…things just feel good. Not good like the perfect strike of a whip, or the rope that cinches down just the right amount, though for sure those times feel good too. I’m talking about the times that just seem to be balanced, seem to hold you in this warm bubble of contentment, of rightness…
I’m headed out for a “girl’s weekend” at a kink event in a neighboring town. I’m pretty damn excited, especially as I orchestrated the whole adventure. Someone I met at Kinky Kollege last year, and with whom I hit it off and had a delectable scene, and someone local that I consider a good friend as well as someone I’ve been hoping to play with, and I are all going together. It’s crazy, considering the fact that I’m the introvert here! But here we are, less than 24 hours away from spending the weekend together.
I’m nervous. And excited! And hopeful.
Two nights ago I was at V’s. We spent family time with his daughter, ending with me reading her a bedtime story from a book that I had gotten her for her birthday. The book is about all the super girls and women in the comic book universe, and the story she picked was “Mary Jane,” Spiderman’s erstwhile love. And it told the story of a strong, independent woman: “Not all superheroes have superpowers.” I loved it, and I loved sharing that with her.
And then we went downstairs and had an awesome scene with rope, and a blindfold, and great music, a big dildo. And him, of course, orchestrating the whole thing and fucking me while I hung there, swinging in the rope, helpless and yet deliberately pushing myself against the rope around my throat, feeling his excitement rise, his cock so thick inside me. It was delicious and decadent and depraved and dangerous, and I loved every minute of it.
Really, sometimes things are just good.