Lucy's Bedroom

Five

It’s been almost a week now so I finally put D out of his misery and let him have a play with my piercing. Oh, who am I kidding, I think you know him well enough by now to realise what actually happed is that, despite a valiant struggle on my part, he pinned me to the bed and prised my thighs apart with his knee, touching the tip of a full-speed vibrator against the top of the barbell. The result was electrifying – the vibrations made the ball of the piercing thrum urgently against the tip of my clit and as he angled the vibe from side to side the ball drummed and bullied my clit while I arched my back, my eyes and mouth wide with surprise, panting and suddenly cumming with a squeal.

D pressed his hand on my belly, holding me down as I writhed and kicked my feet against the bed, one orgasm blurring into another as I struggled to escape the maddening vibrations, my clit throbbing painfully as he continued tormenting me. I grabbed a pillow, covering my face and screaming into it as my hips jerked against his restraining hand. He pulled the pillow away, the vibe never leaving its spot as he loomed over me to ask, “Do you want me to stop?”

I nodded, breathing hard and moaning as he rotated the tip of the vibe against the ball. He grinned and said, “Bad luck, I’m not going to...”

As my fifth orgasm ebbed away, the hum of the vibrator grew deeper and slower, its batteries running down. I curled up on my side, reaching my arm out to touch the wall with trembling fingertips, watching my arm vibrate and feeling the fluttery echoes of the vibrator through my whole body. D curled his body around mine, pressing against my back and lifting my thigh to slide his cock into my sodden cunt.

“Can you feel it?” I asked as he fucked me, “The vibrations?”

He grunted and pressed two fingers into my mouth, fucking faster. I sucked them but carelessly, feeling curiously detached, listening to my own body as it fluttered. As D’s cock began to twitch inside me he whipped it out quickly, pressing its tip against my arsehole, not entering it but just prying it open enough with his fingers to shoot his spunk inside me while I shrieked.

A massive wave of sleepiness overcame me and I rolled onto my tummy, hugging the pillow, cum seeping from my arsehole and I fell fast asleep. It was hours before I woke, alone and with a bedspread thrown over me. I jolted awake, the room far too bright for it still to be early morning. By the bed was a note that read: ‘Called in sick for you, fucktoy. When I get home we’re putting in the ring.’ The note was propped up against the open jewellery box containing the silver ring and heart-shaped tag he bought me.

I thought about getting up, having a shower, going out…but what I actually did was rummage in the bedside drawer for some fresh batteries.

Comic Amazement

Well, today’s been interesting. For the first time since I had my piercing done the swelling has gone down. This means the barbell is a little looser in the hood of my clit and it’s dropped down a little – where the end previously rested on my hood, it now brushes against the tip of my clit, not all the time, but just occasionally.

I first discovered this when I tried to run for the bus and had to just stop dead in the middle of the pavement with a look of comic amazement on my face, reflected in the bus windows as it sailed past. When I finally got on the next bus (and struggled my way to a seat) I found myself squirming and crossing my legs, trying without success to replicate the feeling.

At work I dashed into the toilets and locked myself in a cubicle, unzipping my trousers and thrusting my fingers inside my knickers, teasing the ball at the top end of the barbell in order to make the ball at the tip rub against my clit, cumming really quickly, leaning against the side of the cubicle with my fist stuffed in my mouth.

I sprayed myself all over with the noxious perfume I’m supposed to be promoting, to try to hide the smell of sex before going onto the shop floor. But I spent all day thinking about it and such was my distraction that sometimes I just randomly sprayed perfume into the air rather than at actual passing people.

Gwen wants to know what’s wrong.  “You nearly blinded that woman’s dog.”

“Well she shouldn’t have a stupid dog that’s so tiny it needs carrying everywhere under her arm. Anyway, she’s not supposed to bring dogs into the shop.”

“And store policy is to gently remind customers of that fact, not to try to maim their animals with our latest line in perfume.”

I can’t bear it. I have to tell someone. Gwen is big-eyed with wonder and wants to know all about it. I tell her the story, enthusiastically miming parts of it, while we completely ignore all potential customers. At the end of the story she’s a bit pink and very quiet.

“What’s wrong, have I upset you?”

“No, don’t be silly...um...I’m not being funny but...can I see it?”

We can’t both leave the stand at the same time and for a while we debate the merits of asking someone to cover for us while we go, but speculate that we’d have to tell them why and so then they’d want to see and someone would have to cover for them…and so on in an escalating fashion until I’d shown everyone in the store. By this time we were almost hysterical with repressed giggles as Gwen surreptitiously pointed to people walking past and said, “He’d have to see…and her…and there’s the canteen staff…maybe if I get on the tannoy and make an announcement…”

Finally the store is closing and we shut up shop a few minutes early and dive into a changing room. Gwen watches entranced as I demonstrate the little wiggle of the barbell and the way it touches my clit. And she goes away with the name and address of where I had it done on the back of an envelope. Go Gwen!

Things Lucy Wants For Christmas

An Hitachi Magic Wand; Jimmy Choo knee-high pearlised patent leather boots with 4 inch heels; a book of Diane Arbus photographs; Penhaligon’s Bluebell Bath Oil; some Turkish Delight; the Doctor Who Dalek Collection Box Set DVDs.

Classy Friends

I was rather taken with the silver and opal jewellery D bought me and thought I would quite like something matching for my belly button, so I asked him where he got it. It turns out he went to a jewellery workshop and commissioned it.

“So, hang on, you went into a shop and said, in a loud and jolly voice, that your girlfriend is having her clit pierced and could they please design a unique piece of modern jewellery for the occasion?”

“Well, I didn’t take quite as long as that to say it, but essentially, yes.”

“And they weren’t fazed by this?”

“No.  In fact I had an interesting conversation with the jeweller about his wife’s experiences of clitoral piercing.”

“Is this what men talk about when we’re not there?”

“Yes.  And football.”

“You hate football.”

“Which is why I spend my time engaging strange men on the subject of your sexual deviancy. Now get out of the way of the telly.”

I am outraged – for about twenty minutes – then I remember that I write a sex blog in which I tell hundreds of complete strangers intimate details of my sex life and so maybe I shouldn’t be so shrill with D. However, actually telling him this would involve using the ‘sorry’ word, which I never do on principle, so he’s just going to have to read it here.

In other news, my friend Jim has been cautioned by the police for shagging in the toilets of a pub in Soho – toilets being technically public places. He believes the police decided against anything more than an on-the-spot caution because the girl he was shagging (whose name he either can’t remember or never asked) far from being abashed at her discovery, threw her arms round one of the officers and tried to snog him while he squirmed “like that black cat with the white stripe painted down its back in the Pepe Le Pew cartoons”. And then turned to his colleague and said, “How’s about it, big fellah, fancy a two-up in the back of your squad car” before being sick on his boots. “So you can see there were several reasons why they didn’t want us anywhere near their nice shiny police station.”

Panic, Paramedics and Poultry

A tiny panic this morning when I went to clean my piercing and it bled. I squealed from the bathroom for D and he took a look, then fixed me with his ‘honestly I spent years training to be a doctor and you bother me with this trivia' look and explained that there are lots of blood vessels close to the surface in and around the vagina and some bleeding is to be expected when I first move the jewellery but it will stop very quickly. He’s right of course and I was okay again in five minutes.

I still feel like everyone can tell I’ve had it done and I have mixed feelings about that. In one way it’s the ‘new shoes’ thing. You know – new shoes make you taller, smarter, prettier, better in every way. On the other hand, if I get run over by a bus and have to have all my clothes cut off in the street by paramedics, the crowd of gawping passers-by will know I’m a complete slut.

Sorry, I’ve lost my train of thought now because I’ve been thinking about having my clothes cut off by paramedics. This entry was going to be about how D can’t touch my clit for at least a week and so he’ll be scraping by with blowjobs, but if you’re a regular reader you already know he has the fortitude to deal with that.

Oh, and also, regular readers will recall I was going to have my piercing done with my friend Lynda. Well, I called her up and made chicken noises on her answer phone.

Owned

I did it. I’m now the proud owner of a vertical clitoral hood piercing and an abjectly besotted and permanently aroused boyfriend. (There’s an argument for saying I had that last one already.)

We went to Eclipse in Camden, which is hygienic and friendly and has a female piercer. She made us a cup of tea and gave us a sort of ‘pre-flight demonstration’ of how it would work then left us alone for a few minutes with a book of pictures to flip through, ostensibly to choose the jewellery. In fact, as soon as she’d gone, D took the book off me, “Because you won’t be needing that. If there’s any choosing to be done around here, I’m doing it.” I didn’t even argue - I felt light-headed and fidgety and excited.

Sitting up on the couch, naked from the waist down, with D sitting behind me, his arms around my waist, she examined my clit, asking me to spread my pussy with my fingers and touch the hood of my clit, drawing it back. She explained that all clits are different and not every one is suited to having the hood pierced, “But you’ve got a nice one.”

I looked over my shoulder at D and silently mouthed, “I’ve got a nice one.” He nodded distractedly, concentrating on what the girl was doing. With a felt tip pen she marked the hood of my clit and asked me if I was happy with the placing. Then she cleaned her hands with an alcohol gel and set out her tray, just like a doctor. From a sterile packet she took a small clip which slid onto my clit, lifting the hood away from it. It pinched hard and I felt D squeeze me tighter. She was saying something about breathing and then with a pinch the needle was sliding through my hood. I held my breath, my face was hot and my eyes stung with tears. I forced myself to start breathing, panting hard and suddenly feeling incredibly aroused as though I was going to cum any second. Then the needle was through and I turned to look at D again, blinking away the tears. His face was white with shock.

“Now just fit the jewellery…” she was saying, and I remembered I hadn’t seen what D had chosen. It’s like a little curved barbell made of surgical steel. One end sits at the top of my hood, the other end touches the hood just above the tip of my clit.

And that’s it. Two minutes on after-care, and then we’re out in the street. My clit feels swollen and tender and I walk a little uncomfortably. I feel monstrously aware of it and I’m convinced everyone else is too, as though they know. D’s very quiet as we walk to the tube station.

On the train I sit, gingerly, parting my legs a little. D sits on the other side of the aisle and leans across, elbows on his knees, proffering a box from his pocket. Inside there are two pieces of jewellery. One is a curved barbell but in silver with an opal mounted at each end. The other is a silver ring with a heart-shaped tag. On the tag is engraved, ‘I belong to David Cohen’. I turn it over - on the other side is engraved his phone number and I laugh out loud – he’s bought me a pet tag!

I slip the ring onto my little finger and feel the weight of the silver tag, then lean across the aisle and kiss him.

Soapy Tit Wank

We were up early this morning and it was still dark outside as I lay soaking in the bath, watching D shave. I like watching men shave – it’s obviously a twisted, Freudian kind of thing because one of my clearest memories from when I was very small is sitting on the edge of the bath in my nightdress watching my dad shave.

D had an early-morning semi hard-on of the type that can be pretty much ignored until it goes away…or can be encouraged to turn into something more interesting by a really insatiable girlfriend. I flicked some soapy suds at the back of his thighs. He ignored me. So I reached across and tugged at the hairs on the back of his leg. He ignored me. I ran the tip of my fingernail up the back of his knee – it buckled slightly but he ignored me. I knelt up in the bath, leaned right over the edge and bit his bum. He flicked shaving soap at my face. And then he ignored me.

I slumped back into the bath, sending water slopping over the edge and sighed, “Well, if you really don’t fancy a soapy tit wank…”

D splashed cold water on his face, patting it dry with a towel as he turned, his cock rather stiffer now. I leaned on the edge of the bath and stretched my neck out, planting a kiss on its tip and grinning as it twitched. More water spilled over the edge as he climbed into the bath with me, kneeling over me and pouring shower gel onto my tits as I rubbed it to a lather, my flesh slipping between my fingers and making wet slapping sounds as my tits flopped onto my ribcage.

I squeezed my tits around the shaft of his cock kneading and pinching them as he slid his cock back and forth, cupping my chin with one hand and tipping my head back against the end of the bath as he pressed his thumb between my lips. I sucked it slowly, curling my tongue around it lasciviously and fluttering its tip against the pad of his thumb, nipping it with my teeth and gazing up at him as he stroked his cock faster between my tits. Suddenly he pulled back and gripped his shaft, pointing his cock at my mouth. I stretched my tongue out, letting him rest his cock on it, my tongue stud pressed against its head as I quickly wiggled my tongue from side to side and he wanked his cock into my mouth, grunting as he dumped his load onto my tongue and watched it slide into my throat.

As the bath water drained away, D took the shower head and sprayed the last soapy suds off my body with freezing cold water while I squealed and jiggled. He paid particular attention to my pussy, spreading its lips with his fingers and pressing the showerhead right up against it while I leaned back against the tiled wall, my thighs spread, fingertips pressed against the walls for balance, eyes wide with shock as I gasped and writhed and the

Crack Whore

D has been thinking about my black eye. And not in a good way. Not in an ‘I’m a terrible boyfriend, here you sit down and watch Noel Fielding on Never Mind the Buzzcocks while I make you a cup of tea’ kind of way. No, more in a ‘now I can pretend my girlfriend’s a crack whore giving £10 blow jobs and getting beaten up by her pimp’ kind of way.

‘Crack whore and pimp’, it turns out, is a game with simple rules. I kneel on the floor with my mouth open and my hands clasped behind my back while he fucks my face and gives me an occasional little slap on the cheek, gradually getting a bit harder while he watches me with amused eyes, waiting to see if I’ll say the safe word. I actually think quite a bit about saying the safe word but I’m hampered slightly by having his dick down my throat. And besides, I’m sneakily quite enjoying this game and I suspect that if I got the chance to speak I’d just blurt out, “Slap me harder!”

He cums quicker than usual, catching me by surprise and I gag quite hard, my belly twitching as I cough most of his spunk onto the floor. He slides onto his knees in front of me, holding my hair back, handing me tissues and teasing me – “There was nothing wrong with the blow job Luce, I didn’t want a refund.”

As I start to recover, he leans in to kiss me then stops, inches from my lips and smiles. “Or would you rather..?” He cups my cheek, tapping it gently. I’m not sure – do I want him to kiss me or slap me? I turn my head and kiss the palm of his hand while I think, then turn back to gaze levelly at him, and he knows I’ve decided. He slaps my face hard and I gasp, my eyes watering and my clit tingling.

Naked Wrestling

Here’s a tip in case you’re planning on getting into a wrestling match with your significant other. Always put some clothes on first. With clothes on, you’ve got something to grip hold of while you roll around on the floor, squealing and kicking. Without clothes on, you have no choice but to elbow him in the ribs and then he smacks you round the head with a feather pillow that bursts, completely filling the bedroom with swirling feathers. Then, when you respond by repeatedly flicking his balls with your fingernail, he picks you up and tips you upside-down, you wrap your thighs round his neck and squeeze until he loses his balance and you both bounce onto the bed and that’s when you bang your cheek off his knee and end up with a black eye.

D is resolutely unsympathetic as he has not really forgiven me for the ball-flicking thing. It’s actually not very bad – my eye is okay, it’s just the skin around my eye socket that’s bruised and I plaster that with concealer for work, taking it off when I go out in the evening.

“Oh this?  D gave me a black eye in a fight about whether Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo was set in Peru or Argentina.*  Yes, I agree, it doesn’t seem very important now.”   

*It turns out he was right and it was Peru.

Failing My Training

I am still being reminded who’s boss around here.  To my consternation, D set the alarm clock an hour early.

“Why?  Why would you do such a terrible thing to me?” 

“Because this morning we’re doing an hour’s obedience training.”

“…?”

I lay propped up on pillows, my thighs spread, D curled around me with his cheek laid on my breasts, watching me closely as I followed his orders.

“Stick two fingers in – now frig yourself hard – slower – pinch your clit – rub it in circles – don’t cum yet, bitch – don’t cum until I say.”

My breathing grew hard and ragged, my tits shuddering as I arched my back and strained to do everything he told me without cumming. I lost count of the number of times I came to the brink, sweat plastering my fringe to my brow, my eyes wide and pleading, my mouth dry, only to have him calmly say, “Stop – not yet, fuck toy, not yet.”

My clit grew numb and painfully swollen and my full bladder pressed against it. He handed me a dildo and watched me fuck myself with it. “Nice and fast – ram it in – pound your pussy with it.” I angled it up slightly, wriggling as I tried to rub it against my g-spot, biting my lip as my heart raced faster. But he was watching. He slid the dildo out of my pussy and I cried out with disappointment, muffled as he pressed the dildo between my lips, making me suck it clean.

With my cheek bulging he asked me, “What do you want?”

Indistinctly I mumbled, “I want to cum.”

“What was that, slut? I can’t hear you!” He gently pressed the dildo a little deeper and I gagged and spluttered, tipping my head back and panting. Eventually I got enough control to have another go and again I mumbled, “I want to cum.”

He pulled the dildo out and tossed it aside, grabbing hold of my thighs and pulling me down the bed onto my back. Then he sprawled on top of me, impaling me on his cock, his full weight on top of me as he started thrusting. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, feeling my orgasm start to rise within moments. He stopped, braced above me, and said, “I didn’t say you could cum yet, Lucy.”

With a sob I arched my back, bucking my hips up, thrusting desperately against him and shuddering and gasping, cumming hard and slumping back, trembling.

He pulled his cock out and knelt over me, slapping it against my cheek and rubbing it against my lips until I trapped its tip in my mouth, sucking it lazily. “You’ve failed your obedience training. You always do in the end. It’s one of the things I like about you.”