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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Thursday, 20 November 2008

On top again

The dressing gown cord is a underrated object. Bringing as it does reminders of those first forays into bondage - impromptu ties made from whatever was to hand (often including ties). And whilst rope is purpose made and can be either silky smooth and a pleasure to run over the skin or coarse and untreated so it locks into whatever vicious position you have assigned to it, there is something down-and-dirty fun about casting your eye around the room in a moment of playful not-so-innocence and grabbing whatever is nearest to inflict upon your dearest. Ropes and shackles are prepared, patient tools of a planned out scene, which is a wonderful thing, but so is the spur of the moment, and the more I top the better I get at recreational impromptu abuse, which makes me more confident in general.

I have started to mingle the two more and more, so I'll plan certain things that I want to happen and then see what reactions I get along the way. Which is where the dressing gown cord comes into it. I'm sat astride The Photographer, playing with his neck and nipple piercings. I take one end of the handy cord and push it through one piercing, and do the same to the other, pulling it reasonably taut and enjoying the squirming, and the noises that follow the squirming. Then I tie his wrists to either end and get him to play with my breasts as I lean over, secure in the knowledge that even the tiniest movement causes twinges of sensation. Another cord was put to good effect in my first attempt at tied cock bondage, a couple of loops around the base, then another around the scrotum then back up to secure around the cock. Then pulled a bit tighter and given a nice bow. Present.

A bit later on and he makes a couple of jokey little comments and giggling, which normally would pop the Domme balloon there and then and have me feeling awkward, silly, and not in the mood. I'm still a little sensitive about it, I suppose, even though I do know that the jokes are not bratting but rather a nervous reaction. However, there was the cord, lying in plain view on his chest, so I picked it up, pulling at the piercings as I did so and put it, taut, between his mouth with the instructions to hold it nice and still until he had learnt to behave. I could then direct my attentions, and the attentions of the pinwheel to his bound penis. And enjoy the muffled whimpers.

On top of the world.

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