It’s all in the wrist

Tonight I am going to spread my legs wide and touch myself whilst I think about the way you looked at me when I asked you to hurt me and how my wrist ached for hours afterwards because you did exactly that.

Your hand wrapped around my wrist, holding it to the bed as you fucked me deep and hard, the pain as you held me so tightly, intense and hot, clouding my mind and making me mew beneath you.

And then how afterwards my wrist felt weak and I had to roll it gently around to loosen it and you watched with a grin upon your face because you had given me exactly what I asked for but in such a unexpected way.

Then hours afterwards how when I gently squeezed my wrist I could feel that dull unmistakable ache of bruised and tender flesh and it instantly draw me back into that moment with you. Your body pressing into me, the muscle flexing in your arm as you tightened your grip, the way you watched my face, the haze of sensations that flowed through me. The pain pushing the pleasure back, the two twisting together in my brain and between my legs your cock slick with my juices.

Everything about that moment was a statement of your strength over mine. That you can hurt me whilst barely trying. That it can be as simple as a hand around my wrist. That you don’t need implements or restraints. That you can destroy me with one hand, if you so wish.

I play it over and over in my mind, it’s like one of those sexy gifs, just a fleeting glimpse of a hand pinning a wrist to the bed, but it is enough to set your mind imagining the rest of the story and it makes you reach between your thighs at the thought of it. So tonight when I go to bed I am going to spread my legs and touch myself whilst I think about your hand wrapped around my wrist.