a virtual stranger is a different matter altogether. But like any good sub would, I go with it.

Thankfully, it is only a brief moment. And the fun begins when he stands up, waving his rock hard dick at my face, making me seek it out with my eager mouth. He definitely has the attractive mix of encouraging words and authority that I find incredibly effective.

Eventually, I am pulled up and instructed to undress. Soon I am standing in the middle of a stranger’s dungeon, blindfolded and totally naked. Of all the elements that are intimidating about this particular scenario, bizarrely it’s the complete nakedness that’s bothering me the most. I’m feeling ridiculously vulnerable.

As he kisses me, I begin to relax again and feel the rope in his hands. He starts to wrap it around me slowly, whispering in my ear to ‘feel the rope’. My arms are folded behind my back, my hands gripping my forearms. He’s already explained that he’s no shibari expert, but it’s surprisingly comforting as the rope is wound around my upper body. In the back of my head, I still can’t help but think how ludicrous I must look with all my flabby bits hanging out and my boobs weirdly squished. But it’s clearly working for him and I force out the doubts and obediently kneel again, ready for him to fuck my throat.

I’m really liking the feeling of enclosure, like a big hug. And while balance getting up and down is tricky, he can use it like a carry handle to move me around wherever he pleases. I’m steered to the other side of the room, feeling the rubber mat under my feet, and bent over what I eventually realise is the odd shape banana chair. He’s instructing me all along but it’s still confusing, disconcerting and wobbly as he positions me face down with my arse in the air. It takes me a moment to realise that he has put on rubber gloves before he starts fingering my pussy – I’m mildly put out that it implies I’m some kind of skank. But at the same time, I’m reassured that he’s fastidious, particularly given his commitment to the lifestyle.

After a rough and not altogether pleasurable fingering, he puts on a condom and finally fucks me. I’m completely helpless and he’s grabbing my hair, pulling my head back. It’s rough, deep, noisy, and delicious.

He’s already regaled me with tales of his orgasm-control prowess, and espoused the virtues of loud, shouty, primal cumming. But I’m still surprised by the animalistic roar he emits as he shoots his load.

As ever, I’ve warned him that my orgasm is extremely unlikely. Any expectation has precisely the opposite effect on me. And besides, I prefer to cum with The Husband when I get home to my own comfortable bed. But of course he takes this as some kind of challenge and quickly recovers, eagerly returning to the task at hand. He pulls me upright by my convenient carry handle and I’m standing exposed once again as he considers his next move. I can tell from the flooring that I’m positioned near the frame and he starts attaching more rope to my arms. Eventually, I’m stood, legs spread, with my upper body secured by ropes and suspended to each of side of the frame.

I’m bound, helpless and excited, waiting and listening as he paces around me. When the deafening trance music begins, I know that his orgasm mission has begun in earnest – a mission where he plans to take me out of my head until my body has no choice but to react. He warms me up by stroking a crop over me, building gradually to stinging whacks which leave my tits with impressive looking bruises for weeks. Next, a sharp spiky thing is run seductively from my neck down to my feet. I’m slowly losing myself, relaxing into a trance-like state. A vibrating wand is held firmly against my clit while he expertly manipulates my g-spot. My legs are wobbling and unrecognisable groany sounds are coming from my very own mouth. Above the music, he’s forcefully and loudly instructing me to shout and scream… until I have an unexpected and primal climax.

Through our detailed preparatory discussions, I’ve stressed the importance of effective aftercare – I’ve learned plenty from my dabblings with Easy Rider. He’s suitably attentive, untying me slowly and sensually removing the rope before finally removing the blindfold. Then he leads me over to the bed, lays me down and holds me in his arms while I recover.

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The Misfits

Of course I end up fucking the strangler dude. It’s been a particularly busy work week and I’m thinking that a few hours of rough sex could be just what I need to relax in time to spend a couple of days off with The Husband.

I’m exhausted, but excited enough to get dressed up in my corset and stockings, black dress and favourite leopard print coat. He picks me up around the corner from my house to take me to where he’s staying – a trailer park. It may be described as a ‘luxury’ holiday village, but it is still a trailer park. It appears to sum up the dirty shabby nature of the whole episode. But not in a totally wrong way.

He’s attentive, funny and flirtatious on the way there, and acts the gentlemen opening the door for me to climb out of the ute. But that’s where it ends. I’m used to a glass of wine and some gentle foreplay to ease me into a submissive state, but straight away he has me bent over the table spanking my arse – really hard. No niceties, just straight into the brutal play as he shoves me to my knees and tries to ram his pathetic cock into my mouth. I’m a bit stunned to be honest. We’ve chatted about different scenarios for a few weeks, but now I’m thinking that I really should have been more proactive in establishing boundaries and expectations for the visit.

I know I can stop at any time and that The Husband will be waiting outside shortly, so I go with it. His under-performing penis is clearly something he works with on a regular basis as he arrogantly mansplains female sexual pleasure to me while vigorously using his fingers to make me squirt all over the bed. He jumps up with a triumphant smile on his face, heading to the kitchenette in just his socks to fetch a can of rancid beer to thrust into my hand.

The mood becomes far more affectionate and chilled as we relax over our beers. And I’m sure that the squirting has given him a much needed boost to his sexual confidence. The afternoon culminates in him cumming over my face. I walk to the car park past the holiday makers looking like a hooker from a 1960s British film, complete with my leopard print coat, disheveled hair, and a dirty grin on my face.

He was enthusiastic about seeing me again but there was something missing for me. And it wasn’t just the lack of a big hard cock. Maybe if he’d have lived nearby I would have invested more time into exploring the potential. But then again, maybe I wouldn’t have. It was just a little cold and flat.

The continual chatting with prospective guys and juggling coffee dates is pretty intense. It’s often hard to work out what does and doesn’t do it for me. And as with anything, it comes in waves of nothing or all at once.

During a particularly lean time and a rare day off to myself, I spontaneously agree to meet a local man for coffee. The alarm bells should have rung when he sent me an unsolicited video of him fucking a fleshlight attached to his kitchen counter. While I’ve seen worse, it did seem an odd thing to send straight away, and I reminded myself that whatever came of it I should never let him cook for me.

The coffee shop was really busy and he’d already ordered his to take away before I arrived. He didn’t offer to buy mine or even wait with me, instead telling me he was heading outside. While he was reasonably good looking, he had a distinct lack of charm or even personality. As we walked along the seafront with our coffee, I felt like I was an unwilling participant in a job interview as he listed off his CV of sexual conquests. He appeared completely disinterested in me, not asking a single question, and at one point even interrupting me to hold a full-on conversation with the volunteers who were out cleaning the beach. I have never felt a more striking example of mutual incompatibility. And yet he was seemingly totally unaware, bizarrely pestering me to come to his flat for days after until he finally took on board my definitive ‘no’.

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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.