Ritual Perversions

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They were all laid out there, on the pillow right in front of me, the artificially fleshy, almost neon-orange standing out against the white sheets: every butt plug we owned along with one of the smaller dildos . . . and the big black sword dildo that I could barely accept even when I’d psyched myself up and was doing this in complete and utter secrecy.

He was playing the scene almost word for word as I’d told it to him almost a month ago, under considerable duress. My confession had been tearful and forced, however. He’d stormed angrily out of the house last week after an argument where he complained that he had to drag anything intimate out of me like Torquemada at the Inquisition, and he was damned sick and tired of it.

He’d stalked back into the house several hours later, looking as haggard as I felt. The time apart had tortured him, as well, and I couldn’t help but feel glad that it had, if I admitted it, deep in the center of me. He had said nothing, merely pulling me into the relative safety of his embrace, offering the comfort of his presence and his body.

But he hadn’t given up that night until he’d gotten what he wanted out of me.

Can erotik film izle I help it if I’m a reluctant pervert?

But, after a lot of begging and pleading (and not the good kind, either, the soul-wrenching, “is-he-really-gonna-leave-me” kind) I’d told him all. Well . . . all that I was gonna tell him at that point, anyway, of what I did to myself when he went away on business, or had to stay in the city over night, or when he was away at work, or any other time I could eek out where I knew I would be totally alone in the house.

I told him about my ancient rituals – always with the bedroom door shut even though there’s no one else in the house. The rite must be performed in pajamas – tops and bottoms – with the bottoms pulled down to just above my knees, never nude. Always in the dark, on my left side with soft, preferably classical music playing. Always on the bed, although we’d certainly christened the rest of the house . . . that big California King, with its flowery pink and green snuggly comforter, was my refuge, my safe-space in which I could molest myself without fear of discovery or laughter or ridicule or horror at what I was doing.

But film izle he was here this time – my gut-wrenching mea culpa hadn’t driven him away as I’d always been terrified it would – talking to me softly in his lovely, low, phone-sex voice as he arranged me on the bed in the classic Simms position. “These are what you use, aren’t they? I got the right ones out of the toy bag?”

I nod, too deep in my own submissive head-space to properly acknowledge him. A small tube of KY joins the line up after he’s warmed the tube in a glass of warm water for a bit. Handy stuff, that, for anal invasions, as I well knew.

He keeps one big hand on me all the time, just lying there, deceptively neutral although I know the strength contained in it, strength to soothe or hurt, as the mood strikes. I know he thinks I’m going to bolt, not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind . . . isn’t still crossing it . . .

Suddenly he’s there, squatting down directly in front of me – filling my vision for acres and acres. He’s fully dressed in jeans and a tight t-shirt with his squadron’s motto on it. I’m in my pink heart jammies with the elastic of the bottoms, together seks filmi izle with my flowered undies, already gently clenching my thighs just above my knees.

He always remembers the most significant of insignificant details.

The bottom fingers of his lightly cupped hand drag gently across my cheek, picking up stray, curly hairs to tuck behind my ear. He knows how much I hate it when my hair falls in my face. Warm, achingly familiar lips settle on my cheek in a paternal gesture as old as time itself.

All too soon he straightens, and picks up the smallest of the plugs. “Time to start, baby,” he announces in a scaled-down version of his command tone, eyes settling on me uneasily, like fog on a raw Scottish moor. “I’m going to make each and every one of these disappear up into your lovely bottom.”


I know, conscientious man that he is, that he will be mentally noting each and every sound that passes my lips through this whole experience, and that I will see these moves of his again in the future, because he cares enough to exploit my needs to both of our advantages.

The baby plug, dwarfed as it is in his hand, is just that – so tiny that nowadays I barely know that it’s there.

Still, I’m afraid. Of it. Of him. Of him using it on me. In me.

But I need them.

I need them both.

And the delicious fear that goes with them.

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