Hécuba

Firewall account!

[hecubabg]

Slow Dance

"You dance beautifully," Evie told me, her arms around my shoulders while the slow music invited our bodies to find each other.

My eyes sparked and I pursed my lips, hiding a smile that I intended to be as non-ironic as possible.

"What a white lie," I managed to utter, half-laughing, with my hands resting on her hips.

It was completely true; music and I had always been a tremendously dysfunctional couple. I couldn't even keep time with a turn signal, but really, that was the least of it. The only thing that mattered in circumstances like that was having an excuse for our bodies to press together.

Evie smiled warmly, tilting her head slightly, and in a relaxed manner, I felt her fingers toy with my hair on my bare back. I, just as my Miss had asked—who was surely watching us closely from the bar counter—let her do as she pleased without resistance. Her breasts flattened against mine, rubbing against them to the rhythm of the song, and the absence of my bra made me fear my nipples would harden and she would notice. With a polite smile that hid my nervousness, I let her be the one to guide me in this dance so full of sensual notes, while remembering how I had arrived at this exact moment.

* * *

"My sweet girl, tonight I'm taking you to your first lesbian bar, and I'm going to ask you to dance with a stranger I will choose for you," my Miss told me, leaning over me as she applied my mascara. "And I want you to be pleasant and sweet to her at all times. I'll be watching you."

My heart sank, and my gaze became invisibly trembling. She, knowing me perfectly, noticed everything.

"She will be an attractive woman, probably my age, about ten years older than you. Or maybe not, we'll see," she continued, taking me by the chin to turn it slightly and observe for a brief moment that my makeup was in order before picking up the same lipstick she had used and painting my lips. "If she buys you a drink, accept it with a smile; if she asks to dance with you again, you will nod, let her take your hand, and lead you to the dance floor."

Her hands slid up the short skirt of the very tight magenta and turquoise dress she had bought me that same afternoon until they reached my panties. Leaning toward me, she pulled them down to my ankles, and I, very diligently, lifted one heel after the other so she could remove them. Folding them carefully, she tucked them into her purse, turned me around gently by the shoulders, and the two of us stood looking at each other in the bathroom mirror's reflection, me in front of her.

"You look gorgeous," she said with genuine admiration, grooming my hair a bit more, though it was unnecessary. Yes, I liked how I looked right then, but I was dressed much more daringly and suggestively than I usually did, and that made me quite a bit nervous... "You have to understand that there will be moments like this when I ask you to blindly trust me. I know that for now you are only bisexual with me, but I want that stranger to like you. Don't worry, I'm not going to share you with her, although if you wanted to kiss her, I wouldn't object. I want to enjoy the fact that you are my very own little girl. I want you to get used to other women flirting with you. I want to show you off and show that you are mine."

Her hands, rising from my waist, reached the contour of my breasts, and her fingers paused over my little nipples, tracing circles around them.

"I am your Mistress and you are my girl. I have responsibilities, whether you like it or not. Among these responsibilities is guiding you so that you grow as much as possible, and this means growing in every sense."

She rested her chin on my shoulder, and her fingers closed around my small breasts firmly yet gently, making me catch the air in my lungs until a slow, agonizing sigh escaped from my lips.

"This evening will be uncomfortable for you. I want it to be. In a way, that's the whole point of this. Personal and sexual growth lies outside your comfort zone. You might feel afraid, but always keep in mind that you are completely safe when I ask you to do these things. I take care of you. I protect you."

One of her hands disappeared under my skirt, and I instinctively parted my legs just before her fingers caressed me along the entire length of my labia. In the mirror, I saw her lips curve into that smile that I love so much being the sole cause of.

"Now relax and enjoy. I'm going to edge you; I want your body to be receptive when we get to the lesbian bar."

* * *

Evie is affable and attentive to me, and she has that natural elegance of a tightrope walker, perfectly balancing on that thin line between seduction and overstepping bounds. The swaying of her hips against mine is subtle and pleasant, her hands resting right where my back ends and my ass begins, and with each slow dance step, I feel the nudge of her thigh between my legs, pressing lightly against my sex. I smile at her politely and hold my ground with the poise of the polite, obedient girl I have always been, and inadvertently find myself searching for my Miss at the far end of the bar. Evie, brushing my hair aside, rests her cheek against my bare shoulder, her warm breath caressing the skin of my neck.

"You are an absolute sweetie... It's obvious I like you a lot, isn't it?" she whispers into my ear.

And I am completely unable to answer her. Although nervous, I can't deny that I like that she likes me, that I have enjoyed the treatment and attention she has given me from the very first moment, but that's all... So I cast my gaze down and smile at her gratefully without saying a single word.

It is then that the song that kept our bodies bound together gradually dissolves into a new, slightly more upbeat one, and Evie finally steps back a little from me.

"Thank you so much for everything," I say, finally daring to speak, doing so exclusively to say goodbye to her. I give her hand an affectionate squeeze and, without another word, quickly locate my Miss sitting on a stool at the bar. I don't really know how I feel—starstruck, almost dazed—I only dream of going back to her side, back to her shelter, to that zone of comfort and security she provides.

My Miss smiles at me with pride the moment she sees me arrive and, with a few light taps on the empty stool next to her, invites me to sit down. But no, I don't want that.

Without a second thought, I wrap my hand behind the nape of her neck and bring my lips to hers, kissing them slowly, as if they might melt and disappear if I showed too much passion. I kiss her, and she kisses me back. And only when our tongues meet am I aware that I have kissed her exclusively to mark my territory. To tell all the women in that bar that I am hers and exclusively hers. And by the time our mouths part, I find my Miss's eyes looking at me with pride, and that just melts my heart... She smiles at me, hugs me tightly, touches my face, takes my hand, and gives me a resounding kiss on the lips.

She is thrilled, she is exultant, and it's because I have made her feel that way. And there is nothing I love more in the world than pleasing her.

[hecubabg]

Eyes on the road

Yes, I would definitely do this after going shopping with you, my beloved Miss. Since you bought me such a suggestive outfit and we're in the intimacy of a car while you drive down the highway, of course I would. This skirt is so short I barely need to use my hands for you to see my freshly shaved pussy… And the dress is so low-cut that with a little help, my breasts slip right out of it… But you keep your eyes on the road, always on it, I'll take care of pampering your ears… Because yes, I already have my fingers playing between my legs, and in no time you'll hear them splashing inside me, making me groan… Eyes on the road, my sweet Miss. Don't worry, I would never cum without your explicit consent…

[hecubabg]

Anorgasmia

For those who don’t know what that fancy word means, it’s very simple: it’s the inability to reach an orgasm. I suffered from it years ago for quite some time, and today I’m sitting down to write about it to address and analyze what it was, now that I can finally look at salt in the wound.

After the worst relationship I’ve ever had, I withdrew into myself, and a long time passed before I was able to have sexual relations again. I didn’t stop kissing, but I definitely put the brakes on all those guys who thought my kisses would lead to something in the bedroom. That’s why I don’t have a clear idea of when and how it happened. As a result of that bad experience, I even shied away from ropes and became completely vanilla, both in thought and action. I no longer fantasized about being submissive, and I even stopped touching myself in private moments. I became proactively chaste, as if in doing so I could force myself to forget what had happened to me.

But life went on, and eventually I wound up in bed with a man. It had been a long time since the last time, and although coming back to it should have been magical, it really wasn’t. It was a mediocre lay, much better for him than for me. Needless to say, I didn’t come, but I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time either. Then others came along, and the result was the same, even though I was slowly regaining the joy and excitement for sex. Some of them, with whom I had more than one encounter, started asking me if I had come after we shared a bed, and I, naive and honest as I was, answered no... Some of my lovers became passive-aggressive with me because of that—I imagine because their ego depended on the pleasure they were capable of giving me—and from that moment on, I started faking orgasms to spare myself that uncomfortable question.

I enjoyed sex just the same (my nature is submissive, and I’ve always cared more about my partner’s pleasure than my own), but it’s true that I didn’t know what was happening to me. And that was when I searched the internet and realized I was suffering from anorgasmia, which even extended to squirts, which I wasn’t having either.

I overthought it terribly, to the point of making love to myself not to enjoy it, but to achieve that result. And mind you, back then I had already internalized stoicism in my life; I knew that the outcome didn't depend on me, only my actions and my thoughts. But nothing...

Little by little, I came to accept that it didn't depend on me. I kept enjoying the warmth of my lovers' bodies, satisfying them, faking that I was reaching climax through their caresses and attention. And by simply not dwelling on it, I at least learned to feel good about myself.

Then I crossed paths again with the man who is now my current owner. We knew each other from college and had ended up hooking up one night at a party. Basically, we both knew we liked each other. We caught up, enjoyed each other's company, and started hanging out. By that time, I had normalized my anorgasmia so much that I was no longer vanilla and was back to fantasizing about the ropes I’ve always loved so much. We kissed again, grew fond of each other, and it was right there—before calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend—that we spoke frankly about what we expected from our relationship. I was honest with him and told him that if we were going to be a couple, I needed ropes to be involved. He admitted he was indeed attracted to it, and so our journey began.

My owner gradually realized that I wasn’t having orgasms (I didn't fake it with him). He asked me about it with curiosity rather than obsession, and I answered him honestly. He automatically brushed it off as no big deal and told me they would come back at some point (you have no idea what a weight was lifted off my shoulders when he took it that way). And so it went; a few years together had to pass before I could recover that lost part of myself. And now, remembering that beautiful moment, my eyes fill with tears again as I write...

That didn’t mean everything went back to normal right away, or that I was having orgasms as frequently as before. When we had sex, sometimes I had them, sometimes I didn’t, but that was the least of it. I was healing. Until, as time went on, I became myself again—that cheerful woman who usually squirts before having an orgasm, who very rarely squirts twice, and who only once in her life has had two orgasms in a single session.

Now, with it all in the past, I can say out loud that my anorgasmia itself wasn’t that bad; the worst part was everything that surrounded it. And I’ve even taken a positive takeaway from this whole thing! Being put in denial by my owner doesn't scare me one bit!

[hecubabg]

Yesterday I was tied up, and blindfolded, my owner spent the time playing with my pussy using the Satisfyer and the Magic Wand.

First one, then the other, alternating between them while I did my absolute best not to come. He asked me to keep telling him how close I was, just so he could turn them off right at the edge. He did that twice.

Then he fucked me, and the game stayed the same, except I was so turned on and sensitive that trying not to come took everything I had right from the start.

Once he realized I was definitely going to have an orgasm, that's when I made him come with my mouth.

I swallowed, thanked him, and that's how I am today… still turned on from yesterday's game…

[hecubabg]

"Sexually distracted"

This term was coined not long ago by my owner, and simply by having crafted it and mentioned it to me, it has gained a strong presence in my day-to-day life. Not because it didn’t happen before, but because now it has a name, and that makes me notice it every single time it happens to me.

Because yes, it’s easy to find me with my head in the clouds. It’s easy for me to be walking down the street and for you to be the one who recognizes me first and says, "you were completely zoned out."

And yes, you, my dear Tumblr readers who know me so well, know perfectly well what I’m thinking about when my eyes stay fixed on an indeterminate point without paying attention to absolutely anything.

I daydream continuously about ropes. On the bus ride back home after work, I’ve envisioned myself tied to each and every one of the grab rails throughout the entire vehicle. With my hands above my head, behind one of the vertical bars, even on the seats without really knowing how I could pull it off on them.

I daydream continuously about my owner. About dressing up in whatever turns him on the most ("how about a secretary this afternoon?" or "it's been a while since I dressed as a schoolgirl"), about greeting him that way at home on my knees, hands behind my back, and tongue out, with my blouse pulled down to my chest level already soaked in my own saliva. About how his erection upon seeing me is immediate and he takes his pants off in a hurry so I can go down on him, about how he covers me in so much of his pleasure that I have to wash my hair all over again and throw all my clothes straight into the washing machine.

I daydream continuously about my Miss. About her reading on the sofa at her leisure while I, kneeling naked at her feet, gaze up at her longingly. About her pushing me down with one hand from my shoulders, forcing me onto my hands and knees as well, and her getting me wet with her fingers exclusively to focus right after on my anus. Inserting and retrieving her finger inside me, not to give me pleasure, but because she feels like exploring me and my body is entirely hers.

Yes, my dear readers, every time you see me staring off into space, I'm thinking about things like this.

[hecubabg]

Wet ball gag

My Kinkysweet Miss, I was just fantasizing about you right now.

Nothing special or overly imaginative, simply the way I usually think of you: spontaneously, with an image popping into my head.

Me, naked on my knees before you. Hands tied behind my back, ankles bound too. You, standing tall in front of me while I smile up at you from below. A restrained, expectant smile, full of excitement but also affection. I am happy. You are dressed in a revealing dress that shows you're wearing nothing underneath, wearing the kind of heels you like.

You show me a ball gag, holding it by the buckle and letting it dangle from your fingers. And you start self-loving you without a word.

My eyes travel back and forth between your pussy and your eyes, delighting in the changes your own pleasure brings to your expression. I hear your wet sex splashing, and you stop as soon as it starts making that sound. You take the ball gag, roll the ball between your vaginal lips through your wetness, and then move behind me.

Before seeing the gag appear in front of me, I said "Thanks, Miss", and when it finally enters my field of vision, I open my mouth.

I love when you make me yours in any way...

[hecubabg]

Eager to please my Miss

I was just now fantasizing about you my Kinkysweet Miss... Something very specific but not very original... That my legs are tied in a frogtie, on my knees on the floor; with a chest tie that lifts and highlights my breasts and with clamps on my nipples; my wrists tied together behind my back, as well as my elbows; a strappado straight to the ceiling that forces me to lean a little forward; with my hair gathered in a ponytail also tied to that same point on the ceiling; with a crotch rope so tight it feels like a chastity belt. I've already been like this for a while (obviously I'm naked, just the way you like it), with the chain connecting the clamps on my nipples between my lips, while you deliberately don't pay me any attention.

You're simply in your room, trying on outfits before going out to dinner with your Man. You don't even ask for my opinion on which one looks best on you, and I just watch you with hope written all over my face — the hope that you’ll play with me. I try to hide it, but I can’t completely erase it from my expression.

Apparently you’ve already chosen your outfit (a short red leather skirt, a tight transparent blouse that squeezes your breasts and whose buttons look like they’re about to pop from the pressure, with no panties or bra). You’ve already sprayed perfume on your neck and your breasts. With the bottle still in your hand, you aim between your legs for the final spritz, but you seem to change your mind. You look at me. Finally you look at me, and my jaw tightens. I lift my chin, pulling the chain with my teeth, tugging on the clamps on my nipples and making my breasts move. I do it several times. “Don’t leave me like this, halfway” my eyes beg you. And at last, you walk toward me with that smile that promises nothing good — but I don’t care, because you’re what I desire most.

You lift your short skirt just enough for your perfectly shaved pussy to appear. You grab me by the ponytail and force me to look you in the eyes, even though the strappado makes me look down more than up.

“The taxi arrives in five minutes. You’d better make me cum before it gets here. You know how much I hate being late…”

I try to nod but it’s impossible with how firmly you’re holding my hair, so the only way I can show you how much I want to please you is by releasing the chain from between my teeth, opening my jaw wide, and letting my tongue hang out.

Then you bury your sex in my mouth with one sudden, rough movement. And I devour you with the frenzy of someone who feels they’re already late. I can barely breathe — I can only smell your arousal. I can barely hear — I can only hear the wet sounds of my saliva mixing with your juices. I can barely look you in the eyes — I can only focus on eating you as well and as quickly as I possibly can.

You start squeezing my face with your thighs, moaning without restraint, without any fear that someone might hear you. You grip my ponytail so hard I feel like you’re going to rip it out. I lick and press my tongue against your pussy with such force that I’m grunting from the physical effort. Your moans grow faster and I already feel like I’m about to pass out, even though the finish line seems so, so, so close. I feel the trembling of your thighs against my cheeks and, as if it were an explosion of calm, your moans fall silent and your body relaxes.

I know you’ve cum, but I’m afraid you might have faked it just to apply whatever punishment you have planned for me, so I don’t stop licking you. Only when you pull my head away from your pussy by yanking my ponytail do I raise my eyes to meet yours. You look at me satisfied. I look back, staring intensely, and run my tongue along the line of my upper teeth before biting my lower lip. Would you believe me if I told you I still want to satisfy you even more? That my pussy is soaked right now?

But no, I don’t need to tell you. You rub your sex across my face before lowering your miniskirt, then you lean over me and caress my vaginal lips. Next you rub my juices between your fingertips in front of me and smile, even though you try to hide it.

I’m a good girl — not because I always obey you, but because I give you what you most desire without you having to ask.

My Miss’s reply to my fantasy:

“I love your fantasy. It’s so clear in my mind that I can imagine every second. I can imagine all my feelings while I ‘ignore’ you, but inside, I’m not really getting dressed to go out and look irresistible — I’m dressing up to increase your agony and your desire. And my own.

I love that you’re hanging there like that. I love that you’re being so, so, so good while you hang there watching, without complaining. My attitude is strict and dominant, and inside my excitement is shooting through the roof. I’m very pleased with you. I’m thinking that I should reward you somehow.

And at the same time that this generosity fills me, I look at you so desperate and helpless that my dominant impulse truly emerges and I grab you by the hair… feeling my own need intensely and fiercely…

I’m writing this so you know my reaction, how I would feel and what I would want. I want you exactly like that. My delicious and sweet girl, my smiling and eager toy, soaked and dripping.”

[hecubabg]

Back door. My beginnings. 

My starting point was probably like what I imagine it is for most women. A lover, whether intentionally or not, who gets carried away in the heat of the moment, prompting you to say, "That's my ass."

Jokes aside, I’m not sure if it was due to a naturally submissive nature or because I matured sexually much too early—at that age when everyone does foolish things—but I turned to P to learn what guys liked to do and have done to them. Obviously, I took what I saw on the screen as absolute truth, as reality, rather than the fiction that P actually is, in the exact same way an action movie is nothing like a real shootout. Whatever the case, it was clear to me that I wanted to include my back door in my repertoire of S skills.

And from that point on, my journey began.

Many guys asked me for it once our S relationships became established (some, the more daring or shameless ones, even demanded it right off the bat). Although I genuinely wanted to try it, the way they asked made me hesitant and distrustful, so all my first steps were taken alone, in solitude. Nothing out of the ordinary, just experimenting on my own with my finger. It wasn’t that I was thrilled by what I felt; if I compared it to its most direct, similar, and closest equivalent, it was clear that traditional hole was much more pleasurable, easy, and comfortable.

And that’s how it went for many years—something that, while it interested me, didn't offer any major appeal. Until one of those few boyfriends I had came into my life, someone of whom, to this day, I still hold fond memories.

We had already been together for a long time, we thoroughly enjoyed each other's bodies, there was trust, and there was a desire to experiment. Then, out of nowhere one day, he dropped the bombshell: "What if we try the back door?" And I, with the sarcasm of someone who had rejected many others before him, replied by asking if he meant for me or for him. When he answered without hesitation, "For both," my jaw hit the floor.

I remember it was a lot of fun. That whole game of "your turn, now my turn," getting on all fours on the bed, our hands gloved, with the lube always right next to us, alternating back and forth. That was how the two of us grew familiar with it all: those small initial contractions that made us run to the bathroom fearing an involuntary leak, and that sensation that was pleasurable but also strange at the same time, because the pleasure it provided was far from the kind we were used to receiving through the traditional way. I remember that at the beginning, he struggled a lot to maintain his arousal while I played with his orifice using my finger, but once he managed it, the climax it ended up giving him left him completely trembling and ecstatic. And that was exactly what happened to me. The back door on its own was okay, but it wasn't amazing; however, when the sensations I received through my P and my A blended together, the climax reached another dimension, much greater and more intense.

Shortly after, we bought that set of three metal toys of different sizes and began incorporating them into our regular S encounters indiscriminately. Oralities? Add a plug. Conventional S? Then a plug for each of us. Eventually, with all that trust and complicity built and earned, and once I had gotten used to the medium-sized —taking it out and putting it in quite quickly and easily—I agreed to let him go inside me there.

I remember lying face down on the bed, putting a pillow under my hips to arch my back, and beginning to touch myself while he started pushing his member inside me. He was careful, though it's true that at more than one point he wanted to get carried away and I had to put my foot down. Neither of us had a climax that time, but that back door was completely open for me forever.