Pay to Play

Sometimes you know at the outset the connection with someone will be amazing.  Other times it just sneaks up on you unexpectedly.  I recently decided that the swinging site I was using wasn’t getting me the results I wanted, so I reactivated my account on a hookup site and almost immediately got chatting to G, hitting it off from the very first message.

We went out for a drink within a couple of days, and I liked him a huge amount.  He was smart, witty and intelligent, and we liked similar films and places and people, though we had very different tastes in art and books.  I was sorry to leave when the restaurant closed, and even as I sat on the train home he was continuing our conversations on whatsapp.

On the face of it we seemed highly suited.  Both looking for regular overnight stays, both having explored BDSM pretty thoroughly before stepping back from it, neither interested in a relationship but perfectly happy with a FWB arrangement.

There is a price to pay to be with G.  There is always a price to pay, and in this case it was G’s desire for monogamy.  He wanted to meet up of a weekend and wasn’t interested in sharing me with anyone else.  While swinging didn’t work out quite how I expected and I can’t deny getting back to a hookup site where everything flows so easily was great for rebuilding my dented ego, I’m not ready to leap back into a monogamous arrangement.

In the week after we met we chatted a huge amount, agreeing to meet up a second time at his home, with me bringing an overnight bag and catching the first train home in the morning.  G’s home was a reflection of him: sleek and attractive.  We chatted over a glass of wine while Bryan Ferry sang light jazz in the background and everything felt wonderfully civilised.

As we moved to the bedroom G took more control, undressing me by the light of the pillar candles burning around the room.  We’d had detailed conversations of what we’d enjoyed when exploring kink and what we were happy to leave behind, so it didn’t surprise me too much when G asked whether he could administer a spanking.  It doesn’t turn me on, but it doesn’t bother me unduly so I agreed, knowing it was something he enjoyed a great deal.

He stood me on a cheap rug at the foot of the bed.  The rug had struck me as being a little out of place – jarring in the serene space of the flat.  As G bent me over the bed he stood behind me and picked up one of the largest candles, a white, four-wicked chunky pillar, maybe 9 or 10” diameter. From the amount of melted wax it had clearly been burning quite some time.

G placed the candle directly onto my lower back, warning me to keep still for fear of spilling the wax onto my skin.  He spanked me hard, gripping one cheek tightly while spanking the other, running his hands over my skin in between spanks.  While impact play doesn’t particularly turn me on, there was something incredibly erotic about having to make such an effort not to react, not to jerk up with each stroke.  A ropeless bondage, holding me firmly in place.

I move around a lot during sex.  I have violent orgasms which happen very quickly and easily, and once I’ve had one orgasm I become extremely sensitive and ticklish, squirming at the slightest touch and ready to tumble headlong into subsequent orgasms.  Trying not to move as G slid one finger and then two into me, stroking my clit with wet fingers before easing them back inside me, was an exquisite torture. I couldn’t help moving my hips as I came, sending rivulets of hot wax across my pink buttocks and over my thighs, droplets spattering onto the rug whose purpose had suddenly become clear.

G picked up another candle and poured the melted wax over me while he fingered me to another orgasm, repeating the process with an orgasm for every lit candle in the room before taking his cock out of his trousers and masturbating, quickly spurting over the thick white mess of dried candle wax on my lower back as my legs shook from so many orgasms.

He asked me whether he could take a photograph.  I’ve never been much on photographs (mainly because I am spectacularly unphotogenic), but I said that as long as my face was kept well out of view I didn’t object.  After I’d cleaned up, peeling the thickest bits of wax from my skin and trying to shower the rest off in G’s incredible wetroom I headed back to bed where he showed me the picture he’d taken.  It was lovely, the whiteness of the wax contrasting with the deep pink of my spanked buttocks.  He has since messaged me to tell me when he is masturbating over that photo, and I find the idea more of a turn on than I usually find such admissions – maybe because I’ve thought about that session when masturbating a couple of times myself.

We spent the rest of the night engaged in more straightforward activity, both of us greedily taking our pleasure with the other and working our way through a strip of condoms.

I am still unsure how things will work out with G and when the ultimatum will be issued: him alone or not at all.  There is a lot to be said for someone who can share such pleasure on a regular basis, but I’m not suited to monogamy.  I’ve never cheated on a partner and I don’t want G to be the first, but I really don’t want to close myself off to other possibilities (particularly since I have a place on two upcoming group socials which I’d be reluctant to cancel!).  I’m not convinced he will come round to my point of view, but I do know I won’t come round to his without somehow feeling as though I’m settling, compromising on something I don’t want to compromise on.  It feels a high price to pay.