Friday, September 28, 2012


"Turn over so I can flog you," he says. Matter of fact, of course I will obey him, I always do. I am a good girl, a good plaything.

I snuggle closer into his side. "I'm not sure that I'm interested," I say, also matter of fact.

"Oh?" he says, gentle amusement tinging his voice. "So now I'm supposed to require an interested girl? When did that happen?"

"No, no, I mean, I'm not so sure I'm interested in any of it."

"Huh. You mean you just want to be snuggled and loved on?"

"Yeah. We're doing okay like this." Barring the ravaging of my exhausted form several days earlier, we'd been getting by on snuggles, kisses, a brief flogging. My brain was becoming used to it, and I much preferred to just happily exist there rather than to fly off into the stratosphere only to have to come crashing back down.

"You don't get to choose though, do you?" His words drive the nail of desire deep into me, and I whimper, burying my face against his chest. "Do you?" he prompts.

"No, but." I squirm as he lifts my shirt, strokes my back and ass, slaps my ass a few times, lets his hands wander over my skin.

"I can take my shirt off for you," I offer. It's a good shirt; I am afraid he will stretch it out.

"This feels more invasive," he says, clutching me close to him. He's right, it does.

"I can put on another shirt if you wish to be invasive," I say. "This one is actually a good shirt." It matters not if he stretches my night clothes that only he will see me in, my good clothes are another matter.

"I'll let you take it off," he relents.

I sit up and do so, then slide back into his arms. "Thank you," I whisper against his shoulder. He is in the drawer, and he has cuffs. He wraps my wrists in the softness of them, firmly, even as I whimper my complaints.

"You're a complicated girl, aren't you?" he asks softly.

"Am I?" I ask. I know what he means, but it doesn't seem that complicated. Needs not met go away.

His hands are everywhere, stroking, slapping. His fingers wander between my legs, and I close them. "What's this? You think you can hide parts of you from me?" he asks. He is persistent, pushing on my knee as I shake my head. He strikes my inner thigh hard then, raining blows down on my inner thighs alternately, pushing them apart when I try to close them. He rolls atop me, holding my legs open, rubbing the hardness of his cock against my thigh that he had so recently been slapping. The soft cotton of his boxers abrades my abused flesh and I whimper, struggling.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, his voice taking on the tone that tells me he knows full well what my noises are about, but wants to hear me say it.

"It hurts," I squeak out, having become unused to even such a simple phrase.

"Oh, does it hurt? Has your leg gone all sensitive?" he asks mockingly, continuing to slowly press against me there. His hands shove my knees even farther apart and his head disappears under the sheet. His mouth is pressing against my sex, opening me, and then his tongue is inside. I groan, trying to close my legs, arching up to his mouth at that same moment, simultaneously begging him to stop and begging for more. His mouth is rough with me too, his tongue taking me; this is no gentle lovers' interlude, he is proving a point. My thighs fall apart and I move with him. We both already know he has won.

He stops. "Who do you belong to?" he asks, his face coming from under the sheet, hovering over mine.

I clench my eyes shut, refuse to look at him, shake my head. "Nuh-uh," I say. Defiant, even as he kisses me, as I taste my own arousal on his lips.

"Nuh-uh?" He is surprised, astonished even. He slaps my breast once, again. "I said, who do you belong to?"  Two more slaps, harder. "Who do you belong to?"

My resistance, defense from the need, is melting beneath him. "You," I whisper, my eyes still clenched shut. As if not seeing him will make this whole situation cease. It doesn't work.

"That's right," he says, his fingers pinching my nipple, making me arch up into him and moan. "Now why did I have to ask you that three times? I thought this was already established. You are mine." He kisses me again, sliding off to my side, his fingers occupying the space where his mouth has recently been. My hips move with his touch, and he is talking to me.

"What is this?" he asks, a fingertip dragging up through the wetness he has generated, stroking my clit that has been untouched for days. I groan, a deep, guttural sound from some hidden place inside as his slippery fingertip drags across that magic button. My hips move of their own accord. "A wet, horny slut, I have here. You want me, don't you?"

I shake my head, groaning still.

"That's okay, baby, you can say no all you want. Your pussy says something else. What does it say, baby?"

I shake my head, even more vigorously than before. "Nuh-uh," I whisper.

His lips are close to my ear, his fingers sliding inside me. "It says 'fuck me,'" he whispers, his voice causing goosebumps and an uncontrollable moan to come from me, not to speak of the manipulations of my sensitive bits. "Doesn't it? It says 'fuck me, fuck me.' Let me hear you say it, baby."

I shake my head again, but he is relentless. He presses his fingers deep inside, pressing against my g-spot repeatedly, making me groan deeply and curl into his touch. My wrists twist inside the cuffs, over my head. He presses into me until I come, panting, writhing. His voice is in my ear as his finger continues stroking my clit, making my body squirm, making me moan helplessly. "I like to make you come. I like to touch you here, feel you move, under my control with just my fingertip. This must be what it means to have someone wrapped around your finger. I understand it now.."

"Oh, God, fuck me," I beg.

"I'll fuck you, baby. That's what you're for, isn't it? Good fuck toy," he says, his fingers sliding back inside me and pumping away. I groan. "Good fuck hole," he growls, enjoying my responsiveness to his touch, his words. I am melting into him, a puddle of need, the very need that I have only recently banished. I don't care anymore, I just want this. Want him. Want us, entwined, enmeshed. What does it matter at that point which person is owned and which is the owner when both are one?

I am turning over onto my side, rubbing back against his cock as he presses it against me. "I don't know if it will go in there," he says as it presses just slightly into my opening. I am tight still, even after his fingers plundered me. I groan and wriggle my hips. "Maybe I should fuck you some other time," he whispers.

I grunt and shake my head, pressing back against him harder, wanting this now.

"Does your pussy need to be fucked now?" he asks. I moan in response.

"Let me hear you say it," he orders.

It is a struggle to vocalize, but he is requiring it of me and so I manage it, desperately. "My pussy needs to be fucked now," I moan, coupling the words with a little wriggle back onto him.

His hand is on my hip as he plunges inside me; we both groan with satisfaction. "Mmm.. I bet you'd say that more often if you could," he whispers.

"Yes sir," I agree softly, as we move together. Passion flows between us, wrapped up in sex. He feels divine; he is divinity visited upon me. Who am I to complain that I only get such treatment twice a week? Who am I to resist it when it does occur? Selfish, horny slut, that's me. Complicated? Yeah, I guess I am.

"Were you made to be fucked?" he asks.

"Mmhmm," I whisper.

"Were you made to be fucked by this cock?" he asks.

"I am for you to fuck," I pant, my hips moving, hard to speak through the pleasure he is causing.

"Mmhmm, that's right," he approves. He is grabbing my hip, my hair, and slamming into me over and over. I am crying out. Oh, fuck, that feels amazing.

He comes; or I think he does. I am lost in arousal, desire, need. I am not terribly attentive. I am Greedy Submissive right now. He removes himself from me, though, and his hand replaces his cock as I roll more onto my stomach, my head resting against my bound hands. He is still talking; as his thumb presses inside me, his fingers play with my clitoris. I am nothing but sensation; a hole to fill, an ear to torment. My brain reacts, setting my mouth to constant near-scream. He is pulling my head up by the hair. Yes, yes I am a fuck toy, God, yes, a fuck hole. This is what I am for. Nothing else. I was put here for this. Everything else is distraction. This is the distillation of my being.

I am screaming louder as his fingers continue working their magic - his hand is constantly tugging hard on my hair, my head lifted into the air, his words. A scream turns into a deep, panicked groan as my leg starts thumping behind me. "Come for me, slut," he orders, his voice nearly lost in the noises I am already making. That is all - I was approaching orgasm already but at his command it overtakes me. My neck muscles relax, the result being an increased intensity in the pulling on my hair, which makes the orgasm even more intense. I cannot control anything; I am controlled, I am free, I am screaming with pleasure too intense to bear, but bear it I must.

I collapse onto my face, his hands are gentle on my back, stroking my hair. I am softer now, accepting his touch gratefully, melting into him. We are part of each other, as it should be.

Sleep claims me, and when I wake hours later, wrapped in his arms, I am still cuffed.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Something came over me

I did something a little odd today.

I sat down and I made a flogger. That in itself isn't odd; I do that most days - you should see my closet. However, this time, I had no grand ideas of what was going to happen, but it turned into an all-day project. I was thrilled with the beauty of the result (subjective, I know) and then I realized "Wait. No one's going to WANT this but me..."

And what do I need with a thirteenth flogger, anyway?

Such are the hazards of being creative. 

Some things are just too pretty to not be created.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

The monster

"Aren't you afraid that you're turning me into a monster?" my sweet, sweet husband asked as he rose up over me, preparing to use his fingers on me after intense, hot, sweaty sex despite my extreme exhaustion. He'd been slapping my nipples sharply not five minutes earlier as he rocked his body into mine from behind, his hand covering my face, his finger filling my mouth, his words of ownership rasping in my ear.

I laughed, hugging his head to me even as his fingers slid inside me. "No," I whispered, kissing the top of his head, giggling and moaning at the same time, my hips arching up to his touch. "Are you?"

"Maybe a little."

Perhaps his fear of the monster is what keeps mine at bay.

All I know is he makes me so, so happy - even when I'm exhausted. There isn't even the tiniest bit of worry in me that he is becoming a monster; though sometimes he makes a truly excellent one.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Surprise blowjob

We sneaked into the bedroom Sunday afternoon, leaving our little one playing on his own. I said I was going for a nap - my husband said he was too. As his fingers wandered over my naked body, sending the magic tingles all over me that he is so, so good at, I murmured "I actually meant I came to take a nap."

"Oh, me too," he said, his voice low and full of meaning.

"I don't think our definitions of nap are the same," I smiled.

"I think they are," he said, his fingers slowly toying with my nipples.

"Nuh-uh, I don't think so.... you see, mine involves sleep."

"Mmhmm, a likely story," he said as he made me gasp, his fingers applying their magic across my belly and my nipple at the same time. He was hard and hot as he pressed against me, his skin even hotter than the already uncomfortably warm room. His lips found my nipple and he was sucking hard, pulling it up, making me roll my shoulders and make soft pleased noises that still managed to be slightly protesting.

He pulled his lips off my nipple briefly. "Mine," he reminded me gently, causing the last vestiges of my protest to fade into nothing. He toyed with me for some time.

"I'd like to be inside you," he said at one point, in between hot, deep kisses, his hands roaming over my face, my chest, my shoulders. "I don't think it's a very good idea right now, so I probably won't. But I think I'd enjoy that an awful lot."

His cock was poking out of his boxers, even hotter than the rest of his skin. He took it and started rubbing it against my side, and the side of my breast. "I like to play with my fuck toy," he whispered into my ear as I shuddered.

I was next to him, face up as he lay on his side facing me, and after long enough of this treatment, I did some weird almost yoga pose to get into a position to get that cock in my mouth while still remaining on my back. He was doing a lot of toying with my nipples and breasts and far be it for me to be the one to take that away from him. "Oooh, that's goood," he groaned as I took him in my mouth and sucked.

Here's where it got intense: He started fucking into my face, and with each forward thrust, he squeezed my nipple. Hard. No, harder than that. Each time he hit the back of my throat, he squeezed my nipple hard enough that I squealed around his cock and my body bucked. Four or five strokes in and I could feel my own arousal beginning to trickle out. He stopped the punishing squeezes for a moment and I just moaned "uh huh, uh huh, uh huh!" around his cock.

"Oh, you liked that, did you?" he asked, and resumed the activity. Just when I thought my nipple couldn't take anymore, he switched nipples, causing a renewed frenzy in my sucking.  "Suck it, bitch," he said, thrusting into my throat hard and holding it there - along with the hard pinch, an extra long time. I squealed and writhed desperately, and after that I felt him becoming more and more excited - probably from my reactions.

He groaned as he came down my throat, and he said something that indicated it was an especially fine orgasm, but I have no recollection of what he said.

"I think," I whispered, later, when I finally let his softening cock slip from my mouth, "that you like to hurt me."

"Maybe," he agreed, "maybe I do when you like to be hurt."

Thursday, September 20, 2012


"Don't smile at me like that," I bit out at him. Insufferable man, thinks he knows everything.

"How am I smiling at you?" he asked, his blue eyes sparkling, the corners of his lips turning up even more.

"Like, 'She's saying 'no' now, but soon she won't be.'"

"Mmhmm," he said, his lips settling over mine. I struggled. His hands clasped my wrists and pinned them down. I struggled, pulling at my wrists, and he tightened his grip. With his mouth, he pushed my shirt over my breast, then fixed his mouth on my nipple, sucking hard, biting. "Mine!" he said when I squealed.

"You're mine," he said, straddling my hips, sitting up. He pushed my night shirt up past my breasts and I twisted. He slapped my breast, hard. I moaned, bucking underneath him, meeting the hard wall of his body that prevented any escape. He slapped my breasts from the other side, setting up a rhythm. I'm not sure how long he went on like that, slapping my breasts, making them bounce, making me buck and squeal. "I can do whatever the fuck I want with you," he said. "If you didn't like that, you should have thought of that before you gave yourself to me."

He rose up, moving his hips until they were in front of my face, and then his cock was rubbing over my face, pushing past my lips, over my cheeks, bumping into my nose. I was grunting, my eyes squeezed shut. "Lick it!" he ordered. I stuck my tongue out and let it glide across his skin as he continued humping my face. He pulled my shirt up and over my head, leaving my arms in it so it was hooked behind my neck. He kneaded my breasts, pressing them together almost painfully as I arched and groaned beneath him, moving his hips to fuck between them.

"Whose are you?" His words were timed perfectly with a slap aimed at my breast.


"And what are you for?" I arched, expecting another slap, but none came. He was patiently waiting for an answer.

"For you to fuck," I whispered.

"I should get on that then." He slid up, his cock pressing into my mouth. I moaned as he pressed against my face, holding the sides of my head. He placed a pillow under my neck for a better angle, and slid in until I gagged, noises forced from me from his cock forcing air out of my throat. I love that noise. He fucked my face slowly, murmuring words that are lost in the fog, making me groan and grunt as he filled my face with his cock over and over.

"Good fuck hole," he murmured softly, praise and degradation combining to make my body tremble as he pulled away. A moan emerged from somewhere deep in my throat, a primal noise coming from a place beyond thought.

"Did you forget that you were a fuck hole?" he asked, his thumb sinking into my mouth, replacing his cock. I could only moan as I sucked on it.

"How does that make you feel?"

I was beyond words, in a place where the feeling has no name. I felt owned, used, simultaneously degraded and adored, and very fucking aroused. I managed a grunt in response.

"Let's see how it makes you feel," he said, sliding down my body.

"Oooh, it makes you feel good," he whispered, his cock sliding into the arousal he had created, filling me up. My eyes were darting around and I was moaning. Our eyes met as he entered me fully. "For lack of a better word."

I moaned, rolling my hips up into him to feel him deeper. "I'd ask you to come up with a better one," he said, his voice gravelly in my ear, "but I think you're beyond finding words. I think you're just reduced to a fuck toy now."

He thought right.

He felt amazing.

We stayed like that, rocking into each other, for some time. My legs scrambled for purchase on our smooth sheets to push back against him. He pinned my wrists to the bed and drove into me, forcing groans from me. Waves of dizziness swept over me as my blood rushed away from my head.

But then he pulled away, seemingly suddenly. "Uh?" I grunted, looking at him as he rose to his knees. He was leaving the bed. "Where you going?" I stammered out.

"I'm going to put you up on this ramp and fuck you," he said matter-of-factly. He kept saying he was going to do that last time too, but he never did. I crawled out of the way on all fours and he plopped the Liberator ramp down in front of me. I whimpered. "Go on, get up there," he said. It's so hard to hold my balance up there at this point, but I did as I was told.

He put the wedge in front of me for me to rest on, because he's not completely evil. I climbed up on all fours and he grabbed my hips, sinking deeply into me. His cock first rubbed against my g-spot and then slammed into my cervix. I screamed and arched up, away from him, but he grabbed my hips and held me, pumping into me like that over and over. Pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain, they coexisted and then they mingled and then I was driving back into him and I was screaming "Oh God," nearly constantly. He grabbed my hair in one hand, pulling straight up, forcing me up onto my fingertips, and he kept pulling higher. His other hand wrapped around my throat, his fingers pressing into my windpipe just so, not blocking my air completely but restricting it just enough that I could only rasp "Oh God," and breathe raggedly, and the whole time he kept fucking me, fucking me, the cock, the hair, the throat. So. Fucking. Perfect.

I was screaming raggedly and he was holding my throat and pulling against it with each thrust, giving my hair a little tug as well, and I felt him get closer to his own release. I screamed even louder, overloaded with the extreme sexiness of it all, as he pumped himself into me, releasing his orgasm into my body.

He pulled away gently and I collapsed there, legs hanging off the bed, face buried in the wedge. He rubbed my back. "You want me to hold you now, love?" he asked tenderly.

This man.

I think he can keep me.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

MY blog-iversary

One year ago I published my first real post, Things I adore, after my About me page had been sitting around for about a week.

It's been an awesome year, guys. People come, people go, and some stay and become amazing friends. I've noticed a lot of folks celebrating their one-year in recent weeks, and I had no idea so many of us started right around the same time.

The blog has become such an astounding archive of my personal life - I think it's the most constantly-updated   journal of any sort I've ever kept (and I've kept a lot). Viewing some of my early posts, I can also see how much my writing has improved over the last year.

Here's to many more, wonderful readers!

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Talking dirty: His POV


So here’s my long awaited guest post about talking dirty. I apologize in advance for the lack of actual good examples of phrases and words and the whole thing sounds more technical than sexy, but I’m shy and Conina’s blog really has more than enough examples if that’s what you’re interested in.

As Conina has mentioned, I certainly didn’t start out being comfortable talking during sex. I won’t go into the details of my naivete when it comes to kink in our early years together, but suffice it to say I was quite the noob and Conina opened my eyes to quite the new world.

I learned early on that talking was good. It felt a bit awkward at the very beginning, but I got over that pretty quickly. What I discovered was that talking really sets the atmosphere, sets up a scenario even when there’s not much role play going on. It keeps us both in the very headspace we want to be in.

Now, when it comes to talking dirty, I guess I started slow, using the occasional word here and there that I hadn’t before. I called her names, mostly, in the beginning. I used words that I wouldn’t use before that I could tell were affecting her the way I wanted to. Thankfully Conina will often respond with a moan or a groan when I press the right buttons with my words, and I use that as a gauge to make sure I don’t overdo it.

Over our years together I have been expanding my sex talk vocabulary, and it’s only through experience (we love to “practice”) that I’ve become better at improving my timing and have learned that my words are most effective when they’re particularly aimed at making her feel owned, dominated, subservient... I suspect you get the idea.

To me it works both because I get the right kind of feedback in response, which tells me that what I’m doing is working, and because it becomes part of the action, enforcing my role and my behavior towards her. Without any immediate response to me I would certainly be more hesitant to say anything.

As usual moderation is important. After a while it becomes too easy to try the same thing over and over, and when you’re too focused on your actions your words can get a little out of hand (and vice-versa of course). So it may be best to err on the side of saying too little at first.

Timing is equally important. Follow phrases up with actions, or do them simultaneously. Words must match behavior, certainly don’t just say things for the sake of it. Let them come naturally, which isn’t actually that hard considering you’re unlikely to find a more appropriate time to be using phrases like this.

So in summary, dominants should be aware of how effective saying the right kind of things can be, and the importance of using words to further make your sub feel submissive.

Submissives should understand that response is key, without any feedback it’s hard for the dominant to tell what works for you and what doesn’t. Communication afterwards is of course important too, and I highly encourage it to further improve your experience.

If you have any questions for me, feel free to leave them in the comments. I'll answer what I can.

I'd like to thank my lovely, lovely husband for agreeing to write this for us. He's awesome, shy though he may be. - Conina

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Beyond Erotica

Is the title of a horrible movie that we wound up skipping through last night. Bad movie, great post title.

It's been brought to my attention by a dear friend that I need to write. It's true, I do. It keeps me happy, it chronicles my life, and it leads to a deeper connection in my marriage. It's hard sometimes, when you're so busy living, to carve out a few moments to write about it.

For some reason I can't remember, last night we were browsing the movies on offer in Amazon Prime's free streaming, via my Kindle Fire. After I finally put it away, it was approaching midnight. Already tired, I sank down onto my pillow. "Goodnight, husband," I sighed softly.

He turned the light off, and on again. "I think I'll leave that on," he said.


"So I can see you, silly girl."

Thursday, September 6, 2012

What I think: CWS challenge #2

CWS challenge #2: What's going through my head in the moments preceding a blow job, in 55 words. With perhaps a bit more eloquence than I ever have in those precise moments; the emotion behind the words remains the same.

Husband, Master, amazing lover mine,
I am yours. I was made to pleasure you.
What you want is what I want.

Silky hardness filling my mouth, evidence of your desire, is a thrill all its own.

Of course I will open my mouth for your gorgeous cock.
Maybe soon you will fuck my face, too.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Control is a many-splendored thing

"Maybe you should do something violent to me," I suggested to my husband. I was tired, had been wanting to go back to bed ever since our little one woke us up far, far too early on a holiday morning. But we were in bed early and I didn't want my exhaustion to overtake me.


"Really." Nothing to keep a girl awake like having some consensual violence visited upon her person.

"I haven't done that in a while..."

"I know."

His hands that had previously been stroking me gently and running the silky tails of our blue flogger against my skin became weapons, targeting my breasts, my nipples. "MINE!" he barked as I whimpered, twisting beneath the blows and then arching up for more, "I will do whatever the hell I want to you!"

He rolled more toward me as I twisted away from him, my brain becoming more aroused with every crash of his hand into my sensitive breasts, my body trying to escape the onslaught of pain. His leg was on top of mine, his cock pressing into my hip. His hand wandered down, slapping into my thighs, pulling them apart forcibly when they tried to close against the pain, holding them open to hit me. I cried out especially loudly when he slapped my calf. "Oh, does that hurt, girl?"

"Yes sir," I whimpered between cries. I was crying out with every blow, and he was slowly humping my hip, making me feel his arousal.

"Good. You know what I think?" he asked, his hands never stopping their attack on my body, my calves, my thighs, my breasts, my forearms. "I think that you like attention of any kind. Pain's just another kind of attention for you, isn't it?"

"Yes sir," I panted.

"'Yes sir,'" he repeated, still slowly humping my hip. "Oooh, you feel my cock? That cock wants to fuck you. I want to fuck you. You know what that means? It means I will fuck you. I will do whatever the fuck I want." His hand came up between my spread legs and he slapped my pussy lightly, over and over until I was gasping. "You like that kind of attention too, don't you? Does this turn you on?" He stopped slapping me, his fingers gently probing the extra-sensitized flesh, sliding the tip of his finger easily into my wetness.

"Yeah, I see it does," he said, sliding his fingers against me, stroking my clit gently until I gasped with pleasure. He started slapping me again, unexpectedly. Oh, it hurt. I twisted to get away but his leg had mine trapped. Spread, helpless, owned. "Mine," he confirmed my thoughts as he continued slapping my sex. "Turn on your side so I can fuck you."

I was breathing heavily as I turned over, facing away from him. I lifted my leg over his hip, opening myself to him. He rocked his cock against my wetness, back and forth, teasing the head across my opening, bumping into my clit repeatedly. It felt lovely but I wanted him inside me. "Oh my God," I moaned.

"What is it, girl? You want something?"

"Yes sir."

"What is it you want?"

"Fuck me..." I breathed out, the words barely escaping my tightening throat.

He teased me a while longer, clearly enjoying my whimpered noises of frustration. The head of his cock lodged inside my opening, and I groaned, rotating my hips, pressing back onto him. He wasn't moving at all; I wasn't sure if he meant to tease me or meant for me to do something, so I did something. I wriggled, I squirmed, I backed onto his cock that felt fucking enormous, and groaned and sighed and whispered "oh, fuck," as I did it.

"Good girl, go on, take that cock," he said as I backed onto him, finally, finally managing to squeeze all of him into me.

"Can I help you?" he asked as I squeezed around him, relishing the fullness. He just stayed there, buried fully in me, letting me squeeze around him over and over. My answers were my continual moans of enjoyment.

"I see, you didn't want to be fucked, you just wanted a hard cock shoved up your pussy. There is a difference, you know," he murmured, his hand grabbing a handful of my hair and tugging, shoving himself extra hard into me.

I squirmed, but without his equal and opposite motions from the other side, the position we were in was no good for me to fuck him, just to wriggle insanely on his cock, like a specimen pinned for examination, legs spread, breasts exposed. His fingers stroked my clit. I was getting more and more aroused by my own inability to do anything.

"Are you trying to fuck me?" I just squirmed, my arousal growing more with his words, hearing the slight condescending tone he delicately applied to them. Oh, God, he's good at this. "Let me see if I can help you," he said, and moved his hips back, withdrawing slightly and then thrusting fully into me. I screamed with pleasure, with the release of the built-up tension. Oh, that was one fine-feeling thrust. He rocked his hips slowly, drawing the pleasure out for both of us. His hand gripped my throat, and then it was pressing on my face. I screamed. I love having my face covered, especially if it's by his hand. My breathing was slightly restricted, my pants becoming gasps, and I loved it, loved feeling his hand smashing out the very thing that people identify as "me," so that I was nothing but his. Oh, fuck, yes.

"Good fuck hole," he whispered, at the perfect moment to make me scream again, around the side of his hand. My racing thoughts of self-eradication collided with his words and a glorious brain-explosion occurred inside my head.

"You are my good fuck hole," he confirmed as my scream faded. His fingers slid inside me alongside his cock, stretching me.

"Oh, God, full," I whispered, as he thrust his cock into me, holding his fingers still, for an eternity of pleasure, riding the edge of pain.

"I like to fill up my slut," he agreed, moving faster. I could feel his fingers and his cock stretching me, rubbing ever so delicately against my anus the way my legs were spread for him. Oh, I needed to be fucked there.

"I want you in my ass," I ventured, softly.

"You want to feel this hard cock fucking your ass?" he asked, driving the point home as he thrust into my soaking pussy.

"Yessss," I hissed, pressing against him, taking him as deeply as I could.

"What a fucking slut," he spat out.

"Oh, oh, oh," I panted. "I'm your slut."

"You are my good slut," he said as he pulled his hand away, reaching behind us for the lube. He kept thrusting into me while he retrieved it, and when he pulled away I whimpered with the emptiness.

"It's okay, slut, I'm going to fuck you more." His words were interrupted by the squeeze of a nearly-empty tube of lube, a singularly unsexy sound. I forgot about it as he applied the lube to me, and then pressed the slippery, rounded head of his cock to my hole. He pressed; bounced off. I groaned, reaching back to hold his cock, to angle my hips and press against him just so.

"Take it, that's it, good girl," he whispered. I groaned loudly, rocking my hips against him in an echo of our earlier penetration. Oh it was even more intense, though. I rocked my hips, and slowly, slowly, my ass opened to him, taking him inside. I relaxed briefly once he was all the way in, and he started moving, gently at first. His hand moved to my open pussy. "So fucking wet," he said, sinking fingers into my pussy, his thumb working at my clit as he thrust into me.

I was stretched between his cock and his fingers, my legs wide open, my body at his mercy.

"So full of you," I whispered between groans and sighs of pleasure.

"You are my collection of fuck holes, aren't you?" he asked sharply, his fingers twisting.

I screamed.

His hand started slapping my pussy while he moved in my ass. I'm sure it made it a more exciting fuck, as I squirmed, wriggled, and screamed. Already so sensitive, so full of blood, and he was slapping me there. "Oh oh, I'm a good slut," I begged softly as he continued hitting me.

His fingers were back inside me when he came, pressing his cock deeply into me and spilling his seed into my bowels, moaning deeply with satisfaction. I do so love hearing him sound so pleased, but I didn't have very long to relish it.

He kept working on my clit, kept thrusting into my ass, his other hand grabbing a handful of my hair. I began to convulse upward, my head raising up, my knees lifting. He tightened his grip on my hair, forcing my head to stay down, forcing the intensity to stay in my body rather than to release through the convulsion. "You're not going anywhere, slut. You'll stay right here and take it."

I did. Every time my head tried to rise, he yanked it back down by my hair. I trembled with unreleased tension. I screamed. I came, a great, shuddery wave of orgasm crashing over me, brought on almost exclusively by the violent control he was exerting. Well, and the fingers. Of course the magic fingers.

My breast hurt all day today. Somehow, I'm okay with that.

I know there's a challenge on, and that I'm somewhat of a CWS slacker... and a blog slacker! I had to get this post written, which means very few other things got to happen online. I SIMPLY HAD TO WRITE THIS. Sorry, y'all.

And further. My husband says he is in the process of writing out a post about the filthy sex talking. Just for you guys.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Finally flogged

I posted my blue and white flogger a while ago, the one that I gifted to my husband. It was only this week that we finally got around to more than a perfunctory test flogging with it. In fact, someone else bought, received, and used one just like it before we ever got around to using ours. But it was worth the wait.

I loved it. The knots were perfect, thudding into my flesh, bouncing away. The ends were silky soft; he even used it as a tickler to make me moan with pleasure. He worked my ass and the backs of my thighs to a rosy glow that I could feel, and then he applied the spoon deliciously, making me squirm, writhe, generally having an awesome time while little gasps and moans emerged from my mouth.

He followed the spoon with the crop, tap-tap-tapping little bites all over, and it was just a fabulous spanking. I was panting when he finished, trailing the ends of the flogger over my sensitive skin. While what he said next was a little bit of a surprise, it shouldn't have been. "Turn over and suck my cock. You're not the only one who likes to feel good, you know."

I drew a ragged breath, pulling oxygen into my lungs, gathering the physical strength to turn over. After the flogging, the spoon, and the crop, I needed a moment to collect myself. I turned over slowly, moving down as I did, and his cock was in my face. I opened my mouth and pressed a hot, wet kiss to it, relishing the velvety feel of his foreskin against my face. Oh, right, I love sucking his cock. I moaned softly as I slid my mouth onto him, and my brain disengaged. Just sucking, listening to his words, rolling my tongue, working my throat.

In my excitement I kept tugging on his hips, drawing him as far into me as I could, and one of the tugs had him over my face, kneeling above me and fucking down into my mouth. "What a good fuckhole your face is for me," he said, tugging on my hair, his hands pressing down on my forehead, leaving me unable to do anything but take his hardness. I moaned at the helplessness of the position, at his words, my hands flopping uselessly off to the side, unsure what to do with themselves until they landed on his thighs. I squeezed his legs as he fucked my face.

"Is your pussy ready to be fucked?" he asked me roughly, the head of his cock moving slowly in the entrance of my throat, soft gagging noises coming from me due to the motion. I managed to turn one of the noises into a fervent positive.

"You think you can get on the ramp and be fucked?"

"Nnnnn," I said around the cock filling my mouth. Late, tired, ugh.

"Of course you can," he answered for me, ignoring my actual response. He pulled away and I chased his cock with my mouth. "Cockslut, it's really hard for you to let go of that cock, isn't it?" I groaned, pinned by his words, letting my head fall back again. He stood next to the bed, put the Liberator ramp on it, and I went after his shiny hard cock with my mouth again, moaning happily as this position put more of his cock in me with less stress. He pulled my hair, fucking my face, eliciting squeals of delight that vibrated all along the length of his hardness. "You think you're clever, don't you? This isn't your pussy."

He pulled me into him, forcing more and more of his cock into my willing throat. It burned as it opened my throat even more than it had previously. "Turn around and let me fuck your pussy now," he ordered, thrusting into my face a few final times.

I turned around slowly, my muscles resisting as I lifted my ass, presenting my pussy for his penetration. He sank inside me with a long, slow stroke and we groaned in unison. "Oh, fuck, yes," I gasped as he filled me, stretching me open.

Pleasure. Pure pleasure, enhanced by the slight amount of pain being stretched so far, pounded so hard, overtook me, and I was a constant moan, "Oh fuck," escaping from me with every other breath.

His hands found their way underneath my torso and he slapped my breasts, first one then the other. "Mine!" he said when I moaned with delighted pain, perhaps a touch of indignity coloring my tone.

"Yours," I agreed, whether loudly or softly I had no way of gauging. My arms gave out after an extended period, and I dropped to my elbows, my ass still lifted high for his cock to slide into my pussy.

"Oooh, I should fuck this ass," he mused, running his thumb across my hole that must have been exposed due to the position I was in. I groaned, both excited and a little concerned by the prospect. "Shouldn't I? You want that don't you? Of course you do," he answered his own question as I continued groaning, overwhelmed. "Get me the lube."

I moved to do so, but as I moved the ramp tried to fall over. "Nuh-uh," I murmured, trying to adjust myself so the ramp stayed on the bed. "What you mean, nuh-uh? Get the lube!" he repeated himself. I did, returning, still dealing with the problem and making muttery noises. "Too much complaining!"

"This is falling," I whispered.

"Fix it, then," he said, squeezing lube onto his fingers. I planted my feet on the floor, pressing my ass into his cock as I wriggled to move the ramp back into place. He humped against me, making me moan. His fingers were lubing my ass even as I climbed back up into the hands-and-knees position.

As his cock penetrated my ass, I fell forward, crying out. It wasn't even an overwhelming sensation, just my own fear that it would be. "Get up," he barked, and something else I couldn't hear for my breathing was heavy, catching in my chest and coming out in gasps, I was so terribly excited that I could only hear half the things he was saying.

Then he was buried in my ass, pulling my hair back toward him with one hand, his other hand pressing and squeezing my throat, making me gasp with arousal. Oh, wow. "Oh, fuck," I kept keening softly as we rocked together, my ass stretched taut around his cock that was so engorged I hadn't been able to believe it when I was sucking it.

He came loudly, nearly collapsing against my back, pulling me up into him. I breathed heavily, great gasps of air filling my lungs. Eventually we managed to shove the ramp away and curl up into each other, whispering words of appreciation for one another.

He is magnificent, even though I lack the time to write about it all the time, and I am so grateful.