There's this person who's been bothering me a lot. She hates me basically for existing. I have determined on my own time that she has passive-aggressive personality disorder and I am a likely target for her hatred because I am better off than she. It's always someone else's fault.
But still, in the wee hours of the night after my husband is asleep and I am waiting to be so (I take forever every night to fall asleep), my brain tugs at her hatred, and some days it is worse than others. The other night I started crying, and it actually woke him up. He gathered me closer into his arms. "Please tell me this isn't about something that isn't worth your time and emotion," he said.
"I can't help it," I sniffled.
"Look at it this way," he said, his voice rumbling in a sleepy way, "who would you rather be? You, or her?"
I giggled against his chest, through my tears. "Me, of course."
"Well then."
"You just did that to make me laugh," I complained.
"Everything I do is to make you laugh," he answered. "Or happy. Laughter or other happy noises."
And that is why I cannot help but adore this man. I'm trapped. But it's a happy, happy trap.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
Top 100 sex bloggers of 2013
Wow. I had no idea anyone had even nominated my blog, that's how out of the loop I have been. Thank you so much to Spanky and Fiona for doing so even while my head was immersed in the real world.
Every year, Rori goes through an incredible amount of material to compile a list of 100 of the most exciting sex blogs you will ever lay eyes on. I'm incredibly honored to have been included on that list for two years, now.
http://www.betweenmysheets.com/top-100-sex-bloggers-of-2013
Pick a few new ones to read, and check out Rori, too.
Here's her list, and congratulations to everyone who is on it!
Every year, Rori goes through an incredible amount of material to compile a list of 100 of the most exciting sex blogs you will ever lay eyes on. I'm incredibly honored to have been included on that list for two years, now.
http://www.betweenmysheets.com/top-100-sex-bloggers-of-2013
Pick a few new ones to read, and check out Rori, too.
Here's her list, and congratulations to everyone who is on it!
100. YOU! As always, I want to leave a place on this list for ALL the awesome sex bloggers out there! So please leave a comment on Between My Sheets with your name/URL to tell us about your sexy blog!
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Fucking with a vengeance
My life is brilliant. Every night I fall asleep in the arms of my delicious, fantastic, sexy husband who, even half asleep, keeps mumbling about how happy he is with me and how much he loves me.
Every night.
My life is a fairy tale dream from which I have no desire to be awakened.
It must be real, though, because the pain of his fingers clamping down on my nipple still makes me scream. My screams still seem to cause him to erupt. Those pinches do not change my reality except to sharpen it.
He revels in the power I have gifted him over my entire being.
"Your body is mine," he murmurs against my temple.
"Yes sir," I whisper in response.
"Your soul is mine," he says roughly, directly into my ear, and I shudder. His hand is causing pain somewhere. Slapping my breasts, making me arch into him, or perhaps smacking into my spread open vulva.
Every night.
My life is a fairy tale dream from which I have no desire to be awakened.
It must be real, though, because the pain of his fingers clamping down on my nipple still makes me scream. My screams still seem to cause him to erupt. Those pinches do not change my reality except to sharpen it.
He revels in the power I have gifted him over my entire being.
"Your body is mine," he murmurs against my temple.
"Yes sir," I whisper in response.
"Your soul is mine," he says roughly, directly into my ear, and I shudder. His hand is causing pain somewhere. Slapping my breasts, making me arch into him, or perhaps smacking into my spread open vulva.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
A new friend
I think you all might be interested to check out Pearl's new blog, over at
Please give her a warm welcome!
Friday, November 22, 2013
Sex objects
And now for something... a little different.
We were playing around online, my husband and I, and this ...male creature came along and started hitting on me. Straight up, obviously hitting on me, with no reason other than that I was presenting as female at that time. No invitation on my part, nothing. To be fair, he was hitting on everyone presenting as female.
My husband is amazing and hilarious and perfect, and turned it all into a good time for me. "Wife! Bad wife! Are you being a person again and not a random male sex object?" he said to me, in full view of everyone.
Later, we'd gone to bed and were talking about it. "'Conina I want you to love me too,'" I giggled as I settled, naked, into my husband's embrace. "Who does he think he is anyway? You can't just go around treating people like objects."
"Well," said my husband, his voice deepening a bit as one hand spread over my scalp, tightening in my hair, "only specific people, right?" He rubbed the soft growth of his beard over the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
I purred, shivering with delight as his other hand drew me close to him, his leg completing my entrapment as it captured my legs. I wriggled back into him. "Mmhmm. Only specific people who've agreed to such things," I confirmed.
"My fuck toy," he whispered, pulling my face toward him as he tugged on my hair. His lips met mine and the universe exploded in sensation. His lips, soft and warm, his beard, coarse and springy, the soft noises he made in his throat filling my ears as surely as if they were bomb blasts. Everything was magnified.
His hand covered my throat, holding my head where he wanted it from both sides as we kissed. I whimpered. I love the sensation of having no escape from him. I felt his cock grow hard against my arm where it was trapped between us, and moved my hand to stroke him through his boxers. He felt absolutely enormous. "Oh my God," I whispered against his lips, my eyes momentarily going wide.
"What?" he laughed before continuing to kiss me.
"Oh my God, husband," I said again, my fingers seeking to encircle the massive shaft of his erection and squeeze.
"I don't think it's changed, pretty girl. Maybe it's just been too long since you touched it last." He pressed himself hard into my hand.
"Oh my God, husband," I repeated, and then, "that's quite the monster you have in your pants."
His reply sent butterflies chasing in my stomach and tingles all over my body. He tightened his grip on the back of my head, on my throat. "This is quite the wonderful girl I have in my hands," he growled, his lips again claiming mine, keeping me from further words. But I melted. Ohhh I melted. The noises I made after that were confined to my throat.
How is it that the man I've agreed can treat me like a sex object makes me feel so much more like a person than people with whom I have no such agreement?
What's your experience with dehumanizing behavior from random web denizens?
We were playing around online, my husband and I, and this ...male creature came along and started hitting on me. Straight up, obviously hitting on me, with no reason other than that I was presenting as female at that time. No invitation on my part, nothing. To be fair, he was hitting on everyone presenting as female.
My husband is amazing and hilarious and perfect, and turned it all into a good time for me. "Wife! Bad wife! Are you being a person again and not a random male sex object?" he said to me, in full view of everyone.
Later, we'd gone to bed and were talking about it. "'Conina I want you to love me too,'" I giggled as I settled, naked, into my husband's embrace. "Who does he think he is anyway? You can't just go around treating people like objects."
"Well," said my husband, his voice deepening a bit as one hand spread over my scalp, tightening in my hair, "only specific people, right?" He rubbed the soft growth of his beard over the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
I purred, shivering with delight as his other hand drew me close to him, his leg completing my entrapment as it captured my legs. I wriggled back into him. "Mmhmm. Only specific people who've agreed to such things," I confirmed.
"My fuck toy," he whispered, pulling my face toward him as he tugged on my hair. His lips met mine and the universe exploded in sensation. His lips, soft and warm, his beard, coarse and springy, the soft noises he made in his throat filling my ears as surely as if they were bomb blasts. Everything was magnified.
His hand covered my throat, holding my head where he wanted it from both sides as we kissed. I whimpered. I love the sensation of having no escape from him. I felt his cock grow hard against my arm where it was trapped between us, and moved my hand to stroke him through his boxers. He felt absolutely enormous. "Oh my God," I whispered against his lips, my eyes momentarily going wide.
"What?" he laughed before continuing to kiss me.
"Oh my God, husband," I said again, my fingers seeking to encircle the massive shaft of his erection and squeeze.
"I don't think it's changed, pretty girl. Maybe it's just been too long since you touched it last." He pressed himself hard into my hand.
"Oh my God, husband," I repeated, and then, "that's quite the monster you have in your pants."
His reply sent butterflies chasing in my stomach and tingles all over my body. He tightened his grip on the back of my head, on my throat. "This is quite the wonderful girl I have in my hands," he growled, his lips again claiming mine, keeping me from further words. But I melted. Ohhh I melted. The noises I made after that were confined to my throat.
How is it that the man I've agreed can treat me like a sex object makes me feel so much more like a person than people with whom I have no such agreement?
What's your experience with dehumanizing behavior from random web denizens?
Friday, October 25, 2013
Wow
Has it really been almost a month since the last time I found a moment and a breath to write a post?
Life is so full of things. I miss you all. I never intended to cease here, I just ran out of time.
I'll call this a break, and promise to return when the time and the breath returns with me. Count me down, but not out.
Life is so full of things. I miss you all. I never intended to cease here, I just ran out of time.
I'll call this a break, and promise to return when the time and the breath returns with me. Count me down, but not out.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Right in the what?
He holds me close to him, his fingers working, his magic voice telling me that I am his, that he can do what he likes with me, that I will come for him before I will be allowed to suck his cock.
I am begging him, pleading to be allowed to pleasure him as his fingers gently stroke me closer and closer to the edge of bliss. "Please, please let me suck your cock," is the last thing I can say before my words are stolen by the things he is saying, by the way his fingers are making me feel.
"You saying you want to pleasure me BEFORE you come? That doesn't seem fair, fuck toy," he growls in my ear, his breath raising tingles all down the side of my face, my neck, my side... all the way to my toes. "You're gonna come for me, all right. Who owns you, girl?" he demands as I am right at the edge.
The effort of answering him makes me fly off. "YOU own me," I squeal, the last syllable trailing into a long scream of pure sexual release.
"Good girl," he whispers, and he keeps going and going and going, making my body dance on the tips of his fingers.
Finally, finally, his touch slows, he lets me breathe. "Suck cock now?" I manage.
"Yes, girl, you can suck my cock now." But his mouth is on mine, he is kissing me long and hard, a kiss that embodies passion itself. My hand moves to stroke the cock he's promised me and I find it big and hard, poking out of the top of the waistband of his boxers.
"There's a monster in your pants," I whisper into his mouth.
"It's got your name ALL over it, girl," he growls, moving more onto his back.
I gasp as his words reach their target, and I slide my body down his. I take him in my mouth with no preliminary teasing - my desire to have him invade me is too strong for that. His groans of pleasure reach my ears and I am emboldened. His boxers are a nuisance, we make them go away together as I settle between his legs, sliding my arms under his ass as his legs go over my shoulders and his feet rest on my back.
"Yeah, that's where you go, girl, with your face impaled on my cock," he growls as I take him as far down my throat as I can. My moan cannot leave my body because its exit route is full of hard male flesh, but I tremble with arousal anyway. He must feel my shaking in his cock, under his feet, because he makes a pleased noise too. I pull my face away to breathe, gasping in great lungfuls of air while rubbing my face against his cock, letting my tongue lick before I dive down onto him again.
His cock in my throat, I grab the outside of his thighs and press his legs together around my head, trapping myself. I would scream from the intensity of it but I can't. He makes a half-strangled noise that I don't hear from him often, and after I have run out of air, I pull off him to breathe again. I breathe heavily as I rub my face along his cock, and I am so absorbed in the intensity of what I am feeling that I realize he's coming only as it goes up my nose.
It stings.
It's hot. It's sexy-hot and I can't believe this just happened, but I slurp his cock back into my mouth to consume the rest of what he gives.
For the first time, he's come up my nose.
I'll take it.
I am begging him, pleading to be allowed to pleasure him as his fingers gently stroke me closer and closer to the edge of bliss. "Please, please let me suck your cock," is the last thing I can say before my words are stolen by the things he is saying, by the way his fingers are making me feel.
"You saying you want to pleasure me BEFORE you come? That doesn't seem fair, fuck toy," he growls in my ear, his breath raising tingles all down the side of my face, my neck, my side... all the way to my toes. "You're gonna come for me, all right. Who owns you, girl?" he demands as I am right at the edge.
The effort of answering him makes me fly off. "YOU own me," I squeal, the last syllable trailing into a long scream of pure sexual release.
"Good girl," he whispers, and he keeps going and going and going, making my body dance on the tips of his fingers.
Finally, finally, his touch slows, he lets me breathe. "Suck cock now?" I manage.
"Yes, girl, you can suck my cock now." But his mouth is on mine, he is kissing me long and hard, a kiss that embodies passion itself. My hand moves to stroke the cock he's promised me and I find it big and hard, poking out of the top of the waistband of his boxers.
"There's a monster in your pants," I whisper into his mouth.
"It's got your name ALL over it, girl," he growls, moving more onto his back.
I gasp as his words reach their target, and I slide my body down his. I take him in my mouth with no preliminary teasing - my desire to have him invade me is too strong for that. His groans of pleasure reach my ears and I am emboldened. His boxers are a nuisance, we make them go away together as I settle between his legs, sliding my arms under his ass as his legs go over my shoulders and his feet rest on my back.
"Yeah, that's where you go, girl, with your face impaled on my cock," he growls as I take him as far down my throat as I can. My moan cannot leave my body because its exit route is full of hard male flesh, but I tremble with arousal anyway. He must feel my shaking in his cock, under his feet, because he makes a pleased noise too. I pull my face away to breathe, gasping in great lungfuls of air while rubbing my face against his cock, letting my tongue lick before I dive down onto him again.
His cock in my throat, I grab the outside of his thighs and press his legs together around my head, trapping myself. I would scream from the intensity of it but I can't. He makes a half-strangled noise that I don't hear from him often, and after I have run out of air, I pull off him to breathe again. I breathe heavily as I rub my face along his cock, and I am so absorbed in the intensity of what I am feeling that I realize he's coming only as it goes up my nose.
It stings.
It's hot. It's sexy-hot and I can't believe this just happened, but I slurp his cock back into my mouth to consume the rest of what he gives.
For the first time, he's come up my nose.
I'll take it.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Fucking after a 5K
"You love being my fuck hole, don't you?" he growls into my ear. I'm half on my side, half on my back and he's behind me, my leg wrapped around his waist, my foot pushing against his ass, his huge cock plundering my insides to the point of pain. I am incredibly wet due to the face-fucking I just received and the amazing things he has been saying.
I whimper my response. "Mmhmm, mmhmm." I do, I do, I do.
"Say it," his voice rumbles as his fingers tighten around my wrist.
Oh God, if he makes me say it. Oh, God, I can't hold it together. The words stumble out of me, falling over themselves and making me repeat some sounds. "I luh-love b-being your f-fuck hole," I stammer. Too many sensations pouring through me from the center, the effort to make words is too much and I can feel the distraction of being forced to speak such words driving me closer to orgasm.
He hears my voice catching. "Say it again," he orders.
Holy shit, my head is going to explode. I do what he's asked, repeating the words, and then I do it again, and again as he keeps fucking me, and I'm exploding, tightening, arching, pressing, screaming. He feels too good and I can't contain the sensations.
The hand that's not holding my wrist tight is stroking my spread sex, rubbing lightly across my clit, making me gasp and jerk and squirm around his cock, the post-orgasm sensitivity just driving me close to another and another.
"I love to make my fuck slave squirm," he says, though whether that's because it feels better to his cock or just because he enjoys making me squirm isn't altogether clear.
My hand is trying to get lose from his grip. I want, badly, to reach behind me, wrap my arm around his neck, stroke his hair with my hand. He won't let me go though.
"Please, please, please, please," I beg, tugging on my wrist.
"Hm? What's my fuck slave want?" he asks, keeping his grip on me.
"Oh please, please, I want to touch you," I manage to gasp out between the cries of pleasure he's coaxing from me.
"Oh, that's okay, go ahead and touch me," he says, but doesn't let go of me. I fight to free myself from his grip, to get my hand to his skin, but he won't let go. "Go on, girl, I said you could touch me," he says.
I whimper with frustration and arousal as I tug futilely at my wrist. He keeps pounding inside me, his other hand keeps tormenting my sensitive parts, and I have very little strength for the physical struggle to get my hand to his head.
"Ohh," he says after a few moments of useless struggle on my part. "I guess my girl didn't really want to touch me at all. How disappointing."
I groan, a deep, tormented groan, and I am also on the verge of another orgasm as I pull against his grip. He releases my wrist as I shudder around him. "Good girl," he whispers in my ear as my arm snakes its way around his neck, as I pull him as close to me as I can.
It's the middle of the afternoon and he woke me from a much-needed nap to fuck me. I couldn't be happier. He drives into me, grinding, his fingers stroking my clit, his breath and his voice in my ear, and I am exactly where I want to be, exactly where I am meant to be. I am fulfilling my own very specific purpose.
I don't know how many times I come on his cock before he finally can't stand it. I do know my screams seem to spur his orgasm out of him, and that feels somehow powerful to me even though he is the one causing my screams.
After his cock softens, his hand replaces it. He fills me, presses against my g-spot until I scream in disbelief at the sensations inside me. "Oh my God, what are you doing to me?" I squeal, the sensations so unbelievable that I have difficulty processing them.
"Oooh," he says at my reaction, prodding the same spot again and again and watching me react the same way. "Fucking you," he answers as I scream, a different sort of orgasm taking me over and washing all my strength away.
This man, this man, this unbelievable man.
My life, my heart, my body, my love are his.
No description can do justice to the joy that swells inside me when he touches me. I told him once that it feels like a holy moment and that's why I close my eyes, to savor it.
I could type for years and never properly indicate the exact level of wonder with which he fills my life.
This will have to do for now.
I whimper my response. "Mmhmm, mmhmm." I do, I do, I do.
"Say it," his voice rumbles as his fingers tighten around my wrist.
Oh God, if he makes me say it. Oh, God, I can't hold it together. The words stumble out of me, falling over themselves and making me repeat some sounds. "I luh-love b-being your f-fuck hole," I stammer. Too many sensations pouring through me from the center, the effort to make words is too much and I can feel the distraction of being forced to speak such words driving me closer to orgasm.
He hears my voice catching. "Say it again," he orders.
Holy shit, my head is going to explode. I do what he's asked, repeating the words, and then I do it again, and again as he keeps fucking me, and I'm exploding, tightening, arching, pressing, screaming. He feels too good and I can't contain the sensations.
The hand that's not holding my wrist tight is stroking my spread sex, rubbing lightly across my clit, making me gasp and jerk and squirm around his cock, the post-orgasm sensitivity just driving me close to another and another.
"I love to make my fuck slave squirm," he says, though whether that's because it feels better to his cock or just because he enjoys making me squirm isn't altogether clear.
My hand is trying to get lose from his grip. I want, badly, to reach behind me, wrap my arm around his neck, stroke his hair with my hand. He won't let me go though.
"Please, please, please, please," I beg, tugging on my wrist.
"Hm? What's my fuck slave want?" he asks, keeping his grip on me.
"Oh please, please, I want to touch you," I manage to gasp out between the cries of pleasure he's coaxing from me.
"Oh, that's okay, go ahead and touch me," he says, but doesn't let go of me. I fight to free myself from his grip, to get my hand to his skin, but he won't let go. "Go on, girl, I said you could touch me," he says.
I whimper with frustration and arousal as I tug futilely at my wrist. He keeps pounding inside me, his other hand keeps tormenting my sensitive parts, and I have very little strength for the physical struggle to get my hand to his head.
"Ohh," he says after a few moments of useless struggle on my part. "I guess my girl didn't really want to touch me at all. How disappointing."
I groan, a deep, tormented groan, and I am also on the verge of another orgasm as I pull against his grip. He releases my wrist as I shudder around him. "Good girl," he whispers in my ear as my arm snakes its way around his neck, as I pull him as close to me as I can.
It's the middle of the afternoon and he woke me from a much-needed nap to fuck me. I couldn't be happier. He drives into me, grinding, his fingers stroking my clit, his breath and his voice in my ear, and I am exactly where I want to be, exactly where I am meant to be. I am fulfilling my own very specific purpose.
I don't know how many times I come on his cock before he finally can't stand it. I do know my screams seem to spur his orgasm out of him, and that feels somehow powerful to me even though he is the one causing my screams.
After his cock softens, his hand replaces it. He fills me, presses against my g-spot until I scream in disbelief at the sensations inside me. "Oh my God, what are you doing to me?" I squeal, the sensations so unbelievable that I have difficulty processing them.
"Oooh," he says at my reaction, prodding the same spot again and again and watching me react the same way. "Fucking you," he answers as I scream, a different sort of orgasm taking me over and washing all my strength away.
This man, this man, this unbelievable man.
My life, my heart, my body, my love are his.
No description can do justice to the joy that swells inside me when he touches me. I told him once that it feels like a holy moment and that's why I close my eyes, to savor it.
I could type for years and never properly indicate the exact level of wonder with which he fills my life.
This will have to do for now.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
The one thing every new dominant should know
Disclaimer
What you don't know
Contrary to popular opinion, what you don't know can hurt you and will probably hurt those people in intimate relationships with you. A BDSM situation, especially for those submissives exploring and finding their way for the first time, can be incredibly freeing. A submissive may find himself or herself with incredibly strong drives, with increased needs for intimacy - sex and kink, yes, but also just holding or touching or talking about feelings.
If you're not prepared for an increase in libido and other intimate needs, it could lead to some very bad places.
This isn't a "you are in fact controlled by your submissive" sort of thing. It's merely a fact. Dom doesn't equal asshole unless that's your kink, and if so that's between you and your sub.
The backlash
An offhanded comment can reduce a submissive to tears so quickly that you mightn't even realize what's happened. In a dedicated long-term relationship that also happens to include lots of kink, if you want the bonuses that go with being dom, master/mistress, or owner, you need to be aware of what you have to be beyond just the kinky badass who takes what she wants.
For example: if a submissive mentions having fun and or sexytimes with you and your response is a lighthearted "That's your solution to everything!" it may not strike a nerve three times out of four, but especially if you say it often enough, when it does strike a nerve it will be a very exposed, very raw nerve.
The resulting emotional collapse from having this nerve struck may be something you witness, or it may not. Your submissive will try very hard to appear unfazed in front of you, but chances are she will feel like an annoyance: the guest who has overstayed her welcome, the sub who got just ever so slightly too needy. A sense of panic will start to set in. She will try to think what she can do to repair the damage, to be less annoying, and she won't see a way out of it because this is who she is now.
Eventually the dam will burst. It's a horrible straitjacket for a submissive - her own internal needs and desires and fulfillment on the one hand, the need to please her dominant on the other, and the two things seemingly in direct conflict. If what she is can only annoy her dom, what is she to do?
What you need to be
I'm going to make a not-so-giant leap here and say that actually you should be this regardless if you're inclined toward kink or not-so-much.
You have to be your submissive's safe place. If he can't express who he really is with you, then every kinky action you may take is for absolute naught. If he feels you are belittling his feelings and the things he needs from you to feel emotionally fulfilled, then he will start to withdraw - what else can a sub do when what he needs seemingly draws such disdain from the person he has devoted himself to pleasing?
This might require some self-correction on your part, some examination of what it is you say, and as always in every kind of relationship that's meant to go anywhere, clear and near-constant communication.
Maybe you've told your sub frequently how amazing he is, how much he pleases you, but you have to keep doing that. As submissive people we thrive on pleasing our dominant halves, much like a dog loves to please its owner. But unlike dogs, we can make inferences and draw conclusions, even if they aren't anywhere near being correct.
The hounds of self-doubt always dog our heels, and we need confirmation that we aren't overwhelming, that we are pleasing, and that what we are is what you want.
An awful lot of work for a dominant who's meant to get/do whatever she wants.
You've got the world's all time best self-caring pet/plaything, but you still have to do some work. A submissive who feels himself/herself pleasing is a submissive who will do anything you ask, so I'm almost certain that the work is worth it. Ultimately, that's your decision to make.
Please dominate responsibly.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Waiting
Sometimes, I wait a long time. I have time to look down the line of my body and to find what I see appealing. But when the daylight is streaming through our open blinds, filtered slightly by the curtains... that is when the visuals reach their maximum appeal.
For me, anyway. Your mileage may vary.
When do you find yourself most provocative?
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
The shockingly simple motivations of sexuality
A blogger I much admire once distilled all of sexual experience down to a fine point that shocked me in its utter simplicity. She is gone, but her idea has burned itself into my memory and I feel the need to share it further in a place where it can be read.
Ultimately, every sexual interaction, every stressful moment, every tearful or joyful minute I have spent in relation to my sexuality, boils down to this one fine point.
Example: I want to fight and kick and be overpowered. It sounds insanely hot and I want it with a passion. My husband, though, wants no part of it.
Or from the other side: My husband wants his wife to give herself up to his every whim, but she wants to fight and kick and be overpowered. Crazy woman.
It could go on - the male sub wants to be used, the female dom wants to be catered to, the couples in egalitarian relationships continually wish their partners would just initiate.
I'm sure there are situations in which it does not apply, because there are as many different kinky inclinations as there are kinky people. But this one point does apply in many, many situations.
Here it is:
Everyone wants to be desired.
I want my husband to want me so much that he will physically overpower me.
He wants me to want him so much that I let him do what he wants regardless of what it is or I initiate sex because I can't keep my hands off him.
Those people in egalitarian relationships? They all want to feel wanted.
It's not just a case of "Why don't you initiate?"
It's a case of "Don't you want me enough to ever initiate?"
It's self-worth wrapped in the easily-crumpled, easily torn, fragile wrapper of sexuality. Because if our lovers don't want us, who the hell will?
It's an eye-opening thought, for sure.
I hope you can take it to heart and maybe apply it to some of your own situations.
Monday, August 12, 2013
A little reminder
It's dark, and I'm driving on a relatively long haul for a family trip - three and a half hours.
He's sitting behind me to let the more car-sickness prone among us have a better journey.
I shift slightly in my seat to relieve some pressure point that's irritating me, and that's when his hand comes to rest on my throat. His fingers stroke gently at first, and I purr. But even after he stops caressing me, he leaves his hand there.
It's a glorious reminder of his presence and our dynamic, of the fact that I am his and if he chooses to rest his hand on my throat he damn well can.
It arouses me incredibly.
But the arousal will have to wait until the weekend trip is over.
He's sitting behind me to let the more car-sickness prone among us have a better journey.
I shift slightly in my seat to relieve some pressure point that's irritating me, and that's when his hand comes to rest on my throat. His fingers stroke gently at first, and I purr. But even after he stops caressing me, he leaves his hand there.
It's a glorious reminder of his presence and our dynamic, of the fact that I am his and if he chooses to rest his hand on my throat he damn well can.
It arouses me incredibly.
But the arousal will have to wait until the weekend trip is over.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Orgasm trigger
He's fucking me. It's hot and he's been talking since he started - he's pulling out all the stops. He's on top and we rock, a perfect rhythm. His hand goes to cover my face; I whimper with all the lust that action causes, and as I do he says it.
"Fuck object doesn't get to talk. Fuck object doesn't get to make a sound. Fuck object just gets to be fucked."
Beyond my heavy breathing I am silent as he instructed, and I bite into the side of his hand where it presses slightly into my mouth. But as he keeps moving and as the orgasm gains strength, as his words bounce around inside my skull, a half-choked scream emerges from me, and the orgasm itself completely saps my energy.
Ohhhh he's soo good.
"Fuck object doesn't get to talk. Fuck object doesn't get to make a sound. Fuck object just gets to be fucked."
Beyond my heavy breathing I am silent as he instructed, and I bite into the side of his hand where it presses slightly into my mouth. But as he keeps moving and as the orgasm gains strength, as his words bounce around inside my skull, a half-choked scream emerges from me, and the orgasm itself completely saps my energy.
Ohhhh he's soo good.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Time travel
He's lying atop me, gazing down. His weight presses me into the mattress, but we're just talking.
"Did you ever think that you might be a time traveler who saw what a miserable lonely old man I was and came back to rescue me from my life of loneliness?" he asks me.
I grin. My heart does a little somersault in my chest when he talks like this, and now is no exception.
"Mmhmm, I did," I answer.
"You have the power of time travel and that's what you did with it?" he growls, a mock scowl distorting his handsome features.
"Anything for you, love," I say.
"Did you ever think that you might be a time traveler who saw what a miserable lonely old man I was and came back to rescue me from my life of loneliness?" he asks me.
I grin. My heart does a little somersault in my chest when he talks like this, and now is no exception.
"Mmhmm, I did," I answer.
"You have the power of time travel and that's what you did with it?" he growls, a mock scowl distorting his handsome features.
"Anything for you, love," I say.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Keeping it real
On the plane, hours and hours and hours with no privacy, surrounded by foreigners he understands but I don't, he snuggles against me while our munchkin sleeps.
"Would my girl like a blanket?" he asks, and the intimation is clear. I pull the blanket over us even though it's hot. So hot. Too many bodies, too close for too long.
His hand, now hidden by the blanket, snakes under my shirt, strokes my nipple. I moan softly, quietly, low enough the roar of the engines hide it. His fingers pinch, tighten, and I want to squeal but I just breathe harder, tamping down the urge to make noise.
"Good girl," he growls low into my ear. "Good fuck toy." He squeezes my nipple again and the pain rockets through my body like a bolt of lightning. I can only just bear it, though a whimper escapes. "My good fuck hole," he says, and I am instantly hotter, too hot, I can't breathe at all now. He slowly removes his hand and I toss the blanket away, pulling away from him to allow some air to circulate around me. Passing out from desire wouldn't serve anyone.
It's not a game.
He's pretty good at keeping it real.
"Would my girl like a blanket?" he asks, and the intimation is clear. I pull the blanket over us even though it's hot. So hot. Too many bodies, too close for too long.
His hand, now hidden by the blanket, snakes under my shirt, strokes my nipple. I moan softly, quietly, low enough the roar of the engines hide it. His fingers pinch, tighten, and I want to squeal but I just breathe harder, tamping down the urge to make noise.
"Good girl," he growls low into my ear. "Good fuck toy." He squeezes my nipple again and the pain rockets through my body like a bolt of lightning. I can only just bear it, though a whimper escapes. "My good fuck hole," he says, and I am instantly hotter, too hot, I can't breathe at all now. He slowly removes his hand and I toss the blanket away, pulling away from him to allow some air to circulate around me. Passing out from desire wouldn't serve anyone.
It's not a game.
He's pretty good at keeping it real.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Step 3: Fuck the slave girl's brains out
Step 2 is here.
He climbs atop me and he slips his cock against my entrance. He's slow, easing it into me even though I would surge up into him and devour him into me. When he is completely buried inside me and I am pulsing around him, he grinds. He rocks into my clit just so and he's saying something about me, about owning me and me existing for his pleasure and being there for his cock. My body arches into him and I tremble, a series of short sharp pants emerging from my mouth.
"Did I say you could come again?" he asks sharply.
"Oh, God, no," I whimper, shaking. He wants this, wants me to come on command, and I'm not so good at it. But I can stop, though I tremble with the effort.
He puts his head down so that his lips are near my ear as he growls. "Then don't. I'll tell you when you can come."
My head swims. It swims and pounds and I'm not sure exactly what he's doing but it's making me crazy. I groan, shuddering, at the edge of orgasm - right where he put me.
"Now," he finally says, driving his cock down into me, his lips still at my ear. "Come for me now!"
I do. I let go of the tenuous thread holding me to sanity and I fly, screaming, into the blissful abyss where he has sent me.
Time stretches, suspends, as he continues fucking me. He is brilliant, a sex god, a lover of epic proportions and all I want is to please him and feel the pleasure he gains from me in all the ways he does.
"I'm going to fuck your ass next," he growls down at me. I whimper.
"You like the sound of that?" he asks.
It occurs to me now, that a lot of what he says during sex is making sure I'm happy. At the time it sounds like growling, sounds like orders and like him requiring me to vocalize. But he wants to be wanted too - of course he does. I wonder how much of his pleasure comes from knowing how much he pleases me. I think it might be a lot. I know he likes this blog, likes having the window into my experience of him.
I do like the sound of it - anal sex - his cock invading my ass, pushing me open, claiming me. I like the sound of it very very much. He circles his hips against me and I arch up into him. "Yes, Master, I like your cock invading me," I gasp.
He pulls away from me. Oh, no. Now I'm empty. I groan with disappointment as he rolls to my side.
"Is the poor girl empty?" he asks gently, not too mockingly.
I dive after his wet cock with my mouth, making sure to cover my lip with my hand again. I lick my arousal off of him, suck him as best I can, while he gets the lube from the nightstand drawer.
"Turn over, girl," he finally says once he has retrieved the tube of slippery substance.
I do. I turn my back to him, bend myself nearly in half to provide him access to the part he wants. I'm shaking. I'm excited and a little afraid. We have anal sex rarely enough that each time is a little scary. Will he push too hard? Will he make it hurt? Will he go slowly enough so it's not overwhelming pain?
And this time, after the lube is applied and my tiny opening prepared for him, he is perfect. I reach behind me and hold his cock steady, and he pushes just a tiny bit, then retreats and repeats. Over and over, each time entering me just a little more, making me open for him, penetrating my resistance as I moan deeply. It's overwhelming but not with pain, just sensation and awe at how absolutely perfect the entire experience is.
"Going to fuck your ass," he growls as he is finally all the way inside me. He grabs my hip and thrusts. I cry out - it's amazing, he feels amazing. My muscles squeeze around his foreskin and his cock slides within it as it's meant to.
His hand cups my breast, lifts the warm weight of it. His fingers press gently around my nipple. "Going to pinch your nipple," he says roughly, right in my ear.
Shivers run down my spine. "Okay," I whimper.
"Going to pinch it hard," he continues.
Oh, God. "Okay," I whimper again.
"Going to pinch your nipple hard while I fuck you in the ass," he clarifies.
"Oh my God," I moan, and then he is doing what he said, slowly compressing my nipple between his thumb and forefinger until I squeal with the pain of it. It's intense, and sharp, and he never stops moving his cock.
"Does it hurt, slave?" he asks. When I merely continue squealing he says "Good. Good girl."
He stops pinching, and he slaps. He slaps my nipple and I groan. It burns, it stings, then it tingles. My nipple turns into a little pebble and he slaps it again. He's talking now too, something about ownership and pain and love.
I am out of my mind with pleasure, but he is pulling my leg backward over his waist. It's slightly different than vaginal sex in this position, but he still has free access to my pussy - now pulled open for his enjoyment. He's talking, still, as his fingers find my wetness and play there. Fingers enter my body, my flesh separating his fingers from his cock, and I moan. "Is my girl full?" he asks.
I am beyond words. I respond but it's a mumbled grunt. God, I love being his, I love him filling me up, love having him occupy my body and my space. I think about sex with him so often that when it does happen - every time it happens, even if it's every day - it's like a long-desired dream coming true.
I cannot say all that, but the feeling of it rushes through me and I scream as his fingers work their magic, as his cock fucks me in a place no one else has ever even touched me.
He comes - he must have come - but I can't process it. I'm too far gone. His fingers gently stroke me as I come down from the mountain. We're still in the same position, my leg backward around his waist, his softening cock in my ass. My hand closest to him fumbles around, trying to find a place to touch him - his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, his head, and back again. My arm can't find a place where I can rest it on him without it sliding off. It's a weak sort of floppy arm movement and he laughs at me.
"What are you doing with that arm, girl?" he laughs.
"Want to love you," I mutter. He moves his arm, crooks it so that his forearm is holding mine in place so I can rest my hand on him comfortably.
I am spent.
But much later, when I am almost asleep and I am wrapped around him from behind, squeezing him and kissing his neck softly as I drowse, he suddenly says "Turn over so I can fuck you some more."
Oh my God. My stomach does flip-flips. Just to hear those words come out of his mouth sends me all aflutter. I do as he's asked, and he has his way with me from behind. It's like a birthday and a road trip and an excellent homecooked meal all rolled into one. This happens even more rarely than anal, that he interrupts my sleep to take me.
"Where did that come from?" I ask him.
"Mmm, I was thinking about how sexy you are and I got turned on and I thought I should take it since it's mine."
Holy hell. Hotter words were never spoken.
He climbs atop me and he slips his cock against my entrance. He's slow, easing it into me even though I would surge up into him and devour him into me. When he is completely buried inside me and I am pulsing around him, he grinds. He rocks into my clit just so and he's saying something about me, about owning me and me existing for his pleasure and being there for his cock. My body arches into him and I tremble, a series of short sharp pants emerging from my mouth.
"Did I say you could come again?" he asks sharply.
"Oh, God, no," I whimper, shaking. He wants this, wants me to come on command, and I'm not so good at it. But I can stop, though I tremble with the effort.
He puts his head down so that his lips are near my ear as he growls. "Then don't. I'll tell you when you can come."
My head swims. It swims and pounds and I'm not sure exactly what he's doing but it's making me crazy. I groan, shuddering, at the edge of orgasm - right where he put me.
"Now," he finally says, driving his cock down into me, his lips still at my ear. "Come for me now!"
I do. I let go of the tenuous thread holding me to sanity and I fly, screaming, into the blissful abyss where he has sent me.
Time stretches, suspends, as he continues fucking me. He is brilliant, a sex god, a lover of epic proportions and all I want is to please him and feel the pleasure he gains from me in all the ways he does.
"I'm going to fuck your ass next," he growls down at me. I whimper.
"You like the sound of that?" he asks.
It occurs to me now, that a lot of what he says during sex is making sure I'm happy. At the time it sounds like growling, sounds like orders and like him requiring me to vocalize. But he wants to be wanted too - of course he does. I wonder how much of his pleasure comes from knowing how much he pleases me. I think it might be a lot. I know he likes this blog, likes having the window into my experience of him.
I do like the sound of it - anal sex - his cock invading my ass, pushing me open, claiming me. I like the sound of it very very much. He circles his hips against me and I arch up into him. "Yes, Master, I like your cock invading me," I gasp.
He pulls away from me. Oh, no. Now I'm empty. I groan with disappointment as he rolls to my side.
"Is the poor girl empty?" he asks gently, not too mockingly.
I dive after his wet cock with my mouth, making sure to cover my lip with my hand again. I lick my arousal off of him, suck him as best I can, while he gets the lube from the nightstand drawer.
"Turn over, girl," he finally says once he has retrieved the tube of slippery substance.
I do. I turn my back to him, bend myself nearly in half to provide him access to the part he wants. I'm shaking. I'm excited and a little afraid. We have anal sex rarely enough that each time is a little scary. Will he push too hard? Will he make it hurt? Will he go slowly enough so it's not overwhelming pain?
And this time, after the lube is applied and my tiny opening prepared for him, he is perfect. I reach behind me and hold his cock steady, and he pushes just a tiny bit, then retreats and repeats. Over and over, each time entering me just a little more, making me open for him, penetrating my resistance as I moan deeply. It's overwhelming but not with pain, just sensation and awe at how absolutely perfect the entire experience is.
"Going to fuck your ass," he growls as he is finally all the way inside me. He grabs my hip and thrusts. I cry out - it's amazing, he feels amazing. My muscles squeeze around his foreskin and his cock slides within it as it's meant to.
His hand cups my breast, lifts the warm weight of it. His fingers press gently around my nipple. "Going to pinch your nipple," he says roughly, right in my ear.
Shivers run down my spine. "Okay," I whimper.
"Going to pinch it hard," he continues.
Oh, God. "Okay," I whimper again.
"Going to pinch your nipple hard while I fuck you in the ass," he clarifies.
"Oh my God," I moan, and then he is doing what he said, slowly compressing my nipple between his thumb and forefinger until I squeal with the pain of it. It's intense, and sharp, and he never stops moving his cock.
"Does it hurt, slave?" he asks. When I merely continue squealing he says "Good. Good girl."
He stops pinching, and he slaps. He slaps my nipple and I groan. It burns, it stings, then it tingles. My nipple turns into a little pebble and he slaps it again. He's talking now too, something about ownership and pain and love.
I am out of my mind with pleasure, but he is pulling my leg backward over his waist. It's slightly different than vaginal sex in this position, but he still has free access to my pussy - now pulled open for his enjoyment. He's talking, still, as his fingers find my wetness and play there. Fingers enter my body, my flesh separating his fingers from his cock, and I moan. "Is my girl full?" he asks.
I am beyond words. I respond but it's a mumbled grunt. God, I love being his, I love him filling me up, love having him occupy my body and my space. I think about sex with him so often that when it does happen - every time it happens, even if it's every day - it's like a long-desired dream coming true.
I cannot say all that, but the feeling of it rushes through me and I scream as his fingers work their magic, as his cock fucks me in a place no one else has ever even touched me.
He comes - he must have come - but I can't process it. I'm too far gone. His fingers gently stroke me as I come down from the mountain. We're still in the same position, my leg backward around his waist, his softening cock in my ass. My hand closest to him fumbles around, trying to find a place to touch him - his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, his head, and back again. My arm can't find a place where I can rest it on him without it sliding off. It's a weak sort of floppy arm movement and he laughs at me.
"What are you doing with that arm, girl?" he laughs.
"Want to love you," I mutter. He moves his arm, crooks it so that his forearm is holding mine in place so I can rest my hand on him comfortably.
I am spent.
But much later, when I am almost asleep and I am wrapped around him from behind, squeezing him and kissing his neck softly as I drowse, he suddenly says "Turn over so I can fuck you some more."
Oh my God. My stomach does flip-flips. Just to hear those words come out of his mouth sends me all aflutter. I do as he's asked, and he has his way with me from behind. It's like a birthday and a road trip and an excellent homecooked meal all rolled into one. This happens even more rarely than anal, that he interrupts my sleep to take me.
"Where did that come from?" I ask him.
"Mmm, I was thinking about how sexy you are and I got turned on and I thought I should take it since it's mine."
Holy hell. Hotter words were never spoken.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Step 2: Drive the slave girl into crazed arousal
Step 1 is here
I moan when he squeezes my head close, pressing my face tightly against his shoulder. He responds by pulling me even closer, holding me even tighter. I moan louder.
"You like being close to your master, girl?" he asks softly. He doesn't have to speak loudly because my head is right there at his lips.
"Yes sir," I purr as he presses my face even closer to him.
"You like having your master inside you, girl?" he asks, and I groan. His fingertip plays around my mouth; his hand covers my face and presses down, mashing my nose slightly in the way I adore.
"Oh, God, yes, I like that," I answer. My voice is masked because I'm speaking against his palm. Oh, yes, I like it when the boundaries of our bodies blur and his becomes part of mine, whether that's his finger in my mouth, his cock in my ass, or any of the range of possibilities between. I love when he penetrates me and we are no longer two people. I long for that, crave it, especially if it's unexpected and on his whim. His hand re-positioning the parts of my face is part of that.
"Flogging, spanking, and fucking. These are a few of your favorite things, aren't they, my girl?"
"Oh yes sir, they are my favorite things," I murmur. My hand strokes his cock, which I haven't forgotten even though I am sinking into a happy, happy place in my head.
"You like that cock?" he asks, and he moans softly as I press my palm against it and rub up and down through his boxer briefs.
"Yes, Master," I whisper, as I hook my fingers in his waistband and tug the garment away from him. He moans a little louder when my palm meets his bare flesh again, and he pulls my head close into his shoulder. I nuzzle him there, moving my face slightly, enjoying the pressure as I rub my palm up and down the underside of his shaft.
I lick my lips. I want to pleasure him with my mouth. I duck my head down, covering my top lip with a finger so if there is a cold sore it won't touch him, and I lick along his length. He rewards me with a loud groan. He wasn't expecting that. He lets me play there for a while, shoving my head down a little. "Ohhh, you want to suck me, don't you, slave?" he asks. "Trying so hard to be careful, but you just want your face fucked. You want to be my fuck hole, don't you? Such a good fuck hole you are, too." I just moan around his cock as he talks, eventually pulling my mouth away for sanity's sake.
He pushes me over, shoves my legs open, and lets his fingers gently, delicately explore between the folds of my pussy. "Ooooh," he says as he discovers the wetness pooling there, "is that a good place to be touched?"
I moan, taking in a deep, shuddering breath as he drags the wetness up to my clit. I squeal as his fingertip touches me there, my hips bucking up into him. "Is that your favorite place to be touched, slave?" he asks as he gently moves his slippery fingertip across the little nub, back and forth.
I gasp. "Yes sir, I like when you touch me there," I manage to say, though the words tremble as I moan through them.
His finger moves, and I tremble. My body arches up, my head lifting off the bed. "Oh, you're going to come for me, aren't you?" he says, perhaps a little surprised at how quickly this first orgasm reached me. "Go on, then," he says, "come for me, slave."
It's only a little orgasm, but it is there. My head pounds, my heart races. He keeps touching me, talking to me, telling me what a good sex slave I am, what a good, wet, soft pussy I have, and how much he'd like to fuck it. "I'm going to fuck you, girl," he says. "I'm going to get on top of you and shove my cock inside you. You like that, don't you, having your master on top of you, fucking you."
His finger keeps moving and his words are making me crazy. I am almost coming again.
He spoils it.
"You're going to come again, aren't you?" he says. He can tell I am close.
"uhhh, no," I groan. He directed my attention away from his control and to the impending orgasm and it began to recede.
"'No??' You don't get to say 'no,' slave." He's surprised - shocked, even, that I would dare. "You get to come when your master fucking tells you to. Now come for me."
It works. The feeling of being controlled surrounds me again and I feel my clit pulse under his finger, my breath catches, and I cry out, my limbs shaking.
"Good girl," he purrs.
"uhhh," I groan, spent but insanely aroused. "You fuck me now?"
"Hmmm," he says, pondering, "Well, I suppose you did something for me, now I can do something for you."
And so starts step 3: Fuck the slave girl's brains out.
I moan when he squeezes my head close, pressing my face tightly against his shoulder. He responds by pulling me even closer, holding me even tighter. I moan louder.
"You like being close to your master, girl?" he asks softly. He doesn't have to speak loudly because my head is right there at his lips.
"Yes sir," I purr as he presses my face even closer to him.
"You like having your master inside you, girl?" he asks, and I groan. His fingertip plays around my mouth; his hand covers my face and presses down, mashing my nose slightly in the way I adore.
"Oh, God, yes, I like that," I answer. My voice is masked because I'm speaking against his palm. Oh, yes, I like it when the boundaries of our bodies blur and his becomes part of mine, whether that's his finger in my mouth, his cock in my ass, or any of the range of possibilities between. I love when he penetrates me and we are no longer two people. I long for that, crave it, especially if it's unexpected and on his whim. His hand re-positioning the parts of my face is part of that.
"Flogging, spanking, and fucking. These are a few of your favorite things, aren't they, my girl?"
"Oh yes sir, they are my favorite things," I murmur. My hand strokes his cock, which I haven't forgotten even though I am sinking into a happy, happy place in my head.
"You like that cock?" he asks, and he moans softly as I press my palm against it and rub up and down through his boxer briefs.
"Yes, Master," I whisper, as I hook my fingers in his waistband and tug the garment away from him. He moans a little louder when my palm meets his bare flesh again, and he pulls my head close into his shoulder. I nuzzle him there, moving my face slightly, enjoying the pressure as I rub my palm up and down the underside of his shaft.
I lick my lips. I want to pleasure him with my mouth. I duck my head down, covering my top lip with a finger so if there is a cold sore it won't touch him, and I lick along his length. He rewards me with a loud groan. He wasn't expecting that. He lets me play there for a while, shoving my head down a little. "Ohhh, you want to suck me, don't you, slave?" he asks. "Trying so hard to be careful, but you just want your face fucked. You want to be my fuck hole, don't you? Such a good fuck hole you are, too." I just moan around his cock as he talks, eventually pulling my mouth away for sanity's sake.
He pushes me over, shoves my legs open, and lets his fingers gently, delicately explore between the folds of my pussy. "Ooooh," he says as he discovers the wetness pooling there, "is that a good place to be touched?"
I moan, taking in a deep, shuddering breath as he drags the wetness up to my clit. I squeal as his fingertip touches me there, my hips bucking up into him. "Is that your favorite place to be touched, slave?" he asks as he gently moves his slippery fingertip across the little nub, back and forth.
I gasp. "Yes sir, I like when you touch me there," I manage to say, though the words tremble as I moan through them.
His finger moves, and I tremble. My body arches up, my head lifting off the bed. "Oh, you're going to come for me, aren't you?" he says, perhaps a little surprised at how quickly this first orgasm reached me. "Go on, then," he says, "come for me, slave."
It's only a little orgasm, but it is there. My head pounds, my heart races. He keeps touching me, talking to me, telling me what a good sex slave I am, what a good, wet, soft pussy I have, and how much he'd like to fuck it. "I'm going to fuck you, girl," he says. "I'm going to get on top of you and shove my cock inside you. You like that, don't you, having your master on top of you, fucking you."
His finger keeps moving and his words are making me crazy. I am almost coming again.
He spoils it.
"You're going to come again, aren't you?" he says. He can tell I am close.
"uhhh, no," I groan. He directed my attention away from his control and to the impending orgasm and it began to recede.
"'No??' You don't get to say 'no,' slave." He's surprised - shocked, even, that I would dare. "You get to come when your master fucking tells you to. Now come for me."
It works. The feeling of being controlled surrounds me again and I feel my clit pulse under his finger, my breath catches, and I cry out, my limbs shaking.
"Good girl," he purrs.
"uhhh," I groan, spent but insanely aroused. "You fuck me now?"
"Hmmm," he says, pondering, "Well, I suppose you did something for me, now I can do something for you."
And so starts step 3: Fuck the slave girl's brains out.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Step 1: Flog and spank the slave girl
"Hit me with this," I ask him, handing him a new style of flogger I've just made. I always ask him to hit me with the new types so I know what they feel like before I try to describe them to other people.
He hits me with it. It's small, but heavy, and packs a whallop. Kind of like a fist, the heavy loops of rope pound but don't sting like some other loopy ones I've made, though there is a little tiny bit of sting to it on some strokes. He keeps hitting my back with it - it feels like a deep tissue massage and I groan repeatedly.
"Enough?" he asks, as I grunt into the pillow.
"Mmf," I answer.
He puts it away, hanging it with the others in the flogger closet, and retrieves our blue silky one from behind the bed.
"What you doing?" I ask. I'm exhausted; I haven't moved from my position diagonally across the bed.
"While I have you here," he says, still standing up next to the bed. He shoves my nightshirt up, exposing the skin of my back and my ass. The silky blue-and-white falls land on my back, the softness of the ends trails over my skin.
"How does this one compare?" he asks.
"It's heavy too," I say, "but no sting." I am purring into the pillow as he lands stroke after stroke on my body. I jump a little now and then but mostly I'm just happy. My tensions melt away. I feel amazing and very close to sleep. He climbs atop me, facing my feet, and gives love to my feet and calves. He shoves my legs wider apart on the bed, but just to get better access to stroke me. His foot is near my head and I stroke his calf, but I'm tired and my hand just winds up resting on his leg while I purr at how he is making me feel.
He moves after some long time spend lavishing affection on my lower legs. I realize that he's still standing and I'm in his spot. "You want me to move?" I ask him drowsily.
"Hmm. Yes, I do," he answers. I pull myself into a straighter line, moving away from his side of the bed and turning my back to him. He gets into bed behind me and his hand smacks my ass loudly. I squeal because I wasn't expecting that. He spanks me repeatedly, over and over. "You should take better care of yourself," he mutters, referencing a cold sore that's beginning to emerge on my lip.
"I only just saw it!" I murmur.
"Well then what am I supposed to spank you for?" He waits a beat, his hand rubbing the warming flesh of my ass, and then he lifts his hand and smacks me again. I purr. "Oh, that's right," he continues, "I don't have to have a reason."
"If you want one there are plenty," I say, raising my ass slightly into his hand. I am referring to my previous post and the misunderstanding there.
"That's not really your fault," he says. He keeps spanking me though, because he doesn't need a reason. His hand smacks me over and over and I am really, really loving it because it's been a while since we had such an extended session.
"There's not much fight in me," I murmur. I'm so tired and he feels so good. I feel like I might just fall asleep.
"That's okay," he whispers into my ear. His voice sends jolts through my body and I shiver. I do so love when he speaks in my ear like that...
"You feel my cock?" he asks. He is so hard, and humping slightly against my arm. I can definitely feel it. I move my hand to stroke against it, turn toward him, curl into his arms.
"Yes sir," I answer, nuzzling my face into his shoulder. His hand tightens into my hair, pulling my face into him so closely I can barely breathe. I moan happily.
He has started Step 2: Drive the slave girl into crazed arousal.
He hits me with it. It's small, but heavy, and packs a whallop. Kind of like a fist, the heavy loops of rope pound but don't sting like some other loopy ones I've made, though there is a little tiny bit of sting to it on some strokes. He keeps hitting my back with it - it feels like a deep tissue massage and I groan repeatedly.
"Enough?" he asks, as I grunt into the pillow.
"Mmf," I answer.
He puts it away, hanging it with the others in the flogger closet, and retrieves our blue silky one from behind the bed.
 |
| This one. |
"What you doing?" I ask. I'm exhausted; I haven't moved from my position diagonally across the bed.
"While I have you here," he says, still standing up next to the bed. He shoves my nightshirt up, exposing the skin of my back and my ass. The silky blue-and-white falls land on my back, the softness of the ends trails over my skin.
"How does this one compare?" he asks.
"It's heavy too," I say, "but no sting." I am purring into the pillow as he lands stroke after stroke on my body. I jump a little now and then but mostly I'm just happy. My tensions melt away. I feel amazing and very close to sleep. He climbs atop me, facing my feet, and gives love to my feet and calves. He shoves my legs wider apart on the bed, but just to get better access to stroke me. His foot is near my head and I stroke his calf, but I'm tired and my hand just winds up resting on his leg while I purr at how he is making me feel.
He moves after some long time spend lavishing affection on my lower legs. I realize that he's still standing and I'm in his spot. "You want me to move?" I ask him drowsily.
"Hmm. Yes, I do," he answers. I pull myself into a straighter line, moving away from his side of the bed and turning my back to him. He gets into bed behind me and his hand smacks my ass loudly. I squeal because I wasn't expecting that. He spanks me repeatedly, over and over. "You should take better care of yourself," he mutters, referencing a cold sore that's beginning to emerge on my lip.
"I only just saw it!" I murmur.
"Well then what am I supposed to spank you for?" He waits a beat, his hand rubbing the warming flesh of my ass, and then he lifts his hand and smacks me again. I purr. "Oh, that's right," he continues, "I don't have to have a reason."
"If you want one there are plenty," I say, raising my ass slightly into his hand. I am referring to my previous post and the misunderstanding there.
"That's not really your fault," he says. He keeps spanking me though, because he doesn't need a reason. His hand smacks me over and over and I am really, really loving it because it's been a while since we had such an extended session.
"There's not much fight in me," I murmur. I'm so tired and he feels so good. I feel like I might just fall asleep.
"That's okay," he whispers into my ear. His voice sends jolts through my body and I shiver. I do so love when he speaks in my ear like that...
"You feel my cock?" he asks. He is so hard, and humping slightly against my arm. I can definitely feel it. I move my hand to stroke against it, turn toward him, curl into his arms.
"Yes sir," I answer, nuzzling my face into his shoulder. His hand tightens into my hair, pulling my face into him so closely I can barely breathe. I moan happily.
He has started Step 2: Drive the slave girl into crazed arousal.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Rejection - edited and an apology
I take it back.
I was wrong.
He did respond - oh, my goodness, he did.
It was just late, and it got buried under a mass of other emails and I never saw it, somehow, until right this moment.
I've been wrong a lot, lately.
I'm sorry. To him for casting him in a bad light, and to my other readers for subjecting you to an unnecessary downpour of emotion.
But I'll leave the text here as a monument to my wrongness.
He's an amazing husband, really, he is. Sleeping in his arms is like going home every night - to a true home that's not just a place but safety, security, and love. He never belittles me or makes me feel like I am not enough for him - and often, quite often, I feel very very spoiled.
There's always something, though, and so here's mine: there's a thing.
For over a year now, I haven't directly emailed him any of the fantasies or the near-pornographic sex writing that I've written.
He doesn't respond to it, and I can't handle it.
But I've been working on something - I shared part of it here once - and I thought maybe, just maybe, if I sent a small part of it to him, maybe this time would be different. Maybe he'd like it. Maybe it'd turn him on.
I was wrong. I should have known, because this is how it's been. I write something, I show him, and I get silence in response. At least with the blog posts - that I know he does read - other people are reading them so the resounding silence from him isn't quite as deafening.
As we curled into bed last night, he did thank me for it.
But it feels like the thanks you get when you tell a person you love him/her and he/she doesn't quite reciprocate.
It feels like rejection.
So I retreat back into my shell, until the next time I am lulled out by a true sense of security. My security is real - but he's just not interested in some things.
I was wrong.
He did respond - oh, my goodness, he did.
It was just late, and it got buried under a mass of other emails and I never saw it, somehow, until right this moment.
I've been wrong a lot, lately.
I'm sorry. To him for casting him in a bad light, and to my other readers for subjecting you to an unnecessary downpour of emotion.
But I'll leave the text here as a monument to my wrongness.
He's an amazing husband, really, he is. Sleeping in his arms is like going home every night - to a true home that's not just a place but safety, security, and love. He never belittles me or makes me feel like I am not enough for him - and often, quite often, I feel very very spoiled.
There's always something, though, and so here's mine: there's a thing.
For over a year now, I haven't directly emailed him any of the fantasies or the near-pornographic sex writing that I've written.
He doesn't respond to it, and I can't handle it.
But I've been working on something - I shared part of it here once - and I thought maybe, just maybe, if I sent a small part of it to him, maybe this time would be different. Maybe he'd like it. Maybe it'd turn him on.
I was wrong. I should have known, because this is how it's been. I write something, I show him, and I get silence in response. At least with the blog posts - that I know he does read - other people are reading them so the resounding silence from him isn't quite as deafening.
As we curled into bed last night, he did thank me for it.
But it feels like the thanks you get when you tell a person you love him/her and he/she doesn't quite reciprocate.
It feels like rejection.
So I retreat back into my shell, until the next time I am lulled out by a true sense of security. My security is real - but he's just not interested in some things.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Flogger Friday - June 21, 2013
I make floggers.
It's what I do. It's something that I sort of fell into as a consequence of my veganism, and then I discovered I adore it - actually veganism has done that for me in a lot of areas. Funny how a change in perspective can completely shift your entire life and lead you to joys you'd never have expected.
Gardening, cooking, baking, and now making floggers. Who knows what other wonders are to come?
I've recently caused myself a bit of harm that's still healing, so I took the opportunity to do a lot of sitting with my materials and to eyeball some new possibilities. I've crafted three new floggers, all fairly different from each other, and I thought I'd share them because I think they're pretty amazing.
Most recent one first! This blue cutie is on the slender side, but delivers a sort of swishing sting/thud combination that's really very nice. The falls are chained loops of light blue nylon. The handle is smooth navy blue.
We have our favorite colors in this household - they show up a lot. Blue and purple make the both of us happy, so my next creation shouldn't come as a surprise.
It's what I do. It's something that I sort of fell into as a consequence of my veganism, and then I discovered I adore it - actually veganism has done that for me in a lot of areas. Funny how a change in perspective can completely shift your entire life and lead you to joys you'd never have expected.
Gardening, cooking, baking, and now making floggers. Who knows what other wonders are to come?
I've recently caused myself a bit of harm that's still healing, so I took the opportunity to do a lot of sitting with my materials and to eyeball some new possibilities. I've crafted three new floggers, all fairly different from each other, and I thought I'd share them because I think they're pretty amazing.
 |
| Still-chained blue cutie |
We have our favorite colors in this household - they show up a lot. Blue and purple make the both of us happy, so my next creation shouldn't come as a surprise.
 |
| Purple, silver, and white. |
This one's a bit of a monster compared to my usual, but I found the ring attached to it and it was begging to have a flogger made to hang from it.
It's heavy, thuddy, and completely gorgeous. The purple may lead to it sitting around for a while, but that's actually okay because I like looking at it.
Next, I have a green and black beauty. While it still follows the more standard form/weight of what I've been making, it definitely has a spin all its own.
 |
| Green, black, gold accent. |
It's another case of a ring inspiring the whole project. The ring is marbled green and black with a gold accent at the top, the falls are black, the handle is dark dark green, and the bottoms of the falls are black striped with mint.
Hard to believe how difficult this was to photograph and get the colors to come out properly. It's even lovelier in person.
I love crafting floggers and I love sharing what comes of my efforts. I especially love it when I hear how much other people enjoy the results. It's total validation! If you are interested, the purple one is listed for sale sold; I will list the others soon.
Have a great weekend!
Update: Wow, readers! What a response! The purple one is sold - wow.
The others are all listed now, plus one more!
Hard to believe how difficult this was to photograph and get the colors to come out properly. It's even lovelier in person.
Have a great weekend!
Update: Wow, readers! What a response! The purple one is sold - wow.
The others are all listed now, plus one more!
Monday, June 17, 2013
Sex with an alien
The nonstop screaming orgasms that leave me a sweaty, panting mess, unable to speak or move, will come soon. He will shove a huge plug in my ass and then his fingers will make me lose my mind as well as my breath.
But now, he is holding me. I am on my back, his arm is around my neck, and his other hand strokes my breasts. He raises his hand and slaps my breast pretty hard, then returns to gentle stroking while I inhale sharply from the unexpected pain.
"It's okay," he croons, his voice soft in my ear, sending shudders over my body. "It's all right." His fingers stroke, then he slaps my breast again. I squeal. "It's just a beating," he continues, "I'm perfectly entitled to it."
I melt. I melt right there, even as he keeps delivering firm blows to my breast, as the pleasure/pain of the blows waves through my body, and his voice continues: "And you're perfectly deserving of it."
Ohhh he is really good at this. He claimed to be human but I'm still on the fence. Otherwordly man with godlike powers of orgasm - can he be human? I say he's a sex god but he denies that outright.
Maybe all the humans from Europe are like this. . . but I have my doubts.
Damn.
But now, he is holding me. I am on my back, his arm is around my neck, and his other hand strokes my breasts. He raises his hand and slaps my breast pretty hard, then returns to gentle stroking while I inhale sharply from the unexpected pain.
"It's okay," he croons, his voice soft in my ear, sending shudders over my body. "It's all right." His fingers stroke, then he slaps my breast again. I squeal. "It's just a beating," he continues, "I'm perfectly entitled to it."
I melt. I melt right there, even as he keeps delivering firm blows to my breast, as the pleasure/pain of the blows waves through my body, and his voice continues: "And you're perfectly deserving of it."
Ohhh he is really good at this. He claimed to be human but I'm still on the fence. Otherwordly man with godlike powers of orgasm - can he be human? I say he's a sex god but he denies that outright.
Maybe all the humans from Europe are like this. . . but I have my doubts.
Damn.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
High-minded pursuits in the bedroom
It is a long conversation. At the end, I merely say "It's like you're all pure and high-minded and I'm running around pursuing earthly pleasures."
He gets his kicks from math and programming. I can do too but I also want to go out, go hiking, see a show, be with friends - and I've always preferred sex to math.
He scoffs. "There's nothing high-minded about it. My earthly pleasures are just different from yours," he says.
I am quiet. Well, he said it at least, and that's all right. The world didn't explode. I feel ridiculous, dressed in a flimsy bit of lace lying in bed with him. I want to go put on something more substantial but my ruined foot would make that far more of a production than I would intend it to be.
I suppose I am quiet for too long. "What are you thinking, my girl?" he asks softly.
No reason not to be honest. "That I want to put on more clothes, but I can't walk."
"I like you naked," he says, and he too is honest. The words coil around my heart, around my stomach, and squeeze warmly. I feel my pulse speed up. "I think you should have on less clothes," he continues, his hand running under the bit of lace I'm wearing, across my skin. He makes my breath catch, my skin raise into goosebumps. I moan softly. I don't move, though.
His hand presses against my face and I moan again. He covers my whole face with his hand and presses, his lips settling against my ear. "You're mine, and you like to do what I tell you," he says. "I'm telling you to take off your clothes."
He gets his kicks from math and programming. I can do too but I also want to go out, go hiking, see a show, be with friends - and I've always preferred sex to math.
He scoffs. "There's nothing high-minded about it. My earthly pleasures are just different from yours," he says.
I am quiet. Well, he said it at least, and that's all right. The world didn't explode. I feel ridiculous, dressed in a flimsy bit of lace lying in bed with him. I want to go put on something more substantial but my ruined foot would make that far more of a production than I would intend it to be.
I suppose I am quiet for too long. "What are you thinking, my girl?" he asks softly.
No reason not to be honest. "That I want to put on more clothes, but I can't walk."
"I like you naked," he says, and he too is honest. The words coil around my heart, around my stomach, and squeeze warmly. I feel my pulse speed up. "I think you should have on less clothes," he continues, his hand running under the bit of lace I'm wearing, across my skin. He makes my breath catch, my skin raise into goosebumps. I moan softly. I don't move, though.
His hand presses against my face and I moan again. He covers my whole face with his hand and presses, his lips settling against my ear. "You're mine, and you like to do what I tell you," he says. "I'm telling you to take off your clothes."
Sunday, June 9, 2013
3 easy ways to submit without sex
Sometimes it's hard to keep ourselves in the head space that a power exchange relationship requires. Life gets in the way, kids get sick, events come at us hard and fast, family visits. Some days it can take all your energy merely not to explode into a giant ball of stress - forget trying to maintain any sort of power imbalance.
If you're like me, that loss of physical connection and intense scenes can really mess with your head. Withdrawal is easy and depression can follow it and then where are you? Nowhere good, that's where.
Thankfully there are a few ways we can submit from within to keep sustenance flowing to that intimate connection so that it doesn't go numb. Some of them are surprisingly, head-thumpingly simple. They just require a little consideration of the relationship as a whole and the direction you'd like to head in.
- When the D-type talks, the s-type should listen.
I hear you. "Duh?" you say,"Of course I listen when my Dom talks." But do you? If you're exhausted and just thinking about how amazing sleep would be, or if your D-type has awakened a little before you and wants to chat while you'd just like to grab a few more minutes of shut-eye, do you listen?
There are a myriad of reasons that we don't really, really listen when people talk, but when we've willingly entered into a power exchange dynamic we should eschew those reasons when it comes to our partners. But you have to mean it. Stopping what you're doing with a groan of disappointment to listen dutifully is not going to work. You have to listen willingly and openly and respond thoughtfully. That right there is the biggest connection builder I can think of, even beyond intense scenes.
When it's me, I think of it as another way to express my devotion. He wants to discuss ideas and I want to be open to him not just sexually, but in all the ways I can be. - Even when there is no time or energy for sex or scenes, touch your Dom.
Snuggle up to her on the sofa. Sit at his feet and rest your head on his knees. Show the D-type that you are really in this, and even though your alone time might be taking a hit, you're still very very interested.
I tend to start to feel undesirable after a certain amount of time passes with no sex, but I think I assist myself in that notion by withdrawing from any contact. Something goes on in my head similar to "If he doesn't want me, I'll just keep myself out of his way."
Ultimately that has always proven a ridiculous construct and I don't know why that feeling keeps returning, but it does. I combat it by continuing to be affectionate, brushing my hand against his whenever possible, and dropping kisses on his head if I pass him when he is sitting.
It's more submissive to keep allowing the touches than it is to withdraw, though my intuition tells me otherwise for some damn reason. - Do things for your D-type.
Is his family visiting? Plan fun activities for you all to enjoy together. Make them feel welcome and he will feel loved.
Has she been working too hard? Make sure she comes home to a meal of some sort and a sympathetic ear.
Take care of little things that might go unnoticed - plug in his phone, make sure she has her lunch, tidy up something that often goes untidied.
Any one of these things may sound completely obvious, but when you do them from a place of considering your D-type's needs and desires each one can become an act of submission.
The dry spell will end and eventually you will have time for all the kinky naughtiness you are used to. If you don't keep the connection flowing in the mean time though, some of your potential kinky naughtiness time can get used up in restoring blood to the pins-and-needles discomfort. I highly recommend you just avoid that part and skip right ahead to the naughty times.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Sleepless morning
5:30 AM: I need the bathroom. Needed it two hours ago but managed to go back to sleep. Sprained ankle means lots of maneuvering, me with my hurt leg supported in an office chair scooting down the obstacle-ridden dressing area to relieve myself, then scooting back down the path, now slightly cleared due to my initial pass through.
I crawl over my sleeping man, lay staring up at the ceiling. My perfect vision lies off to the side, so what I can see of the ceiling is blurry, but the morning light is just starting to peek around the dual layer of curtains covering our window. I’ve just exhausted myself with the effort I’ve expended, but I can’t get back to sleep.
My husband’s body is warm as he tosses his arm over me, pulls me into him. I enjoy his physical presence at the same time as I am frustrated by the infirmity of my own body. I reach over, grab my Kindle Fire, and read some of Shelby’s book.
So hot. Anal sex and spanking and figging, which I cannot stand but have experienced and - oh - it’s so hot, and my husband is right next to me, sexy and warm and - but no. He has to work and he needs his rest.
I’m hungry. I’m aroused, and I’m hungry. Most definitely not a winning combination. The light is definitely coming into the room now, and light has always made it harder for me to sleep. I sit up, pull on my nightshirt, and scoot to the edge of the bed.
“Where you going now, girl?” he asks sleepily.
“Living room,” I murmur as I pull myself back onto the chair and scoot to the door where I can grab my crutches.
“What time is it?” he asks, confused, his brain clouded with sleep. I never do this.
“I don’t know,” I respond as I reach the door.
I hear him behind me, reaching for his phone to check the time. “It’s 6:30,” he whispers, “only 6:30,” wonder and confusion and sleepiness coloring his voice as he settles back down.
I crutch myself into the kitchen, where we have leftover vegan pizza. I sit alone at the table and munch a slice.
Oh, that feels better. That particular hunger sated, I make my way back to the bedroom as sleepiness overwhelms me.
He moves his feet so I can crawl over him yet again, snaking his arm under my shirt and around me. I purr.
“Missed you, girl,” he says, half asleep.
I purr again as he draws me into him and I pick up the Kindle Fire again, read some more. I must be squirming a little bit against him because I feel his cock growing hard against my backside. I put the book down, stretch and rub my body against his. His hand wanders over my bare skin, his fingers finding my nipples, making me release a little “Oh” of longing. He pulls my shirt off so his hand can wander more freely, and I turn over into his embrace.
“Love my girl,” he whispers, kissing my lips gently. I’m concerned about the garlic on my breath from the pizza, but he doesn’t react to it. My hand wanders over his chest, his back, as he releases my lips and pulls my head against his chest. Oh, I do so love that feeling of protection. I feel his cock against my arm, and I move my hand to press against it. Hot. The man is a furnace and even through his boxer briefs he is hot.
He moans his pleasure at my touch and I am encouraged to go further - to his skin. I pull the boxer briefs up over his cock and down, and then my mouth is on him, kissing, licking. Oh wow. It’s been too long, and he feels amazing, sounds amazing as his noises of delight fill my ears. His hips start to move smoothly, a gentle rocking motion into my mouth and I moan deeply. My mouth is a hole for his cock and that is how I like it. The thought fills my head as I suck, swirling my tongue over him. It is an intense feeling, and he intensifies it further by grabbing my hair, tugging on it slightly, and saying “Good girl.”
Good girl. I don’t remember the last time he said that. A few days, a week. Oh, but it feels good to hear it, feels good to have my mouth full of his erection, to have my moans of pleasure cut off by his cock entering my throat, to hear him enjoying himself so thoroughly so early in the morning. His leg goes over my neck and I am pinned, helpless as I pleasure his cock. If I were to show signs of genuine distress he’d be off me in a second, but for now the weight of his slim thigh presses against my neck and gives me pleasure in helplessness.
His moans grow more intense and I swirl my tongue, taking a few deep breaths through my nose when his thrusts pull back, ready to hold it for a while. I pull on his ass, drawing his cock into the entrance of my throat, where I suck it so that it pulls in and out of my throat just slightly as he thrusts, over and over, rubbing, rubbing as I hold my breath.
“Oh fuck, oh FUCK,” he moans, his orgasm overtaking me, his ejaculate shooting down my throat as I swallow again and again and again, keeping up the suction because his pleasure continues the whole time. I keep sucking even after he has finished, but carefully while his sensitivity is high. His cock stays big for quite some time and I enjoy having my mouth full of it even when he’s not actively using me.
Eventually he pulls me up into his arms, tossing his leg across my waist. His thigh fits perfectly between the bottom of my ribs and my hip. He tells me he loves me, murmurs words of appreciation for the pleasure I have given him, and I am grateful for it too. His alarm goes off - 7:30 - but he taps his phone’s face to keep holding me. His fingers draw tingles across my breasts, his hand cups my face and makes me feel owned. He slips his fingers between my legs, first circling around my slick opening and making me gasp, and then working his way slowly, teasingly, to my clit. Up a little, back down, up a little until I gasp, back down - until finally he is circling my clit and I am softly moaning my pleasure. I am thoroughly aroused already so his touch is amazing.
He draws my pleasure out for a long time, keeping me close to him, close to orgasm. I am trembling with what could pass for an orgasm but isn’t quite, and his finger moves a little faster.
“You want to come for your master?” he asks softly. I whimper in response.
“I know you do. Go on,” he says softly, “I’ll allow it.” His finger moves across my sensitive bundle of nerve endings and I arch up.
“Come for me,” he says outright, and I am there. White-hot burning explodes through my entire body, a nearly electric shock spreading through my limbs, and I cry out. It is too too much, I cannot bear it but I must because he isn’t stopping, his finger keeps going and my limbs are stretched to the max except for my sprained ankle which must not push, must not push, oh my God it feels amazing and I arch up using my one good foot, into his touch which just keeps on and on like a neverending onslaught of delight. I don’t know if I’m still on the first orgasm or if I've moved on to three or four, but I really cannot bear it anymore and I twist slightly, panting, begging. He relents, his touch gentling, soothing my overexcited nerves, and he wraps me in his arms, his leg over my body again.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers into my hair, and oh, does he ever have me.
I crawl over my sleeping man, lay staring up at the ceiling. My perfect vision lies off to the side, so what I can see of the ceiling is blurry, but the morning light is just starting to peek around the dual layer of curtains covering our window. I’ve just exhausted myself with the effort I’ve expended, but I can’t get back to sleep.
My husband’s body is warm as he tosses his arm over me, pulls me into him. I enjoy his physical presence at the same time as I am frustrated by the infirmity of my own body. I reach over, grab my Kindle Fire, and read some of Shelby’s book.
So hot. Anal sex and spanking and figging, which I cannot stand but have experienced and - oh - it’s so hot, and my husband is right next to me, sexy and warm and - but no. He has to work and he needs his rest.
I’m hungry. I’m aroused, and I’m hungry. Most definitely not a winning combination. The light is definitely coming into the room now, and light has always made it harder for me to sleep. I sit up, pull on my nightshirt, and scoot to the edge of the bed.
“Where you going now, girl?” he asks sleepily.
“Living room,” I murmur as I pull myself back onto the chair and scoot to the door where I can grab my crutches.
“What time is it?” he asks, confused, his brain clouded with sleep. I never do this.
“I don’t know,” I respond as I reach the door.
I hear him behind me, reaching for his phone to check the time. “It’s 6:30,” he whispers, “only 6:30,” wonder and confusion and sleepiness coloring his voice as he settles back down.
I crutch myself into the kitchen, where we have leftover vegan pizza. I sit alone at the table and munch a slice.
Oh, that feels better. That particular hunger sated, I make my way back to the bedroom as sleepiness overwhelms me.
He moves his feet so I can crawl over him yet again, snaking his arm under my shirt and around me. I purr.
“Missed you, girl,” he says, half asleep.
I purr again as he draws me into him and I pick up the Kindle Fire again, read some more. I must be squirming a little bit against him because I feel his cock growing hard against my backside. I put the book down, stretch and rub my body against his. His hand wanders over my bare skin, his fingers finding my nipples, making me release a little “Oh” of longing. He pulls my shirt off so his hand can wander more freely, and I turn over into his embrace.
“Love my girl,” he whispers, kissing my lips gently. I’m concerned about the garlic on my breath from the pizza, but he doesn’t react to it. My hand wanders over his chest, his back, as he releases my lips and pulls my head against his chest. Oh, I do so love that feeling of protection. I feel his cock against my arm, and I move my hand to press against it. Hot. The man is a furnace and even through his boxer briefs he is hot.
He moans his pleasure at my touch and I am encouraged to go further - to his skin. I pull the boxer briefs up over his cock and down, and then my mouth is on him, kissing, licking. Oh wow. It’s been too long, and he feels amazing, sounds amazing as his noises of delight fill my ears. His hips start to move smoothly, a gentle rocking motion into my mouth and I moan deeply. My mouth is a hole for his cock and that is how I like it. The thought fills my head as I suck, swirling my tongue over him. It is an intense feeling, and he intensifies it further by grabbing my hair, tugging on it slightly, and saying “Good girl.”
Good girl. I don’t remember the last time he said that. A few days, a week. Oh, but it feels good to hear it, feels good to have my mouth full of his erection, to have my moans of pleasure cut off by his cock entering my throat, to hear him enjoying himself so thoroughly so early in the morning. His leg goes over my neck and I am pinned, helpless as I pleasure his cock. If I were to show signs of genuine distress he’d be off me in a second, but for now the weight of his slim thigh presses against my neck and gives me pleasure in helplessness.
His moans grow more intense and I swirl my tongue, taking a few deep breaths through my nose when his thrusts pull back, ready to hold it for a while. I pull on his ass, drawing his cock into the entrance of my throat, where I suck it so that it pulls in and out of my throat just slightly as he thrusts, over and over, rubbing, rubbing as I hold my breath.
“Oh fuck, oh FUCK,” he moans, his orgasm overtaking me, his ejaculate shooting down my throat as I swallow again and again and again, keeping up the suction because his pleasure continues the whole time. I keep sucking even after he has finished, but carefully while his sensitivity is high. His cock stays big for quite some time and I enjoy having my mouth full of it even when he’s not actively using me.
Eventually he pulls me up into his arms, tossing his leg across my waist. His thigh fits perfectly between the bottom of my ribs and my hip. He tells me he loves me, murmurs words of appreciation for the pleasure I have given him, and I am grateful for it too. His alarm goes off - 7:30 - but he taps his phone’s face to keep holding me. His fingers draw tingles across my breasts, his hand cups my face and makes me feel owned. He slips his fingers between my legs, first circling around my slick opening and making me gasp, and then working his way slowly, teasingly, to my clit. Up a little, back down, up a little until I gasp, back down - until finally he is circling my clit and I am softly moaning my pleasure. I am thoroughly aroused already so his touch is amazing.
He draws my pleasure out for a long time, keeping me close to him, close to orgasm. I am trembling with what could pass for an orgasm but isn’t quite, and his finger moves a little faster.
“You want to come for your master?” he asks softly. I whimper in response.
“I know you do. Go on,” he says softly, “I’ll allow it.” His finger moves across my sensitive bundle of nerve endings and I arch up.
“Come for me,” he says outright, and I am there. White-hot burning explodes through my entire body, a nearly electric shock spreading through my limbs, and I cry out. It is too too much, I cannot bear it but I must because he isn’t stopping, his finger keeps going and my limbs are stretched to the max except for my sprained ankle which must not push, must not push, oh my God it feels amazing and I arch up using my one good foot, into his touch which just keeps on and on like a neverending onslaught of delight. I don’t know if I’m still on the first orgasm or if I've moved on to three or four, but I really cannot bear it anymore and I twist slightly, panting, begging. He relents, his touch gentling, soothing my overexcited nerves, and he wraps me in his arms, his leg over my body again.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers into my hair, and oh, does he ever have me.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Silicone and steel
When I first started buying sex toys, I honestly didn't know much. This led to some unfortunate choices - a jelly dildo that left me feeling stung when used, a vibrator that actually tore after a few months of use.
But I matured, and so did the Internet. Reviews sprang up and I could find out what sort of toys other people enjoyed. I could avoid buying jelly anything, ever again. And as it turned out, vibrators weren't good for me personally, so no more of those.
I discovered that quality sex toys are so worth it, and I also discovered that toys can be made of materials which will not give me that horrible stinging feeling and all of which can be cleaned up beautifully. My favorites? Silicone and stainless steel.
I've had my eye on the Ryder Plug for a while because it's made of my favorite material for anal toys - silicone. The plugs I have are silicone but the taper on the Ryder looks a little less severe and I think it would make a fine addition to our toy box.
What I love about silicone is how the texture can vary, how it gives but just a little, and how easily it cleans up. With silicone toys you do have to make sure they don't touch each other and that you don't use silicone-based lube. Apparently silicone vs. silicone is a losing combination for the toys.
With the Pure Wand, basically all you have to do is make sure you don't drop it or otherwise cause it to get scratched. But in a bedroom environment, there's not usually going to be much for it to clink against.
If I only ever had toys made of silicone and stainless steel, I'd be a happy girl.
I've been a fan of Babeland for a while, so when I was offered compensation for writing a post I was delighted to do so.
But I matured, and so did the Internet. Reviews sprang up and I could find out what sort of toys other people enjoyed. I could avoid buying jelly anything, ever again. And as it turned out, vibrators weren't good for me personally, so no more of those.
I discovered that quality sex toys are so worth it, and I also discovered that toys can be made of materials which will not give me that horrible stinging feeling and all of which can be cleaned up beautifully. My favorites? Silicone and stainless steel.
I've had my eye on the Ryder Plug for a while because it's made of my favorite material for anal toys - silicone. The plugs I have are silicone but the taper on the Ryder looks a little less severe and I think it would make a fine addition to our toy box.
What I love about silicone is how the texture can vary, how it gives but just a little, and how easily it cleans up. With silicone toys you do have to make sure they don't touch each other and that you don't use silicone-based lube. Apparently silicone vs. silicone is a losing combination for the toys.
Stainless steel is an unforgiving substance, but it is smooth and holds temperature beautifully. If I could recommend one toy to every woman for either solo or partnered sex, it'd be Njoy's Pure Wand. Heavy, smooth, and temperature-adjustable—It's just divine.
With the Pure Wand, basically all you have to do is make sure you don't drop it or otherwise cause it to get scratched. But in a bedroom environment, there's not usually going to be much for it to clink against.
If I only ever had toys made of silicone and stainless steel, I'd be a happy girl.
I've been a fan of Babeland for a while, so when I was offered compensation for writing a post I was delighted to do so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)