Bound to please ...

All around me is quiet.

I have been told to stay still.

I am kneeling. My eyes blinded by the soft purple silk. My body is naked except for the collar. I am not sure how long I have been waiting. In my darkness I cannot judge the passage of time. My other senses are heightened, I feel the slight change of temperature on my skin that signals that the door has opened before I hear the soft creak of the boards. He is moving slowly towards me. My heart beat quickens in anticipation. I do not know yet what He has planned for me, how He will stretch or test me. I can only wait...

He is close by now. I can feel the heat radiating from His body: hear His breathing. That heavy breathing that I love to hear. It brings a smile to my face, knowing that in His mind He has this evening planned; He is following a script that I am not a party too, although my role, my reactions, will be central to the play.

I become aware of a smell. He is standing in front of me. He has raised something to my nostrils. I inhale deeply...

Jute rope.

I do not have to see it. I know the smell, and my body will recognise that coarse texture soon enough. I have some clue as to where tonight is headed. The variations though are endless... my mind races, tearing snippets from my memories, the good and the bad, the pain and the pleasure. I know that I am growing wetter before He has even touched me. The ropes are Him. He is the ropes. The ropes are US. A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine.

His hands are on my arms, pulling them behind my back; crossing them so that my hands are against opposite elbows: He starts to weave.

I imagine the lines of rope as He binds my body. Each strand loving caressed into place, twisted, tightened and laid perfectly against the one before. I visualise the harness that He is creating around my torso, perfectly presenting my breasts so that they jut out provocatively. He deftly threads the rope, pulling a section vertically across the horizontal bands: a sharp tug and all the slack is removed, making me aware of the constriction that the jute is causing. The bonds are tight tonight.

His lips brush my ear, "You look beautiful" He breathes. I am grinning, ridiculously happy, all I want is to please Him.

My eyes are closed under the blinfold, but I know He is smiling. I visualise Him. I know He will be naked too. I know His cock will be proud and erect. I run my tongue over my lips, the memory of His flesh exciting my taste buds.

He continues to bind. The coarse rope is between my legs, the knots placed perfectly so that they are pressing on my sensitive bud. I sway my hips, feeling the delicious pressure.

A stinging slap bursts over my right buttock. "Did I tell you to move?"  His voice is gruff. I have forgotten myself for a moment, revelling in the pleasures of the ropes. Instantly I still my movements, bowing my head I tell Him that I am sorry.

I concentrate on keeping still. I am finding it so very difficult. From His heavy breathing I can hear how excited He is becoming. I want to move, to squirm, to show Him how much I love the ropes. All I can do is clench my muscles tightly, breathe slowly, try to relax. It heightens my submissiveness. Heightens every sensation; I cannot contain the arousal: moisure leaks on to my inner thighs.

He is binding my legs now, ankles to thighs. The weaver continues His art. With each twist, flick and pull of the rope He binds me closer to Him, binds us closer together. I cannot move now. He runs His hands over the ridges of the ropes. Runs them over the provocatively displayed flesh. The lightest of touches that sends shivers through my body. He tweaks my nipples. Pulls them, twists them till I bite my lip. He changes my position, turns me slowly onto my stomach, the rope between my legs tightens and reawakens my desires.

He moves away from me. Leaves me. I am sure He is still in the room watching me, I strain to hear the telltale sound of His breathing. I am alert: aware. I am His. I am open and displayed for Him. Living art for Him to feast His eyes upon. The control is His. Only He will decide what will happen next. In heightened sexual anticipation His toy waits...

Velvet <3

In His hands

They are His hands.
I have no control over them or what they do, nor would I want to.

They are His hands.
He has held me with them, touching, caressing and hugging me with them, from the moment he came through the door.
He has gently steered me with them, guiding me to my knees, positioning my own hands, my body, my mouth for His enjoyment.
He has held the glass with them, pouring wine from the bottle I chilled, placing the rim to my lips, controlling the liquid seeping into my eager mouth.

They are His hands.
He has taken me over His knee and warmed my flesh with them. The gentle rhythm of his slaps setting the bouncing orbs of my bottom aglow.
He has inflamed my desires with them, as well as my impertinent cheeks.
He has asserted His dominance with them, over my body and over my mind.

They are His hands
He has tied the blindfold with them. The purple silk blocking my view of the world, heightening my senses.
He has poured the luscious oil with them, soothing, stroking, massaging, till my body shines.
He has relaxed me with them, till I am drifting, floating: all else melting away to nothing.

They are His hands.
He has unzipped his black travelling bag with them, and carefully chosen an implement from amongst His sex toys in its hidden realms.
He has stroked me again with them, maintaining my dreamy state, so happy and relaxed I barely wonder what the item of His choice will be.
He has worked His magic with them, and I am under His spell.

They are His hands.
He has been moving towards this moment. His mind already had this journey planned, trustingly I follow the guidance of them still.
He has carefully adjusted the speed with them, my senses heightened, I hear the buzzing before I feel the touch.
He has placed the tip against my mound with them, and now it is his latest toy that sends sensations through my body.

They are His hands
He has me writhing in ecstasy with them, so much so that He has to lie across my body, pinning me down, restricting my movement to a minimum.
He is skillful with them, His iron grip holding me firm so that He finds the exact spot that He seeks.
He is persistent with them, never satisfied with the first orgasm He takes me beyond, until my whole body is on fire for Him, my mind consumed by the convulsions of my body.

They are His hands
He plays my body with them, He is the conductor, His baton the g-spot vibrator that He wields in His hands.
He plays my body again with them, my moans, my thrashing limbs, my tears reaching a crescendo at His command.
He stills them, a brief pause: the rest beats as much a part of the composition, the silence holding as much tension as the melody.
He moves them again, draining every last drop of moisture from my intimate places, every last shudder from my exhausted body.

They are His hands
He traces the dryness of my lips with them, strokes my trembling flesh with them, slowly, gently, he enfolds me in His arms with them, and we are one.

Our journey is always in His hands.
It is His hands, and what He holds within them, that make me come alive.

Velvet  <3

I am hooked

He fixes the blindfold over my eyes. It is the one I bought for Him, for Us, of beautiful purple silk. It does not block my sight completely, if I look down I see a thin sliver of light and the glimpse of my naked body. I close my eyes tight. He does not want me to see and therefore I will shut out this little slice of my world that I am not supposed to see...

Now all is darkness. My senses heightened, I listen for His breathing, knowing I can tell His arousal from what I hear. Gently He strokes the ropes against my naked body and I shiver with the anticipation of what is to come. Swiftly He gathers my forearms and secures them together behind my back. He binds and twists and tightens, positioning them so that my back arches a little, thrusting my breasts upwards towards Him and my bottom out at the rear.

He asks me to open my mouth. At first I am not sure what He has placed between my lips, but He tells me it is His leather cock ring. I am to hold it. I must not drop it. I must hold it there until such time as He needs it. It adds another dimension to my immobility. My teeth slightly apart it is difficult to talk, difficult to swallow the moisture that pools in my mouth. I hug the strap with my teeth, determined not to fail Him.

My breasts are next for His attention. He takes each strand of rope and carefully lays it beside it's brother. He pulls and smooths and straightens and I am slowly cocooned inside a tightly woven jacket: tits provocatively jutting through the only gap. I feel His hands running over the ropes. They find my breasts, fondle and caress them. He breathes into my ear, telling me how beautiful I am, how superbly my breasts are presented.  His hands never stop moving, roaming, exploring; my own hands remain bound and still, powerless to resist.

He takes His longest, blackest rope, I feel the softness of it as He slides it around my waist and secures it with the first tug and twist. Slowly, deftly He begins to lace, from the left, around my back; a twist, a loop and back from right to left. Steadily He weaves; shaping and moulding my body until my waist is encased in an intricately laced corset. He runs His hands over the patterns He has made and traces the contours of the ropes against my flesh. I shiver again; chills cascading through my body at the soft touch of His fingers.

He presses my body forward and I feel the coldness of the lube on His fingers gently probing my anal star. My heart skips a beat as I realise what is to come. Leaning forwards, my mind not on my mouth, I am suddenly aware of the drool which is escaping. Before I have time to act, the cold steel penetrates me. It is a new sensation, the hook is a new toy, but he deftly inserts it deep inside me before pulling the bar of it up between my hands and my back and securing it to the ropes already in place.

Before I have time to consider my reactions to this new sensation His hands are on my breasts, sliding gently towards the nipples, I gasp as suddenly the pressure changes, squeezing and compressing the sensitive buds. Pleased with my response, He extracts something from His bag and moments later my left nipple is tightly held. He has other tasks in mind for His hands, both nipples will be left with an understudy: the unrelenting grip of tight, black clothes pegs.

He is not finished yet. I feel another of His toys pressing deep inside. He squeezes the pump in His hand and it begins to inflate. I shuffle my feet further apart, trying to accommodate more easily this new sensation. Every part of my body feels pressed and squeezed and so much His. My mind is overwhelmed as the sensations grow; I relax and give myself over to the emotions as they build, the ache between my legs begging for release. I sway and He steadies me with His hand. I am no longer here. There are only feelings, beautiful sensual feelings.

From far away I hear the buzzing sound. It is such a small toy, innocuous when you see it or hold it in your hand. He touches it to the ropes and the vibrations travel around my body. He teases and torments my body and my mind. Each touch just enough to bring me to the brink, but never quite over. I moan from the pleasure: from the pent up desires: from the delicious frustration. I know that I am His to toy with. I am here for His pleasure alone. He alone will decide whether or not I have my pleasure tonight.

He shifts the tiny head of the vibe to my sensitive button. I am so close, so ready that it is only seconds before my whole body is shuddering, my eyes rolling behind the blindfold, my breath escaping in gasps. He pauses: deflates the inner toy and removes it. He continues. My body responds to His touch, His fingers, again and again. He takes me further and further, each orgasm more powerful than the last. His arm around my hips steadies me, I am barely able to stand. He drains the pleasure from my body until my mind begins to scream.

I am close to using my safe word, close to tears, when He gathers me into His arms. He takes the strap from my teeth and kisses my mouth with a violent passion. His hand reaches to release the pegs. Lips sealed over mine He sucks my silent scream into His mouth. Then He holds me, just holds me as I slowly descend.

My hands are released, my eyes uncovered, but the corset remains. Gently, wordlessly He guides me to the bed. This time the pleasure will be all His.

Who holds your mirror?

It was just in the background, a song chosen to reflect the mood of the piece that was being delivered in a TV programme; but I heard it: heard every word: and once more was smitten.

'You know that she's half crazy, but that's why you want to be there...'
Is it me or is it Him who is half crazy? Crazy as in non-conformist: crazy as in passionate: crazy as in intensely enthusiastic, but this is not just a craze, this is who we are and there is no half about it... and I know we both want to be here.

'She gets you on her wavelength and she lets the river answer that you've always been her lover...'
It is so beautiful to be on that wavelength: to have that connection, that river of emotions both physical and psychological that let me know that this is it: that part of me that was always there: the underground spring that has finally burst through to the surface. We have always been lovers, always been together, I just didn't know that until now.

'And you want to travel with her, and you want to travel blind...'
Is there a more delicious way to travel? He takes the reins, the helm; He navigates and steers our erotic path. I would not wish to know the route. Being blind is a balm, the antidote to busy life.  I embrace His guidance, relinquish control and find release. Willingly I surrender to the mystery of the unknown as we journey on together.

'And you know that she will trust you, for you've touched her perfect body with your mind...'
The most beautiful, sensual and erotic organ in the body: the mind. It is because He has touched me here, that I can trust: though trust that I am able to acquiesce so deeply: through submission that I find freedom; and what freedom! Touch me again, most delicious of lovers: hold me, mould me, chain me, bind me and my cup will over flow.

'... and they will lean that why forever, while Suzanne holds the mirror...'

When He holds the mirror, the light shines and there are no shadows. He tilts it again and a thousand sunbeams dance. There is no darkness: only blessed radiance. There is no pain: only delicious pleasures. There is no deviance: only the highest peaks of erotic love... while He holds the mirror.

Velvet <3

Contrasts

The brightest sun,
       I bask in the light, in the warmth, in the glory of its radiance.

The brightest sun,
       I bow before its heat, its brilliance, its searing power.

The brightest sun,
       I hide my eyes from its glare, its blaze, its fearfulness.

And where the brightest sun shines, the darkest shadows fall,
        I thought I knew the shadows.
        I have been here before, we share a history.
 
I stumble, my footsteps falter, my eyes wide open I gaze blindly around,
       Darkness surrounds me, engulfs wraps me in its suffocating numbness...

Light and darkness,
          Love and pain.
                   It will always be that way.


Velvet <3

Come to the Edge...

I am afraid. Excited, intoxicated, adrenalin pumping through my body, but nevertheless... I am afraid. We have not known each other long. Distance and circumstance keep our meetings limited, His playroom all too often lying fallow as we snatch an evening at a motel that cuts our journey time. But today we have engineered an open ended block of time. Today He has collected me from the station and brought me to His lair. Today He has already tormented me with pleasures that have made me gasp: tied and twisted the body I have given to Him: yet still He leads me closer to the edge.

Blindfold He leads me forwards. I falter, stumbling a little, uncertainty combining with the rush of blood returning to feet that have been kneeling. The cuffs are already on my ankles and my wrists, the collar firmly round my neck from moments after we entered His house. He halts me, raises my arm and deftly locks the clip in place. His hand guides my fingers to the wooden bar, gratefully I grasp it as I feel Him pull my other arm upwards. Upwards and out. He spreads my body, arms stretched wide, I know the same fate awaits my legs.

He positions my body for best advantage. Legs further back so that my back arches and my posterior thrusts towards Him. I final humiliating twist, He places the pony bit gag in my mouth and fastens it tightly. I am new to this device. I still fight against the saliva that fills my mouth, I have not yet learnt how much He loves to see His toy drool, I have not yet accepted totally that I am His, not yet learnt to love whatever gives Him pleasure. For now I fight the moisture in my mouth, tipping my head back to swallow it as best I can.

He strokes my body and I tingle at His touch. My nerves are tightly coiled: senses heightened by my loss of sight, I strain to add pictures to the scene that I can only feel and hear. The softest touch of leather brushes my skin, as velvet soft as my name it caresses my open body. Goosebumps flush across my body both with delight and with fearful anticipation; this is not my first introduction to the deerskin flogger, and a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Master's floggers are not lone implements, they live on His shelf in families...

I hear the swish, I feel the deerskin, the first falls are on my provocative cheeks. They are light, repetitive, a rhythm that warms my flesh to a delicate blush. I smile softly as I feel the dampness grow between my legs, my body unable to lie about the affect this has on me. He switches attention to my shoulders. At first I tense. My back and shoulders are unused to discipline, they were virgin territory for Master's tools and in these early days are still sensitive. I swallow down the mild panic I feel, breathing deeply to calm my knotting stomach.

Steadily it grows. It is not the force but the repetition that slowly builds. Each kiss of the falls adding its rosy glow to the blush of those beneath. The minutes grow. Pink turns to red. I press my face against the polished wood of the door, my mind fighting my body to remain in position. He pauses. I breathe and shift position, hoping against hope that we are finished. 

What foolish thoughts. I hear the swish almost at the same time as I feel the bite. A senior member of the flogger family has come out to make me dance. The heavy thud sends my shoulders flat against the door. Steadily the licks find the raw flesh of my body. The tails curl around my lithe body as, despite my bonds, I twist: no longer listening to my mind's warnings to stay still. My breasts pay the price for my movement. His voice by my ear commands me calmly to be still. He pauses, repositions my feet, my hips, makes sure I am suitably presented once more before He proceeds.

The warm up is over. The speed and severity increase. I grasp the bar tightly with my hands. My body presses hard against the door, fighting to get away from the leather that rains down on me. He pauses again. As I return automatically to a position of presentation I feel His hand on me, in me. His fingers test and probe me, then He brings them to my mouth, smearing my flowing juices on the the lips of my gagged mouth. 

He begins again. The intensity notches up once more. This time He does not stop. My moans turn into groans. My knees buckle and tears leak from beneath the blindfold. My breaking voice falters past the gag pleading for Him to stop. His voice, controlled and measured informs me that He will take me just a little further. His belief strengthens me: I trust Him totally, I will not fail Him.

 

The speed quickens and finally I let go of everything. The endorphins rush through me and release me from my bonds. Sensation is everything: there is no world, no pain, no limit, there are only soaring heights and ecstasy. He has invited me to the edge, gently pushed me over, and together we have flown.

I sob, exhausted against the door. He holds me close as He releases the clips. Gently He guides me to His bed. He enfolds me in His arms, softly caressing me He whispers beautiful soothing words into my hair. Consumed by love, I melt into His body. There is no Him, the is no me, there is only US.

'Come to the edge', He said.

        She said, 'I am afraid'.
'Come to the edge', He said.

        She came.
He pushed her...
       And she flew. 

                               - Guillaume Apollinaire

 

Velvet <3

Hide and Seek,

They see a woman: well groomed, smartly dressed, businesslike.
        I am hiding.
They hear the confidence in her voice: knowledge and experience evident in her words.
        I am hiding.
They see her leave early each morning briefcase in hand, returning late in the evening: a hard working professional woman.
        I am hiding.
They know they can rely on her, she does not let them down.
        I am hiding.
This is the face that the world sees.
        I am hiding.

He covers her eyes with a blindfold.
        I am seeking.
He binds her hands together.
        I am seeking.
He places the gag into her mouth.
        I am seeking.
He displays her body with his ropes.
        I am seeking.
His whip finds her flesh and makes her dance.
        I am seeking.

She kneels subservient before Him.
        I am found.

Velvet <3

Needed, wanted, cherished.

In a recent post greengirl spoke of her need to be needed, wanted and cherished. These are emotions so intense in me they almost burn up my heart at times, a searing pain from memories still so raw that even now they bring tears to my eyes.  I spent such a long time not feeling needed, such a long time feeling unwanted and inadequate, such a long time trying to be a person that I am not in order just to get some word of praise: some sign that I was worthy of his attention even. Fool that I am, I believed him.

I loved him and in my eyes he could do no wrong, so the one who was wrong must be me. He took my self confidence and tore it up before my eyes: he took my self esteem and buried it deep in the bowels of the earth: he took my heart and wrung it dry. I floundered in a sea of emptiness not knowing which way solid ground lay. I didn't want to live, but somehow I did. A ghost of the person I once was, living a life that had no substance... year after year after year...

That is my past, although it haunts my present still. The lingering doubts remain. There is too much time on my own, too much time for those deep rooted insecurities to raise their heads once more. Too much time to sink back into the deep dark troughs that should now be consigned to my past. I feel that I am deep under water, small and insignificant as I gaze up through the surging waters that bury me. I do not know myself. I have lost my identity, am not certain quite that I ever truly had one.

And then He is here. His hands on my upper arms hold me away from Him as He drinks me in with His eyes. His words bring music to my ears, His happiness only barely contained, provides the joyful lyrics, laughter bubbling a duet to the words He speaks. His eyes sparkle and glisten, crinkling at the edges in a way that melts my very soul. I know He will notice every detail about me. My hair, my lipstick, my stockings, my shoes, the detailing on my dress. Right now it is His eyes that feast. Next it will be His hands, tracing the contours of my body. He will seek out the forms that give Him the greatest pleasure... the curve of a rib, the swell of a hip bone...and the grin will deepen on His lips. With Him I have no doubt about my identity. I am His. I am His sub. My mind is crystal clear, there are no doubts.

No doubts. I do not doubt that I am needed. I do not doubt that I am wanted. I do not doubt that I am cherished. I am His. He will use me. He will train me. He will tease and torment me. He will discipline and punish me. I will smile and moan and scream and cry. Yet I will not doubt. By knowing I am needed my self esteem is growing. By knowing I am wanted my self confidence is building. By knowing I am cherished my heart blossoms and grows. I am His, and I know who I am and how to be. Happy, relaxed, confident I am His sensuous sub.

And later, much later I know He will fold me in His arms: He will softly kiss me: He will stroke my skin cherishing the new marks on the ivory softness. He will hold me closely to His chest and whisper in my ear, and we will be as one.
 
My past is history. M you are my present, you are my future. Thank you.

Velvet <3

The Sharpest Pleasures

I am waiting. He has sent me to His room. I kneel on the black rug, the wool cushioning my stockinged knees. The straps of my high heels press against my ankles reminding me of their presence. My mouth is dry. I moisten my lips in nervous anticipation. As I swallow I feel the pressure of the collar around my neck. 


That is all I wear today... nothing else. He has told me to remove everything else. To enter His room and wait. 

My hands twist as I hold them behind my back. I clasp them together, halting their movement.I breathe slowly. Hands, feet, body motionless... but my mind will not be stilled.


Already I am wondering what he has in mind for me tonight. My eyes are pulled unwillingly to the dark shelf to the left of the door. I see His 'toys' laid out. Meticulously ordered, displayed to excite and alarm me in equal measure. 


As my eyes alight on the neat coil of purple rope I cannot help the smile that blushes across my face. I cannot dull the spark that lights my eyes. I cannot suppress the moisture that leaks between my thighs.


My body aches to be used by Him. In my mind I am already displayed for Him. The ropes woven around my body, transforming me into living art, presenting me perfectly in a way that nature never could alone.

Will the marks of the tight bonds be enough for Him tonight; or will He crave the resonant slap of the paddle and the growing crimson blush on the cheeks of my proffered posterior? 

My heart skips a beat as I consider if I have forgotten a misdemeanor that could earn me a set of stinging scarlet stripes across my defenceless derriere....

I hear His movements outside the door. The creak of the floorboards as He shifts His weight. 


I lower my eyes submissively to the floor. 


I feel His hands placing the blindfold over my eyes, the straps pulled tight... and tighter still.


I am left in darkness, with only my thoughts... but it will be His imagination, not mine, that will bring the sharpest pleasures... through His imagination that I will know joy...

“The imagination is the spur of delights... all depends upon it, it is the mainspring of everything; now, is it not by means of the imagination one knows joy? Is it not of the imagination that the sharpest pleasures arise?” Marquis  De Sade


Velvet <3

Sometimes...

There are some lines from songs that stick with me forever. The rest of the lyrics make no connection, just one line, one refrain, that permeates my mind... and a smile leaches across my face...

'Sometimes, when I look deep in your eyes, I swear I can see your soul...'

What will He see when He looks into my eyes? What does my soul say about me? Laid bare for Him both literally and emotionally...

At first I was not allowed to look, not even snatch a glance: the soft lambswool that lined the blindfold hiding the scene from me: a further layer of black tape wound round and round my skull: extinguishing even the faintest glimmer of light.

I could only wait... listen... every sound intensified by my sight deprivation. Every touch intensified... from the softest brush of His lips against my skin... to the bite of the cane across my derriere...

But there are times now when he likes to look down at me... calling my eyes up to meet His. I kneel before Him... waiting... attentive... the instruction may just be a gesture...

I look up into His eyes, and feel His gaze penetrating me... boring deep into me... into my soul...

What does He see?

Deep in my soul is what He already knows...

That I am His. Not sometimes... Always...

Velvet <3

The pain and the pleasure of 'Hurting'

"I have always tried to be nice," the text says, "I don't know if I could hurt someone..."
How do I explain to him that although there are times when my bottom, my thighs, even my shoulders have been turned an angry shade of red... even when the next morning there are marks, lines, bruises even... that I have never been hurt?
"If anyone ever hurt me I would never see them again," I text back.
It's true, I have been hurt, but not the way he means, the people who hurt be are the ones who take my trusting heart out and trample over my emotions...the husband who swore he would be true but had an affair after only three years, the man I saw twice and then who cut off all contact not a text, a message an email... That is the pain that I can not tolerate.

But my texter is just a curious friend, he is not M.

M is the one who is with me on my journey. It is He who charts the route we take, He who stretches me, mentally and physically. He who weaves the ropes and fastens the buckles, He who instructs and trains, He who corrects and rewards.

With M there is no hurt... there is pleasure, there is pain, there is ecstasy and exhaustion ...but never any hurt.

Velvet  <3