Char__ Posted September 28, 2022 Posted September 28, 2022 (In which Char has to keep a diary of playtimes) It’s a patchwork quilt of images. Flashes in fits and spurt, like an old movie stuttering on the wheel. A wandering hand down the back of my pants in the store, a secret touch just inches from wondering eyes. Dropping my gaze away in the bedroom and pressing my face to your chest. Hiding. A fizz of defiance and then my underwear, cutting into me as you pulled it taut, brought me up and onto my tiptoes. My head yanked back, braids fisted in your hand. Mouth defiled. Then there are longer moments. Bent over and gripping the table. Squealing out “Thank you, Sir” as the crack of your hand and the wrapping fronds of the flogger create blooms of pain on my ass. Your face, staring down at me as your body presses mine into the bed. Hands held uselessly up by my head, my hips lifting and searching for the connection with yours. A jump in time. The pinwheel racing over my lace covered cunt. Squeaking and squirming and trying to stand still. Your hand on my throat, tight, a halo of gold shimmering around your head as your eyes hold mine and your voice murmurs at me to relax. Breathe. Be in the moment. Choking of a different sort, as I try to take you all the way down. Gagging, retching, returning immediately for more. My tongue on your balls, your cock, slick with my saliva, pressed against my face. Then a pause. A reset. Laughing at nothing, words vanishing from my mind. Warmth, connection. Openness. My self-consciousness checked in at the door. Going to places I didn’t know I could go; didn’t know I wanted to go. Tongue questing at new flesh; moaning as flesh quested at a new place. Your eyes, holding me there and keeping me safe. Playing with myself, legs spread for you to see. Pulses of an orgasm that I didn’t have to chase. A night turned into moments, crystal clear in my memory, stitched together with a sense that I am safe to let go. To be yours.