My eyes were bigger than my bottom...

Since meeting Colombina, I have, as you have probably been able to tell from previous posts, started to get very interested in being fucked. (In fact, all you guys who, clad in nothing but a sideless satin dress and fishnet stockings, have NOT begged to have that vibrator in their bottoms, please, right now, PLEASE, are doing it wrong.)

We bought ourselves a small funfactory dildo, in the shape of a cute dolphin, and, rather than buying a harness, we fashioned one from our own pretty dyed rope, and I got fucked.

And it was GOOD.

But I wanted something more. The dolphin was fun, but quite small. So I decided to buy a new dildo, again from funfactory. The Tiger. It really justifies the capital letter. It is enormous, at 8.6 inches long and 1.7 wide.

It is less than two weeks until I see Colombina again, and this monstrosity is lying on my bed in front of me. I am terrified, and incredibly aroused.

I want this in me NOW. And I can't have it. Because Colombina is not here? Of course, it wouldn't be the same without her, but she could watch over webcam, and tell me *exactly* what she wanted me to do. That's not the problem.

The problem is, last time I visited Colombina, I left my lube with her.

Through the looking glass

In my last post, I wrote about the change of idiosyncrasies that Harlequin experiences depending on whether he is being dominant or submissive. Those observations came from noticing similar changes in myself, and perhaps it would be interesting to discuss them as well.

I am far from being a very dominant person, and my dominating style is even further away from canon. I can not reconcile the cliché of the leather-clad überbitch in the nasty heels with my vision of myself. One reason is that I can't bring myself to do it. The other one is that, now matter how much I try, I could never pull off that look. I am small and sweet, all soft and no hard angles, and if I were ever to wear full dominatrix regalia, I would look like a little girl all dressed up in her eccentric aunt's paraphernalia.

That is why, when topping Harlequin ("topping Harlequin" here makes me think of ice-creams and chocolate sprinkles and other extremely playful delicacies), I am much more mischievous than mean. It is a lot easier for me, and I find it a lot more hot and entertaining, rather than barking orders and expect them to be carried out, to ask Harlequin in a sweet, girly voice if he'd be a good little fucktoy and let me put a few clothespegs on his scrotum while I spank the living daylights out of his bottom. And to look at him with big, worried eyes when he's been bad and tell him that, uh-oh, I'm afraid I can't possibly let him come after this. No matter how much he begs.

This might be unorthodox, although I am sure there must be many people who feel more comfortable in a variant of this dominating style, but when I first started dominating Harlequin, I just could not bring myself to be outright mean to him in such an in-your-face manner. The playful, apparently lighthearted meannes, was a tremendously effective subterfuge for me to get in touch with my dominant side. I am not saying there might not come a day where I will feel comfortable in witchy, pointy boots and a leather catsuit, but for now, I am more than happy to wear an adorable, dainty set of lacy bra and knickers while wielding a scary-looking dildo to fuck my sweet Harlequin with.

When I am being submissive, however, the best way to explain what goes on inside my head would be that it shuts off completely. Bottoming to Harlequin is the most beautiful way I ever found to let go. I become this dark, hungry bottomless pit, able to take everything Harlequin wants to give me. I can't think straight, sometimes the contradicting tension and relief that fight inside me make it hard for me to even move. I turn into a downright painslut, yes, desperate to be used and abused, but underneath there's also this scared, needy creature that longs to belong to Harlequin in the most absolute way possible.

On a perhaps subconscious level, Harlequin seems fully aware of this, and he is brilliant at doling out the mean as well as the caring. The feeling of being scooped up in his arms and having my hair stroked while he murmurs soothingly in my ear after doing his very best to hurt me is fulfilling and overwhelmingly moving in a way that's hard to put into words. I never knew I could be this kinky before meeting Harlequin, and I do not know if I could still be kinky with someone else. Because, to me, the dominant-submissive part of our sexual experience is about much more than just our sexual energy. When we go into this dynamic, I feel as if we're tapping out not only on our chemistry and the attraction we feel for each other, but also on the deep current of trust and love that runs between us.

I trust him completely, I love him completely, and that is what makes the pain and the sweetness feel so beautiful.

I miss Colombina's bottom.

Don't get me wrong; I miss the rest of her too. But just recently I have been thinking about her bottom.

Until I met Colombina, I had no idea I liked to be dominant. But I do. And I *really* like spanking. Colombina has a somewhat theatrical background, and that shows when we play, particularly when I bend her over to be spanked. She collapses across my lap, or the bed, or the arm of the sofa, or against the elevator wall *ever* so dramatically and prettily. And then, when I pull down her trousers or lift up her skirt, there is her beautiful bottom, just *begging* to be spanked. Each side of it fits perfectly in my hand, and it turns the prettiest shades of red.

Something that never ceases to surprise me about Colombina's bottom, and indeed the rest of her body, is just how rough I can be with it. For such a sweet, naive, innocent looking girl, she certainly can take a lot...

I wish you were here right now, my love. I would spank you, and make you worship my feet, and suck my cock, all in quick succession. I would just tell you to do something, and every hesitation or mistake would earn a clothespeg placed somewhere on your body...

Presence

These past two weeks have been wonderful, my love.
They have included all kinds of wonderful things, from public bondage, spankings, and sex, to rubbing tiramisu all over each other at home. Your bottom has never known so much attention, and I cannot tell you enough how much I enjoy reddening it.
And you, my love, from your humble beginnings, have become an unquenchable painslut, desperate for more, always. We both know that your bottom can never be red enough. I have spanked you with my hand, with a hairbrush, a riding crop, a flogger, a beach tennis bat, and much more besides. You have popped out now, for a little while, and I miss you, and your hungry bottom, hugely. It has been a few days since you were properly spanked, and I think tomorrow may be the day I make up for that.

However, it seems that, as the result of a lost scrabble game, I will have to worship your feet tonight, and suffer who knows what other indignities. *sigh*. And this is on top of the other night´s indignities, when, after spanking me until my bottom lit up the room, you proceeded to fuck me, as hard and fast as you could. The dolphin-shaped dildo may look cute, but it feels only rough and businesslike.

Also, when I meet you shortly, we are going to our favourite shop. I wonder what wonders it contains?