I adore my husband. I'm missing him a lot lately. Everyone has colds over here so even once we are alone in bed, we just kind of pass out. I'm missing more than just the sex; I'm missing the attention, the intimacy, the bizarre conversations we've been known to have once the lights are out.
I have the dreams of a sick person.
I dreamed that my husband went off somewhere in a car with a long-time friend of ours from the Internet, and the friend asked my husband about his sex life. My husband told our friend: "It's nothing special."
Then he came home and told me about it. I pretended to be okay with it at first, but after a day or so it was really bothering me, and I confronted him. "Nothing special? Our sex life is nothing special? I mean, I get why you wouldn't want to really go into it, but 'nothing special?' That is so, so insulting."
Then I dreamed that I posted a photo of a toilet here on this blog, and someone commented that they could tell I was sad from my eyes. "WTF?" I thought to myself, "There must be a reflection somewhere in that toilet! I should edit that photo right now."
....
That's all I've got today.
So hard to believe February is already over.
Happy leap-day, everyone!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
Smut snapshot
"You feel that cock against you? You want to suck it now, don't you?"
"Oh yes, please."
"Well, just because you want it doesn't mean I'm going to let you. I know once you get on that cock, there's no getting you off it."
Later, he proved his point when he tried to get me to stop. I was sucking, we were on our sides, his leg over my neck.
"Stop now," he said.
I didn't.
He slapped my breast, exposed under his thigh. Eight, nine, ten times - "You gonna stop now?" - before I squealed and pulled away.
He put me on the ramp on my hands and knees, stood at the edge of the bed behind me, and pressed the head of his cock inside me. "You don't deserve this. You wouldn't stop, you whined. You don't deserve this at all, do you?"
"No sir," I whimpered, trying to press back onto him. He teased me for an eternity, taunting.
Finally, "It's a good thing for you that this happens to by my pussy, and I want to fuck it," he whispered as he slid completely into me, filling me, stretching me pleasantly.
He took his time. My arms ached and trembled, but I stayed up - yay for strength training!
The next morning, he was amused that out of everything he did to me - and there had been a lot, spanking, flogging with four different floggers, I think perhaps a belt - that the only thing I still felt was the soreness in my poor arms.
"Oh yes, please."
"Well, just because you want it doesn't mean I'm going to let you. I know once you get on that cock, there's no getting you off it."
Later, he proved his point when he tried to get me to stop. I was sucking, we were on our sides, his leg over my neck.
"Stop now," he said.
I didn't.
He slapped my breast, exposed under his thigh. Eight, nine, ten times - "You gonna stop now?" - before I squealed and pulled away.
He put me on the ramp on my hands and knees, stood at the edge of the bed behind me, and pressed the head of his cock inside me. "You don't deserve this. You wouldn't stop, you whined. You don't deserve this at all, do you?"
"No sir," I whimpered, trying to press back onto him. He teased me for an eternity, taunting.
Finally, "It's a good thing for you that this happens to by my pussy, and I want to fuck it," he whispered as he slid completely into me, filling me, stretching me pleasantly.
He took his time. My arms ached and trembled, but I stayed up - yay for strength training!
The next morning, he was amused that out of everything he did to me - and there had been a lot, spanking, flogging with four different floggers, I think perhaps a belt - that the only thing I still felt was the soreness in my poor arms.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Fascination
I am fascinated by my child and the way he seems drawn to bondage-type things. If you're sick of my relating his bondage antics, I'm sure he'll come along with something in no way related to BDSM and disappear from anything related to this arena. At least where I can see him, anyway.
My husband and I asked him, after he'd asked to be "handcuffed" to the door with a ribbon for the 12th time that day, why that scene was the one he wanted to play over and over. After all, The Doctor does spend a great deal of time not handcuffed, right?
He looked at the both of us, and loudly stated "Because, it's HANDCUFFS."
'nuff said.
My husband and I asked him, after he'd asked to be "handcuffed" to the door with a ribbon for the 12th time that day, why that scene was the one he wanted to play over and over. After all, The Doctor does spend a great deal of time not handcuffed, right?
He looked at the both of us, and loudly stated "Because, it's HANDCUFFS."
'nuff said.
If anyone's interested
Heather suggested I sell floggers on etsy. So I set up an etsy shop with my lone surplus flogger.
If anyone's interested, here it is: Strawberry Ice Cream flogger.
I also linked to my make-a-flogger post in the comments section of the previous post, but since it's actually one of the most-searched-for pages here, I figured I'd go ahead and promote it to its own page. It's in the tab bar now, right next to the "about me" tab.
If anyone's interested, here it is: Strawberry Ice Cream flogger.
I also linked to my make-a-flogger post in the comments section of the previous post, but since it's actually one of the most-searched-for pages here, I figured I'd go ahead and promote it to its own page. It's in the tab bar now, right next to the "about me" tab.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
I love floggers
The swoosh, the impact, the glide. I think I'm addicted to making floggers.
My husband says I should sell them, or something. Otherwise we'll have way TOO many.
I made this one last night, on a whim. I actually dreamed about making a flogger last night. I couldn't get it right, it kept falling apart in my hands, and invisible critters kept cutting my cords. Thankfully this one came out beautifully.
I call it "Strawberry Ice Cream." It stings. It thuds. It strokes. It tickles. It draws the eye and makes me want to display it.
I love it.
I have enough stuff to make another one. I think I'll give it a go.
My husband says I should sell them, or something. Otherwise we'll have way TOO many.
I made this one last night, on a whim. I actually dreamed about making a flogger last night. I couldn't get it right, it kept falling apart in my hands, and invisible critters kept cutting my cords. Thankfully this one came out beautifully.
I call it "Strawberry Ice Cream." It stings. It thuds. It strokes. It tickles. It draws the eye and makes me want to display it.
I love it.
I have enough stuff to make another one. I think I'll give it a go.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
A little rope goes a long way
I've mentioned how our little one has taken to tying people up. He's now interesting in being tied up himself, thanks to The Doctor from Doctor Who: The Eleventh Hour. There's a scene in which the eleventh Doctor is handcuffed to the radiator in Amy's house, and my little boy wants to play that particular scene over and over and over, with himself as The Doctor.
So yesterday he asked me to take his ribbon, and make handcuffs out of it so I could tie him to our door, which apparently is a good radiator substitute. Always up for a challenge, I did it, then told my husband (at work) via instant message: "I just learned how to make handcuffs out of rope/ribbon/whatever, and it was super fast and easy!"
He responded: "You'll have to teach me."
So yesterday he asked me to take his ribbon, and make handcuffs out of it so I could tie him to our door, which apparently is a good radiator substitute. Always up for a challenge, I did it, then told my husband (at work) via instant message: "I just learned how to make handcuffs out of rope/ribbon/whatever, and it was super fast and easy!"
He responded: "You'll have to teach me."
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
So pretty
I made this flogger for my husband's birthday. The photo doesn't quite do justice to the way the light gleams from the falls.
I can hardly wait to have it used on me.
I can hardly wait to have it used on me.
Magic
My husband and I have birthdays that are really, really close. He was premature by a few weeks and born a few days after I was, and I always joke that he knew he had to get out to be with me. Those few days between our birthdays exist as a kind of extended celebration between us.
The night before his birthday, we had sex that passed over the midnight mark, and he sent orgasms rolling through my body one after the other while I moaned and kicked and slapped the bed helplessly. "Oh fuck yeah," he whispered in my ear as the spasms rocked me. The morning of his birthday, I slipped down his body before we had to get up and sucked him to an orgasm we both enjoyed a lot.
We spent the day together, doing things that were amazing in their ordinariness. We went to a vegan restaurant for lunch (we hardly ever go out, so this was special), we bought toys, we took little head to a playground, we came home and he opened his presents, we snuggled on the bed for a while, and then I cooked him a fantastic Indian feast with the dessert (not Indian) of his choice. It was exhausting, but there was this magic over the whole day.
I made a new flogger too, while he played with little person.
It's pretty.
He didn't use it yet.
He had a headache, so I thought we would just lie in each other's arms and stroke each other until we fell asleep, but then he started stroking me with his magic fingertips, sending tingles all over my body and causing soft pleased noises.. okay, sometimes loud pleased noises, to come out of me.
Then, as I felt his cock growing against me, I slid down to suck on it and I sucked for a long, long, long time. He just let me, not really pushing or trying to fuck my face, which is amazing because that's when I can really deep-throat him. I love it when I can take my time, just fully experience him with my mouth and throat.
Eventually he told me to stop... in fact, he said he'd told me to stop earlier, but I hadn't heard him and he hadn't pressed the issue. He did make me stop once when he felt an orgasm impending, "because I wouldn't be able to do anything else with you."
He spooned me, then slid inside me and his cock felt as hard as steel - and having experienced Njoy's pure wand, I know whereof I speak. "Oh wow," I gasped out, "that's really hard."
"You can take it, can't you?"
"Oh yesss."
"That's good, because I have every intention of fucking you with this thing," he told me, his voice soft, loving, his words making me tremble with want. We moved together, delicious, in love, and he came, later, with an intensity that I really, really enjoyed.
He fell asleep. I laid there for a few minutes, wanting to curl into his arms but not wanting to wake him. I finally decided I would try to curl into his arms without disturbing him, and of course, he woke up. "I didn't mean to wake you," I whispered, as he wrapped his arms around me.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he responded, squeezing me, kissing me, and then using his magic fingers all over my skin again.
"Why are you magic fingering me again?" I asked softly between gasps of pleasure.
"Because I want to make you feel good, love."
And he did. Oh, he did.
Afterwards, I asked "I thought you had a headache?"
He said simply "It went away."
Magical day.
So in love with this man, and so happy that we have each other.
Friday, February 17, 2012
I'll take orders from you anytime
Valentine's Day was harsh.
I was running all day, we finally got home around 9PM, little head finally went to sleep at around 10PM, I took a bath, and went to bed, feeling horrible, sick to my stomach, awful. My hair was still damp.
My husband joined me there in the bed and snuggled me, sorry for how bad I was feeling. He began rubbing my head, cupping the back of it with his palm and squeezing my whole head with his hand, pretty hard. I moaned with deep pleasure, because that feels so amazingly good.
Encouraged by my pleased noises, he kept going, grabbing some hair and tugging gently on it now and then. More happy noises emerged from me, and, despite my feeling horrible, I was really enjoying him and wanting to please him. I felt his cock growing harder against my backside.
Details are very fuzzy, but some of the things he said stuck in my fog enough I'd like to share them. You can probably get the general idea of the thing.
"What happened to the nice guy you married, huh? He's not here now, is he?"
"You don't feel good, but I want you. I want to use you. And you'll let me, because you're mine."
"If you felt better, I'd fuck your face. Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? I'd hold that pretty head of yours and I'd shove my cock into your mouth, just use it as a fuck hole."
"I'm going to take you now. I'm going to hold you down and use you for my pleasure."
"A slut like you doesn't even care if she's sick, she just wants to be used, just-like-this. Isn't that right?"
"No choice..." I whispered.
"That's right, you gave yourself to me, didn't you? Maybe not the best idea."
Deliciously evil.
It felt so good in that moment, not having a choice, feeling the pleasure whether I felt up to it or not.
My stomach felt better afterward too. Thankfully he didn't move me around too much.
After, as I lay breathing heavily in his arms, he stroked my hair and whispered "Happy Valentine's day, my love."
And what do you know? I suppose it was after all.
It really was the best idea.
I was running all day, we finally got home around 9PM, little head finally went to sleep at around 10PM, I took a bath, and went to bed, feeling horrible, sick to my stomach, awful. My hair was still damp.
My husband joined me there in the bed and snuggled me, sorry for how bad I was feeling. He began rubbing my head, cupping the back of it with his palm and squeezing my whole head with his hand, pretty hard. I moaned with deep pleasure, because that feels so amazingly good.
Encouraged by my pleased noises, he kept going, grabbing some hair and tugging gently on it now and then. More happy noises emerged from me, and, despite my feeling horrible, I was really enjoying him and wanting to please him. I felt his cock growing harder against my backside.
Details are very fuzzy, but some of the things he said stuck in my fog enough I'd like to share them. You can probably get the general idea of the thing.
"What happened to the nice guy you married, huh? He's not here now, is he?"
"You don't feel good, but I want you. I want to use you. And you'll let me, because you're mine."
"If you felt better, I'd fuck your face. Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? I'd hold that pretty head of yours and I'd shove my cock into your mouth, just use it as a fuck hole."
"I'm going to take you now. I'm going to hold you down and use you for my pleasure."
"A slut like you doesn't even care if she's sick, she just wants to be used, just-like-this. Isn't that right?"
"No choice..." I whispered.
"That's right, you gave yourself to me, didn't you? Maybe not the best idea."
Deliciously evil.
It felt so good in that moment, not having a choice, feeling the pleasure whether I felt up to it or not.
My stomach felt better afterward too. Thankfully he didn't move me around too much.
After, as I lay breathing heavily in his arms, he stroked my hair and whispered "Happy Valentine's day, my love."
And what do you know? I suppose it was after all.
It really was the best idea.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
I am not a prude
I read this a lot on sex blogs.
Dictionary.com says:
Prude does not mean "person who won't have a threesome," "person who doesn't want my fist inside them," or even, "person who doesn't want to have anal stimulation of any kind." Having preferences and limits about what you want sexually does not make you a prude. From the definition here, even knowing about those things in order to decide you don't want them makes you not a prude.
Perhaps we can even go so far as to make the logical leap that so much as writing a sex blog makes you automatically, by default, not a prude. Writing a sex blog does not mean that you are magically up for spinning the sex roulette to pick your sexual activity and number of partners. It just means you probably like sex a lot, and want to talk about it.
Which means you're not a prude.
I am not a prude, I've experienced some (threesomes, fisting, casual sex, insert activity here)What does this mean? Does this mean people who haven't done that activity are prudes? What's the definition of a prude, firstly, because I'm curious?
Dictionary.com says:
prude
Now I'm picturing someone having a cuppa with their sex, pinky out, asking in a calm, sort of uppity voice, "Please sir, may I have another orgasm?" *sip sip*
— n a person who affects or shows an excessively modest, prim, or proper attitude, esp regarding sex
Prude does not mean "person who won't have a threesome," "person who doesn't want my fist inside them," or even, "person who doesn't want to have anal stimulation of any kind." Having preferences and limits about what you want sexually does not make you a prude. From the definition here, even knowing about those things in order to decide you don't want them makes you not a prude.
Perhaps we can even go so far as to make the logical leap that so much as writing a sex blog makes you automatically, by default, not a prude. Writing a sex blog does not mean that you are magically up for spinning the sex roulette to pick your sexual activity and number of partners. It just means you probably like sex a lot, and want to talk about it.
Which means you're not a prude.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Happy Valentine's day!
A friend of mine posted this list of vintage valentine cards thinking they're creepy or weird, or whatever.
Another reason vanilla people confuse me.
I think some of them are a bit strange, in a "how's that even supposed to be sweet?" way, not a "that's too creepy!" way.. but I sent these two specifically to my husband. :)
Last night, as I was snuggled into my love's arms, he asked me if I'd gotten any comments on something I'd posted on facebook.
"Nuh-uh," I responded, "people don't like me."
"That's crazy talk," he said, "they like you more than I do."
I was stunned. My mouth opened. A little pained squeak came out.
"Wait wait wait wait!" he said quickly, turning over to wrap himself around me tighter, closer. "That's not what I meant! I meant they like you more than they like me!"
A few more squeaks and a lot of hair-stroking later, I collapsed into laughter at the entire situation.
This morning he gave me the sweetest card, with his own heartfelt message of geek love on it.
I adore him.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Best. Sex. Ever. (for now)
He wrote me a letter yesterday, telling me how awesome he thinks I am and how fantastic a wife and mother and person I am in general. He ended it saying that he could go on, but our child was in bed and we were alone and we should probably be doing other things with our time.
That made me smile.
I went to bed, and I was reading while he finished his bedtime stuff. I've been hoping to finish the novel.
"I want you to put the book down," he told me as he joined me in bed.
"You do, huh?"
"Yeah. I do. Though I suppose," he said as he landed a smack on my ass, "that I could do things to you while you read." He hit me a few more times.
I couldn't really focus, so I put the book down and turned toward him, smiling. He pulled my knees open and slapped my inner thigh, hard. I gasped and closed my legs.
"Awww, what's the matter?" he asked.
"It hurts!" I responded.
"Oh, huh. You know, it does hurt my hand a bit. You don't want me to hurt my hand, is that it?" He hit my hip, and my other hip. I squealed and wriggled, trying to turn away. He snaked his other hand behind my head and grabbed my wrist, holding it over my head.
He zeroed in on my breasts, and started hitting them, two or three blows and then switching to the other one. "Oooh, this doesn't hurt my hand at all. I bet it doesn't hurt you either, huh?" he asked.
"It does," I whispered, whimpering with each blow, heat spreading across my body.
"Are you sure?" he kept on going.
"Mmhmm," I panted between soft moans when he hit me.
"I think maybe you're feeling it wrong," he told me, continuing on as I writhed in his grasp, pulling at my wrist a bit. "I never got a chance to take you up on that blowjob you offered me last night. It's not too late to do that now, is it?"
I shook my head against his shoulder. He hit my breasts a few more times, not releasing his grip on my wrist.
That made me smile.
I went to bed, and I was reading while he finished his bedtime stuff. I've been hoping to finish the novel.
"I want you to put the book down," he told me as he joined me in bed.
"You do, huh?"
"Yeah. I do. Though I suppose," he said as he landed a smack on my ass, "that I could do things to you while you read." He hit me a few more times.
I couldn't really focus, so I put the book down and turned toward him, smiling. He pulled my knees open and slapped my inner thigh, hard. I gasped and closed my legs.
"Awww, what's the matter?" he asked.
"It hurts!" I responded.
"Oh, huh. You know, it does hurt my hand a bit. You don't want me to hurt my hand, is that it?" He hit my hip, and my other hip. I squealed and wriggled, trying to turn away. He snaked his other hand behind my head and grabbed my wrist, holding it over my head.
He zeroed in on my breasts, and started hitting them, two or three blows and then switching to the other one. "Oooh, this doesn't hurt my hand at all. I bet it doesn't hurt you either, huh?" he asked.
"It does," I whispered, whimpering with each blow, heat spreading across my body.
"Are you sure?" he kept on going.
"Mmhmm," I panted between soft moans when he hit me.
"I think maybe you're feeling it wrong," he told me, continuing on as I writhed in his grasp, pulling at my wrist a bit. "I never got a chance to take you up on that blowjob you offered me last night. It's not too late to do that now, is it?"
I shook my head against his shoulder. He hit my breasts a few more times, not releasing his grip on my wrist.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Sex dreams
For the third night in a row, I had a sex dream.
This one was really, really weird, though.
We were in our bed like normal, except on the other side of me there was an angel. Perfect, sculpted, glowing hair, etc.
We were all naked.
I've been reading the book Good Omens (which is awesome, btw) and it has a demon and an angel in it, so possibly this is where the angel came from.
I had memories in the dream of the angel helping us out with some task, and coming to bed with us the night before, but being distracted by and having to go talk to a glowing light outside the window which I assumed was God. So this was the second night he'd come to bed with us.
I got the impression that this angel preferred men, so I did my best to not say anything, just touch him lightly, feather touches designed to give him chills. My husband had been stroking me and fell asleep pretty soon, not interested in the bed's other occupant.
The light appeared in the window again, and the angel turned his body in that direction as if to go, but somehow his legs were atop me and his body formed a cross with mine. I stroked his lower back, across his ass, his thighs. He groaned and arched upward into my touch. The light pulsed outside the window. I dipped my fingers between his cheeks to stroke across his sensitive bits there, and I used my other hand to circle his thick cock, which was just kind of bobbing there underneath him.
I just kept touching him like this for a long time, once in a while pressing a little kiss to his thigh. Eventually he got over me, himself, whatever, and he went to the light and disappeared.
My husband woke up, in the dream, and snuggled up to me while eyeing me suspiciously. "What did you guys do?" he asked, clearly expressing that he wouldn't approve of many things we could have done while he slumbered.
"I just touched him some." I responded.
"Huh, okay then."
I'm not even sure I feel comfortable having had this dream! But having had this dream, I felt the need to share it.
This one was really, really weird, though.
We were in our bed like normal, except on the other side of me there was an angel. Perfect, sculpted, glowing hair, etc.
We were all naked.
I've been reading the book Good Omens (which is awesome, btw) and it has a demon and an angel in it, so possibly this is where the angel came from.
I had memories in the dream of the angel helping us out with some task, and coming to bed with us the night before, but being distracted by and having to go talk to a glowing light outside the window which I assumed was God. So this was the second night he'd come to bed with us.
I got the impression that this angel preferred men, so I did my best to not say anything, just touch him lightly, feather touches designed to give him chills. My husband had been stroking me and fell asleep pretty soon, not interested in the bed's other occupant.
The light appeared in the window again, and the angel turned his body in that direction as if to go, but somehow his legs were atop me and his body formed a cross with mine. I stroked his lower back, across his ass, his thighs. He groaned and arched upward into my touch. The light pulsed outside the window. I dipped my fingers between his cheeks to stroke across his sensitive bits there, and I used my other hand to circle his thick cock, which was just kind of bobbing there underneath him.
I just kept touching him like this for a long time, once in a while pressing a little kiss to his thigh. Eventually he got over me, himself, whatever, and he went to the light and disappeared.
My husband woke up, in the dream, and snuggled up to me while eyeing me suspiciously. "What did you guys do?" he asked, clearly expressing that he wouldn't approve of many things we could have done while he slumbered.
"I just touched him some." I responded.
"Huh, okay then."
I'm not even sure I feel comfortable having had this dream! But having had this dream, I felt the need to share it.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Asking for more: spanko edition
After my previous post, a commenter posed this wonderful question, and I thought it deserved more attention than I could really give it in the comments section:
Mostly my breasts.
But, since my husband started out vanilla, I was really worried about asking him to hit my sensitive parts, the parts he normally stroked gently, kissed tenderly, and generally caused to feel really nice by being nice to them. I didn't want him to think I was an even bigger freak. He was very aware of my generally submissive sexuality, but the thought of actually punishing parts of me that so enjoyed being treasured never even occurred to him.
It became clear, over time, that if I wanted this I'd have to do something. Probably ask for it.
No big deal, right? He already knew I was submissive, that I enjoyed bondage, that I liked being spanked, being "forced" to perform sexually, and on, and on.
Wrong. It was a big freaking deal to me. I don't know why. Just, somehow, coming out and randomly saying "please spank my breasts!" seemed completely unthinkable, undoable. The idea made my breath catch in my throat, I'd choke on my own words.
So, he'd spank me in the normal way, and we'd move on to more intimate moments. He'd have his hand on my breast, stroking gently, groping, or squeezing, and I'd arch toward his hand and plead, "Hit me, please hit me."
My poor husband. He would comply. He'd move his hand from my breast and strike my ass.
Not quite what I was going for.
I believe I tried it like that for some months, always with the same result. I wasn't trying every night, just when circumstances combined to make it seem natural. It just wouldn't register to him that hitting a woman's breast was a thing you could do, no matter how tempting a target I would try to make for him.
I realized I'd have to ramp up my game a bit.
So, finally, we were spooned together, he was kissing my neck, squeezing my breast, tugging gently on my nipple. I was running my fingertips over the back of his hand, over his arm, as I often do. I stopped my hand over his, lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed it passionately, tenderly, then replaced it on my breast. I squeezed his hand down over my breast, hard enough to hurt (because I like that), and arched my back, pressing my flesh even more into his hand. "Hit me, here, please," I begged, my voice soft. I pressed his hand down against me a little more before slowly lifting my hand away from his.
"Hit you here?" he asked, massaging me gently.
"Yes, please."
"But you're sensitive there." He tugged on my nipple to prove his point, and I moaned softly.
"I know."
"If you say so," he said, and he hit me.
It was good.
He has never taken my requests for being struck in one area as carte blanche to strike me in any other, which is actually excellent, even though the asking part feels awkward. So, after the success of the request for the breast spanking, and he didn't seem to think I was any more a freak than he already did, I eventually figured that I could ask for other things in much the same way, without having to have a "talk."
So my inner thighs were the next thing... though that didn't happen in any real heat of a moment, I just pressed his hand to my inner thigh one day when he was rubbing me there idly and said "I'd really like it if you'd hit me here sometime."
Again I got the "But you're really sensitive there."
Again he got the "I know."
He didn't hit me that day.. but he did remember, and eventually it became something that would happen when he felt like it.
Somehow, having the conversation when you don't have to name the parts you'd like to be hit makes it so much easier. He was just beginning to rub my pussy the day I asked for him to hit me there. He was very, very unsure about that one. He will still only hit me once or twice there - but life's a journey, and we're making lots of progress and enjoying ourselves a whole lot too.
I'm interested to know how you approached your husband to do more than just spank my bum? I'd love if DH would slap/spank other areas, but I'm afraid to mention it to him.I remember, once I got him to start spanking me and he'd been doing it for some time, fervently wishing for blows to something besides my bottom. Specifically, my breasts, and at times, my inner thighs, my pussy, and often, the backs of my thighs.
Mostly my breasts.
But, since my husband started out vanilla, I was really worried about asking him to hit my sensitive parts, the parts he normally stroked gently, kissed tenderly, and generally caused to feel really nice by being nice to them. I didn't want him to think I was an even bigger freak. He was very aware of my generally submissive sexuality, but the thought of actually punishing parts of me that so enjoyed being treasured never even occurred to him.
It became clear, over time, that if I wanted this I'd have to do something. Probably ask for it.
No big deal, right? He already knew I was submissive, that I enjoyed bondage, that I liked being spanked, being "forced" to perform sexually, and on, and on.
Wrong. It was a big freaking deal to me. I don't know why. Just, somehow, coming out and randomly saying "please spank my breasts!" seemed completely unthinkable, undoable. The idea made my breath catch in my throat, I'd choke on my own words.
So, he'd spank me in the normal way, and we'd move on to more intimate moments. He'd have his hand on my breast, stroking gently, groping, or squeezing, and I'd arch toward his hand and plead, "Hit me, please hit me."
My poor husband. He would comply. He'd move his hand from my breast and strike my ass.
Not quite what I was going for.
I believe I tried it like that for some months, always with the same result. I wasn't trying every night, just when circumstances combined to make it seem natural. It just wouldn't register to him that hitting a woman's breast was a thing you could do, no matter how tempting a target I would try to make for him.
I realized I'd have to ramp up my game a bit.
So, finally, we were spooned together, he was kissing my neck, squeezing my breast, tugging gently on my nipple. I was running my fingertips over the back of his hand, over his arm, as I often do. I stopped my hand over his, lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed it passionately, tenderly, then replaced it on my breast. I squeezed his hand down over my breast, hard enough to hurt (because I like that), and arched my back, pressing my flesh even more into his hand. "Hit me, here, please," I begged, my voice soft. I pressed his hand down against me a little more before slowly lifting my hand away from his.
"Hit you here?" he asked, massaging me gently.
"Yes, please."
"But you're sensitive there." He tugged on my nipple to prove his point, and I moaned softly.
"I know."
"If you say so," he said, and he hit me.
It was good.
He has never taken my requests for being struck in one area as carte blanche to strike me in any other, which is actually excellent, even though the asking part feels awkward. So, after the success of the request for the breast spanking, and he didn't seem to think I was any more a freak than he already did, I eventually figured that I could ask for other things in much the same way, without having to have a "talk."
So my inner thighs were the next thing... though that didn't happen in any real heat of a moment, I just pressed his hand to my inner thigh one day when he was rubbing me there idly and said "I'd really like it if you'd hit me here sometime."
Again I got the "But you're really sensitive there."
Again he got the "I know."
He didn't hit me that day.. but he did remember, and eventually it became something that would happen when he felt like it.
Somehow, having the conversation when you don't have to name the parts you'd like to be hit makes it so much easier. He was just beginning to rub my pussy the day I asked for him to hit me there. He was very, very unsure about that one. He will still only hit me once or twice there - but life's a journey, and we're making lots of progress and enjoying ourselves a whole lot too.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Wow, wow, wow, wow
Wow.
I wrote a fantasy scene out for my husband, and he, completely unexpectedly, carried it out, but ramped way, way up.
He told me to kiss him, and while I was doing so, he grabbed my wrist and pushed me onto my back, his fingers encircling the wrist, gripping hard. I loved it. He started talking about my breast, said he liked it. He stroked it, tugged on the nipple, causing gentle tingles all over me, and lots of "mmm, mmm, mmmmmmmm"s to come out of me. Unexpectedly, he slapped it hard, and my "mmmm" turned into an "ooof," as my body cringed, curled up, trying to protect itself. I forced it back down, and he slapped my breast again.
"I like to see how you react to things I do to this breast," he said, hitting it several more times. It burned. He moved his face over and started rubbing his bristles against my nipple. I squirmed, trying to get away. "Oooh, three days of no shaving make a lot of stubble, wouldn't you say?" he asked as he kept rubbing that sandpaper chin against my sensitive flesh.
I wrote a fantasy scene out for my husband, and he, completely unexpectedly, carried it out, but ramped way, way up.
He told me to kiss him, and while I was doing so, he grabbed my wrist and pushed me onto my back, his fingers encircling the wrist, gripping hard. I loved it. He started talking about my breast, said he liked it. He stroked it, tugged on the nipple, causing gentle tingles all over me, and lots of "mmm, mmm, mmmmmmmm"s to come out of me. Unexpectedly, he slapped it hard, and my "mmmm" turned into an "ooof," as my body cringed, curled up, trying to protect itself. I forced it back down, and he slapped my breast again.
"I like to see how you react to things I do to this breast," he said, hitting it several more times. It burned. He moved his face over and started rubbing his bristles against my nipple. I squirmed, trying to get away. "Oooh, three days of no shaving make a lot of stubble, wouldn't you say?" he asked as he kept rubbing that sandpaper chin against my sensitive flesh.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Disappointment
For starters, I just want to say that I love it when we're having sex in the spoons position and he pushes against the base of my neck with one hand while pulling back on my hair with the other. Mmmmmmm...
And now for something completely different! Here's a couple of questions.
As a submissive, how often do you feel disappointment at your dominant partner's attentions, or lack thereof?
This could range from mild disappointment at a spanking not lasting long enough, to more severe disappointment at a lack of spankings, sex, control, whatever.
Conversely, as a dominant, how often do you feel you've disappointed the submissive?
I'll start.
I occasionally feel mild disappointment that certain things don't happen, "but it's okay." The mild disappointment is cumulative, though, and I feel like it's not very submissive to feel that way, so it kind of spirals downward until he gets around to beating that out of me. Ask for a spanking/sex/scene/specific activity? Hard, man. I feel like if he wanted to, he would, so he must not want to, so me asking is essentially asking him to do something he'd prefer not to.
Yeah, like that. Who wants to do that?
The flip side of the coin is that he has no idea what's going on in my head, so by the time it has spiraled out of control he feels like he's disappointed ME.
Which feels entirely wrong to me as well. No-win situation.
So, on with the rest of you!
And now for something completely different! Here's a couple of questions.
As a submissive, how often do you feel disappointment at your dominant partner's attentions, or lack thereof?
This could range from mild disappointment at a spanking not lasting long enough, to more severe disappointment at a lack of spankings, sex, control, whatever.
Conversely, as a dominant, how often do you feel you've disappointed the submissive?
I'll start.
I occasionally feel mild disappointment that certain things don't happen, "but it's okay." The mild disappointment is cumulative, though, and I feel like it's not very submissive to feel that way, so it kind of spirals downward until he gets around to beating that out of me. Ask for a spanking/sex/scene/specific activity? Hard, man. I feel like if he wanted to, he would, so he must not want to, so me asking is essentially asking him to do something he'd prefer not to.
Yeah, like that. Who wants to do that?
The flip side of the coin is that he has no idea what's going on in my head, so by the time it has spiraled out of control he feels like he's disappointed ME.
Which feels entirely wrong to me as well. No-win situation.
So, on with the rest of you!
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Feeding the trolls
Last night, my husband, for whom I feel absolute adoration, slid his cock into my mouth, while holding the sides of my head, pulling my hair, and calling me a "good little fuckhole."
My inner sex slave freaking loved this.
He also hit my ass until his hand hurt, then switched to the flogger, saying "You don't want my hand to hurt, do you?"
I was hurting quite a lot from the impacts and I whined. "You complain a lot!" he told me, "I guess I should beat you until you stop."
Another choice line of his, following a particularly loud yelp of mine resulting from a flogger strike: "Oh, does that hurt? It's okay, it didn't hurt my hand at all."
After the sex, we fell asleep together. I woke up later, too hot, unable to breathe, feeling sick. I whined a lot. He sympathized, even though he was sleeping with no problems himself. I had to drink a cup of ice water, take all the blankets off me, and ask him to turn the fan straight onto my naked body to even go back to sleep.
Even later, I woke up again, freezing, begging for blankets.
Again, he sympathized, helped me out, wrapped me in his arms. The man's a furnace. No complaints from him. He loves me, felt bad for me, did what he could to help.
I share sex here on my blog, the hottest sex we have as best I can recall it. It's lovely, wonderful, I couldn't ask for a better, more thoughtful, considerate lover. He does things to me because I've asked him to, I've told him the sorts of things I fantasize about, and he tries to make those fantasies come to life, even hotter. I don't usually include what happens beyond sex, though I do occasionally share a snippet of our lives together when the mood strikes me.
I don't need therapy for how I have sex. I might need therapy, as it's been said we all do - but not for sex.
I love the sex we have, and have no angst at all about it. It's delicious, magnificent, and it only gets better as the years pass and we discover more about each other.
I've never been called anyone's mistress before.
How my husband and I choose to express ourselves during sex is a matter of personal preference. I'm a little surprised and amused that someone would come to a BDSM related sex blog and expect anything else. Honestly, being called "bitch" once in a while is pretty low on the "list of kinks sorted by extremity." Oh, that doesn't exist? I should get on that.
I'm delighted that my husband and I are secure enough in our love and relationship that a bit of degradation talk for the sake of a kink doesn't damage anything in the slightest. If anything, it makes me love him more that he does this, overcoming his own discomfort because of how he's been socialized NOT to do these exact things.
Indeed, one shouldn't do these things unless one has been asked! Consent, consent, consent! Next on my to-do list, "The Consent Song!"
I congratulate this one troll on at least having excellent English abilities. The higher class troll such as that is really something to be proud of. If it hadn't been such a well-spoken, amusing troll, I'd have deleted it straight off, and had no reason for this post!
Well, I could have written more about the sex....
My inner sex slave freaking loved this.
He also hit my ass until his hand hurt, then switched to the flogger, saying "You don't want my hand to hurt, do you?"
I was hurting quite a lot from the impacts and I whined. "You complain a lot!" he told me, "I guess I should beat you until you stop."
Another choice line of his, following a particularly loud yelp of mine resulting from a flogger strike: "Oh, does that hurt? It's okay, it didn't hurt my hand at all."
After the sex, we fell asleep together. I woke up later, too hot, unable to breathe, feeling sick. I whined a lot. He sympathized, even though he was sleeping with no problems himself. I had to drink a cup of ice water, take all the blankets off me, and ask him to turn the fan straight onto my naked body to even go back to sleep.
Even later, I woke up again, freezing, begging for blankets.
Again, he sympathized, helped me out, wrapped me in his arms. The man's a furnace. No complaints from him. He loves me, felt bad for me, did what he could to help.
I share sex here on my blog, the hottest sex we have as best I can recall it. It's lovely, wonderful, I couldn't ask for a better, more thoughtful, considerate lover. He does things to me because I've asked him to, I've told him the sorts of things I fantasize about, and he tries to make those fantasies come to life, even hotter. I don't usually include what happens beyond sex, though I do occasionally share a snippet of our lives together when the mood strikes me.
I don't need therapy for how I have sex. I might need therapy, as it's been said we all do - but not for sex.
I love the sex we have, and have no angst at all about it. It's delicious, magnificent, and it only gets better as the years pass and we discover more about each other.
I've never been called anyone's mistress before.
How my husband and I choose to express ourselves during sex is a matter of personal preference. I'm a little surprised and amused that someone would come to a BDSM related sex blog and expect anything else. Honestly, being called "bitch" once in a while is pretty low on the "list of kinks sorted by extremity." Oh, that doesn't exist? I should get on that.
I'm delighted that my husband and I are secure enough in our love and relationship that a bit of degradation talk for the sake of a kink doesn't damage anything in the slightest. If anything, it makes me love him more that he does this, overcoming his own discomfort because of how he's been socialized NOT to do these exact things.
Indeed, one shouldn't do these things unless one has been asked! Consent, consent, consent! Next on my to-do list, "The Consent Song!"
I congratulate this one troll on at least having excellent English abilities. The higher class troll such as that is really something to be proud of. If it hadn't been such a well-spoken, amusing troll, I'd have deleted it straight off, and had no reason for this post!
Well, I could have written more about the sex....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)