Text: For every minute you’re late, I’m going to make you put an ice cube down your trousers.
I was quite proud of that one at the time. He still hasn’t done it though. The pub was a bit exposed and to be honest, it felt like maybe that one was a bit sexual. Ice cubes? Cool. Casual femdom? Fine. Trouser-based activity? Probably pushing it.
I have a friend who is super-sub. The kind of submissive you find in clubs wearing just PVC panties and an expectant grin. The sort of guy I’d playfully ask for a foot rub if my pointy shoes were killing me. A sub who does whatever you ask, then looks at you with those puppy-dog-eyes I’ve heard so much about, eager for you to issue another instruction.
“Breathe in,” he says. “Take it out of me.”
He slides his fingers into my hair, smoky-smelling from the bonfire and the weed. He leans in closer and I look into his eyes and my stomach throbs with longing. I want to do more than just breathe in. I want those sucking, desperate kisses. I want his hands all over my hazy, tingling body.
“Breathe in,” again – a request that’s almost an order. He takes a long, thick drag on the joint, pulls his hand away, and squashes his lips onto mine.
I breathe in. Of course.
Ten minutes after we’ve fucked, I cough. Inevitably, thick teaspoons of lukewarm spoodge dribble down into my knickers.
It is not for the physical sensation: a very similar effect is released when I’ve put my pants on after a bath. The wetness gushes slightly quicker, but as it seeps through my crotch the feelings I get are more annoyance than delight.
When it’s spunk, though? I am down with that: it’s like a souvenir. Continue reading…