Spank their asses, tug their leashes and submissives are a contented bunch. Right? Well, not entirely. Today's roundup of some of our favorite moments from the sex blog scene visits the dungeon, the bedroom and all the head space in between to ponder the inner workings of submissives. Listen past those first whimpers and you'll hear the bliss of being owned ... or perhaps that was anxiety being expressed? All is well if flesh is left marked ... or did she complain about being unexpectedly wounded? Clearly, it's rarely black and white with the black and blue set.
Bend over and express yourself with Jefferson after the jump.
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Sex Blog Roundup
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Sylvanus had me on all fours as he got behind me. He had two belts and looped each one through my arms and they held in place at my shoulders. With reins in hands, he rammed his erection into me. With the leverage of the belts he thrust himself hard (btw, I recommend everyone try this. I have never been fucked so hard in my life!). He groaned . . . LOUDLY . . . he hissed. He spoke filth to me, pleased how tight my cunt had become. He growled as he fucked me, the belt straps pulling at my flesh.
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The time we spent together ended up being very intense. Lying in his small bed face to face, we both got very turned on. I had him stroke my clit (rather well, I should say) while he whimpered because I was cruelly touching his cock just ever so lightly. And then we fucked, and I didn't let him come, and he . . . went a little nuts.
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Later that evening I waited for my Master as instructed. I was dressed in my stockings and suspenders and black, high heeled shoes. I wore a skirt but no blouse or bra, exposing my full breasts as I leaned forward, gripping the wooden rail at the bottom of the bed. From downstairs came the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by footsteps on the stairs. I closed my eyes and hung my head, waiting for my Master like a good submissive.
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All of this talk of switching and I've skipped the impetus for it.
You can blame my cock.
Or more to the point, my wife's rehabilitation of my cock.
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His hand held my hair tightly as he fucked me, whispering in my ear that I was his. I stuttered, "Can I ask for something?" He stopped to listen. "Will you use the pinwheel? I really want you to draw blood from me right now."
"I'll consider it," he said, and continued fucking me. A few minutes later, he got off of me, reached into a drawer and rummaged around for it. He first went after my leg, hungrily, and I yelped.
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"May I mark you?"
There's a fragility in being owned, at times, in belonging; the way that sort of power goes has the vector nature, it flows one way. To be claimed is not to claim, and the obligations of one's master towards caretaking are not the same thing as a hand twined in hair, not the same thing as the weight of the pin or the feel of knots ground into one's breastbone.
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See also: Sugasm #126: The best of this week's blogs by the bloggers who blog them (sugasm.com)
Previously: Sex Blog Roundup Archive