Before we dive in to this blog post, I would like to wish my amazingly good (and good-looking) friend Rob the Breeder a very happy birthday today. If you aren't already a reader of his blog (as I know a lot of you cross over between us), please take the time to visit his blog and leave him a nice birthday comment. Or even a birthday email. And if you're feeling really generous, send him a gift from his Amazon wishlist. I sent him one. Not going to tell which. It is a surprise. If you are new to his blog, please let him know I sent you, I'm sure he'll love that. And while you're there, check his labels for "Ace" to read his take on the couple of hot sessions we had with each other.
The last night my boy and I had together could have been an incredibly sad night. It could have been just a night of us slipping under the covers early so that we could get up in time to meet his early flight. It could have been a tedious effort to fight the coming dawn. It could have been a lot of things. But what we ended up doing was making our last night together the most memorable night of our time together. Sure, we would be tired in the morning when we had to make the sad trip to the airport, but we would have the wonderful memories to hold us through the day and cradle us into the night.
What did we do to make the night so memorable? We broke out the fetish gear.
My boy had brought quite a few items with him, ranging in levels of kink. One thing that I absolutely loved that he brought with him was a gas mask. I think gas masks are hot. I know some people aren't that into them, and can even find it annoying that their partner's face is obscured. Honestly, I can understand that, and I can even agree that there is a communication barrier when you put one on. They make it harder to see, hear, and very hard to be heard. But even with all that, what I really liked was the smell of the latex and the feeling of something closely gripping my face. It was very sexy. And I'm not ashamed to admit to making Darth Vader sounds when I first put it on.
We also both broke out our leathers, going through various outfits during the evening. I wore the harness in my top picture along with my leather vest, and a fun leather piece I own which can only be described as a cross between and apron and a long kilt--with buckles and chains, of course. Later I wore the vest with just the harness, and then the vest with a new leather jock my boy had bought for me, complete with zipper pouch. My boy had a sexy cotton jock on, and I believe it was red, though he has a few colors. He also had a vest with him, one that I was a little jealous of, as it put my less expensive vest to shame. He also had a pair of leather cuffs, lined with the softest red fabric. They locked in a few key places, and were tight, but comfortable on him. I was very impressed with their craftsmanship, as well as how sexy they looked clasped to his wrist.
While we were changing outfits and feeling each other up, we were taking pictures of each other, posing in ways that we hoped were sexy (I'm still not convinced many of mine were that sexy at all). Then, when the pictures were done, I pushed my boy up against the wall hard and started grinding myself into him. I pulled on his collar, his harness, whatever I could get my hands on, hitting him in different places. "You're my boy," I said. "You belong to me. You exist only to serve me. To worship me. To serve this cock."
I had him kneel and blow me while I continued my physical and verbal assaults on him. I didn't hit him hard, and I didn't say anything that was really hurtful to him. But the right words and the right strike in the moment can elevate the heat and tension in a Dom/sub situation. I would pull his head down on my cock, holding it at the root for as long as I thought he could handle without starting to black out. I would slap his face with it, smearing his own spittle around. Finally, when I felt my orgasm arriving, I had him move to the bed and lean over it, sticking his ass out at me while I jacked my cock.
My boy has a tattoo on his lower back, in the area that one usually refers to as a "tramp stamp" when seen on the girls in the bar with the shirts up just slightly too high. I have no idea if that terminology crosses genders, but that isn't really important. What was important was that I was aiming to shoot my load of cum all over his tattoo, covering it and smearing it around. When I was done, I took a picture of the glistening skin of his tattoo, where I had just rubbed my cum in, making his skin absorb it. After I was finished, I wiped my cock off a bit, but I told him not to clean himself up. I wanted the cum to dry there over night so that his skin would get stiff and pull with it, not letting him forget the ending to our wonderful night together.
And, of course, we both have the pictures.