*whap*

Last night I had an amazing session with Mr. Smoochy. There were some scary, hurtful parts to be sure (but not the parts that you think), but there were also lustful parts, and there were some loving parts.

Mrs. Smoochy absented herself from town rather unexpectedly, leaving Mr. Smoochy without plans and me therefore rescued from an evening of obsessively checking my favorite blogs for updates and perhaps writing here some pathetic missive on loneliness.

He brought down some movies, and we snuggled on the couch. I found in unbearably cute that in the moments he was bored with the movie he would start to fondle me. When the action picked up again, he would stop.

When the movie was over, and after some playful necking, he said he wanted to show me the things in his play bag. This has been kind of a touchy issue for me in the past. As I've mentioned before, I've known for sometime that both he and his wife are into BDSM. I suppose it was to protect myself, but I've viewed their interest as more tourism than anything else. I was somewhat distressed last night to have my nose rubbed in the fact I was wrong.

Some of what he pulled out was fairly mainstream: there were the requisite floggers and restraints, a leather hand for spanking, a good bit of rope. I was a little nonplussed that he had not one (or two) Wartenburg wheels, but six. In their own leather carrying case. But I was most upset when he pulled out a violet wand and started talking about electro-fire-knife play. It really shouldn't surprise me that a geek like him would be most attracted to the techno-chemical parts of his perversion, but it does. He is such a cautious person, it bothers me to think that he's convinced himself that things couldn't go disasterously wrong. (And before you go posting that all kink is ok and lots of people do this, let me remind you that lots of people jump off of bridges too. That doesn't make it ok.) I was a little upset also that he dismissed my concerns as if I were a mouth-breather, but eventually we more-or-less agreed to disagree about this and he put his toys away.

I know I've said it before, but I will say it again. Mr. Smoochy has the most amazing hands. As he laid out his toys, he stood across the table from me and because of the peculiar geometry of the ceiling light, the width of the table, and my own height, all I could see were his hands. I could not see his face. Or even most of his body. It was just his hands, these marvelously large, strong, capable hands and his voice. Mr. Smoochy caught me mesmerized; I didn't dare tell him it was the hands and not the toys. He has enough power over me as it is.

I won't bore you with the more vanilla details of our encounter. I will tell you, though, that Mr. Smoochy used his leather belt on me. And I loved it.

He first used it as a choker, tight around my throat as he pushed his cock into my mouth. Later he took it off and used it as a whip. I do not count myself a true submissive (or a pain slut, as I am the world's biggest wuss), and I don't generally indulge in spanking fantasies. But kneeling before this Greek god of a man, his cock in my mouth (yum!), looking up over the expanse of his sexy-furry torso, and seeing the gleam in his eye as he was about to come down on me with his belt . . . that was hotness.

While he was striking me, the thought ambled through my head that I would like sometime to be the one doing the striking. But not to Mr. Smoochy. I am glad that he does not have a submissive bone in his body . . . I don't think would adore him as much as I do. I think, though, that I would like to give back to the world some of my aggression.

For all the wrong reasons.