Evil Bitch

That's me.

But how, Colombina?, must you all be thinking. We thought you say you were all sweetness and smiles, even when you were being mean?

Well, that was before. Do let me explain.

I shall begin by explaining that I love tickling Harlequin. It makes him squirm and giggle in the most delightful manner, and sometimes I can't stop myself, to the point where he has to stop me.

And this means I always arrived to the same problem: Harlequin is big and strong enough to put a halt to all my tickling assaults. But that didn't dampen my tickling urges in the slightest.

So we decided to do a scene where he'd be all tied up and entirely at my mercy and desires, that is, my desires to tickle him until he begged for the aforementioned mercy.

Oh, boy, was that FUN!

It was tremendously arousing, as well as hilarious, to tickle him with all my might, and then to make him all horny and keep tickling him, and bring him to the edge of orgasm and keep tickling him, and let him come and keep tickling him.

This combination of tickling and sexual stimulation is what made him call me an Evil Bitch, because he got to the point where he was desperate to come, but the tickles ministered by the Evil Bitch, that is, moi, wouldn't let him concentrate.

Tee hee hee.

Of course, I did let him come in the end. Me, I'm an Evil Bitch with a heart, people!

But do you want to know what I did while he was orgasming, and after?

I kept tickling him.

Colombina wants to be thrown around.

We have, on certain occassions, delightfully rough sex, grinding against each other, biting and scratching, calling each other dirty names, pulling each other's hair, one grabbing the other by the throat while licking and biting their lips...

Now Colombina wants to do a scene like this, but more one sided. She wants me to use my physical superiority to throw her around, bite her, tease her and hurt her, all with my own pleasure being her sole concern.

To begin with, I was not sure how well I could do this. I was very happy to try, but I wasn't sure how far I would be able to go.

The more I think about it, however, the more I look forward to it.

I look forward to hurting her, to making her moan and scream and writhe, to grabbing her hair in my hand and leaning close to her and whispering

"Scream louder, little slut."

I look forward to fucking her mouth, coming all over her face, torturing the soles of her feet, and leaving her bruised and sweaty and incredibly wet.

I look forward to rubbing my hand over her dripping pussy, and then rubbing it all over her face, where it will mix with my come and her sweat.

I look forward to coming in her mouth, and making her beg for a drink of water. And to making her worship my feet before allowing her to drink the water I spit into her mouth.

And then, when I am done, I will pick her up, and carry her to the bed, and lie her down, and lie on top of her, pulling her into me and telling her what a good girl she has been.

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.

It's all in the eyes

One of the many things I love about Harlequin is the changes in his demeanour depending on whether he is dominating or I am. I am not talking about the *obvious* changes (if he is topping, then chances are he'll be the one doing the spanking, and if I am, then he'll me doing my bidding most of the times), I mean those very subtle and delicate signs. In a way, it's like he is retreating into different Harlequins to suit the situation. I don't know if he sees similar changes in myself in these circumstances, and, if he does, if he deems them equally significant, but to me, these idiosyncrasies are at the very core of his sexual persona.

The dominant Harlequin is expansive and grave. He delights in catching me by surprise, in using his physical superiority to his advantage, in showing me just how *easily* he can lift me up and throw me on the bed, or restrain both my wrists using only one of his hands. And his eyes, oh, don't get me started on his eyes. They become hard and dark and hungry, letting me know with every blink that I am his and nobody else's, and that he is going to make sure I don't forget it. That I am his to torture, his to fuck, and also his to protect, and his to love.

But when my dear Harlequin becomes submissive, those very same eyes become warm and big, oh so big, staring at me in awe, begging me to do my very best and very worst with him (which, to all intends and purposes, tend to go along the same lines), letting me know that he is utterly mine, my sweet little fucktoy, mine to play as I want. Although there are no physical changes about his person (other than the fact that he tends to wear considerably less clothes than when he is being dominant), he seems to become smaller, and vulnerable, which makes me want to bite him and spank him as much as it makes me want to gather him in my arms and cuddle him.

These are not the only Harlequins I share the bed with (now that I think of it, it might be fun one day to talk about the Ravenous Beast, a personality we both share), but they are the first two I got to meet, and I love them both to bits and cannot wait to meet them again.