Bruises on Bruises

I'll be honest, I was nervous. Of course, I was nervous, it was to be expected, wasn't it? A spontaneous invite for 'drinks' now left me sitting in a pub, bouncing my knee up and down with a sweating palm clutching my half-drunk cider. I'd deliberately sat opposite the entrance, tucking myself into a corner, my eyes glued to the door waiting for it to open. He said he was on his way - why hadn't we exchanged phone numbers? FetLife was hardly a reliable source of communication. My thoughts wondered for a moment, what would he be like? We'd spoken on and off for over a year but I'd be so consumed with my previous relationship, this was the first time I'd been allowed to be interested in someone new and not feel guilty.

The door to the pub opened, the chatter of locals lowering a little as an unfamiliar face appeared. His long hair was tied up, his glasses dark and striking across a series of features I'd liked in photos but liked even more in person. Shaky hands put my drink back on the table as I stood, offering a shy wave in his direction as he came over. We were obviously both as nervous as each other, but I gladly embraced him and I felt my body flutter as he touched me.

Clumsy, shy words were exchanged, stuttered introductions and bashful smiles as he retreated to the bar to indulge in a little liquid courage I think we both needed. My head was racing, he was a man, not a boy. He smelt of cigarettes and leather, long hair, beard, his body strong under his clothes and those eyes... - he was unequivocally my type.

We sat side by side on a sofa, drinks in our hands, working our way through 'getting-to-know' questions and slowly beginning to learn about each other as people. I was nervous, stomach-churningly nervous but with a little help from the alcohol, I found myself softening and settling, my body language relaxing and my inner monologue near-screaming to kiss him. Coincidence after coincidence began to appear as we shared anecdotes and stories, my interest in him growing moment after moment. The look on this fully grown man's face as his younger date confessed their love for wrestling is a snapshot I will hold onto as the moment I knew that this was the right thing to be doing.

Our evening flitted between cigarettes, live music, more drinks and our bodies getting closer, arms around shoulders, shared smiles and a dark, delicious undertone of sexual tension and desire.

The band had finished, our glasses were empty and as I swayed from side-to-side debating my choices, his gentle offer of a spliff swayed me and I found myself in the back of an Uber, my nerves increasing rapidly but my desire for more and my insatiable need for pleasure had me going nowhere. His home was cosy, the atmosphere open and I felt all of my nerves melt away in an instant.

He kissed me.

It didn't take long, he lent me back against the sofa, cupping my face, gripping my hair and kissing me, claiming me. My body burned to my very core, pleasure flooding my groin, I ached and throbbed and squirmed beneath him. I couldn't recall the last time I'd had such an intense reaction to such a simple gesture, but I knew I wanted more.

The memories from here on are hazy, a blur of pleasure and pain, being pushed to my limits, coaxed and comforted into situations and suggestions I've only dreamed about. What follows are my pieced-together accounts and memories - details included may not be 100% accurate - in my defence dear reader, you try cumming that many times in four days and see how good your memory is.

He flogged me to start with, stood me up against the wall and flogged me. The strands weren't made of leather, but instead thin strings of plastic, or what I could only assume were plastic. He was gentle to start with but learned quickly quite how much I enjoy pain. The flogger left a delicate pattern of broken blood vessels across my ass and thighs, the marks making me smile as his warm hands caressed and soothed my pain. I was pulled over his lap and spanked, my body twitching and flexing beneath him as I wriggled and danced to the rhythmic slap of hand against skin. I was in heaven, finally spoiled and given all of the things I've been denied for so long. There is something obsessive, addictive about being dominated by a man, I was drunk on it.

I've never enjoyed oral sex, eternally self-conscious and never able to quite relax enough - fast forward four days, it's my favourite. He nestled his head between my legs, breathing in my smell, hands locking around my legs and pinning me in place, no matter how much I pleaded and wriggled. His tongue lapped at me slowly, finding the sweet spots, circling, waiting. Anticipation and pleasure built in my chest, my muscles clenching and pleasure pooling in my fingers and toes. His tongue moved against me faster and faster, his face and hands wedging me between him, my heels digging into his ribs as I fought against him. There was no way I'd overpower him but the playful fight made it all the more fun. My struggling increased as time ticked by, I'd never had a man be this attentive to me and my clitoris burned with over stimulation. His tongue flamed against my nerve endings and I felt myself getting wetter and wetter as he carried on. I called mercy, I caved and my thighs trembled as he graciously parted, his eyes dark and his beard shining. I pulled him close, kissed him, my tongue tracing his face and tasting myself, desperate moans falling from my lips as I did.

We fucked. Of course we did. I couldn't help myself, he made me feel so intensely and made me obsess over every sensation he provided. My pussy ached, pleasure and desire making me burn from the inside out. I was desperate to feel him fill me, desperate to see how our bodies fitted together. He pulled words from my mouth, confessions of dark, dirty desires that I rarely shared with anyone, coaxing the nymphomaniac from her cave and into the light. I rolled off the same speech that I shared with every partner, that orgasms weren't something that came easily to me, that I'd always struggled and that if it didn't happen it didn't matter. I was used to being unsatisfied, but he simply shook his head and smiled, reassurance and kind words acting as a balm to my worries, I didn't need to be frightened, I didn't need to be anything - I just needed to feel. He made me climax, he made me climax repeatedly and with an intensity, I didn't think was possible. I cried, sobbed into his pillows as my body shook and convulsed at a release I'd struggled to achieve, even by myself.

His toy box provided a plethora of delights, and in the space of a few hours, I was able to tick several items off of my kink to-do list. He tormented me with a Hitachi, the vibrations driving me to despair at the burst of feelings my already sensitive nerve endings struggled to process. Get yourself a man who can wrestle - there's no hope of escape. I'd never played with the dynamic of predator and prey, but the way he looked at me, the desire and possession in his eyes awoke something in me I'd never felt before. This fear, this abject terror blending with arousal and the need to be claimed. He captured me and called me his own.

I've always shied away from electro-play, having only experienced a violet wand once and only on my arm, I'd settled on the decision that it really wasn't for me. But, I also believe that it's vitally important, especially in kink to be open-minded about all sensations. So, I found myself laid flat, the plasma-charged glass dancing across my skin, sparking and buzzing as the circuit completed itself along my body. He tried a few different things, holding the wand and using his fingers to touch me, the pain and almost spiky sensations making me squirm and dance, but at the end of it all, it felt amazing.

Our Saturday didn't really end until 7am on Sunday morning when we eventually rolled into bed, the sun rising and the birds singing as we laid face-to-face, talking, sharing smiles and sleepy laughter. I vaguely remember falling asleep, taking comfort in finally sharing a bed with someone again, I always sleep better that way.

Sunday brought more treats, my day starting with my first proper caning. I can tolerate most pain during impact play. Paddles, floggers, hands, even dragon tails - but the one tool that brings me to my knees and will openly make me cry are canes. He started off 'gently' - his wooden cane seemed a soft place to start, however, when the tip broke twice across my skin it was discarded for the day-glow horror. A thin tube of perspex flashed across my skin and I was broken. Spankings are never a punishment for me, I enjoy it too much, but caning? My buttocks flushed into deep red and purple welts and I collapsed against the sofa, tears running down my cheeks as my body ached and trembled. He stroked my hair, pulled me upright and kissed me, warm hands soft against my delicate flesh. His capacity for sadism was unparalleled but his aftercare was just as blissful. I sunk against his body, slowing my breathing and letting the sensations wash over me, my pussy betraying my outward expressions of discomfort as slick arousal coated my thighs. There was no hiding anything from him and I loved it.

Next on my list was wax play. The artistic beauty of wax and the work I'd seen online enchanted me. I was willing to become his canvas and his muse. He laid me on the bed, tying my wrists to the bedposts, stretching me out so I had no way of hiding. His body weight pinned my legs and the lighter sparked, the was melted and sharp, hot spots of pain and pleasure danced across my chest, breasts and nipples. I flexed and thrashed, crying out, desperately trying to escape the sensations and as the wax cooled I felt myself calm down. Then the wand appeared, he grinned, teeth sharp in his smile as he ran his hands across the hardened wax and pressed the vibrating tip against my pussy, my spine arching and face contorting with sudden and intense sensation. He captured my pleasure with photographs, proudly showing me afterwards just how beautiful I looked. I was lost in the moment, lost in the contrast of discomfort and delight as he made me cum almost instantly.

Anal has been a long-standing favourite of mine, and whilst I'm used to standard butt plugs and dick, he presented me with a new toy and it was impossible to hide my excitement. An inflatable butt plug was never something I'd considered trying, but now I found myself pleading and panting, begging for more as he slowly inflated it inside of me, taking it slow, giving me time but chuckled in surprise as moans for more fell from my mouth. I felt full, my body accommodating the sheer size of the toy with ease, he called me a slut, and I could only nod in agreement, how could I not be? Knees up to my chest, spread wide open as he filled me with an obnoxiously sized toy, aggressively finger fucking me till I came undone in his hands.

We played with clothes pegs, testing my endurance, pegging my nipples, my labia and clitoris, his eyes burning into mine as he watched my face, watched my pupils dilate with pain, flicking and pulling at the plastic, delighting in my yelps and squeals. The clothes pegs were followed with the most brutal toy in his collection. It had lain discarded on the floor as his toy box had been hunted through over the weekend. A paddle made of recycled rubber. It looked utterly monstrous and as I lay curled beside him, chewing on the tip of my thumb, I stared at it, curiosity pulling at my mind, poking at my masochistic side, go on, try it, you might like it... - he described the sensation to that of being hit by a truck, but still that did not perturb me. I dutifully bent over the sofa, breathing deeply, relaxing my body as much as I could. My weight was thrown forwards as the paddle connected with my skin. The sound ringing in my ears, and I knew he hadn't even hit me hard. Despite its density, the large surface area distributed the sting evenly and I felt pleasure follow the pain, sweet as sugar.

I'm a hedonist, I always have been. I find myself constantly seeking new sensations, pushing my body and my mind to new experiences and as I lay, cum drunk and shaking, bliss settled over me like a blanket - he had given me everything I've ever wanted in only a few days. All my desires and interests peaked and titillated, and there wasn't a shred of shame or sub-drop. I'd played with partners, I'd had Doms, I'd been dominated but I'd never been with a partner where I hadn't had to hide anything or censor my desires from fear of judgment. He let me lay open before him, unashamed, unabashed and fulfilled. People like him are rare, and I'm thankful the stars aligned the way they did. Every submissive deserves a Dom who beats them and hurts them but is there to pick up the pieces afterwards.

The bruises developed rapidly over the next few days, my skin turning every shade of red, green, purple & blue, some tender, some not. Bite marks littered my thighs, ankles and shoulders, my eyes squeezing shut when I sat down a little too fast, a permanent reminder of what I'd experienced and I relished it. I relished all of it. He left me with bruises on bruises, a satisfied body and a deep desire to do it all over again. Well, dear reader, I can't remember the last time a first date was quite so...successful.