This week’s guest blogger is here today to talk about something that I love when it comes to BDSM: belts. It’s a beautifully personal exploration of her own kinks and limits, and the exploration of those limits within a safe environment. It is also, like so much of Hannah’s other work, so hot you might need to go for a lie down after reading it…
Using belts to explore the edges of my kink
Most of my kink is dark, delicately balancing on the edge of my most primal sexual wants and desires, and early traumatic experiences. I am not hugely open about this, because part of me worries that people will be less likely to engage in such activities if I do – even if explored in a completely safe and consensual environment. But I think it is naïve to assume that, in some people at least, these things are not intrinsically linked.
However, the most recent kink activity I have been exploring is not especially dark or taboo. It is quite commonplace in most D/s dynamics, but this has made it harder to navigate. When I am with a dominant partner who knows I enjoy being spanked as a submissive, they quite often suggest one thing in particular. That thing is one of my biggest fears I have encountered and until recently was a very hard limit. Belts.
My most recent ex partner helped me to confront this fear in part. Quite early on in our relationship he slid his belt through the loops of his trousers and it was laid on the bed. It was the first time he experienced one of my panic attacks: I was so terrified he was going to hit me with it. It turns out that his intention was to use it around my wrists, but it enabled us to have the conversation about our limits and he was thoroughly supportive.
As someone who always wore belts, the undoing of his was always part of the pre-fuck ritual. I began to enjoy the familiar sound of the belt buckle, which now remained in his trousers, followed by the buttons and fumble of fabric. When I sucked his cock I became more confident in undoing his belt, and if I only slightly pulled down his clothing the buckle was quite close to my face. I gradually became fond of this too. He knew I wanted to dispel this fear because, although perhaps not something I was ready to explore yet, I didn’t want this to be the cause of any further untimely panic attacks.
So he did something utterly magical: he introduced belts in a way that did not involve impact play, listening to and considering the reason behind it being a hard limit, and playing into my submissive kinks and love of giving oral sex. This was completely consensual. He wasn’t stretching me or testing my limits in any way other that what we had communicated. One afternoon he had unbuckled his belt and pushed me to my knees. He freed his cock from his clothing and pushed my head onto it (business as usual). Then he took the buckle and slid it, and the leather strap of the belt, from one ear to the other around the back of my head, and used it to hold my head in place as he fucked my mouth.
That was as far as I was ever able to go, but it was fucking hot. And this suited me fine, I never had any other desire to introduce belts into the bedroom (living room, kitchen) until recently…
Blindfolded and cuffed, I am face down with my arse wriggling and slightly rising into the air. You swiftly put a stop to that, by a blow to my left cheek with the palm of your hand. You enjoy watching me squirm when you spank me, and I share in your delight. I know you are desperate to fuck me like this.
You move away from me, and I hear you go to your drawers on my right. I know exactly what you are doing: you will bring out a bottle of lube and spread it all over me, between my legs and slowly draw your hand up to the upper dimple of my lower back. You know I have no desire to be kept tidy. But, for a second, all I can think about is you coming back to me with a leather belt, folded in two. You tap me on my right cheek, to prepare your aim, and then you hit me with it. Just the thought of it makes me flinch, and you worry something is wrong. But nothing is wrong, I think.
I keep thinking about it. The next day I masturbate to the fantasy of someone, perhaps it is you, laying a belt by my head as I’m bent over and exposed. I want it to be folded and run down my spine, from the nape of my neck to my expectant arse. But I don’t imagine it hitting me. Not yet anyway. The belt remains by my head as you fuck me. As I get louder you place it in my mouth and tell me to bite down on it. It is touching me, and I can smell the leather and imagine the marks my teeth will leave. But you don’t hit me with it.
Not yet anyway.