Tidal Wave

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Last week was a headfuck… the accidental topping, and after that, what it highlighted. The first is that this community is awesome. And the second is how adrift I am right now. I didn’t just drop, I sank like a stone, bouncing along at rock bottom.

(There is a sexy bit to this post… keep scrolling to the bit in italics!)

It was only on Saturday night, when I sat at my friend’s with a glass of prosecco in hand, that I got angry. We both had reasons to vent and prosecco is definitely the way to do it. She’s vanilla, but understands my kink, monogamous but supports me being polyamorous. So I was able to let go and it really helped me work out what was what.

The anger turned out to be the fuel I needed. I still have this sinking sensation in my gut, but now I feel back in control of it, rather than letting it drown me.

I’m disappointed that Mr Biter tops better online than off. He talks an amazing talk, and coupled with what happened when we met and the online play, I overlooked that his FetLife profile says “sensualist,” and thought he was something different. I do like him, but I need to reframe my expectations with him and put boundaries in place if we’re going to continue.

My bigger thing is that I got overwhelmed with want and need, resonating right through my core. I want to be overwhelmed by being topped. I want guidelines and rules and consequences from a D-type. I need to feel the pleasure through pain but more than that have structure. A framework to work within so I don’t feel so ungrounded, so I don’t feel so purposeless.

I’m not going to jump on the first D-type that comes along; I’m more sensible and cynical than that. But I’m not meeting quite the right people – I’ve met up with a couple of riggers who want a bunny for peer rope events. They’re lovely, know what they’re doing and I’m looking forward to playing, but it’s not quite what I’m after. I’ve met a D/s couple who have “adopted me” as a newbie to the local scene and city and they’re great, but it just highlights what I feel is missing.

I tried to write what I need right now; I wanted to send it to Mr Biter, but it’s just not appropriate. It won’t help me, it’s just a description of what I need to mentally get off with, when I play with someone:

Pin me against the wall, and kiss me long and deep as your cock solidifies against my thighs. Let me feel you need this as much as I do. Let it pulse through our veins and our souls. Let it connect in unspoken ways until we’re breathless and sated.

Grab my wrists even though you don’t have to. Rest your hand on my collarbone in a warning gesture you don’t really need to make.

Push me to my knees. Push me onto the bed. Restrain me roughly. Tightly.

Slap my face, and call me your fucktoy. Run the cane up my calves and crop my thighs as I shudder in abject desire.

Thrust your hand against my clit, relentless, unmoving pressure that makes me writhe. Then fuck me with your fingers, swift, punishing, my wetness betraying the shake of my head.

Force your cock into my mouth, against my mouth, making me lick and suck every inch as you control me by my hair.

Pinch. Grab. Slap. Scratch. Let me purr against you as you stroke; a gentle antithesis of your punishing assault.

Kiss me. Let me breathe you. Intersperse my pain and my pleasure. A concerted attack of my senses that makes me want. Pant. Need. Writhe.

Repeat. Pain. Pleasure. Your slow, languid extraction of my soul as you extract my very essence, expose my needy core. Take as long as you need. This is our time.

Slow, incremental taps and hits and until I’m red and rosy. Trusting. Ready to let you in.

Hurt me in a rising crescendo that takes my head to far off places. Steady increasing pressure that blooms across my skin. Rhythmic reverberations that tour across my torso, until I shudder. Moan. Gasp. Shatter into a thousand fragments.

And take my fractured soul, massage deep into my sore and weary flesh. Press against my bruising, my hot welted flesh and remind me I’m alive.

Oh tell me I’m a good girl. No, tell me I’m your good girl. Stroke my hair, grip my neck to ground me as I rebuild. Surround me with your arms, let me feel small against your big whilst I come round.

Force my submission, and I’ll give it gladly.

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11 thoughts on “Tidal Wave

  1. A lot of this resonates with me too. But I’ve realized this week I’m not quite ready to try to meet someone.
    Your writing and understanding of self is hot as well as aching, and I appreciated you sharing it very much.

    1. Thank you. Blogging is a form of therapy for me. I’ve become much more able to articulate myself since I started, and it’s a huge help. Now to find someone so I don’t have to feel that aching need…

  2. ((((HUGS)))) for the bit not in italics. I wish I had the right words to say but sometimes there aren’t any (prosecco and venting notwithstanding, of course). Mostly that the more you realize what you don’t want or what doesn’t work, the more you realize what you do want…and the sexy bit in italics seems like you have a clear picture in your head of what you want. And also, I haven’t wanted this kind of submission in a long time, but I feel a familiar craving stirring.

  3. You have taken a big step in your journey of finding out who you are and how you fit in. As you do so you will want the things you do want as you weed out what you don’t.
    Patience is the key word, when the time is right it will happen.

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