I am going to be walking into things for days!
I got worked over really well, long loving session of nipple torture, interspersed with edging, assisted with judicious use of the riding crop. There is a happy place, where every motion of your bra, every time you raise an arm, breathe deeply, or turn, where your nipples ache and remind you of their tender and sore state, but your panties turn into a swamp, because that shock reminds you of how they got that way.
My back and ass, my upper breasts, my thighs are all super sensitive because they have this little tiny kisses from the black diamond shape of my lover's riding crop. My jaw is so sore, I can't believe anyone could hold out that long during one of my blow jobs, but he realistically knew we only really had one good one left in each of us, so it wasn't until about three in the morning he allowed us both to cum.
I am just a day past the session, and my entire body is one nerve connected to my little easy button, each touch of fabric, each shift of my body reminding me of being used and toyed with beyond endurance and I am left very carefully using my magic wand very softly over tissues that haven't quite recovered from having a clamp on them.
The thing about BDSM with someone who has taken the time to learn your body so very well, is that the foreplay to fucking ratio tilts so hard towards the foreplay that by the time I am eventually allowed to cum my body is pretty much a boneless, brainless, shameless train wreck. Anyone who doesn't think a pudgy , silver chest haired gentleman who looks more like a Hindu version of Santa can be a sex symbol has never been tied, teased, and trained by one.
It is almost a good thing that I am at the age where the body can't really go as often as my spirit wants it too, because I don't bother with sex that won't be intense. I ration myself to the stuff worth walking funny for days after. Now I have to wait until next month to get a chance for me to travel to My Lady to satisfy the other need I didn't know I had when I was young.
Honestly, it makes me wonder why I had sex at all in my twenties. I didn't know what I wanted, and was never satisfied with what I got.