LONG POST – 2182 words
Yesterday I traveled to the city to attend a Rope Workshop with Blue Velvet at Pulse. Rope play is something I’ve been attracted to for some time, teaching myself some basic knots, practicing on my mannequin and myself. The sensation of firmness created by the rope bra created during the workshop, affirmed my physical responses to being laced into a corset during the Susanna photoshoot the other weekend. Simply put, I resonate to the sensation of being captured and held. However I also resonate to the idea of capturing and holding another. Predator/prey registers very high on my BDSM lists as does rope work from both top and bottom.
In the past – especially with Ryan, I’ve become highly aroused by what I mentally refer to as “the claiming hug” or “the claiming hold”. It may have a more commonly used name in kink circles but this name works for me. (Though if anyone can enlighten me I’d be pleased to know the commonly used name). By the claiming hold I refer to the sensation of determined arms sliding across ones upper chest from behind, pulling the person being captured back against the body of the one doing the claiming. At it’s simplest and to me, least sexual, it’s a little like upright spooning, it feels secure and loving.
However, as many of you will be fully aware it’s also rife with erotic power exchange possibilities: from this position the person doing the capturing may have one hand free to roam across breasts, belly, cunt/cock, throat, neck and jaw. A taller person may move the captured one’s hair aside and caress or bite necks, shoulders, ears and jaw. Additionally pulling, tugging or simply holding the one being captured firmly in place is an added delicious sensation of control. I could also see myself venturing into limited knife play in this scenario.
Meanwhile, in my experience the one being captured surrenders into the lassitude of a flood of endorphins… I’ve seen the capture hold used overtly on bottoms in rope displays, and after yesterday’s rope session I can see how easy it would be to implement during bondage. I’ve had it used on me in past relationships and I used it unconsciously on Ryan at first and then occasionally during our relationship. The firm enclosure and tugging sensations while having my corset tightened on my body triggers similar sensations – sending my nerve endings and emotional chemistry off the charts.
What I didn’t realise at the time was the further potential for self-care that containment offered during my occasional anxiety attacks. A few days following that photoshoot I had a day of high anxiety and craved and then appreciated the sensation of safety wearing a corset gave me. Given that many cultures swaddle children to calm them and that I wrap my dog in a “thunder shirt’ during storms to alleviate his stress, it all makes sense to me on a physiological level.
When Craig M. and began to negotiate the boundaries of our friendship and creative collaboration I asked for and was granted regular hugs. We hug on meeting and on leaving each other. These hugs, which are nothing like those I exchange with friends and family members ground and secure me, express my pleasure in his company and gratitude for our time together and offer me (and I also believe him) the promise of continuity and reassurance.
At times they are also, from my perspective at least, also intensely erotic, partly because of my burgeoning erotic and emotional connection with the man and partly because they feed into what I now recognise as a deeply felt kink…
Driving to and from the Rope play workshop, I occupied my thoughts with scenario’s of capture and domination. Previously I would have been quite happy to be the submissive in this scene, but yesterday in my imagination I was the one doing the claiming. Every day it seems I’m learning new things about my sexuality. While I’ve never identified solely as submissive – I’m fairly certain I’m a switch, I wasn’t sure how my desire for dominance might play out, especially now I’ve ventured further into kink pschologically.
This then is the start of my fantasy. I don’t know if I’m doing this effectively, but I hope someone will tell me if I seem to be clueless. However, it seemed to work quite nicely as a masturbation fantasy when I had a lunchtime wank today** – so:
I stand silently behind his high stool waiting for him to adjust to the sensation of the blindfold. My breathing is surprisingly even – given how aroused and nervous I am, to be engaging with him at last. Deliberately close, but not touching, I allow each warm exhalation to play over the hairs on the back of his head, listen for the faint sound of his responsive breath.
His arms are bound behind him, a little distance apart, in a position I learned at the recent workshop. The knots are imperfect, but the ties are firm. I can stand behind him, press against him should I choose to do so, without impediment.
I think of the many times we have embraced – days when the hugs were electric, days when they were brotherly, once, very early on in our friendship when he used the claiming hug on me, confusing me completely as to his motives, but lighting me up in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. Today, I will be the one who controls the pace, controls the emotion, controls his desire. Today the hugs will be electric and a little painful.
The suspense builds slowly, and with it the energies. I listen for the slightest changes in the sound of his breathing, hear him swallow. Only then do I rest my hands firmly on his shoulders, leaning down to murmur in his ear. My voice sounds low, resonant. I am glad of the practice I have put in to that voice over the last little while.
“Stay in that position. Do NOT move, do NOT speak unless I require you to. Do you understand?”
Standing slightly to one side I trail my fingernail along the side of his jaw, sliding it under his chin, forcing his head up with the point of my nail. I observe his face, square, guarded, not at all beautiful, but in that moment mine to dwell on, a neat and oh so desirable reversal of his familiar gaze on me. Sliding the tip down through the hollow to his sternum, I rest my finger on the edge of the little fluttering pulse.
A faint smile traces across my lips. This man is a talker. Responsive to the agonies of our dying world, to the greed of corporations, to the calumnies wrought upon the workers, the fond foolishness and blatant lies of romance, marriage and children he rails at every opportunity and I listen. He also internalises the rage, is pulled down into it’s dark currents time and time again. It is a slow death by drowning, reducing him to wretchedness, painful to watch, breeding impotence in the heart of care. But today he will be silent. Today I intend to hush the chatter in his head, the habitual gush from his mouth – for at least a little while.
Slowly, deliberately, I move my index finger across his chest, the pressure firming as I add more fingers and slide across muscle and bone to cup his shoulder in my hand, trap his body between my arm and breasts. I want him to feel the slow impending possession of his body, of his mind, of his mouth, in that moment. He has denied me for so long. He has also denied himself. My breasts brush lightly against his back and I feel him tense. I tug him back firmly against my body and hold him hard, feeling his heartbeat accelerate.
“This.” I murmur.
I reverse the claiming hand, flatten it against his chest, pushing at the breast muscle, bunching my fingers together to trap and twist his nipple. I hear the barest thread of sound and my smile deepens in satisfaction, a hot button igniting in my belly.
“This.” I repeat, my mouth close to his ear.
I retract my hands slowly, trailing across his chest to his shoulders. I reach for his hair – long coveted and long denied me, confined by a band. I wrap one hand coolly around it’s length, use it to pull his head back firmly and slowly, leaving his throat exposed to my touch, his ear closer to my mouth.
“Whose hair is this?”
Say it like you mean it!
Whose hair is THIS?”
Retaining my grip on the fall of hair I straighten, twisting the tail up close to his scalp, holding his blindfolded head in place. With my free hand I unsheath a pair of heavy shears from my belt, opening and closing the blades deliberately so they make a tell tale sound in the air near his ear. Feel him flinch. Rest my hand – heavier with the added weight of the implement – on his naked back, allowing the cold metal to make contact with his bare skin, while I burrow my fingers under the cheap band, twisting my hand again into a grip which lifts and tests the heft and strength of his hair. His arm muscles tense as the sensation of the scissors registers near the nape of his neck, near the hair he has cultivated for so long.
I feel him suck in a quick breath as I pull out firmly on the tail of hair and snip. Breathe out again as the tension on his scalp remains constant. I flick the severed band with my thumb, watch as it falls away, trickling down his back to the floor, then quietly re-sheath the scissors.
Dropping the ponytail I dig my fingers into his scalp beneath the blindfold, scraping the skin lightly with my nails, then pulling and twisting the hair into separate strands with my fingers, again and again. I clutch and scrunch handfuls of the red-gold tendrils, savoring, tugging, claiming; making him ripple with pleasure.
**About today’s orgasm
Regular orgasms have become necessary to my ongoing wellbeing. Yesterday when I returned home I was a bit uncomfortable after a vigorous session the day before so I went without. However this morning, halfway through my relaxed routine of #SinfulSunday reading; with my mind alternately occupied with the little story I’d developed in response to a conversation last week and the workshop yesterday**, and with the sexy photographs on display on my laptop I decided it was time to go back to bed for a while.
Noticing that my nipples were very erect I determined they required some vigorous suction and started to play with two of my Satisfiers. This stimulation combined with imagining the Capture sequence outlined above effectively established a hot button between breasts and clitoris. A few minutes of this, some lube and the insertion of my faithful Downunder Toys vibrator on low moved things along nicely.
My favorite glass dildo (the one with the beads) received a hefty dollop of lube and was eased into position in my anus, and then a clitstim placed on the appropriate spot. By this time the nipple stimulation felt clumsy and ineffective, so I stopped these and concentrated on some edging, fantasizing about the scene outlined above, and then moving on to another sequence. Normally I am a slow burn, but today I needed to back off a little which surprised me.
Clearly my fantasy, which by now had reached a point where my slave was administering oral pleasure to me, his mistress, as I sat poised above his face, was doing the trick. A little while later, at a point where he was about to be pegged for not responding quickly enough to my command, I switched off the vibe and pulled out my Godemiche Adam. Adam in place – for a sensation of fullness – I began the self pegging in earnest using the glass dildo while I kept the clitstim going between the highest level and two further down. As always pegging in combination with a big dildo and my Womanizer tipped me over the edge into a nicely satisfying orgasm.
**and of course my hair thing… Mrs Fever kindly pointed out that fellow hair enthusiasts had posted on KOTW in 2016 so of course I’m working my way through the entries.
No such satisfaction for my slave however. I will need that restless, agonised brain drowning in long drawn out endorphins before I grant him release. Oh and another orgasm for me before that. I may well have to come back another time to finish this story off…
This weeks #MasturbationMonday features Mrs Robinson and her husband engaging in one of those delicious claiming hugs. What a delicious inspiration!
To see who else is feeling inspired please click on the link below.
To see who else is having delicious orgasms click on the #30DayOrgasmFun challenge below: