The other day I talked about when he uses sex as a tool. Just another implement in his arsenal of toys, something to drive me into the space he wants me to go, to subjugate me, to make me that small, mindless, used girl at his feet.
It’s an effective tool.
On our second day at the cabin, he took it a step further. He used sex as a weapon.
I don’t think he intended to do what he did, at first. It was supposed to be a “pretty picture.” The classic (and perhaps cliche) spreadeagle. It was hard to resist though–the iron bedstead was meant to have a girl tied spreadeagle to it.
The plan was, a quick tie, a pretty picture or two, and then move on to more…interesting…things. Things like the dragon’s tongue that he got out, very casually, after taking some pictures. I cringed every time I saw it in his hand. I was a bit…exposed that way. There would be no getting my legs closed to protect myself against that wicked weapon.
He never used the dragon’s tongue on me. But soon I wished for the ability to close my legs, to protect myself, dragon’s tongue or not.
Heh. I just realized I made an unintended connection. Because he certainly did use a tongue on me. A “demon’s” tongue though. ;-)
I’ve mentioned before that I don’t really love cunnilingus. It’s too…passive…for me. Too much like servicing me, which doesn’t do a thing for my headspace. And ok, I’ll admit it, I’m also a bit…anxious about a man being down there. Chock it up as another of those bodily functions issues, but I am never quite sure that men actually like to be doing that me. The fact that I love to do it to another woman myself? Doesn’t make a difference. I am always sure that they must be getting bored, worrying about odor or taste or whatever.
So of course, that’s what he did. That’s what anyone would do to a girl lying tied spreadeagle on a bed, right? I mean, that’s what I would do.
But there was nothing passive about this. He attacked me with the ferocity of a cannibal, tearing, biting and sucking at my rings, my flesh, my lips and my clit until I came, and came, and came again, convulsing against the ropes, gasping, crying out loud enough to disturb the innkeepers. Until I was exhausted and trembling and trying desperately to twist away from his assault on me. Because that is what it was. An assault. And he kept at it, switching from soft licks and teasing swipes with his tongue to devouring my rings and pulling on my labia until I was sure he’d pull them right out. At one point he thrust his tongue inside me and licked the inside of my cunt before thrusting his tongue like a miniature cock in and out of me. I came, again, surprised at the pleasure this brought. And again as he rubbed his beard-roughened chin against my clit, rubbing me raw with it.
Finally, I begged him to stop. My cunt was swollen and red and so so raw. Getting “eaten” no longer seemed like a euphemism.
He used to claim that his definition of sex is that actual intercourse–fucking–has to take place. I think I have convinced him of the error of his ways about that, but even if I hadn’t, I think even he would admit that what he was doing was fucking me.
Raping me with his mouth.
Using sex as a weapon.
As he untied me though, he said the most amazing thing. “Wow, I loved that,” he said. “I’d forgotten how much I like to eat a girl out.” I was abashed–and filled with the sweetest, most exultant joy.
“Hey Mikey, he likes it!”
PS–there’s a click thru for the whole view if you care to look. :-)
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