He murmurs, "This year will be so much harder for you."

There are times I can’t stand the intensity of going through it again, so I resist. I’ve learned to block its sensitivity by the position of my arms or lounging in such a way that the spot is nullified. I found this necessary because he has a habit of automatically reaching for it no matter where we are, causing me to yelp and flinch for no apparent reason. Naturally he thinks it’s hilarious and parries any attempt to block him, reminding me yet again that I am not in control.

I have always preferred bondage sessions in particular accompanied by this type of sensuality rather than pain. It is far more satisfying to me -- pain snaps me out of bondage serenity.

This is not to say I never receive pain, on the contrary, yet my preferences will always be considered. But when he combines ‘the touch’ with bondage and another BDSM-type activity, it creates a combustible energy exchange between us.
Recently he deemed I was due for a bondage session again so as usual he planned the bindings to leave certain areas of my body open to his touch. Once I was firmly restrained and squirming in his arms he tormented me with prurient fantasies, caresses, and hot kisses to the brink of orgasm, yet stalling until I was delirious.

He stood up and went to work untying. "That was foreplay."

"Get into position." So I knelt at the foot of his bed.

To my surprise there were eyehooks screwed into the floor on either side of his bed for my wrists to be tied to while I knelt, arms spread wide. With my upper torso and face pressed into the mattress he drew the ropes up tight. I could do little more than wriggle and turn my head side-to-side -- back and ass vulnerable to him, as is proper.

Satisfying himself that I was secure by pulling on each rope, he inserted a well lubricated dildo purchased just for me, and turned the realistic testicles forward so they cupped my clitoris. He did this for the two-fold purpose of protecting my inner labia from being cut by my clithood barbell, and so I would get extra stimulation from the suction. Finally, he slipped a blindfold over my eyes and stood up.

I heard him rummaging behind me in his toy bag and moaned in anticipation. Would it be a hard stroke of the paddle, the belt, or the soft touch of fur?

"What are you going Mmmm for?" He taunted, and continued to look leisurely through his bag. "Are you going to show me you can take it?"

I nodded and realized it was to be the flogger when the first blow hit my bottom. But I cried out in passion, not pain, as each stroke was perfectly placed to jiggle my ass exquisitely, thus aiding his dildo arrangement. He launched into a heady rhythm punctuated by his comments.

"Take it … take it … take it, for me."

Each time the dildo oozed out, he banged it in with his buffalo flogger and after the dildo was thrust back in he laid two hard strokes on my back, bottom, or thighs.

Over, and over, and over he worked at it until my cries of tension tipped him off to an impending orgasm. He swiftly removed the dildo, caressed the spot and sent me into paroxysms just as he pushed inside to join my release. He was still dripping when he pulled back out, continuing to flog until I was used up and shuddering helplessly.

No, he doesn’t stop just because I cum.

I woke up several hours later to find myself untied and covered with a blanket -- Daddy’s arms securely around me.