Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Clarity in the night

Before we went to bed, my husband was irritating me. Wandering around, "trying to clean up," moving my papers and documents, eventually moving something pretty important and more or less forcing me to find a new place for it. 

My brain knew the old place for it just fine. All this moving around of objects disturbs my own order and I'm an old dog; new tricks don't come so easily to me. I was randomly irritated. Exhaustion and having my things suddenly reorganized led to a generally huffy, unhappy feeling. 

So when we did go to bed, I crawled on top of the blankets to sleep while he was under them. It wasn't really intentional, but I did it and I was too worn out to get up again to cover myself, despite the slight chill in the room.  I fell asleep almost immediately. I guess that happens when you're too worn out even to cover yourself. 

Hours later I woke up to visit the bathroom, and when I returned I climbed under the blankets next to my husband. He stirred, draped his arm over my waist, pulled my body tight into his, and whispered into my ear "You belong to me," before he drifted back off to sleep. 

Just like that, no more irritation.

If only everything was solved that easily. 

Friday, September 19, 2014

What he's thinking

I always tease my husband that he never thinks about sex unless we're having it, that he's a very much in-the-moment kind of person. Whatever he's doing at that moment is the thing he wants to do.

But in his arms, with his lips against my ear and his fingers stroking my clit in that way I like, he began to reveal something.

"You know, I didn't tell you this, but I think I should now. Earlier, when you'd just gotten home and were finishing your lunch and you were telling me about your day, I was looking at you and thinking: 'I own this woman. I could take her right now and make her do anything I wanted.'

Shocked at this revelation, and more than a little aroused by it, I moaned. I know the things we get up to but the idea that they should cross his mind in the middle of the day while I'm just talking to him was just mind-blowing.

He  continued: "'I could take her in the other room at this moment and have her suck my cock, or I could fuck her. I could fuck her anywhere I wanted.' But I didn't think we should be doing that in the middle of the day with the boy right in the other room, so I didn't say anything. I just contented myself with looking into your eyes and thinking that you're mine, that I could take you anytime, anywhere."

Concluding his little speech into my ear, he slid his fingers into me and pressed my clit just so. It didn't take long before I was helplessly rocked by spasms.

I always ask what he's thinking, but this is the first time hearing it actually made me orgasm. Maybe I should ask less and just let him tell me more.

Friday, September 12, 2014

Insistence

I adore anal sex. I love the way it makes me feel; I love the entire process of preparing for it. First me cleansing myself, and then my master slowly lubricating me and stretching me out to take his cock. It makes me feel owned, it makes me feel cherished, it makes me feel used and taken and claimed and adored. When my master's cock is buried in my helpless ass, I am truly a sex slave.

I often wind up preparing myself for it, making sure all is clean and pleasant, when there will be none forthcoming. Sometimes I am prepared and my master suggests it and I find myself struck with a sudden fear, and I shake my head furiously and I protest, despite the fact that another part of me is desperately aching for his cock to force its way into my ass.

So it was this time. He'd already fucked my breasts, my face, and my pussy for an extended time in three different positions. He was on top of me with my feet hooked around his ankles when he said it. "I think it's time for me to fuck your ass, now," he whispered in the voice he uses when he wants to send tingles all over me.

 It worked. I shivered, but shook my head. "Nuh-uh," I grunted.

"Yeah," he said, as if I hadn't responded at all, "I really should be fucking your ass right now, shouldn't I?"

"Nuh-uh," I whimpered again.

"'Nuh-uh'? That's what it's for, isn't it? Isn't it just another hole for me to fuck?"

I shook with the force of his words. I nodded helplessly. It's not even really my choice. I gave that to him. I could stop him, but I never would unless I truly needed to. Then he slowly prepared me to take his cock in my ass, to be the collection of fuck holes that I so long to be.

And I am one lucky sex slave.

Friday, September 5, 2014

Why being married is awesome

We'd just finished a spectacularly mind-blowing session. He'd fucked every single part of me from several different angles - including my armpit-breast area, and we'd just collapsed after he'd given me my second orgasm.

"Ooooh, I like being married to you!" he said, resting his arm across my back as I panted into a pillow, trying to recover.

"mmmmm, why is that?" I asked breathlessly.

"Because we get to have sex," he said.

I laughed. Because so many things were going through my head right then. Like, being married isn't a prerequisite to having sex, and being married doesn't guarantee sex, and even if it did, then he could be married to anyone at all, absolutely anyone, and it wouldn't have to be me.

But all those thoughts went through my head in the split second before he continued: "...and you're a particularly amazing person to have sex with."

Be still, my heart. When he gets shit right, he really, really gets it right.

Friday, August 29, 2014

Annoyed by porn

Lately, I've been exploring a few porn videos. Just casually browsing the Internet and seeing what I can find. 

I don't care so much about the visuals of something. Previously in my life, I've been satisfied to find writing that plants words and ideas in my head. I'm all about the words. 

But as the internet advances, good sex writing gets harder and harder to come by in the random internet. Yes, there are books, but for just a quick idea session? Not so much. I found myself returning to the same story over and over. A search almost always would turn up videos first, with writing scattered between them. And so, finally I broke and decided to check out some videos. 

I love anal sex. So I looked for BDSM anal sex videos. 

I found one that turned me on so much I was shocked and fascinated. I'd never had that reaction to a video before. 

But just one. It goes from the beginning of the interaction, has lots and lots of talking, shows the prep, the girl's reactions, everything. 

Every other video I've found skips around like it has a serious attention deficit disorder. They'll jump from an intro to a flogging to an all-out-ass-fucking faster than my brain can process that it's meant to be watching people having sex in the first place. And close-ups of quick-piston action of a cock into a hole? No thank you? What even is that? 

I can only surmise that this is because the people who cut the video figure that male viewers only want to see the most action-oriented parts. But I'm annoyed because if they're going to film something, and obviously there's a camera there the whole time, I want to see the prep and the talking and go with the feelings of the thing. To actually become stirred, I need more than 3 minutes from intro to "AH-AH-AH-AHHHHH." 

But maybe that's just me.

Your thoughts?


Monday, May 12, 2014

Sleepiness

On Mother's Day, we were going to go for a hike.

But our child woke us up way too early and I spent the day battling intense sleepiness. Standing up became difficult as the afternoon progressed.

"You want to just go take a nap?" my husband asked.

"No, I don't. But yes, I do." I answered. What I honestly wanted was to hike. But I didn't think I would manage very far before succumbing to my overwhelming exhaustion. "I don't want to be by myself, though."

"Oh, I'll come with you," he said, hugging me tightly to him before I turned to go into the bedroom.

I struggled to remain standing long enough to let my jeans, donned especially for hiking, fall to the floor. I crawled into bed and my heavy eyelids slammed shut.

My husband's arms went around me and he whispered into my ear, "I'll lie here and hold you."

I sleepily mumbled my pleased gratitude. As I snuggled into him, I felt his cock grow hard against my arm. His hips drove it against me.

"I can't promise I won't fuck you though," he growled, his arousal becoming more insistent by the moment.

"Mmm," I murmured, "I can't promise I'll be too responsive."




There was fucking. And there was responsiveness wherein he forced me to beg to be fucked. And then there was a second fucking.

My husband has a fetish for exhaustion. Not for actual unconsciousness, but sleepiness so overwhelming that it's grabbing and pulling me.

I'm having trouble finding out what that's called. But he definitely has it.

I kind of dig it. It fulfills my need to give him what he wants, even if it's not what I necessarily want in the moment.

Fucking is better than sleep anyway.

I need to find more ways to wear myself out, but preferably not so that I'm miserable all day.

Apparently there's a listed fetish for your OWN exhaustion making you horny. Kopophilia - but where is the "my partner's exhaustion turns me on" fetish? I'll keep looking.

Monday, May 5, 2014

Happy stick

We're cuddled together in bed on a Saturday morning, sunlight streaming through the gaps around the curtain. The night before we had amazing anal sex that left me feeling completely sated for the entire night, and now that it's morning I'm still feeling residual happy chemicals. I'd love more sex, but we have plans. 

I drop little kisses along his chest and shoulder, and I'm thinking about how amazing last night was. "What's it like, to go inside a person?" I ask him. 

"Hm? Well, if you think about it, it's not really me, it's just a bit that sticks out from me."

I roll my eyes but I don't know if he can see it. I sigh in an exaggerated fashion. "That's not helpful," I grumble, but playfully.

"Okay. It's like. . . it's like stabbing someone with a happy stick, over and over."

I collapse into helpless giggles for a very, very long time.

Happy stick, indeed.