Navigating by Landmarks

Jump to Comments

Jack appears down the god-awful fat-bitch-discriminatorily-steep stairs of Coffee, Cake and Kink. I have seen him in on cam but this is the first time we’ve met. He appears to be about eight feet tall. When I ask, he stakes a claim to six. And I like that, because he could have taken a punt at six two in the low ceilinged cellar of CCK. In his big boots. A lot of men would’ve.

But here’s what you need to know about Jack. Even in the email relationship that is our story so far – that realm of the emotional roulette wheel – he does not fuck me around. He says things simply. He replies to emails in ways that makes sense. He obeys reasonable requests. He does not tell me a bunch of lies. He faces up to his actions. He can humiliate himself for me without getting scared of it.

I have masturbated to videos Jack made for me of him taking nipple clamps off. (I need to see your face – I don’t care about seeing the clamps. Show your face. Twist them hard and make it hurt.) And videos of him licking his come off his hand. (Slower!) And I have never wasted my time wondering what Jack is really thinking, or what he thinks of me.

And – here’s a new twist for BJ – he turns up where and when he said he would. Jack is my knight. Jack proves the submissive knight is real. (Unless he isn’t a submissive. At the moment he is just thinking about it. I’m an experiment.)

So, not my type, really – given my taste for the utter submissive fuck up. But Jack is an exception. He is, actually, exceptional.

This is about how me and Jack had sex the day we met. Power-exchangey sex. The full thing. In public. Standing up. With clothes on. In the rain. Every kind of d/s sex with just the mouth.

I’ve told you how I love kissing during sex. What I might not have said before, is that you can do all of d/s sex with kissing.

When we kissed first I did the nod. The little head move. Darting too close to mean anything else. I had no worries about rejection. None at all. Jack had been staring at my lips for an hour. And Jack doesn’t play games.

But he waits. He wants. He waits. I move. I take. Just. Like. Sex.

We kiss.

I bite his bottom lip, quite hard and he moans very, very softly. His moan vibrates on my teeth. I’m wet. I hold his chin. Not hard. His compliance is required. He lets me keep his head where I want it.

Quick into pain. Then. Restraint blurred with compliance. Wet. Oh yeah. Oh there.

Just. Like. Sex.

I flick my tongue up inside his top lip. Nothing and breath. I can feel the desire. I’m inside it. His and mine. There is some chemistry. Quite a lot. Considerable chemistry. He tastes of it.

I have control. I own the desiring. Me. I twist my tongue, playing with the air just beyond his lips. Just out of reach. Kissing the mist of his warm breath. I just brush his lips with mine. I don’t let him near enough to get what he wants. And I can feel his heart breaking in my hands.

Tease and denial. I guess. Although I always kissed like this. Since before kink was invented.

But it is just like orgasm denial because of the kickback. The sweetest part of being the denier. I want it too. It hurts me too. I want to kiss him/get fucked by him/see him come. But I say no because the rush of his frustration is better.

I can feel what he feels because it has a little shadow buzzing through me.

Freud thought masochism was sadism turned on the self. I think sadism is masochism bounced off another person.

Sometimes, when I hurt a man, I feel like I want to climb inside him.

We walk to Victoria. I am not great at navigation London. I can only do it by landmarks. Covent Garden to Victoria runs Covent Garden – Trafalgar Square – Buckingham Palace – Victoria.

We stop at the top of those steps that come off the Trafalgar Square end of the Mall. I don’t know what they’re called. It’s raining. Kind of like the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Except really, when I think about my favoured self-insertion for Breakfast at Tiffany’s it is always the woman that pays George Peppard’s rent.

(Hello, Bitchy, do you kink for paying a man’s rent? Maybe. Kind of. A bit.)

I twist my fingers in his hair. Which is grey. Which I like. And I hold his head so he can’t reach my lips with his. This is not like before when I stilled his chin and teased his lips. And he let me. Now I am holding tight. He really wants to reach me and can’t. I tell him to pull. I want him to pull against my grip to reach my mouth. I want him to hurt himself to kiss me. He thinks I mean pull my hair. Which he does. It’s a nice sensation but it isn’t what I want. I fucked that up.

Just. Like. Sex.

(Proper clear communication in d/s is so hard. So much dirty talk done in breathless aroused whispers. So many delicious confessions of desire ruined by the other person saying ‘what?‘ and the repeating of ‘I want to kneel for you‘ having less than half the impact for that.)

I twist my hands in his hair and kiss him again. I bite his lips.

I patch it up.

Just. Like. Sex

I tease him again. Perhaps more. There is something aggressive about him. Nicely aggressive. Frustrated male desire ought to have the threat of violence mixed in there if it is real. I love that. I think if I hurt a male submissive to the point he lost it and hit me right back I would be very happy. (Sorry, I’ll hand in my badge at the desk.)

This is how I like to play my game. Twisting desires. Both desires. His. Mine. I don’t so much like a game where he gives and I take. Linear is dull. I say, let’s just jump off the cliff. But it’s my cliff. My idea. And he doesn’t get to say when. His desire to kiss me is being frustrated. My desire to hurt him is overwhelming him. Now every time he gets to kiss me, he gets hurt. He pays for pleasure.

Just. Like… You get it now, don’t you?

The kisses are not soft now. He wants them more. I make him beg a long time. We’re standing on the mall just by Buckingham Palace. It’s floodlit orange-pink. It’s obscene and so pretty.

This is kissing that is everything. And this is kissing that is a conversation. This is not only it. It is also a representation of it.

This is kissing that is me saying here is everything I want to do to you.

And is him saying yes.

This is the negotiation conversation. With wetter words.

We walk down Buckingham Palace Road in the rain. We talk about gambling and imagining no possessions and running away and leaving without saying goodbye.

On the station concourse he shows me where his tongue stud chipped his back teeth once. I show him my metal crown. We are standing in Victoria Station comparing dental work. We notice and stop doing that and kiss more.

He has to beg again. He just says please over and over. He makes it sound angry. It is so hot. I kiss him and his tongue is penetrating. Fucking. Like his cock is in my mouth. Not my mouth. In my cunt. Cunt with teeth. I bite his tongue, which is his proxy-cock. It’s the hottest fucking thing. Afterwards I feel like I just had an orgasm.

Kissing can bring a person back to life.

37 Comments

Filed under Jack, kissing, sex, tea