Voice of the thunder

Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronn-tuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk

That’s what the thunder said. You know that.

It had been the hottest, most oppressive day you can imagine. The sky absolutely still, the temperature far too high and the humidity close to 100 per cent. You felt you could reach for a handful of air and squeeze it like a sponge. I was at my desk in just my underpants, trying to write, with sweat running down my body. 

Then, finally the clouds arrived, speeding like the Seventh Cavalry, like a huge black blanket being towed by a speeding car. The rain came. It was a tropical downpour, with water drops as big as golf balls.

I heard a whoop from the other office; Therese, my houseguest. A few seconds she ran into my office, wearing a summer shirt, a bra and knickers. She grabbed my shoulder, leaned down and kissed me. “Let’s get the fuck out into this!”

“I’m Thor!” Lady Therese, goddeth of the thunder

So we ran out into my front yard, and her shirt was instantly soaked, clinging transparent to her skin. We squealed and yowled, running circles round each other and dancing at each other, furiously, stamping on the grass so the rain jumped, all energy and no grace. It was pagan enough.

Then the lightning struck; the thunder spoke only two seconds later.

The lightning bolt was only a couple of kilometres away. In lightning terms that’s right on top of you. The next bolt hit a tree on the property next door. The thunder was so fast, and close and loud that we both ducked, involuntarily.

Therese grabbed my arms and rolled down onto her back, pulling me down with her. On top of her. I pulled her shirt away from her body, and pushed her bra up, round her neck. She lifted her hips, so I shoved her knickers down to her knees, and put my foot into the gusset, pushing them the rest of the way down and off.

I said, “Um, I didn’t pack any condoms. Must have left them in my other underpants. I’ll- ”

She grabbed my shoulder again. “I’m still bleeding. You don’t mind a bit of blood, do you?”

“Fuck no.” That was the answer she expected. Years ago, when I started university, she’d been the first girl to cover my cock in her menstrual blood, so she knew I had no objection. (Though when I’d seen myself in the bathroom mirror post-fuck, that first time, with my cock covered in girl-gore, looking like it’d been in a car crash, I’d found that a bit of a shock. But I got used to it, and I’d never told her that.)

That skin feeling

“So you’re not going to get me pregnant. Fuck me. You can come in me.”

There were urgencies involved, so I said nothing and slipped my cock into warm, viscous cunt. We held each other and fucked, rolling each other over and over in the rain, with the lightning crashing around us, and the air we were in flashing into brilliance, and the thunder roaring.

Her cunt and my cock, sharing body territory, were wet and slippery, and because we’d started hard and fast, and continued faster, it was only a few minutes before I shouted something wordless, and made that space even wetter and more slippery. 

She shouted for me not to stop, so I stayed, still pumping furiously, hoping she’d come while I still hard. And she screamed, water pummelling her opened mouth, and she drew her knees up, since she was on her back at that stage. She wrapped her legs round me. We lay in the grass, gasping, while the rain poured onto us, not so much in drops but as if someone was tipping out baths and 40 gallon drums of warm water onto us. 

Thunderstorm fetish? Maybe.

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Kink of the Week: My first threesome

It started with a sort-of-sexual sevensome. I was twenty-one, and I had a huge bed at the time, and I was known to be interested in girls and being nice to them, and to be interested in sex, and in political issues affecting women. Though I wasn’t available, because I was being faithful to my girlfriend.

My girlfriend, who I’ll call Amanda here, had by now become the Women’s Rights Executive Officer at the local university, so feminist women often came round to our place to plan things, or stuff envelopes for letter-writing campaigns and so on. So it happened that one night we all crashed into bed together, and I had six women sleeping with me. 

In the morning there was a lot of flirtatious slithering and cuddling and rolling over each others’ bodies. Even though some of them were, in public, very anti-male, most of them were happy for there to be an erect penis, with young man attached, in that bed. I got a lot of rubbing, and my cock found its way between the soft parts of two or three girls at once, or between the thighs of one girl, and so on. But there were too many people, and no-one was game to actually have a boy-on-girl or even a girl-on-girl fuck in front of the others.

As well as my girlfriend Amanda there was another girl in that bed who I very specifically wanted. Let’s call her Miranda. Miranda was beautiful, in a young-Lauren-Bacall kind of way, while my girl thought, of herself, that she was “merely” pretty (though I thought she was beautiful even if Miranda, inescapably, was more so), so we were both a bit in awe of Miranda. 

It turned out that Miranda was in awe of us. I was a political figure who turned up on radio and tv locally, saying good and noble things. Amanda was not just a feminist but actually got paid for it. And there was another thing: I’d been Miranda’s probation officer for a while, after she’d got caught spray-painting a wall. There’d been a certain amount of sexual tension between us, but I’d managed not to take up any of her invitations, and that had also gained me some respect.

(There’s a long story about my probation officer days elsewhere on this blog. It tells about the time I finally succumbed and spanked and then fucked one of my clients. You can find all the episodes of that story by clicking on this: The Probation Officer’s Tale. )

Anyway, Miranda’s probation was finished, so she wasn’t my client. I stared at her until she looked at me. She nodded, and I kissed her. Then Amanda rolled towards us and kissed Miranda too. 

The other women were starting to get up. Eventually there were just four people: Amanda, Miranda, me, and one other woman. That woman said, “I can smell breakfast. You coming?” Then she noted that under the sheet Miranda had her hand on my cock and was squeezing hard at the base, because I was leaking pre-come and she’d read some article about how that was supposed to delay male orgasm. “Oh.” She left. 

And then there were three. I’d decided it wasn’t unfaithful if Amanda was in it too. I was kissing Miranda, who’d switched from trying to delay my orgasm to stroking my cock gently up and down. It was excruciating, and wonderful. Amanda stroked Miranda’s cunt. Then I was on top of both of them, kissing Amanda while sliding as naturally and easily as anything in the world into Miranda’s sweet, wet cunt. 

We fucked for a long time, while Amanda lay beside us, and I kissed and licked Amanda’s cunt while I moved inside Miranda, mostly very slowly and gently. Sometimes we’d speed up and I’d have to stop, suddenly, for several seconds until I calmed down again. Miranda was on her back, so she couldn’t pleasure Amanda except with one hand, fingers working inside Amanda. Her fingers occasionally got kissed by me, because that’s where my face was. 

I wanted Amanda to climb up and put her cunt on Miranda’s mouth, but we were all too young, too shy and too silly to make that happen. But eventually Miranda came, with one long, drawn-out wail. There were tears in her eyes. She was immensely moved and happy. I kissed her fervently, because I was so pleased with her and so proud of myself for managing this without coming in her. This was ill-advised, unprotected sex, I’m afraid.

Then Amanda turned onto her front and raised her arse. I’d kept my interest in bdsm from her, mostly, but she knew my enthusiasm for her ass. Miranda watched, and then slid herself down, thighs open, to Amanda’s face. Amanda did Miranda very gently, lovingly. Amanda’s sexual career, as far as I knew, was entirely heterosexual, but it didn’t occur to me to wonder where she’d developed not just know-how but serious skills.

I wasn’t doing any thinking. I fucked my girl, rocking, pressed against her delicious ass, and divided the rest of my attention between kissing Amanda’s neck, and Miranda’s inner thigh. Eventually Miranda came again, just as noisily, and somehow that started Amanda, pushing back at me to get more of my cock, and then at last I let myself come, too, with great bear-like male grunts.

We heard laughter, from the kitchen. We looked at each other, wondering whether to be mortified. Then Miranda shrugged. So we lay together, resting, until Miranda’s hand on my cock, just affectionate holding at first, got more purposeful and I started to respond. Then she sucked me till I was entirely hard. For a while it was just Miranda and I, in a sort of vague, not quite joined up 69 position, waiting for Amanda to wake up.

Eventually Amanda did, and grabbed Miranda’s face for her very own, looking deep into her eyes and giving soulful, loving kisses. 

Amanda rolled onto her back, and so I helped Miranda into position, face in Amanda’s cunt, ass up, legs spread for me. I slid back into Miranda, and found myself riding her, pulling her hair, which she’d said – back in probation officer days – that she liked, and this time we fucked hard and desperate, the three of us, pushing ruthlessly on, hard and fast as we could, for our release and each other’s. 

Afterwards we lay in each other’s arms, gasping, the sheets wet with sweat. And so on: repeat. When we finally did get up, the other women had gone. It was evening.

Of course, in the longer run that morning didn’t turn out so well for me, which is another story. Even so, I still treasure that morning, and the next time the three of us were together, as among the most goldenly magical moments of my life. What I learned from the pleasure and the beauty of it, and later from pain, changed me and re-set my life.  

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Safewords: is “stop, I’m not enjoying this” a safeword?

In my time as a dom, I’ve accidentally caused emotional distress or excessive pain because:

  • I spanked a girl with my hand instead of a hairbrush, and she thought that meant I was genuinely angry with her and not just playing. That made her emotionally desolate, and triggered some bad stuff that had happened between her and her mother, which she’d never told me about before; 
  • I used a riding crop on another girl’s inner thighs, because the week before she’d loved it when I used my belt there. But this time she was having her period and for her that meant her pain threshold was much lower. The intensity was the same, but this time she experienced it as excessive and a complete sexual turn-off;
  • I had my cock in a girl’s throat, and she started to panic because she couldn’t breathe.

None of those submissive women used a safe word to communicate their distress. The first girl had floated into a bad psychological space, and couldn’t speak. The second couldn’t remember her safe word, and anyway the pain meant she stepped completely out of her submissive headspace. She didn’t care about safe words: she just wanted this to stop. The third girl couldn’t speak, but fortunately she was still keeping her eyes on mine, as I’d ordered, and so I saw submission change to panic.

I stopped, and didn’t start again till I’d found out the problem and dealt with it, the submissive was ok, and was ready to go on. 

Each of those events was unpredictable. The girl who spun into a bad mental state because I’d hand spanked her hadn’t known that was going to be her reaction. There was no way I could reasonably have expected it either. It’s the mildest impact play that there is.

Only up to a point, Lord Copper

Each situation turned out ok and happy because I didn’t wait for a safeword. If I had insisted on the safeword, the first girl would have had a psychologically damaging experience, and lost her trust in me. The second girl would never have continued, or played with me again. The third girl could have have been asphyxiated. 

One more safeword story. I valued the first girl’s trust, because it gave her a safe place to do bdsm. Never mind altruism, she was hot. One reason why she trusted me was that she’d last been with a dom who got a lot of his rules and practices from the internet rather than reality. He tended to dole out physical punishments that were tenuously justified and extremely severe, because he liked to give very severe pain. He’d tied her to a cross, and was whipping her when she broke up with him.

She told him to stop. He kept on whipping her. She told him they were through and she wasn’t taking any more. He kept on whipping her. She was bleeding. She started screaming, by now half angry and half terrified, for him to fucking well stop. But you haven’t safeworded me, he said. He’d sounded smug: that meant he was winning. All you have to do is safe word me. He kept on whipping her.

Um, Rumpelstiltskin? Armidillo? Let me loose NOW, or I’m going to the cops? Mercy? Um, red?…

She couldn’t remember what her safeword was. He’d given it to her, which made it harder. It was Armadillo or Rumpelstilskin or something. She’d blanked on it. She was in an angry, fearful state and she couldn’t calmly ransack through her mind to find it.

Eventually he untied her and said her punishment was over, and to get on her knees and suck his cock.

She left without a word and never went back. I made her tell the story, with the guy’s name, to other submissives. Strictly speaking and technically, he could argue that he’d followed the rules. But he was a dangerous idiot, and a criminal from the instant she’d said they were through. 

So in general I treat, “No”, “Stop” and “This isn’t working for me”, also certain kinds of non-responsiveness, as safewords even though they’re not the agreed safeword. Yes, there are rules in bdsm, but they should never get in the way of a submissive’s health and safety. 

Sometimes, though, I will ignore “No, please stop” because it isn’t the safeword. But that’s only where the submissive and I are in a relationship that includes consensual non-consent, and where she (this applies to male and female submissives, but I’m saying “she” because my experience involves women submissives) has explicitly told me that sometimes she wants to be able to beg and shout and protest, and have me ignore that and continue.

Stop! Ha ha, just kidding!

I enjoy that, but that’s for when you know someone well, and you know you can read between the lines, and tell pleasure from real distress in her body language or her voice, or her silence. So that you know she’s safe and in a good mental state, even as you gleefully ignore her pleas for you to stop.   

Even then, truth be told, if I believed that I detected real harm or distress I’d stop even without the safeword.

You can think you’ve worked out everything in advance, and that the rules you’ve agreed to will cover everything. But humans are unpredictable creatures, and emotionally driven and changeable, whether they acknowledge that or not.

Both parties have to be flexible enough to take that into account, and to respond to the person’s needs (and their own needs) in the moment, and not just stick to a set of rules. 

Except one rule: the dom’s duty of care, to do no harm to a submissive, comes before everything else, including “I’ll stop if you safeword me but not otherwise”. Even when they’re not, “no” and “stop!” are still safewords, if the submissive really means it. Whatever the agreed protocol might be.

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