XXXPLORATORY SESSION #3A: RODEO GIRL (pt.1)

So in our cavalcade of sexual edification, i.e. sharing moments in our co-mingled search for new sexual self-definition and revelation, we come together for pointedly semi-specific "though" decidedly fun sexual encounters (consciously avoiding the "lab rat" syndrome where we'd feel poked and prodded for no reason other than "SCIENCE!" as Thomas Dolby would scream).

The very nature of the beast seems to be sitting refreshingly and comfortably thus far...or as comfortable as you can be when having our nether regions explored by some sexy Ponce de Leon/Amelia Earhart adventurer...

Session #3 found MY wishes, or as Mary likes to call them "demands", on tap for the evening. Things went swingingly...well, not literally, since there were no other couples or ceiling hung devices involved...

The plan was to fool a bit with the master/slave role-play (new to me, and fairly new to Mary). Being so used to sexual relations where all is based more on spontaneity of the moment and not excessive planning other than, "You around?" so much semi-choreographed scenario planning was interesting as hell…

Mary, as I am, is always one to slobber on about motives, rationale and such explanatory bemusements, so for her I add the following to the stew before continuing the ribald tale: Miss Mary, I want to travel with your thorough the burn, embrace our suffering and push you through our pain, look you in the eye as the tears fall. I want to lather my cock and your wet crotch with our mingled tears, sweat and cry for each other's ecstasy, cry for the pain, the life and the twisted calm that this sharing brings...closer to who we are as individuals, what we share as sentient beings, what we find as microcosms of all in orgasmic blissfulness. Through the pain to better understand the joy.

Saddle up, my beautiful friend...and so we did:

Instead of concentrating on cut-and-dried S-and-M wordplay, we skirted around its edges to lessen the severity for us naughty novices but tried not to be complete pantywaists.

She asked me three days before for a script. She wanted to be dominated and suggested I throw in anything I was intereste din trying. If she was hesitant about anything she'd let me know and we'd amend the script. I'm a writer and a chronic fantasizer so I figured I could rise th the occasion. For three days, I (to coin a phrase) slaved over my task at hand. Sending it off to her not knowing if I'd overstepped my boundaries or if I hadn't gone far enough. It came back to me with the reply, "All good." A few minutes before the proposed time for her to step onto my porch, Mary pulled into my driveway and as instructed, knocked three times on my door ("9:30pm, not a minute before, not a minute after") and undressed to panties and bra only there in the chilly night. I had placed a blindfold in a wooden box on the bench next to the door and she opened it and put it on as she'd been instructed. She had also found and wore her black leather and chain dog collar, at my insistence.

She was instructed to again knock on the door ("and I will answer it when I'm ready") and I took a few moments thinking of her on the porch feeling the night air on her porcelain skin. Of course, I was jumping out of my own skin dying to throw that door open but I made her wait. I was getting the hang of this.

When I finally opened the door there she stood, one leg raised slightly, a bit of a nervous posture and her shy, sweet smile peeking out from under the blindfold. Taking her hand, I led her a couple of feet into the foyer and closed the door with a bang behind her.

Mary's skin was glowing in the low light of the room, her ample bosom round and held firmly by her black lace brassiere. I have been enamored of the handful of dark moles on her chest since I first noticed them on our second date as I tried to peek glances at her cleavage, which she had hidden well on our initial G rated dinner date. I welcomed her, circling, taking her in. Her straw-colored hair poked out from underneath the blindfold and hid her face. She continued to try to keep from smiling and answered quietly or with the small shake of her head when I asked her question. "Do you find this funny?" she shook her head side to side but the corners of her mouth told me she was enjoying every moment.

Sticking my finger under the front of her collar, I slowly raised her head and lightly kissed her lips. Perhaps a wimpy move in such a scenario but I wanted to instill at least a modicum of trust as well as confusion in the first few minutes. She let out a long breath when I was through and jumped when I slapped hard on her robust and waiting ass. I walked behind her and pulled first left and then right wrists behind her back quickly slipping on my uncle's old police handcuffs, the key hanging from a cord around my neck. Her hands glanced my hard cock as it pushed anxiously against my silk short pants. I'd opted for comfortable wear since she wouldn't be seeing much of me until later in the evening.

In my written instructions I'd stated the evening's basic premise and possible activities, saving specific details for her imagination to fill in. Part of it read, "At the top of the steps, I will ask you one question, 'Right,' or 'Left'. If you choose 'left', some of the possibilities may include: you being tied to the headboard, pain play (possible leather flogging, nipple work, temperature variation, etc.), mutual simultaneous penetration with a new toy (mmmm), etc.

Choosing “Right” may find you experience being bent over a special piece of “leather furniture” that I think you may enjoy; possible spanking, flogging, anal play etc.

Neither left or right has exclusivity nor dedication to any of these activities so be ready for anything within limits. Either choice will involve some pain play, toys of some sort, some role-playing and perhaps safe sex fucking. She'd approved the menu.

After walking around her and squeezing her breasts hard for a moment I slipped my finger under her collar, or was it around the cuffs on her wrist...it's a bit blurry now as of this writing...and guided her carefully up the carpeted steps to the landing. I turned her around a couple of times and asked, "So you must decide...left or right?" She replied quickly and coyly, "Maybe right, or...perhaps, left."

"Don't play games with me. Since you seem unable to decide you will wait here until you make up your mind," and I turned her around and bent her over the thick, log rail her head hanging out over the living room below. I stepped up behind her and pressed my cock into her cuffed hands and slipped my hands around to first cup her breasts and the slide up to her neck. She squeezed my hard rod briefly and tightly. I whispered into her ear, "Do not move, I don't want you falling down the stairs."

I backed away and left her to consider the expanse below her for a moment...from under her blindfold...

...to be continued

SHE'S A LITTLE HDD

She’s a little Hindu, Deadhead, dominatrix
Leather, whips and chains there in her toybox
With her Mala beads, her crystals, and her bongs
She’s got a Gibson Firebird in some Chinese tuning
And she’ll tie you down if you can’t play along
She’s a little Hindu, Deadhead, dominatrix
In her world, Ship of Fools is just a song.

She’s a little, Hindu, Deadhead, dominatrix
Her house is very comfy, very peaceful
Filled with candles, shrines and waterfalls and such
She’ll fondly wax your nipples while the Dead is playing Ripple
You don’t take her to dinner, but she might just have you for lunch
She’s a little, Hindu, Deadhead, dominatrix
Not sure what makes her spin, I’ve got a hunch

“Yes, please Mistress Mary” is my mantra
We talk about our favorite shows and when
She teaches me of love and peace and Tantra
And spanks me on the ass yet once again

She’s a little, Hindu, Deadhead, dominatrix
Tie-dyed, faux fur handcuffs, wears a collar
She is honest and she won’t play tricks on you
That is unless she’s asked to make you holler
Slap out “Iko” on your backside with her shoe
She’s a little, Hindu, Deadhead, dominatrix
A spike heel or a Birkenstock will do.

Note: - OK so she doesn't have bongs and prefers black leather and cold metal to tie-dye restraints but one must take a bit of poetic license...I'll work on some music to this...this is a first draft and will change, I'm sure.