SeekingTrinity
Posts: 1834
Joined: 5/29/2012 From: The 'burbs of Portland, OR Status: offline
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quote:
ORIGINAL: ExiledTyrant quote:
ORIGINAL: SeekingTrinity ~FRing it~ Thought of something that used to be a Fuck No Hard Limit, but is now something that I'm curious about. And no, no guy told me to do it for him or to do it because he's my Dom (nudge nudge wink wink ). It changed because I changed...I grew...I got brave. As previously stated, I feared and loathed vulnerability or a loss of control. But I'm curious now about rape play. God, hate that phrase...but don't know how else to refer to it that people would understand what I'm saying. But with the right person (my guy), Im curious to try...to experience what I imagine is the ultimate in vulnerability and lost control. Look at this way: Your kneeling in the garden, weeding, cultivating, nurturing the flower bed. The warm afternoon sun beats down on you speckling your body in fine beads of sweat. Bob Seager's "Accompany me" is running through your head for some odd reason, but still, on hands and knees, ass swaying in the air in time with the music, summer dress blowing listless in the slight breeze, you garden. An odd shadow crosses the brim of your floppy summer hat, suddenly a hand winds into your hair, pressing your face into the fine turned soil. The rich sweet smell of soil fills your nose, a hand glides down your body, finds purchase on the back of your dress, a sharp yank, and you hear the buttons of your dress "ding" as they bounce across the paving stones. Like a sharp jolt of electricity, your body alive against red welts on your shoulders where the dress tore free, from the corner of your eye you see the floral fabric billow to the ground. Knees forcing your knees apart, your back bows against the rigid tug against your panties... Electric again, the sharp burn of cloth ripped away from your skin. As your mind grapples with the scene, your hands flail, press against the earth, he bears down, head firm against the ground, knees shoved sharply apart, you feel his cock fill you from behind. Your flailing wrist captured, pinned against the small of your back, the rich soil scent fills your nose, the sun showers it's warmth across your back as he drives harder into you. Overwhelming sensations... Hair wound tight into an iron grip, wrist caught firm in grasp... Sweaty, but not sweaty enough to escape. Ever present the scent of the rich soil, the rasping itch of your nipples dancing back and forth across the stone edging... Him plowing into you, reckless, unbridled, relentless... You feel him swelling, feel him explode inside you... Your ass on fire now as his hand explodes a fresh hell of pain with it's hard slap... You're free, released, collapse into the rich sweet soil... He says, "About time for lunch, isn't it?" In light of this, I must declare gardening a hard limit. Can't declare Bob Seger a hard limit though. A good man is hard to find, a hard man is good to find...and only Bob can lead us to "Fire Lake," only Bob can "Turn The Page," and only Bob knows all the "Night Moves."
< Message edited by SeekingTrinity -- 9/17/2014 11:35:25 AM >
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