30 Days of Kink: Day 1 – Defining My Kinky Self

So, I did it. Sent off my first day of the 30 Days of Kink meme to Rayne of Insatiabledesire to post as a guest on her blog.  You can see that post here: 30DoK: Define Your Kinky Self by Jade. Go on, take a look, and while you’re at it, catch up on all the other posts in the series. There are some bright, beautiful, interesting kinksters out there.
As I continue this meme, I’ll be updating and posting the links to a new Page I’ve created here: 30 Days of Kink.
In conjunction with that, here’s a different kind of snapshot of my kinky self than what I wrote there (I had to be all, like, intellectual there, yanno.)
I was at W’s for the first time since my surgery. Not quite feeling 100% yet, but just on the verge of feeling “good enough.” Earlier that morning he had managed to fend me off when I tried to force him to have sex with me, even going so far as to try and climb on top of him and put it in before he knew what I was doing. I’m so sneaky. 😉  I didn’t succeed.  He has SO much willpower, the bastard. (This all makes sense if you understand that I was still on a “no sex” rule after my surgery, lol.)
Anyhow, I don’t know how it started. In fact everything before “The Radiator” is fuzzy to me. One minute we were sitting across from each other, each on our own computers, as sometimes we do in the afternoons, and the next…he had his hand in my hair and his cock down my throat as I crouched with my back against the radiator, trying to open my throat to him without gagging while managing to keep my head from smacking against the radiator with each thrust.  I didn’t succeed. (Apparently I was doomed to failure in everything I tried that weekend.) I gagged, he pressed harder, deeper; my head bobbed back and forth, slamming into the radiator every time he pushed himself deeper into my mouth.  I think at one point, he may have said something about enjoying ramming my head against it.  The bastard. (Did I already say that?)
And me? Oh yeah, I enjoyed every thrust. I savored the taste of him in my mouth, his musky man-smell in my nostrils, the feel of him filling my throat, of his hand gripping my hair in a tight fist and forcing me against him, holding me there when I struggled to pull away.  That and the knowledge that he could and would do this, any time, simply because he felt like it.
And then he pulled abruptly away, pushed me aside, and told me to get ready to go home.  I fell back on my butt and sat there, momentarily bemused; quiescent.
And wet.  So fucking wet.
My bemusement rapidly turned into a voracious “I wanna get fucked!”-ness and I stood up and wrapped myself around him, rubbing against him and panting and mewling against his throat as I tried to convince him that I really was ready for sex. No matter what that pesky doctor said. Again, I didn’t succeed.
Of course…this weekend was another story. 😉
For more fun, here’s another snapshot, with something else stuck in my mouth (and a bit of wetness dribbling down my chin):

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