Sunday, July 19, 2009

Happy birthday...

Last night I went to a joint birthday party for The Poet and his primary. The party was okay, but pretty cliche. There was a bunch of pop music blasting, a hearty round of circle of death, a plastic dildo being thrown at people, and no beer. I am not kidding. Everyone was drinking mixed drinks, vodka and juice mostly. Except me. I am drinking Stella. Mmm... beer.

Fuck ya'll, I don't give a shit. I'll drink what I want.

At some point in the evening, I start receiving texts from The Poet. :

I want to take you to the bedroom and tie you up.

I was definitely thinking about you while I was in the shower.

I love your breasts.

The texts are spaced throughout the evening, adding a flirtatious undertone to an otherwise neutral conversation.

I finally leave, around 1:30 am.

And the crazy flurry of frustrated sexual texts begins.

But it was invaluable. It gave The Poet a chance to narrow down exactly what we were going to be doing to each others bodies in the near future. It seems like he really wants a "game plan". Probably to be sure that he is doing something that I want.

The Poet's first priority: The D/S scenario that he came up with in response to a text that said I wanted marks on my body to reflect the sexual passion I feel during our conversations.

The next time that he comes over to my apartment, I am going to lead him to my bedroom. Without touching him, I am going to stand in front of him and strip. When I am completely naked, I am going to tell him where I want marks on my body. Where I want his mouth to leave bruises. Where I want his nails to leave scratches. And he is going to take his sweet time leaving those marks. Only after all the marks are laid am I allowed to touch him. At that point, I am going to kneel in front of him and perform oral sex on him. When he gets close to orgasm, I will stop. And he is going to jerk off on the marks. On the bruises his mouth just left, on my tits and legs. Then I clean myself with my hands, wiping up his cum with my fingers and licking up every last drop.

I literally trembled when I read his texts describing our first rendezvous.

One of my first priorities is some rope play:

I am on my knees, with my back to him. He binds my hands behind my back using rope. He then pushes me forward so that he can enter me from behind. I can feel him against the back of my thighs and my ass, feel his hands on my body. Yet the only glimpse of him I can get is over my shoulder. He uses my hands, and the rope holding them, to control and lead my body while he is fucking me. Eventually, when he is close, he is going to pull out and come on the small of my back. After taking a minute to recuperate, leaving me tied up and vulnerable, he cleans my body. Only after all the cum has been wiped from my skin does he finally untie me.

We also discussed where he is allowed to cum:

OxytocinAddiction: I would love for you to cum on the small of my back and on my breasts.

The Poet: Would you mind in your hair? I've never been with anyone with hair as short as yours.

OxytocinAddiction: As long as we could shower together and have you wash my hair afterwards. Does that sound reasonable? Although I love the idea of you using my body and coming on me, and sometimes I could lick it off or clean it off myself, having you fuck me and come on me and then clean me is fucking hot. Sort of like the idea of you untying my restraints is almost as hot as you tying them.

The Poet: I completely agree with both.
We are just animals. Lifeforms that come from the lineage of bacterium and slugs. The thing that puts us on top? The ability to dominate. To conquer.

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