Favourite Roleplay No. 1 - Opposites
|
Posted:Sep 18, 2020 8:01 am
Last Updated:Sep 18, 2020 12:37 pm 7194 Views
|
Good for a first meeting where I have advised my play partner what sort of clothes she should not wear if she wants to avoid turning me on.
Of course, she is wantonly determined to do the opposite.
Having stimulated me visually by her provocative behaviour, I feel it is my duty to explore what things I must not do to her to arouse similar feelings.
She might say that she hates being stroked on her neck (when really she loves it) or to never caress her breasts in a circular motion.
Obviously, I would say “Like this?” and we would both discover exactly how she should not be touched if decorum is to be maintained.
|
|
|
1
comment
|
|
These Anti-Tenting Trousers are rubbish!
|
Posted:Sep 18, 2020 7:43 am
Last Updated:Sep 18, 2020 7:47 am 9723 Views
|
I met the new maid in the long gallery today. I was squeezing by the rows of packing cases put there during the work on the house and she was wriggling towards me in the opposite direction.
She paused, then smiled demurely, and pressed herself up against a tall crate to make room for me to pass behind her.
I assumed that there would be enough room to get through but it would appear that my judgement was impaired by all the black satin and fluffy white petticoats that she wore. They concealed a surprisingly pert derriere. Although quite a slim young woman, she was surprisingly well-endowed and could only lean up against the packing crate so far, it being a case of one large chest against another.
I might add that I am very easily visually stimulated and, although I habitually wear a pair of Professor Trubshaw’s Anti-Tenting Trousers, there is something about shiny black satin, white petticoats and a well-filled bodice that can still cause a disconcerting tumescence should the occasion arise.
I think she must have glimpsed this for herself because her eyes widened as I approached and her lips parted and she gave a little gasp.
“Please sir!” she said and pressed herself even more tightly against the huge crate. “Excuse me sir!” and she turned her head away, inviting me to do what I felt I had to.
I placed my hands around her waist and told her, “That’s quite alright, my dear, leave everything to me!” and wedged myself into the little gap she’d made.
Straightaway, I realised I had misjudged the situation entirely and expressed surprise at how tight it was and she, dear girl, immediately apologised for the tightness and assured me this was the biggest opening she could create.
“No, no, no, it’s my mistake entirely,” I told her. “I mis-read how full your skirts were.”
Mentally noting to later check the warranty on my pair of Professor Trubshaw’s Anti-Tenting Trousers, I concentrated on the job in hand and slowly but surely eased myself into the gap she had so gamely offered to me.
Slowly but surely, I began to squeeze around the soft curve of her right buttock.
“If only we’d known this was going to be so hard, sir,” she softly murmured, which – to be perfectly frank – I found less than helpful.
By wiggling my hips and guiding hers with both hands in a reciprocating manner, I managed to gently progress, inch by precious inch, into the gap presented to me.
“It’s a good job you are wearing satin, my dear,” I laughed between pelvic grinds, “for any less slippery material would surely have mitigated against my progress so far.”
This made her giggle and then catch her breath, which in turn – I am happy to say – briefly facilitated my entry and with an almost audible pop I slid neatly into the cleft she offered me.
However, I soon found that far from my progress becoming easier, things had become much harder. I was now wedged in between the satin clad cheeks of her behind and, despite the sleekness of her dress and re-arranging of her petticoats, it was clear that neither of us were going anywhere fast. The blood rush to my nether regions was by now of prodigious proportions and may have begun to weaken my thought processes as my brain became starved of oxygen.
I tried to go back the way I’d come but withdrawal was impossible. It wasn’t merely her curves but also how much I was bulging for, in all the squirming and adjustment of my hand positions to get a better grip of her waist and hips, I had inadvertently stroked her side boob.
A prompt resolution to our problems was unlikely.
“It seems we are stuck,” I said, at length, after much fruitless wriggling.
“Oh, sir!” she exclaimed, turning to look at me in helpless submission to the reality that had befallen her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
The way she looked at me told me she would happily acquiesce to any of my compromising suggestions.
“Let me see,” I muttered, trying to muster and apply my considerable intellect to the problem in hand but the phrase only served to remind me of my own visual stimulation. And in that dress and position with that look on her face, she was – unfortunately – extremely visually stimulating.
That is to say nothing about the additional sensation of her stocking-clad thighs against mine and curiously soft yet firm flesh of her bottom grinding in my groin. I know she only did it to help but it was having the reverse effect.
However, it seemed churlish to ask her to stop. I concentrated on keeping my hands around her waist, which seemed the least provocative place for them to be but I could not ignore our pelvic contact or the knowledge that above her waistline were – as I believe Shakespeare would have put it – “two ivory worlds tinged with blue that know no hand save their master’s.”
“There must be something we can do,” I muttered.
“But what?” she asked and, turning slightly from side to side, she brought first her right breast and then her left breast to run against my hands.
Her breasts were covered of course but in the white satin that contrasted with the black of the rest of her uniform. The material here was very thin and the way it strained and rippled as she wriggled and squirmed was singularly unhelpful.
Suddenly, I had some inspiration.
“There is a smaller packing case over there,” I told her. “Perhaps if we can wriggle over to it, you could lean forward enough for me to get through.”
So we slowly inched our way along with our thighs rubbing against each other and her side boobs palpitating gently with every awkward step. Once or twice I accidentally brushed her nipples and the way they stiffened made me wonder of I would ever be flaccid again.
At last we reached the smaller packing case.
“Bend over my dear,” I told her – with a curious *frisson* of excitement – and she obliged but instead of making her bottom smaller it inexplicably seemed to have the opposite effect.
Not only that but now I could glimpse her stocking tops and I wondered how long my breeches could survive without being burst asunder.
“Perhaps if I slide down a bit,” I suggested but our knees just got in the way and there simply wasn’t enough room and climbing up onto the smaller case was also out of the question.
I stood up again and her skirts and petticoats rose up around her waist to reveal naked thighs and suspenders, black gentle swoops plunging up and down against her soft flesh.
So there we were, me, with an enormous bulge in my trousers that were anti-tenting in name only, wedged against the new maid who was bent over before me with her black satin uniform and white petticoats in a great ruffle above her hips, long stocking clad legs pressing their upper flesh against my thighs and my hands perilously close to finding her bust again beneath the thinness of the white flash of bodice.
“Oh sir!” she said, as something occurring to her, “supposing someone was to come!”
“Brilliant!” I burst out. “I wish I’d thought of that!”
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Of course!” I ejaculated. “It’s so obvious now!”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I will have me inside you – and us out of here – in no time!”
She gave a little shriek as she felt what had hitherto been my clothed bulge slap nakedly into the flesh of her inner thighs.
“But, but, but…”
“No, no, no! No more buts. You are hardly in a position to argue.”
“What *are* you doing, sir?”
“Why, merely pulling down your knickers, my dear!”
“Please sir, I meant…oooo!”
“You’re such a clever girl,” I assured her.
“Oh no, sir!”
“Oh yes! And you should learn to take compliments from your betters when they are deserved. And I shall begin by giving you one now! If I undo myself here…”
She gasped.
“And undo you here…”
She sighed. “But, sir, but this isn’t…”
“Now look here,” I said, sternly, “you did ask if there was anything you could do to help.”
“I know but…”
“And this was your idea!”
“Well, I don’t really know about that, sir!”
“Modesty will get you nowhere,” I told her, pulling up her skirts and petticoats and riffling around beneath them. “Aha!” I said. “Black knickers! Everything will be just fine! I remember Wicked Uncle Jasper telling me that in the language of underwear black means surrender!” and to her mild and ineffectual protests I pulled her most intimate apparel down over her suspenders.
“But what I meant, sir, was…ooooohhhh!”
“Precisely! Now then! I must open you, by rubbing you gently here,” I said, and I caressed her nipples, which made her squeal and wriggle. “In fact, let’s just have them out, shall we?” and before she could answer I teased her breasts free and began tweaking her tightening teats. “Once you are sufficiently opened I shall endeavour to squeeze myself into you and I shall thrust away until – as you so sensibly suggested – I come. And then once I am flaccid again we shall be released!”
She did not appear entirely convinced of the efficacy of this course of action. I thought this was strange since she was the one who had suggested it. I decided to ignore her politely flustered alternative suggestions and carried on regardless.
With another hand, I found her clitoris and began massaging that and the effect it had on her wriggling and squirming was most gratifying.
“I can only assume,” I told her, “that your denials and protests and struggles only add spice to your situation.” I reached down and stroked her between her thighs. “Goodness! You are a lubricious young woman!”
“Er, thank you sir…”
So, I entered her gently and she hung her head and stamped her feet and with each shake of her hips I slid in a little further.
I was very hard and it took some time for her to take me in but once firmly home I twitched inside her and made her jump.
“Now all you have to do,” I told her, “is humour me by letting me pleasure you. Do you understand?”
“Ooo. Yes, sir.”
I began to take my fill of her. It was tricky in that confined space but I found that with careful pelvic positioning I could withdraw and then slide back inside her and I set up a steady rhythm of shorter more urgent thrusts. The sound of her arse slapping into me soon filled the corridor and she began to make quite a few gasps.
I dare say I did, too.
Normally, I like to prolong the sensations in a situation like this but there was an appalling urgency and need to our position as evidenced by the chorus of “Oooos!” and Aaahhhs!” she was muttering. So, I indulged myself without any self-teasing and I let myself come without holding back.
Sweating and panting, we rested for a while but then something occurred to me.
“That’s odd!” I said.
“What? What is it sir?”
“Can you feel that?”
Without a word she tensed slightly and move backwards and forward a little. Then, exploring the sensation further, she thrust her bottom deep into my groin. “But you are as hard as ever, sir!”
“By Jove!” I remarked. “I can only assume that your obliging acquiescence has brought out the animal in me and that the multiple male orgasm might be true!”
“But what *are* we to do sir?”
“The same again, I suppose,” I replied and started doing it right away.
And, as she turned her head and took up the most efficacious position she could offer me, I caught a little smile as she wondered at the effect she was having upon her lord and master.
|
|
|
1
comment
|
|
Roleplay insult generator
|
Posted:Sep 14, 2020 12:27 pm
Last Updated:Aug 20, 2021 3:08 pm 7351 Views
|
I am not into humiliation or degradation but recently discovered the Shakespearean Insult generator. Several of us use these at work in meetings – “Thou pasty, whey-faced pignut, thou!” “Thou! Thou frothy, hedge-born varlot!”
It makes the day pass.
This set me thinking about a similar generator to be used during a scene with a sub of your choice, which in my case would be a saucy well-endowed , a squirming pert-bottomed spankee or a lubricious (good word) light-skirted lovebucket. I’d be happy with any of the above if truth be told.
Whilst not actually abusive, each option should be a smile-inducing insult but an insult that a role-playing sub would actually like to receive. I know some ladies like to be told that they are a slut or a bad girl at certain junctures in a scene and this can trigger all sorts of braingasms for them, sometimes with a physical component and often with an intriguingly sensual consequence. On the other hand, sometimes play partners like to be told they are a good girl – a beautifully well-lingeried loose-knickered good girl perhaps.
So here in the first comment below are some highly suggestive suggestions of my own.
Start off with the preface of “YOU! You….” and select one from each column. Alliteration is good.
Feel free to add your own provided they are tasteful yet seductive, inflammatory yet welcome and the sort of encouraging thing a sub or spankee might like to hear to enhance a scene and make them gasp, guffaw or squirm in between the spanks/sheets/sylvan settings of their seduction.
It would be interesting hear highly suggestive suggestions from subs as well, in case they might like to make a suitable response.
Maybe a good starting point would be their rampant trouser-bulging seducer or vigorously hot-handed spanker.
Come on subs – what roleplay compliment generator would you use on your doms?
|
|
|
3
Comments
|
|
Administering a punishment spanking
|
Posted:Sep 11, 2020 3:58 pm
Last Updated:Sep 14, 2020 3:37 am 8748 Views
|
I remember administering my very first punishment spanking.
Something about me ticked the right boxes for a young woman who felt the need be punished and I was happy oblige her. I had previously associated spanking with eroticism and foreplay but this was a slightly new twist because there was be no “reward” for her as she put it.
She wanted be punished for not taking responsibility for her life and letting her life get into a mess. She had lived without consequences for far too long, she said, and a smarting and bright red bottom was what she needed most of all.
We conferred on line and agreed a time. I picked her up from the station and she was a lot younger than me, young enough to be my , but that was what she wanted. I have always thought of myself as a pleasantly cheerful sort of chap but just by sitting or standing and not saying much it would seem – from the feedback that she gave me – that I have an air of authority. This is probably because she didn’t know me too well.
Frankly I was surprised. I am actually mischievously subversive and definitely anti-establishment. She saw a different side to me, however, and it really “worked” for her.
We chatted for a bit and established exactly what she felt she needed. She needed pain and, although she had explored the pain and pleasure scenario in previous relationships, on this occasion she wanted to go beyond the pleasure boundary and carry home a lasting reminder of what would happen if she acted without any thought of the consequences.
“I want to go beyond rosy pink,” she told me over a cup of tea. “I want to feel my tears well up and be sore for some time afterwards.”
I said I admired her for her self-awareness. She knew her limitations and strengths and was actively doing something about her life and what she felt was wrong with it.
“If spanking you enables you,” I said, “then I am happy to spank you even if there is no erotic aspect.”
She laughed. “Thank you. As I tried to explain earlier, any eroticism wouldn’t work for me right now. There should be no nice reward. This is because I have been bad and need to be punished.”
“So, I think we understand each other. Do you want a safe word?”
“No that won’t be necessary.”
“Very well. Let’s have you over my knee shall we?”
She was not a small woman but I am over six foot and quite strong. I gripped her firmly and started out with a few heavy pats and then built up the force progressively into a steady rhythm that soon had her bouncing up and down on my thigh.
“You know why I am doing this to you, don’t you?” I asked her.
“Yes.”
“Tell me why. I want to hear you say it.”
This was what she wanted – a confessional of all the laxity she felt she’d got away with. Laziness, debt, slovenliness – I spanked away her misdemeanours in a litany of blows to her soft bottom.
After some time spanking her quite hard, I paused.
“Now then,” I said, “I think for your own good I need to really get through to you the consequences of what you have done and not done. I really need to spank your bare bottom. Do you understand?”
She nodded and there was just the trace of a smile. This was what we had discussed earlier. She was going to get what she felt she deserved.
She undid her jeans and I eased them down over her hips.
“Mm, nice knickers!” I said.
“Well, I knew what to wear,” she said with the uncertain tremor of a nervous laugh.
I threatened to pull them down but that was not what we’d discussed. In previous erotic romps, I knew what that sort of thing that would lead to and we had agreed that she was not to be “rewarded.”
Instead I pulled them up to reveal as much as possible of her already blushing buttocks.
“You are already a little pink,” I told her, stroking her, “but I am going to beat you purple until there is a heat haze over your bottom checks, here and here.”
“Are your hands sore?” she asked.
I spanked her hard. “Not in the least. Now then, promise me that will not spend beyond your means again!”
“Shan’t!” she said, cheekily.
And so her spanking resumed. I turned around her confession and told her she was not to repeat her bad behaviour. At times she pouted and refused to answer my questions, playing the part of a recalcitrant brat very well, but I just spanked her the harder until she changed her tune.
She had a big soft bottom and, now that it was released from her jeans, it jiggled and rippled under my right hand most gratifyingly. I gripped her tightly at times to ensure my was true but at other times let her move more freely so that she could either wriggle out from the blows or position herself receive the full force and gain the utmost efficacy of her punishment.
The sound of my hand on her buttocks was quite loud and I made sure I dealt with each one evenly. I did not want her to be able to favour one side or the other. Sometimes I gave them alternate smacks and at others I gave her a series of 3, 4 or even 6 hearty spanks on each bottom cheek. At times I paused and stroked her and asked her if she was going to change her ways. If she said she was not, I gave her the hardest spanks I could muster. These made her groan a bit and after some resistance she said she would abide by the new rules we were thrashing out together.
After about 45 minutes, her bottom was really red. She had been gripping my legs and the arm of the chair with some intensity and I felt that her limits may have been surpassed. I saw no tears and she made no indication for me to stop. In the end, as I caressed the flesh of her glowing behind, I decided she had had enough and told her so – but then said I was going to give her of the hardest spanks I could muster.
“If you must,” she muttered into the leather of the chair.
Gripping her more tightly than ever to allow no struggling I replied that I must.
I told her she deserved nothing less and that this was going to hurt her far more than it was going to hurt me and I gave her the hardest whacks with all my strength. These really echoed loudly around the room and I was glad I lived in a house in the middle of nowhere with thick walls.
She lay slumped over my knee in silence for a few moments and I stroked her quivering buttocks.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Thoroughly chastised,” she replied, again muffled by the hair over her face and her position with her face against the seat cushion.
Slowly she got up, adjusted her lacy underwear with a surprised grimace and did her jeans up again.
Kneeling in front of me, she brushed back her hair and said, “How is your hand?”
“My hand is not even red,” I told her and held it out for her to see.
Her eyes opened in astonishment. “But my arse is so sore!” she laughed.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but…oooo…just pulling my jeans on – it feels like it’s on fire!"
“It is very red,” I told her, “and has taken on a shiny almost burnished quality.”
Gingerly she stood up and then tried to sit beside me.
She smiled with a strange satisfaction when she found she couldn’t manage it comfortably and then asked for a cuddle, which I was happy to give her. She was trembling a little and I stroked her hair and told her I hoped that I had helped her by giving her a terrible consequence for her irresponsibility.
She laughed and said that I had done a very good job.
We had another cup of tea and a chat, which naturally involved a discussion about “how was it for you?”
She said she liked the feeling of my strength keeping her in position and the way I spanked her so that the rhythm and pauses and variety impacts gave her a “terrible sense of helpless anticipation.”
I told her that I could have kept going for a lot longer and she replied that she felt she’d had her boundaries stretched considerably by this experience, maybe not crossed but certainly explored to an extent she had hoped for but hadn’t expected.
Then I drove her back to the station. She wriggled in discomfort most of the way in the car and after we said goodbye I watched her walk a little stiffly into the station building.
However, she held her head up high and there was a new assurance about her that I thought she had lacked before.
In our initial exchanges, she’d mentioned that she might require regular doses of corrective therapy, which was how she described the prospect of a punishment spanking. I never heard from her again so I gather her punishment spanking worked and had a suitably lasting effect.
I was glad to have helped her during a difficult time in her life and feel that I gave her something more than just a punishment spanking.
|
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
Lockdown dam burst
|
Posted:Sep 8, 2020 4:36 am
Last Updated:Sep 8, 2020 12:36 pm 7565 Views
|
While we can’t interact physically with each other, anticipation is growing.
Relentlessly.
I am aware that when the restrictions are lifted, so many needs will have to be satisfied for the good of one’s wellbeing.
It won’t be long before the burgeoning headwaters of eroticism can safely wash away the lockdown dam.
Anticipation enhances the having and we’ve been anticipating fulfilment for a long time….
|
|
|
2
Comments
|
|
