I love a bite. I love being with someone who bites and I love to bite. It is very rare that I go for more than a couple of days without telling my man that I want to bite his arse.

I know that for me, the moment that a kiss changes to a bite – that intense, electrifying feeling of the pressure of teeth more than just pressing against my flesh. The bite is both a combination of, and an intensification of the pinch and the kiss. I find it hard to explain and hard to process. It is both pinpoint pain from each tooth and yet also a wider sensation from all of those pinpoints together. It energises me, makes me primal and uninhibited and yet, when I receive also makes me very submissive. Being bitten is one of those things where I want to take more than I currently can. It’s one of those things where being already in subspace is wonderful and I can ride each intensity so much more.

Then, there is the flip side. The wonderful primal delight of giving the bite. There are, of course, the passionate kisses that turn to bites. The bites when I am trying not to come without permission. The bites when I am coming. The bites that are utterly in the moment of primal response. 
Sometimes there are other bites too. The delightfully placed, the planned and delivered. The ones where each growl, shudder, squirm or even bucking response makes me want to do more and makes very powerfully turned on.

Those are the bites that mean that he has to know what he is getting into if he says, “So bite me!”

Thank you to my man for letting me bite him and for letting me share this picture.

Sinful Sunday

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