More Wankerific Play

I don’t mean everything I write here lately to be about self-pleasure, but, since it is National Masturbation Month, and I have been valiantly attempting to meet the Wankfest 2010 challenge, I guess that’s not so unusual. The fun part is that although it is masturbation, it has most definitely been turned into a game by W, and although I am pleasuring myself, I am most definitely doing it for him.
It’s hard to pretend otherwise when he sets me up in whatever situation he wants and then he sits back and watches…and takes pictures…and cuddles me afterward, just as if he was administering aftercare after a scene or snuggling up after sex.
Last night when I got to his house I was keyed up a bit. I had just taken a short run, was buzzing with adrenaline from that and still working through emotional crap from the issues I had with my sister the other day.  Also, I felt a little…unsettled…around him. We have had our own things to deal with recently, we haven’t seen each other in “play” mode much lately, and I hadn’t stayed over as much as I had been doing. Combine that with my own insecurities about recent changes and plans, and I was, well, as I said, kinda keyed up.
And I had emailed him earlier in the day asking for play that night, so I was also anxious about that.  No matter how I much I want it, no matter how good I know I will feel after, no matter how much I enjoy it after or how worked up I get during it, I always get anxious about pain play.
I was soon settled into a more relaxed state, however, after a bath and a drink and some chit-chat. Until he casually mentioned, as I was picking out what to wear, that I “wouldn’t be able to stand it for a whole hour” in any case. Ad could probably hear my head snapping around to look at W when he said that.
“Seriously?”
He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
And then when he told me to give him access to my cunt and nipples, and he laid out the clothespins with the long twine attached to them, I knew I was in trouble.
Why can’t I have a guy that just likes to flog me till I am in my happy place?  But no, I have to have a man with a vision–and those visions usually mean pain for me.
Of course my twisted head and body likes that, though, don’t they?  As evidenced by me pressing every bit of skin I could against him when he brought me down, kissing and licking and clinging to him like a clematis vine around a trellis. No matter that 15 minutes before, I had been swearing, panting, mewling and growling in pain.
Have I mentioned how much I hate clothespins on the tips of my nipples?  Hate hate hate.  (That may have been what tipped me over the edge in play with his friend way back in…December was it?  Whenever.  It really is hatred though, pure and simple.)  In any case, nipples pulled up and connected in some demonic fashion to the ropes on my wrists, so that any time I let my arms hang in the slightest it pulled on my nipples.  And his heavy suspension ring, of this story, tied into the rings in my cunt and thence to a bolt in the floor, so that if I straightened my legs it pulled unbearably on the rings, but if I bent my knees to get some relief from the heavy pull of the suspension ring, I tightened the twine on my nipples.  Agony…misery…and…  My cunt was wet.
Fuck that man!
No, my rings aren’t as sensitive as they were at first, but I still love the sensation of having my labia pulled on, and even with my hole laced shut with the ring hanging from it, I could feel how wet I was from the pull on my lips.  I could imagine something–anything–being slid into my hole between the ribbon that laced them shut, could imagine being fucked while the ring simultaneously held me closed and pulled me open.
When he brought me down and told me to go into the bedroom and do myself, with the ring still laced to me, I barely hesitated.  But once on the bed with my legs spread I found that I did not have the manual dexterity to hold the ring (it was heavy and I couldn’t just lay it down) and diddle myself.
So I asked him to tie the ring to a hook in the ceiling.  Of course he was more than willing to oblige.  But when he did he made the rope kind of slack–this wasn’t about him torturing me, it was about pleasure.   I tried it for a few minutes, but it swung back and forth with the movement of my fingers on my clit, so I slid back until the rope was taut again.  Not painfully so, but enough to keep a firm, steady pressure on my labia.  And then I imagined him fucking me, pushing in behind the ribbon, in behind the ring and my laced-shut cunt, and into my hole, my wet, greedy hole, and I came, writhing against my fingers and the rope connecting my cunt to the ceiling.
And here’s another Wankerific fact: W is gone to the store right now, leaving me alone here to write this post.  And writing this got me so worked up that I just went into his front room, lay down on the couch and fucked myself again.
Today’s Daily Deed: done.  Does it count as using the same toy twice (er, this would be the third time, now) if I fantasized about while I was doing it?