Posted at 17:58 on 15 Sep 2009 by Pandora / Blake
After a fallow period, it's always the sensual side of my kink to reawaken first.
I was looking at the calendar to work out the last time I'd been spanked, and counted five weeks that I was sure of. No time at all to some. When I was in a long-distance relationship, that was nothing. But these days I'm in the lucky position of having two partners close by, and it's rarely a week goes by without some sort of kinky encounter with one of them.
My own exhaustion didn't need any explanation: my sex drive was barely there, and kink just seemed far too much like effort. Give me cuddles, quiet conversation, reading companionably next to each other in bed. I stopped pushing myself to update this blog or read others, and kinky subject matter promptly dropped off my radar.
The first fantasies I noticed returning, late at night, alone under my duvet, were gently erotic. Hands spreading my bottom cheeks, smacks on my inner cheeks, on my thighs. An ache in my cunt as I thought about those hands smacking the most secret part of my bottom, tiny, stinging, humiliating spanks. Stiff fingers tapping at my shy, flinching arsehole. I imagined wriggling and blushing, desperately wanting more pressure there; the hot, blunt-smooth nudge of a cock...
No cruel uncles, brutal institutions, unfair punishments. The imaginative mainstays of my kink had retreated into some dark corner of my brain, and had to be lured out, tantalised with more consensual scenarios. I imagined being tied up by an obedient plaything who knew exactly what I wanted, her playful expression as she shackled my knees to the hooks on the headboard, spreading my legs and exposing my sex to her attentions. She'd tie my wrists above my head, put her fingers in my mouth and smile at the fire in my eyes. I'd call her names, whisper insults with more heat in my voice than venom. She'd know what I liked, she'd work hard to please me. Clamps on my nipples, small hands stroking my breasts, my belly and thighs, slipping beneath me and brushing against my arsehole. Perhaps she'd take the time to crop my inner thighs, kissing the welts with soft lips as she moved her mouth towards my moist and swelling cunt.
When I haven't played for a while, the first fantasies to return are the ones about my pleasure. My body. My desire.
It is a mark of how blessed I am in my beloveds that both of them know this. The first times we played after that fallow period, both of them demonstrated a remarkable ability to give me exactly what I wanted. But I have to run now, so I'll write more about that later.