True Sex Stories: Pussy Wallops That Silenced My Screams

I never once felt endangered. It was only pain. I felt safe and cared for always. I felt perfect closeness. Except that I really wanted to fuck…

I finally got around to sorting out the bedroom about 1:30pm; I thought it might take me a couple of hours, but it took three and a half and then I needed to tidy up. Me and my flowing focus had got me into trouble. I got to James's as soon as I could, but he'd had an expectation that I would be there around 3pm – which was seriously not met, and with no communication from me. He wasn't there when I arrived, but he got home shortly afterwards with shopping and a serious grump. And fair enough too!

Meanwhile I apologised as best I could. I was so sorry. The apology even took on a D/s flavour when I wound up kneeling at his feet. It started off as partly a joke, but it kinda worked. I think it flicked him into top space, but more than that it gave us structure for the disappointment and the energy it had created.

For the first time ever he punished me. He was inspired to yank down my pants and then wallop my ass six times. Actually they weren't wallops, they were Wallops: sudden and ouchy. I cried. My tears were not so much from the pain, but from the utter wretched remorse I felt in having creating such displeasure.

It was obvious that this way of dealing with things had its advantages. The energy he had from being grumpy was, by its very nature, negative. This focussed it and gave it an expression to which I could, and did, respond appropriately. It also seemed to dissipate the negative aspect more quickly, but without dropping the energy level. In the process it also put him in a very toppy space – definitely a sadistic and caring space.

We cuddled, and it was a lovely reconnection. I could feel that his anger was gone but not his sadistic thirst. He took advantage of my increased submissiveness and soon the slaps on my thighs matched the colour of my ass. He fucked me roughly with his fingers – and this was just warm-up. Then we moved to the Black Room.

The setup was familiar. The sound of the Velcro may one day trigger something in me, but for now it is that initial sense of immobility that grasps me afresh every time he straps me onto the Bug Board. I was riding the fear. I knew that he was going to hurt me. This was no head fuck.

His caring head-space led him to start off with Magic Wand style orgasms. I remember that he made me squirt within about thirty seconds, but after that my recollections blur. There was some individual pussy slaps that had me singing out. There were more orgasms than I can count, while he rolled my nipple and and each time tipped me over the edge with that bit of pain. There was that first set of pussy wallops which silenced my scream. There was the moregasm aspect, interspersed with sudden pussy walloping – oh my god, that worked for me.

The intensities of the sensations matched pretty well, with each building upon the others. At some point there was some body slapping, but by that time I was pretty floaty. I respond with "Ouch," but it was more like pleasure, particularity on my breasts and thighs.

He kept the intensity high when he put some clamps on my nipples. He went straight to the fucking bulldog clips! There is no quarter with those; they bite straight away, and they keep on biting.

Another orgasm, and then he put a clamp on the clit. Oh god, I couldn't cope. He said later that he wasn't sure how it was sitting so he removed it quickly. I didn't care why he removed it, only that he did. I was terrified that he was going to twist it, or put the Hitachi onto it.

There were more orgasms and more pussy wallops than I have ever had in my life. It pushed me to a new space. Each time I cried we would take a break, and then he would carry on again. I can't recall it all.

I have come to recognise what his focus is like when we are doing something new. It's a space that he doesn't relax in because he is gauging me every second. I never once felt endangered. It was only pain. I felt safe and cared for always. I felt perfect closeness. Except that I really wanted to fuck…

And fuck we did. I remember him asking me "You know that I am going to hurt you some more?" – although it was more of a statement than a question. Yes. I knew. I wanted it.

I have only fragments of coherent memory: slaps, hair pulling, punishing my cervix with his cock. He was dragging me against his body, my poor tender clit mashed against his crotch. I like how he hurts me, which turns him on more, which makes his cock harder (can it get any harder?) and then he fucks me harder. Oh yes please. This pattern works so well for me.

Where the biting came into this I don't know. He discovered that today I was particularly sensitive to his teeth, so he went there, enjoying my sensitivity. I wanted to shrink away but I held myself open. He didn't bite hard; he grazed my skin with his teeth. I was so scared. I wanted that space but I feared it: I didn't know how I would be able to hold myself there if he bit hard.

He bit. I could hardly take it and said "Yellow." Immediately I felt disappointed with myself. "Please try again." He did but in a slightly different spot, and somehow that made a huge difference. Slowly he built up the pressure. I tried not to mind fuck myself. I tried to stay in the moment. There were more tears and more cuddles.

We came down a bit and talked and snuggled up together: touching, stroking, talking, reassuring one another as we came down from that level of intensity. As we talked about what we'd just done he became hard again. Yes, he needed and deserved a really good orgasm. I kept touching him, especially his balls as he climaxed hard.

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