Social issues: Feminism vs. Homelessness, an anecdote

I know, you all are still anxiously awaiting my second post about how I became the pervert I am today. But that requires a lot of introspection and my visitors do not allow time for such things as introspection. It is half done, but today I have for you a story that leaves me feeling a little unhappy.

During a bit of a holiday in San Francisco, we stopped to be amazed at and take tons of photographs of Ruth Asawa's San Francisco Fountain. I had the camera and I wanted a photo of the plaque so I could read it later, and my husband wandered around the other side of the fountain to look at the sculptures there.

It's really something. If you're ever in San Francisco you should make it a point to see it. We just happened on it accidentally, but it's really beautiful. This guy came up while I was taking photos of the different parts of the fountain, seemingly having waited until my husband left my side.

"Hey, take my picture," he said, posing with the fountain.

I was stunned. Not used to random people wanting me to take their pictures with my own camera. Have taken other people's photos with their cameras plenty of times in the years I've been travelling, but never this. WTF. "You want me to take your picture?" I asked, a little confused.

"Yeah, go ahead." He posed, but my camera has a tiny lag, and he looked over at my husband by the time the photo snapped. You can see him right on the edge of the photo, the guy is looking at him. Yummy.

This guy came over to me and said "Let me see," so I complied with the request but he never really looked. It was a bright sunny day and I'd been using the digital viewfinder all day just to see my own photos, hadn't even bothered with the larger screen - it was almost impossible to see. He started rambling off about being from Jamaica.

"That's cool," I said.

"I just need a dollar to get me a hot dog," he said, done with the pretense of friendliness.

"I don't carry money," I responded. I had $10 for all of us to get on the bus later, but that was it. Even if I had money I wouldn't want it spent on a hot dog. I'm a vegan and I don't carry money! Last time I had to tell that to homeless people I DID have half a package of Fig Newmans on me and I gave them that. I'm certainly not heartless.

"Oh c'mon," he said, "everyone says that!"

"It's true!" I said.

He stalked away from me angrily and I heard his muttered words drift back to me on the wind: "Greedy lying bitch..."

Even if I was! I was trying to have a moment alone with my husband - our little one and my mom had just taken their leave of us for the duration of the few minutes it took for us to see this fountain, and this guy ruined that, suddenly made me feel unsafe.

We work hard. We don't take a lot of travel time nowadays, since we had the little one. What right does this guy have to first intrude on my personal space, make me feel unsafe, and then to call me a liar and storm away?

I was first extremely shaken - I didn't finish taking as many photographs as I would have liked of the fountain, and my husband came back over to me and I wrapped my arm around his waist, asking him not to leave me. As I got over being shaken, I became flat-out angry that I couldn't be left alone at all - regardless of if my husband was mere feet from me - without this guy trying to make some kind of gain from it.

As it happened, the guy took off in the same direction we were going, back to Union Square Park, and we saw him doing his routine with several other women who were alone. He cupped his hands around the cigarette of one to shield it from the wind while she lit it before he went into his spiel about the hot dog.

Okay. I have a place to sleep tonight.

But a homeless man still takes advantage of his male privilege and manages to make me feel unsafe and belittled even when I am completely willing to talk to him and be open and honest.

I am pissed, and now in the safety of my own home, I feel a little guilty for being pissed.

What the hell is up with that?

Sex after the show

My husband helps me when I wax my armpits, which honestly I don't do that often. I can't keep the tension up on my skin and pull, and so I hold  my arm up and he pulls. I knelt next to him and he yanked, hard and fast, and all the hair left my sensitive skin. I rocked with the pain as if from a blow. When I do it in small patches it doesn't hurt that much and I actually really enjoy it, but this was all of it in one go.

It turns me on.

"You're good at pulling out my hair," I whispered to him a little while later, as we snuggled into the bed together. It had been a long evening; we'd been out to a show and then come home after 11:00.

"I'm good at just pulling your hair too," he told me, pulling me toward him, threading his fingers through my hair and tugging. I curled into him instinctively, though my exhaustion threatened to claim me. His other hand roamed all over my body with the complete confidence of ownership. "I like pulling your hair," he said, as his hand roamed to my breast and he pinched my nipple, hard and slow.

"Ohhhhh," my mouth opened in a circle of pained surprise. Thoughts of sleep fled as I arched into his touch. I was still exhausted, but he was going to take what he wanted and that was powerfully arousing.

"I like pinching your nipples. I like slapping your breasts," he said as he flipped his hand back and did just that, making me jump and move back against him. "I like making you squirm and make noises."

He slapped the top of my thigh and I jumped at the sudden intense pain. "Oh fuck," I half screamed, half whispered.

"Oh, are you sensitive there?" his voice dripped false solicitude, and he shoved my thighs apart and hit me again on the inner thigh, eliciting the same reaction. "You really shouldn't let a man hit you where you're sensitive." He slapped my breasts several times, alternating his strikes between them. "Mine!" he crowed as an exultant aside, before continuing his little speech. "You should probably find some man who'll take better care of you." I was squirming as he alternated blows and caresses, the two kinds of pleasure mingling together and setting my brain afire. I was gasping, groaning, whispering "oh fuck" a lot.

There is no man to take better care of me, I thought, but didn't have the presence of mind to say.

"You must trust a man an awful lot to let him do all these things to you." He slapped my right breast over and over and I could feel my nipple begin to really burn.

"I do, but you're not a very nice man," I whispered as I shuddered, a moan escaping me at each strike to my flesh.

"Oh? Why is that?" he sucked my nipple in to his mouth and bit down lightly, pinching the other one. I cried out. "Hmm? Why am I not a nice man?"

I tossed my head back and forth as he hit me, waiting for his answer. "It's not nice to hurt people," I finally managed between my gasps of mingled pain and pleasure.

"Oh, no, it's not. But you're not exactly 'people,' are you?" He slapped my breast right on the nipple several times. "And I don't remember there being anything wrong with hurting property."

"Oh, fuck," I said, his words hitting me right where they were aimed, in the pit of my stomach, curling hot fingers of need there. I opened my legs as far as possible in a not-subtle-at-all hint, craving his touch there. His hand stroked down my body from my tingling, burning nipple to my pussy, and his finger dragged the pooled wetness from my opening to my clit. I gasped loudly and arched up against his touch.

"Ooh, wet little slut," he whispered with pleasure. "I bet you want something in here," he said, sliding a finger inside me to my very loud agreement. A second finger joined the first inside me. "I bet you're aching for a hot, hard cock in here, aren't you?" He thrust his fingers slowly, teasing my clit with his thumb.

"Please," I begged, incoherent from desire.

"Please what, slut?"

I whimpered, humping into his hand.

"Come on, let me hear it."

I continued whimpering. "Please fuck me," I finally managed to beg.

"Oh, is that what you want? Of course that's what you want, cock slut." He moved on top of me and rubbed his cock against my pussy, pressing just the head inside me and rocking his hips. "Feel my cock, baby? It's getting wet inside you. You're so fucking wet." His thrusts got slowly deeper as his cock lubricated itself inside me, as I responded to each of his sentences with a loud moan. "It's going to fuck you now. How much have you been thinking of this cock fucking you today, baby?"

"Oh, fuck," I gasped out as he sank inside me fully, pinning me down, his slim weight pressing me into the mattress, "a lot, I've been thinking of it a lot." I pressed my heels down into the bed and rotated my hips against him, squeezing him inside me. So fucking good.

"Of course you have. You're a cock slut, aren't you?" he asked rhetorically as he raised up on his hands and began thrusting hard and fast.

I grabbed my ankles and pressed my heels against his shoulder blades, rocking with him.

"Oh, what a good girl, to offer up your fuck hole to me like that. My fuck hole. Mine." We moved like that for a while, his mouth seeking mine and claiming it in a series of long, searing kisses. My ankles began to ache and I opened my legs wider, holding them up in the air on either side of him.

"Quite the slut, aren't you, holding your legs up like that for me to fuck your hole? That's what you're for, isn't it, for me to fuck?"

So incredibly graphic, his language almost obscene, and he was talking about me. No, that can't be me he's talking about. Yes, fuck, yes, it is.

"I'm for you to fuck," I agreed, and something about that phrase caught my voice and I kept repeating it, over and over, gasping it out breathlessly. Somewhere in the midst of all of that an orgasm overtook me, spasms rocking me as he moved slowly inside of me. "I love you so much," I remember whispering as the spasms subsided.

He kissed me again and again, and I ground up into him, once again pressing my feet into the mattress for better leverage. He grew louder as his orgasm approached, and he pressed deeply inside of me as his cock pulsed, grinding extra gasps of pleasure out of me.

He rolled off of me and pulled me into his arms, stroking my hair and whispering lovely things to me.

"That was fucking amazing," I whispered against his chest, breathing hard, completely owned in that moment.

We fell asleep very quickly.

Tuesday morning

That's a store, did you guys know that? We have some awesome towels from there, silk/cotton/bamboo. Fabulous.

This post is not about the store, or even about the awesomely soft and absorbent properties of bamboo, from which our new bed sheets are also made, because it's awesome. Wait, no, the post isn't about bamboo.

It is about what happened between those sheets this Tuesday morning.

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know I have a thing for giving my husband blow jobs in the morning before he goes to work. Even when we're both too exhausted for that, he's always come back to bed for 30 minutes to an hour of snuggle time after he's gotten ready for work.

This morning, he slid his hand under my nightshirt and pulled me close to him, spooning me, and I had a brief flashback to Saturday evening. A quick flash of him saying "Oh, there's not much room here. I'm going to force my way in though" went past my brain, along with the sensations that accompanied the words, the feeling of his cock beginning to press inside me, and I shuddered and gave a little cry.

"What was that?" he asked me.

"A thought I had," I responded.

"Ooh, were you thinking about me?" He pulled me closer, asked the question into my ear.

"Yes."

"Me.. doing things to you?"

"Yes."

"Me...  hurting you?"

"No... is this even important?" I laughed, slid my left wrist into his left hand where it was lying next to my head, rolling onto my back to better see him.

He persisted. "Me.. penetrating you?"

I shuddered. "Yes."

"Oh I think you like it when I penetrate you. I think you like being full, being full of me.." his grip tightened around my wrist, and with the index finger of his free hand he delicately traced my lips. "Such a lovely mouth you have," he whispered as I made small whimpery noises. He slid that finger between my lips. I sucked, and he just kept sliding it into my mouth, deeper and deeper until it was all inside, stroking my tongue. The rest of the fingers of his hand wrapped around my face, squeezing it as he spoke to me of sex and arousal and penetration. "You like it best when I penetrate you in multiple places, don't you?"

I made a noise of agreement around the hand that was penetrating and silencing me, and I squirmed against him, very very aroused. I felt his cock, pressing against the side of my thigh.

"Suck my cock for me now," he said, sliding his hand out of my mouth and gripping the back of my head as I moved to do as he bade me.

I could feel my arousal seeping between my thighs as I took him in my mouth, wrapping my arms around his hips and pulling him to me. "Good girl," he told me as I sucked and moaned and squeezed his ass with my hands. I certainly hadn't been expecting any of this. We'd fallen asleep exhausted the night before, with no end of nights like that in sight. The next surprise was about to come.

His hands were pulling my hair, urging me on, calling me names, when he suddenly asked me "Would you like to be fucked in your pussy now?"

I squealed loudly around his cock, excited beyond belief, not having been prepared for such a question, and yet wondering if he was just teasing me. I squeezed my thighs together and felt everything squish there. I kept sucking despite my eager agreement, not sure if he just wanted to know how badly I wanted him at that moment. He let me continue for a few moments and then said "You're not letting go of my cock. Come on, turn over."

I turned over quickly once he pulled me off his cock. "Is there a horny pussy somewhere here for me?" he asked, stroking my slit with his fingers briefly, feeling my wetness. "Oh yes, there it is," he said, pressing the head of his cock against my opening and pressing in with one smooth stroke.

I groaned as he entered me, slapping the bed several times to relieve the intense pressure without a lot of volume, because others were awake now too. At least the door was closed this time.

"Oh yes," he whispered, his voice gravelly with lust, "that's a good fuck hole."

I couldn't help it, I squealed. The words, the cock, the movements.

He didn't rush through it this time. He took his time, we moved, lost in delicious bliss, and when he finally came inside me his fingers were playing with my clit. Knowing we didn't have a lot of time, I slipped down his body and cleaned his cock with my mouth. "Oh, good slut, what a good girl to clean my cock with your mouth."

I slid back up his body, he gathered me back into his arms and then his fingers were playing with me again. The pleasure built and built, and he raised up on his elbow to slide fingers inside of me while his thumb played against my clit. Just as he rubbed against my g-spot, the alarm to tell us both to get up to get him to work went off, buzzing next to my head on the bed where I'd put his phone. I groaned with disappointment but he ignored the alarm and kept going. "Yeah, take it, that's a good girl, that's my good little cock slut," he told me as I spasmed, clinging to his shoulder.

I touched the phone with the back of my hand to make it stop buzzing and we laid there for another minute as I gasped with the unexpected pleasure of morning sex AND orgasm. "Oh, lovely lovely husband," I gasped out, stroking his side, giving him several kisses before I pulled away so we didn't make him late.

And then I went and got dressed in 8 minutes or less and we were out the door.

That's my kind of Tuesday morning.

Promises, promises

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For fuck's sake: in the news

This is an interruption in my series, which I will continue, but I felt the need to rant a bit, for the sake of fucking everywhere.

Porn Harms National Awareness Campaign
http://www.iphc.org/news/join-porn-harms-national-awareness-campaign

Apparently porn is harmful to our national awareness? So watching porn means you're less nationally aware. Regardless of the poor choice of words here, what the fuck?

"Pornography is destroying society. It is destroying the lives of those around us -and the church is not immune to the effects of pornography. It's time to take a stand. Join us in the fight to end pornography. "

I pasted that to my husband and then immediately afterward felt I needed to wash out my clipboard. With BLEACH.

So consenting adults performing sex acts for cameras is destroying society?

Let's see what their points are.


The program aims to spread awareness about four specific areas:
Pornography Addiction - So anything that can be addictive must be ended? Painkillers, alcohol, gambling? Sex? Right, all those, into the bin, on with it!

Harm to Children - I'm sorry, what? 'cause you're straight up linking standard porn with child-porn, or...what are you doing here? Parents watching porn isn't going to cause harm to children.

Links to Sex Trafficking - Some people in porn are in nonsensual situations. I get that. But porn isn't the problem. Removing porn won't remove the people from the situations. In fact, if it comes to court, removing the porn removes the evidence, yesno?

Violence Against Women - ..... I don't get this. Are we talking BDSM-themed porn now, perhaps, that somehow... promotes violence against women? Oh, you mean like my blog? 'cause when I say I like this stuff, I fucking mean it. Or are no-photo sex blogs even considered pornography? I'm unsure, but with these folks probably anything vaguely referencing sex is porn. Porn promotes violence against women less than your standard horror flicks do, because at least the woman in the porn are probably liking it.

I don't generally like watching porn for myself, but I certainly do appreciate reading it, and since being in/watching/reading porn is a choice made by consenting adults, it's not anyone's business to take that away.

Then there's this:
http://www.neatorama.com/2012/04/18/what-is-gateway-sexual-activity/

I despair. Hand holding is a gateway sexual activity now? WTF, people? These kids are going to figure out how their parts work. I was figuring this stuff out at 12-13, thankfully with books and not with another kid who could make me pregnant, since I knew enough to know that could happen, thanks to my mom's frank discussion with me.

Oddly she's FOR abstinence-only education in schools and now I wish I hadn't opened that can of worms at all.

What's your opinion on these topics?

Becoming, part I

As I get older, I find that I don't change so much as I become more myself. I shed layers of social conditioning that I never realized I could do without, and once I do, the result is far more "me" than what I was before.

My husband has played a large part in that, but he's not where it started.

The home I grew up in was loving, but extremely conservative. I was home schooled and my mom worked long hours. I spent a lot of time alone, but the time we spent as a family, my mom, her parents, and me, found a lot of talk about race and religion and choice and I was so often left with a bad taste in my mouth. In my young mind I thought that's just the way the world was, even though racism and fundamentalist Baptist teachings just made my mind boggle. I definitely developed my own opinions quite early, but I knew better than to sow dissent at home. I had to live there. My mom sympathized with me, and nurtured my having of opinions when we were alone, but she just wanted me to stay silent when we were in a family group. It made her life easier because her parents would light into her if they thought she was raising a liberal.

I discovered Star Trek at 13, and my jaw hung open. These folks. They supported each other, they believed in each other, they didn't care what color anyone was, and the Vulcans. IDIC, oh, yes, Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations changed my life. The way it was in my house wasn't just The Way, it was A Way, and not a very good one. Oh, wow. First epiphany. Star Trek led me to every other kind of science fiction, TV and books and to the X-Men comics and the entire world opened up. The X-Men and their extreme diversity and sense of family despite all their differences wormed their way right into my little geek heart and my opinions got even stronger from this point. One layer of unnecessary junk away, and more "me" was left behind.

My grandmother was big on reading "little love stories," Harlequin romances, religious romance books, and chaste historical romances from Barbara Cartland. I read plenty of those too, but I always felt something was missing. I was about 13, yeah, around Star Trek discovery time, when I started wishing for more descriptive sex writing in those romances, and to please please please read a romance that my grandmother hadn't first verified as suitable for me. Any other book I could read! I read young adult novels and Elizabeth Goudge and Nancy Drew books by the armload from the library. So why not romance? What on earth could be so bad? I read Green Dolphin Street when I was 8; I was a clever girl. Books could only help me learn, right?

I spent a lot of time hanging out at a popular fast-food chain as a child, because my mom managed one in a bigger city an hour's drive away from our small town, and in order to spend a bit more time with me, she'd take me with her now and then. Once, her decision to take me with her was spur of the moment and I came with her unprepared. No book to read, no school work. She took me in to Wal-Mart to buy me a novel to read. I was still 13.

There it was, on the shelf. It called me, and even though it had been written 11 years earlier, it was sitting there for me.

Reviews for the book are mixed, but I am here to say it changed my life. Yes, the sex was written with flowery descriptions of manly members and womanly softness and so on, but there was sex. The sad sack lack of communication between the main characters doesn't recommend it, and Regan was a complete asshole.

And yet.

Sirena marries a horrible man while brokenhearted, and he does things to her. Perverted, sadistic things that were meant to solidify this man as the villain. And those things? Turned me on.

Turns out this book was the second of a series, and so I went and got the rest of them, one at a time, from bookstores.

Depravity abounded in the other books in the series as well. Evil smelly pirates, rape, a scene in which a young woman was forced to crawl around on the floor while the man she'd thought would be her loving husband kicked her and called her names and just generally left her an emotional wreck.

It was Very Bad Stuff, but it really aroused me. And here's the crux of the matter: I thought I was a Very Bad Person to be turned on by these things that were clearly meant to be Bad. I read them over and over. In my fantasies I'd stitch elements from different ones together and I'd be a happy, happy girl. I remember actually crawling around on my bedroom floor, playing that scene in my head.

It was okay to like that stuff, because in the fantasy I wasn't a party to it, it was forced on me. It was okay because it wasn't my idea. I wasn't a bad person, just an unfortunate victim of circumstances.

I started buying historical romances by the packing box full at library book sales. Tales of slavery and seduction and love and always, the dreadful communication between men and women which seems to be a staple of romance writing. The situations though, I found intoxicating, and the 'evil' parts especially so. The ones with actual slavery were especially fantastic for my needs.

These types of books had deals where you fill out a card, send it to start a subscription to the books, and you get a free box of four books and a glass. Yeah, I don't know why the glass. Then you pay for each monthly shipment of books after that. I would start the subscription with different publishers and cancel it after the second shipment, getting 8 books for the price of 4. I was young, I didn't have much money, you know. But one of those shipments contained this:

The book was interesting for me on a number of levels. The woman was married, and though the family had fallen into political disfavor, she had far more power than did the man, who was her slave. I learned a lot about history from historical romances, and this one definitely taught me a lot about ancient Rome.

Anyway, there's a scene in this book in which the lady and her slave-lover trade roles for the Saturnalia, and it. was. so. fucking. hot. That scene was my first indication that these things can be entered into by choice, and it can still be okay in the end. She gave him her power and for the duration of that scene, he dominated her, but didn't degrade her. He told her what to do and she did it and it was hot.

I had this indication, but I still had the niggling doubt that I was a Very Bad Person. I mean, slavery is BAD. Surely being turned on by someone having that kind of power over you is also BAD.

Anyone noticing that these first two stuck-in-my-mind books have the words "Captive" and "Bondage" right in their titles, amongst other books with names like The Raven and the Rose? I didn't at the time. I had just become a little more "me," though.


To be continued...

Exhaustion

"I'm going to start hurting you any second now," he warned me, his face hovering close to my thigh as he continued his soft strokes.

I sighed deeply and a whine escaped me. Worn out doesn't begin to describe how tired I was. "Why would you want to do a thing like that?" I asked softly, not challenging him, just curious.

"Because I can. To remind you who's in charge here. Because I like it. Because you're mine," he finished his little speech with a thwack to my inner thigh.

"You go on and make your rules, love. 'It's too late,' you can say, but we know who really makes the rules here, don't we? Who makes the rules, baby?"

"You do," I said softly, on another sigh. Exhaustion seeped through my bones, and yet I was so very fucking turned on by this display of total dominance.

---

"I'm gonna fuck your ass next," he stated, not stopping the rhythm of his movements.

"Mine!" he growled as his cock penetrated my ass, his growl a clear response to my deep moans of near-distress and total submission. He gripped my hair with one hand and my hip with the other, pulling me back onto him firmly. His grip allowed for no escape. "Take my cock in your tight little ass, baby, yeah, that's it."

My moans were coming from a place deep inside, as he moved slowly and the almost-pain deepened into intense pleasure.

---

He gathered me into his arms and I lay there, planting soft kisses against his chest, breathless from the heights of pleasure he'd taken me to.

"Love you so much," he whispered into my hair, stroking my body tenderly.

"Mmmm," I responded, and I floated away as he finally allowed my exhaustion to take me.

It was beautiful

I started writing this post back in December, just notes and quotes to fill in later, but as I wrote, I felt the urge to describe, and then we went on our long vacation over the holidays. By the time I had time to look at it, I'd forgotten the details I meant to fill in, and there's no ending because I didn't take notes for it. Yeah, sloppy habit. Even some of the descriptive writing is just barebones notes, in this case.

I thought my readers could enjoy it as-is, anyway.

Idea shamelessly stolen from Liza.

---

December 11, 2011

He held me tightly in his arms, we were spooned and his lips were near my ear.

"You like it when I do lots of different things to you, don't you?"

"Yes.."

"How do I go about starting? Maybe I just... do them?"

"All at once?"

"That'd be a neat trick, eh?"

"You could start a circus act."

We bantered. His hand slowly, deliberately, crept into my hair and he pulled a handful of it by squeezing. I gasped in mid-sentence, falling silent.

"You like when I pull your hair, don't you?"

"Mmhmm."

"Even if we're in the middle of a conversation."

"Anytime you want."

He squeezed his handful a few more times, my place in this interaction solidifying to me with each tug. My banter was replaced with small whimpers. He hit my ass, hard. My breath whooshed out of me. "Looks like you're getting a beating first." He slammed his open palm against my flesh several more times. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," I whispered in between gasps.

"But there's more. I can do more than just beat you." He opened the nightstand drawer, retrieved something. "I can also flog you." He slapped the flogger against my ass and hip and I squealed. "You like this too, don't you? I thought so."

He started pulling my shirt off. "Take this off!" he barked.

"But it's coooolld," I whined protestingly.

"I have love to keep you warm," he assured me as he shoved it off of me.

His hand slowly crept up to my breast, and he cupped it gingerly. "You know what's next, don't you?"

I whimpered.

"Oh, you don't know, but you can imagine. I could pinch your nipple," he said menacingly as he rolled it, "do you like having your nipples pinched?"

"Nuh-uh," I lied.

"Oh, that's too bad," he responded as he pinched my nipple firmly, tugging on it a little, generating a nice distressed noise from me. He pulled me onto my back, slapped my breast hard, making it bounce around on my chest. "You like that?" he asked as he hit me again.

"Oh yessss.." I hissed.

He rained several more blows onto my breasts with his hand, then tugged my nipples again. He brought up the flogger and flogged me there too. "Can you feel how much you turn me on?" he asked, pressing his cock against me and putting down the flogger. I could. "Why do you think I get so turned on by doing these things to you? Do you think I like the power I have over you?" He grabbed my wrist and squeezed. "Or maybe I like to hear your reactions." He tugged a handful of my hair and I moaned. "Or maybe I like knowing how much it turns you on." He tugged on my nipples some more. "It could be all of those things.."

His hand slid down under the blankets to my thigh and he hit me there, over and over, covering the entire length of my inner thigh in burning tingles. "It hurts," I whimpered.

"Oh I know. You're sensitive here, aren't you? I'm not a very nice man, am I?" He let his fingers glide across the sensitive skin. He treated the other thigh to the same abuse, then brushed his fingertips gently along my pussy. "I bet you're really sensitive here. I'd be a really bad man if I hit you here, wouldn't I?" His hand hovered over me, just brushing against the curly hairs there, tension building. He pulled back slightly and I tensed more, but he returned just to pet me gently. I exhaled and then he drew his hand back and hit my pussy once, hard. "Looks like I'm a really bad man," he whispered into my ear as I squirmed, a cry of pain escaping me.

I bit my lip and nodded. "Mmhmm," I managed through the heat washing over me.

---

Sorry to be a tease, but that's all there is! We did continue, but the details are lost to the ravages of time.

Robot girl

Monday and Tuesday both went by with no sex and barely any time spent together, exhaustion reigned and we just fell asleep in each other's arms both nights. We got some bad news on Tuesday and it was a long, long day too, so I was even more stressed than just going without sex gets me. I had entered into what I call "robot mode," where I just do all the things I'm meant to do, drive people around and pick them up again, make dinner, clean, etc, with no expectation of joy or love or happiness from life.

I wasn't grouchy, exactly, but I can see how it could look like that to an observer. No joy whatsoever looks pretty grouchy to me, too.

So we went to bed on Wednesday and I lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling, pretty much ignoring my husband while he gazed at me with love, running his hands over my body. I made no move to stop him, but I didn't make a sound of pleasure or a movement of acceptance either. I was really in complete robot mode.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked me.

"Nothing. I'm a robot, remember?" Seriously I was feeling about as human as your basic kitchen appliance, and that's not sexy to me.

"Come on then, robot girl, turn over and let me spank your shiny metal ass."

"You're being silly," I laughed. "Besides, that'd hurt your hand."

"Maybe then I won't use my hand."

"You're being silly!" I repeated, covering my face with my hand.

"I'll be silly if I want to, but you need to cooperate." The man was serious!

I rolled my eyes, but turned over, determined to just stay silent, like a good robot. Oh, when will I ever learn that there's no amount of determination that can keep silence in the face of a man with a zillion impact implements at his fingertips? He started smacking me with his hand, but after a couple he said "Oh, you know what? That does hurt my hand a bit." He went and grabbed some stuff from the drawer.

He started with one of the harder floggers, whoosh, smack, whoosh, smack, and when I remained silent after several smacks, he switched. I think he went through three or four different floggers, with his hand both rubbing and hitting in between. I managed complete silence the whole time, although some of it felt amazing and some of it was just downright painful. He periodically asked me how I was feeling, and I would shrug, because robot girl doesn't feel anything. When I felt the gentle curve of the back side of the heavy-duty wooden spoon rub on my already-tenderized bottom, I barely managed to refrain from whimpering, the anticipation of the pain was almost overwhelming.

He hit me with that spoon. I remained silent. He taunted me. "How does that feel, then? Still not feeling anything?" He hit me three more times, twice for each side, and I managed to stay silent but my breathing was incredibly ragged. He put his face close to the back of my head and whispered "That doesn't sound like a robot. That sounds like a girl who's a bit overwhelmed." His fingers traced delicate lines of agony across the places the spoon had hit, and a whimper finally escaped me. "Yeah, like that," he said, and hit me with the spoon again. I screamed, biting my lip to stifle it, as he hit me again and again. On the final blow, I arched away into the bed and my legs kicked up, unable to bear any more. "Good girl," he whispered against my hair, pulling me over towards him.

"Whose are you?" he asked me, pulling me into his arms and spooning me.
"Yours," I responded.
"Whose body is this?"
"Yours."
"I can pinch your nipple if I want, can't I?"
"Yes."
His fingers found my nipple and began pinching it slowly between them, increasing the pressure by increments until I cried out from the pain. "And why can I?"
"Because I'm yours."
"Good girl. I can hit you if I want to too, can't I?" he asked, his hand slapping my breast hard, several times.
"Yes."
"Because you're mine?" he asked.
"Yes sir," I barely managed through the soft wails I was producing.

He pulled my legs open and slapped me on my inner thighs too, and I struggled, trying to close them again. He pulled harder and slapped again, fast. "Mine, bitch, mine!" he proclaimed, as he alternated slapping my thigh and my breast and I just moaned, surrendering to his power over me, the fight and the robot completely gone.

"Would you like to suck my cock now?" he asked.

I nodded. Even if I didn't like sucking cock, I'd have sucked it just to prevent further spanking, because it was really starting to hurt.

I sucked for a long, long time, until he came down my throat, and he rubbed my head and said I was a good girl. Oddly there was a light, fruity flavor present there and I would have never thought that was possible in a million years, but I found myself probing his cock with my tongue for some time after he'd emptied himself into me, trying to taste more of him.

Then he pulled me up into his arms and used his fingers on me until he decided I should have the butt plug. He pressed it into me and continued using his hand in my pussy, on my clit, while his other hand grabbed my hair and tugged on it.

I came hard as he pressed into my g-spot with his fingers.

I don't do robot well.

And the next day I was a brat again! More on that soon.

Marriage - political humor from my man

One of my facebook friends posted her opinion on NC's Amendment 1. She's against it, for the record.

It unleashed a torrent of opinion from her facebook friends, and one of them was a long-winded comment about how marriage was for one man and one woman, blah, blah, etc, and so on. My husband, reading over my shoulder, asked what all the blah spewed into that comment was about (he just saw a mass of text), and I told him.

"It's about her opinion of marriage, and how it's for one man and one woman."

"Oh? Who made that decision, and why do they get to be so lucky? Can it be us?"

Love this man.

Flogging girl and other search term funnies

I am the flogging girl. Apparently my average google position for the search term "a flogger" is 6.5. 6.5! I'm just some random blogger, and I'm a vegan! There is no leather in my bedroom, so for the term "a flogger" to rank me so highly in google just blows my mind. For real.

That said, I do have quite the array of floggers, and I keep buying rope to make more. And they feel so wonderful, so why not? The more I make, the prettier they get. Although a recent one didn't turn out as pretty as I'd hoped, it still works quite well.

Checking my keyword searches for the last week started out typical, but at the second page I paused, and from that pause after there was a gigglefest at my kitchen table. I had to share with my readers, because who doesn't enjoy a good laugh?


endless orgasm - Yeah, we're all after that.
fucking doggy style - Yes please?
he slapped my breast - Quite often, yes.
he stroked my leg - This is a thing? The things you learn.
how to excite husband to dominate me in bed - Ask him! No, for real.
husband him-more-submissive - Not sure where you're going with this, but either way, go on with your bad self!
i like penis in my mouth sex and cats - And cats, huh? Well, me too, but what an odd search. This is where I started giggling.
mistakenly slipped into ass - Not mistakenly. Around here, it's all quite intentional.
my husband fuck my throat - "My husband, fuck my throat?" Yeah, that's what this meant.
my macbook pulled one of my pubes - The crowning glory, the reason I doubled over giggling at the table. This person actually spent about 9 minutes here, so, hi! Sorry about the hair though, that had to hurt.

From bad heat to amazing heat

I wasn't feeling well - overheated from my bath, I believe. I lay on top of our blankets, my head toward one corner of the foot of the bed, and my feet toward the opposite corner at the head, so to better feel the fan on my body. My husband joined me, but he's not a fan of putting his head near the foot of the bed, and so his head was near my feet. He rested his leg across my chest, pinning me there, and I stroked his calf and thigh while he rubbed my legs. It was nice, soft, loving. I purred as I lavished attention on his legs, enjoying the feel of confinement having his leg across me was producing. His hands wandered up between my legs and his fingertips stroked along my pussy, just barely touching me. I could feel his cock growing hard where it was pressed against my side.

Friday night entertainment

"You're mine," he whispered as his hand gripped my throat. He kissed me, forcefully, taking my breath away.  "I can do anything I want with you. And you'll thank me for it, won't you?" He paused long enough for me to nod slowly. "I think you better suck my cock now," he said, his hand delivering three hard smacks to my breast.

Sucking cock on my side, time stretched thin and then disappeared, sucked up into the vortex he created with his heat.

"Get between my legs," he ordered, turning onto his back.

I did. The lights were all on. I could see all of him, the nude magnificence of him, as I positioned myself between his legs, licked one long, slow, wet lick from his balls to the tip of his cock, and inhaled him with a hungry moan.

Damn good

In the afterglow the morning after amazing sex (yes, it was that good), lying tangled together with my love, I explained how romance novels work, and I concluded with: "We'd make a crappy romance novel."

His half-asleep response? "I think we make a damn good sex blog."

Oh, yeah.

Raw

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Q&A: If I couldn't orgasm

An anonymous reader asked

"Do you think you would still enjoy sex if you couldn't orgasm?"

The question was spurred by my last post about why I like sex so much, which, if you read it, does not actually mention orgasms as part of the reasons I enjoy sex so much. I do mention them as a thing that can actually make me feel worse in certain circumstances.

Of course, I like orgasms. They feel wonderful, they often cause other pains to completely fade, and the intensity of an orgasm really can't be matched. But to be perfectly honest, I think my husband may enjoy my orgasms more than I do. I could be wrong, but he seems to genuinely get a lot of pleasure out of taking me to that place where my limbs randomly jerk around and I scream with the intensity of the sensations. 

I still want sex even when I can't orgasm. I get really bad headaches sometimes, and the buildup to an orgasm is just way way too much pressure on my head, so I will actually ask my husband to specifically insure I do not orgasm, or even get too close to one. He's not a fan of that, but knows I wouldn't ask for such a thing unless I was in a lot of pain. But the headaches don't stop my desire for sex; sometimes they intensify it. The pain makes me want to retreat into our shared universe of sensation.

I don't have sex for orgasms, I have sex for sex.

Now, there's the case of orgasm denial, which I am not for in the long term for myself. If my husband suddenly wanted to keep orgasms from me, I would wonder what the fuck was up with that. I love that he enjoys plying orgasms from me - if he just wanted to tease me to the edge and leave me wanting for an extended period of time, it would probably piss me off. In the short term, sure, if he gets off on seeing me want that. 

I think orgasm denial, for me, would put the focus way too much on my own pleasure. I enjoy sex because of the pleasure we share in it, and sometimes orgasms happen, but that doesn't make it about me. Constantly pushing me to the edge and then pulling me back from it? Suddenly my desire is not for sex, not for the sliding of skin against skin, the feel of bristles against my breast, my lips wrapped around his cock, but for an orgasm, and I don't like that idea.

If you need more clarification, I'll be glad to provide it.

Q&A: Why?

My husband asked a question, though it isn't March anymore, and I'm pretty sure he didn't intend to spur a blog post. I apparently did a sad job of explaining it to him in person. Anyway, I hope you all know you can ask me anything anytime, I'll be glad to answer.

 "Why do you like sex so much?"

Sex is amazing because of the connection it gives me to my husband, whom I adore. The intimacy, the pleasure he derives from it, and the pleasure I feel all combine to give me an experience I prefer to pretty much any other. The first two things inform the third one to a great degree. If I start to feel he's disconnected from the experience, or is just going through the motions for my sake, it's no good anymore emotionally. I can perhaps even still orgasm, but if the head space is wrong the orgasm will leave me feeling pretty rotten. I could end up in tears. 

If he starts to disconnect from it all, there's really nothing he can do at that point to not make me sad. if he stops I will feel I have done something wrong, if he continues then I'll feel bad he's not really into it. He's in a no-win scenario and I feel really badly for him. The best I can do is lie silently in his arms and not say or do anything to trigger a tremble in my voice - but when I am silent he knows something is wrong too. Thankfully it doesn't all go wrong very often.

Most of the time we have amazing sex and he knows exactly what triggers the most arousal in me, and gleefully uses that information. I love the space where I go during sex, and I love the physical sensations he gives me - hands in my hair, cock in my throat, cock sliding, sliding, wherever he chooses to slide it, impacts of his hand or an implement, the cruel bite of teeth on flesh, the caress of his words in my ear. Delicious. I live for those minutes where I am nothing but his. I am not a daughter, not a mother, not a friend or an employee or a homeowner or any other of the hundred hats a person wears in a day, I am just...his, and I don't have to think of anything but what would please him most. The absolute peaceful bliss that this state of being induces is nothing to be sneezed at.

If my head space is right, and I feel that I have been a "good girl" in my own estimation as well as his, after sex is a beautiful world full of golden light. Everything is right, I am loved, he is happy, and I really do feel as if I float there in his arms. I make a lot of soft happy noises. If I was a cat I'd purr continuously. To me, the love is palpable all around us. It really is making love, even if there's degrading talk or impact play or bondage involved.

If we have lots of good sex regularly then there's really nothing that can get me down for long. Even grief is eased by awesome sex. Best mood adjuster in the world.

All of those are the things I couldn't express when asked on the spot. I answered the question, but I did it badly. Lying in his arms with my head on his shoulder, he casually told me that he was pretty sure it's safe to say I get more pleasure out of sex than he does, and he went on to say that he guessed that made me pretty lucky. I fell silent, my head spinning with thoughts I couldn't express, thinking I had really, seriously botched my job of explaining why I liked sex so much. He kept trying to get me to talk, to tell him what was wrong. He told me to kiss him and I shook my head. He fisted his hand in my hair, tilted my lips up to his, and kissed me anyway.

I burst into tears. No, not just tears, messy, sobbing tears that flooded his chest.

How to explain to someone that doing this thing - this thing that was exactly what I would have wanted done -     can bring me to tears in half a second?

He is good to me, and we kept talking. He was bewildered at first, but held me, gave me a tissue to blow my nose, and we worked it out.

I feel everything more than he does - not just pleasure, but sadness, anger, excitement, nervousness. That's just our different personalities. His statement was only assigning absolute values to our relative experiences, and his personal absolutes don't have the range mine do.

I hope I've managed to be a little more clear in my answer now.

Like you want it

We'd had a terrific afternoon and evening, but after being with a couple dozen people for a few hours, my head was pounding horribly. He cradled me in his arms as we talked about the evening, and it felt good. Stupid head. It was bound to keep me from fully enjoying my Saturday night.

"Kiss me," he told me.

I delivered him a perfunctory peck.

"Like you want it!" he insisted.

I collapsed into giggles at my husband's insistence I kiss him like I wanted it, my amused lips curved against his rather than pressed longingly.

"Not like you're tickled," he managed to say, more or less sternly, through his own laughter, "like you want it!"