Thursday, January 31, 2013

Forced helplessness

There's a certain aspect of D/s sexual interaction that really gets me going: Being punished, chastised, or otherwise taken to task for something the bottom has no control over, or something the top has actively caused.

Usually the only place I get to see these scenarios is in bad snuff fiction with psychopathic kidnapping murderers, but something over on aisha's the other day triggered my "yummy!" sensor. I thought my husband was aware of this kink of mine, but turns out it must have been buried under all the other kinks of mine littering his poor brain. So when I started talking about it, he got pretty excited. Apparently he likes to learn things about me he either doesn't know or has forgotten.

What followed that conversation was experimental on his part, and very, very intense for me.

"Why did you like that spoon on your face so much?" he asked, stroking my cheek, covering my face with his hand and pressing hard.

"I dunno," I moaned against his palm, then, giving it a little more thought, "I like it when you do things to my face." I'm pretty sure that was already obvious since I was sort of melting into him, moving my face into his hand as it roamed.

"Hmm," he pondered, kissing me, stroking my face all over, "I think there's a part of you... that wants me to slap it."

I moaned.

"But I said I wouldn't do that, didn't I? That I wouldn't slap the pretty girl's face.." he lifted his hand from my cheek, pausing as if to slap me, but he didn't. I felt my whole body flush, and suddenly I was hot.

He moved his hand, slapped my breasts one at a time, kept talking about slapping my face. His exact words are lost in the roar of blood in my ears, in the sounds of his hand smacking into my breasts over and over. His lips claimed mine eventually, kissing me senseless while his hand gripped my hair, tugging my face into him, pulling my hair, making me cry out.

"I'm surprised you don't fight back more," he said as he slapped my breasts.

"You don't like that," I answered softly.

"I suppose a submissive girl might just like to submit," he continued.

"I like to fight," I whispered, even lower.

"That's right, you do," he murmured. "I suppose I might like to feel wanted... like you're just saying 'Here I am. I'm yours, do as you wish with me.'" I was on my back next to him, he was on his side facing me. My right leg was trapped between both of his, his leg tossed over my hip and bent so it crossed my leg a second time. His hand was in my hair, his other hand gripping my throat as he kissed me, as he spoke those words. His fingers moved from my throat down my front, toying with my nipples, slipping lower, lower, until he parted my sex.

I nearly screamed when he drew my wetness over my clit. I spasmed, my trapped leg trying to pull away.

"Where is that leg trying to go?"

"Nowhere," I hurried to answer. I wasn't quite sure what he had planned, wasn't sure of anything except how very turned on I was. So I answered honestly.

"You like having your legs forced apart," he noted as I moaned when his leg tightened on mine, dragged it further away from my other one.

"Uh-huh," I answered, his fingers on my sex pretty much robbing me of intelligent language.

"Are you my slut?"

"Uh-huh." I would have agreed to almost anything at that point, but then I started thinking.

"Are you a cock slut?" His fingers, God, his fingers, making me crazy, how can I think, how can I have this conversation?

"Nooo," I protested.

"No? What kind of slut are you, then?"

"Nooo," I argued, brilliantly.

"You don't get to say no now, girl, it's too late. Cock slut. You want this cock to fuck you, don't you?" he asked, his fingers sliding inside me, making me buck up into his hand.

"Uh-huh," I said, twisting.

"So why don't you turn on your side and let me fuck you from behind then?" he said, a little edge to his voice that should have warned me something was up.

I tried. I really, really tried. But the way he was holding me, I couldn't turn. Each time I tried to turn, I felt the muscles of his legs tense around me, holding me in place, holding me open. "Come on, cock slut, just turn over. I guess you don't want it bad enough. I guess you don't want to be fucked from behind at all." His finger moved, faster and faster, lighter and lighter, on my clit, and my body arched up off the bed, still trying to turn, but unable. That is when the orgasm hit me, as his words crashed into me without letup, as his finger worked its magic, as he held me in place even as I tried to do what he told me.

Fuck, yes, I came. How could I not?

"Silly slut can't even do what she's told," he murmured into my ear as I panted. "I guess you don't really want it - but guess what? I want it. I guess I'll just have to show you how it's done." With that, he took his leg off me and roughly - roughly - shoved me over onto my side. I can't even tell you what that I want it did to me. Just whoa.

"Give me that pussy," he growled as he prodded the head of his cock into me. But his hand was on my ass, pressing me forward. Oh, fuck. I tried to back onto him, to feel him filling me, but he pushed on me just enough so I could get about half his cock inside. "Come on, girl, give it to me," he growled again, as I tried to find some leverage on our featureless bed to press against. My hands slid helplessly over the smooth sheets, we don't have a headboard, pressing into the wall would be the wrong direction. I moaned deeply, frustrated, even as I felt myself grow impossibly wetter.

"I guess you really don't want it that badly," he whispered, grabbing ahold of me and yanking me all the way onto him, filling me up by ramming us into each other. I squealed as he hit bottom, stretching me out suddenly and quickly. Fuck.

"You're my property, aren't you?" he murmured, long minutes later, my legs splayed open, one wrapped behind his back, his fingers stroking my clit while he fucked me.

"Yes, yes, yes," I panted.

"Putty in my fingers, aren't you?" he asked. "Do whatever I tell you?"

"Uh-huh," I groaned, as those very fingers drove me insane with pleasure.

"Turn over and suck my cock, then," he said.

He let me, though I moved slowly, like one in a dream. I love the taste of me on him, of us together like that. I licked slowly up his length, tasting, before I let myself suck him in.

"Oh, that's a good girl, good girl likes to suck the cock, doesn't she?"

He was fucking into my throat, pulling my hair, telling me what a good fuckhole I am when our poor sick munchkin came zombying into the room. At least the kid has good timing and it was a good moment for interruption.

It was more a laugh and a "Poor baby" than a scream of frustration, at least for me.

And we finished, later, after settling the poor kid down. That story is less defined in my memory, though.

But holy hell, what a first outing for the bits of 'new' knowledge.

Somewhere up there, in our conversation, we were talking about him beating me, and he said "But it's so much fun!"

I don't know where it fits in the greater narrative, but it definitely struck a happy chord inside this girl and I wanted to make sure I mentioned it.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Upping the ante, part 2

The first half is here

I don't know if I growled when he directed me to suck his cock, but something inside me did. I felt another rush of wetness between my legs and I attacked his mouth, kissing him like he was my air. As I kissed down his chest, he rolled onto his back. Ahhh, so it was going to be like that. I settled between his legs then, and I did growl a little as I slowly sucked on his balls, watching his cock bounce and listening to his noises of pleasure. "Oh yeah, that feels good," he murmured.

I licked from his balls up the underside of his cock before I finally sucked the length of him in, relishing the moment, hearing his moan of appreciation as my tongue rubbed all over, as I took him as deeply into my throat as the position allowed. His legs were over my shoulders, his feet resting on my back as I held him in my throat until I started shaking. When I pulled away I sucked in air loudly for a long time.

"My girl has a good fuck hole in her face, doesn't she?" he asked as I sucked him down again. I moaned an affirmative around the cock filling my mouth. "But sometimes she needs to remember that's her air hole too, I think." He grabbed my head then, held it still while he fucked into me. I squealed around it with excitement. It's so easy to forget how very fucking much I love this when I'm not actively doing it, but holy shit this was amazing.

Then he was pulling my hair, using it as a handle to move my head up and down on his cock, pushing me down as his cock penetrated my throat as far as it could, holding me, holding me, until my feet shook, and then letting me up for air. Oh God this is so fucking hot, I thought to myself as I sucked in air. He let go, let me move on him on my own, and when I had taken him right into my throat, his legs tightened around my head, holding me in place. I shook, unable to make a sound but so incredibly excited by the whole business that I just knew my wetness was seeping out. I squeezed his legs even tighter around my head with my hands. He finally opened his thighs and let me move again, letting the noises he'd made me want to make come out.

We went on like that for what seemed like a long, long time. I was taking a breather, rubbing my cheek and lips against his cock, sliding my tongue along it until I had enough oxygen to take it in my throat again.

"I want you to get up here on top of me," he growled.

I trembled, and pulled my face away from his cock, starting to slide up his body. But as my breasts brushed his erection, still slick with my saliva, his knees locked around my midsection, stopping my upward advance. His hands moved to my breasts, pushing them around his slick cock, and he started to fuck them, squeezing them firmly, making me moan. I lowered my head to suck his cock when it advanced between my breasts. He was enjoying himself, letting me suck as he fucked me, making lots of pleased noises. "This isn't quite what I meant when I told you to get on top of me," he said, not stopping.

"You stopped me," I pulled my mouth away from him just long enough to whisper, noting as I returned to his cock that his thighs were still tight around my midsection, that his hands were still gripping my breasts, holding me in place.

"So I did," he said, enjoying himself for a bit longer before he finally stopped. "Get up here," he said, tugging on my hair. "I want you to fuck me with your pussy the way you fuck me with your mouth."

Well I don't know if that's even possible, but I understood the gist of what he was saying as I straddled him, my knees out to either side of us. I gasped as I moved over his erection, feeling the slick heat of him touching my folds. I rocked against him, letting his hardness press me open. The head lodged just inside me and I groaned, gently rotating my hips.

"You afraid of my cock?" he asked, as I was taking my time about settling lower.

"Nuh-uh," I said, enjoying the feel of him throbbing there inside me. I settled lower, taking him all the way, leaning forward over his chest, my clit rubbing against his pubic bone as I slowly rocked. He kissed me, I was gasping into his mouth with the intensity of the position, my clit, the size of him stretching me open, his mouth. Supporting myself on my arms became more difficult, but I kept rocking.

The sensations were overwhelming. "You getting tired, girl?" he asked, as I was panting, gasping for breath, but not from exertion. I was close, and I held still because that's how I respond to impending orgasm - try to stop it. He slapped my ass. "Fuck that cock, girl," he ordered, and I moved. The insides of my knees were brushing against the soft coolness of our bamboo sheets as I rocked on him, and that sensation is the one that's always managed to push me over the edge in the past - my legs moving like that, feeling so completely out of control - but he was still slapping my ass, making me move. Those two things combined really left me no choice.

"Good girl, good girl," he said as I panted,  starting to cry out. "Come for me, girl!" he ordered as I moaned deeply, still rocking on him. "Fucking come for me." I cried out several times, pulsing, my hair having long since become a sweaty curtain around my face. I stopped again, resting my forehead against him, repositioning my knees so I could lift my hips rather than rock.

It's still a rocking motion, but with more of a thrust to it, and he was sliding in and out of me as I moved, rocking up and down against him. His breathing quickened and he clutched me as he pulsed inside me. "Good, good girl," he whispered as we kissed afterward. "Mine," he said, wrapping me in his arms and legs after he allowed me to roll off him.

Cue happy lovey-dovey pillow talk here, followed by amazing sleep.

Several things going on in these posts:

He slaps my face with the spoon. With the spoon. I loved it. It made me feel....oh, it just made me feel. It made me aware, and I knew he was paying very close attention to what he was doing. Oh, fuck.

He's paying attention to what I'm wearing. Seriously, he gives a fuck? Yeah, I hear you all going "That's really a no-brainer," but... honestly, he's just never seemed to give a damn. If I'm wearing something easy-access he's for it, but otherwise he just wants it gone.

He puts me wherever the hell he wants me. Yes.

He's very very good at this. We're gliding along the path pretty well most of the time, and we're enjoying the hell out of each other, but once in a while he ups the ante just a little - just enough for me to know he's paying attention and gives a damn.

He tells me no one would be interested in our story because there's not enough conflict in it.

I love our story because any time there is a conflict, it gets evaporated by the twin barrels of perseverance and communication.

Upping the ante, part 1

"Why are we going to bed so early?" I asked my husband, realizing it was only 9 PM, and secretly thrilling a little inside.

"Seemed like a good time to go to bed," he replied as he slid into bed next to me, pulling me close to him. "Is this new, what you're wearing?" He ran his hand down my body to indicate the nightie I'd put on.

"No," I was turned away from him so he couldn't see my smile. It's rare he seems to pay attention to what I'm wearing.

"Just don't wear it often?"

"I brought it from home when we came back," I answered. "I left a lot of stuff like this back there."

"Why is that?"

"I thought maybe we wouldn't be having sex so much after." I laughed at my own thought processes from the time. "And... maybe that you didn't care so much anyway."

He laughed too. "No sex for a year? What do you think now?" His voice was right in my ear, his lips grazing my neck after he spoke, sending shivers down my spine.

"Mmmm, which do you mean?"

"Do you still think I'm not going to have sex with you?"

I laughed pretty loudly then, the very concept foreign enough that it was ridiculous. "No," I said quickly amidst my laughter.

"Good," he said, his hands pulling me closer. "And I do care."

Huh. That's news to me. Never noticed him caring. Score one for communication.

He lit a candle, turned off the lamp, and turned back to me. I was purring as he stroked me, stretching into him. "What's on the menu tonight then?"

"Mmm... love. Maybe some pain." His hands kept stroking me and I made soft noises of appreciation with each item as he listed them. "Some claiming of you... some entering of you."

I had turned toward him as he spoke, and let my hands dance over his skin for a bit, being sure he was finished talking.  "Sounds like a nice menu," I said appreciatively.

"I'd like it if you'd kiss me," he whispered.

I like to give him what he likes. So I tilted my face up to his and kissed him, softly at first and with more hunger as his responses fueled mine. My breast rested on his chest, he shoved my nightie out of the way and his fingers stroked my nipple there as we kissed, making me purr. "Love," he breathed out, his fingers gently rolling my nipple.

"Love you," I responded, sucking on his full lower lip.

He slapped my nipple then, pretty sharply. I yelped, jumping a little with the pain.

"Pain," he whispered.

Oh, I get it. It's the menu. He's delivering the menu. My thoughts didn't have much time to settle there because he was slapping my nipple over and over and I was groaning.

He pushed me onto my back so he could slap my breast full on, and I arched into each blow. Oh wow. How long must it have been since he'd done this? Days, at least. I moaned with every thud into my chest.

And then he stopped. What? I was unfocused, breathing hard, bereft of attention but not sure how to process. He'd turned away and was looking for something in his nightstand. "Ahh," he finally said, and turned back to me, rubbing the back of the wooden spoon against my nipple. I shivered and whimpered, a little fearful, but also excited.

He started tapping that spoon into my nipples, lightly at first, and harder as I rose up into the taps, groaning with deep satisfaction. "Oh wow, look at you," he said as he continued, on and on until I lost all thoughts except rising up into the strokes of the spoon, feeling the impacts into my nipples. I was so, so aroused. I could feel myself growing wetter with each blow.

I shivered as he leaned over to kiss me, the spoon resting against the inside of my forearm where it lay on the bed. He took advantage of that position to hit me there, all up and down my inner forearm while he kissed me. I cried out into his mouth as the wood left its mark on my sensitive skin. It felt incredible, and I was overwhelmed. As he hit me on the inner arm, as he kissed me and did whatever else he was doing, I felt myself begin to shake. I arched up as he kept slapping my sensitive skin with the spoon, and I felt an orgasm washing over me. I screamed, shaking as it went through me. "Oh my," he whispered as I vibrated beneath him.

 It hurt more when he finally stopped; my flesh throbbed and complained.

"Open your legs for me," he said. He would normally knock them apart but he was propped on one elbow and his other hand was holding the spoon. I whimpered, a little fearful, but I obeyed. He ran the spoon over my inner thighs, over my pussy that was still covered by panties. He slipped them off, then ran the spoon over me again. I whimpered.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"A little," I answered.

He started slapping the spoon against my inner thighs, just enough to leave a sting behind but not enough to make me feel like I was dying. I was happy with that, lifting my hips and squirming, and then he brushed it over my pussy again, slowly, deliberately.

He is very, very good with the spoon. As he told me later - spoons don't hit people, people hit people. So my initial hate for the thing was on the way he was using it, of course. Residual traces of that fear still linger. I tensed up.

He bent over so that his upper body was across my midsection, facing my spread thighs, pinning me there. I cried out - this was unexpected. He slapped my pussy and my thighs with the spoon, making me writhe beneath him, making me moan and cry out unintelligible sounds.

He resumed his previous position beside me when he was finished, kissing me as he ran the spoon up my body. "Mine," he said against my lips, his free hand gripping my throat and keeping me there while he plundered my mouth. "So mine." His hand ran over my face, and I pressed my face into his hand as it passed, covering my eyes, my nose, my mouth. He pressed. I love it when he presses my face like that. I moaned into his hand.

The spoon rubbed against my cheek, and my mouth opened. He was looking at me, his gaze trapped mine as he slowly, deliberately, slapped my cheek with the spoon. I trembled, a cry spilling from my mouth as he did it again. "Mine," he said firmly, slapping my face with the spoon while I moaned helplessly.

Oh my God he's slapping my face with a wooden spoon. Oh my God. I writhed. Shivers overtook me and I couldn't stop shaking. He finally stopped, put the spoon down, and kissed me while his fingers found their way between my legs. I knew what he would find there.

"Oh my, what have we here?" he asked as his fingers delved into my wetness, as he made little noises come out of me with the slightest touch. "I think we have a nice wet pussy. I think it likes what I do to you."

He played with me a bit, his fingers sliding inside me, his thumb stroking my clit, making me twist and groan. He kissed me the whole time.

"I want you..." he said softly against my lips.

"I want you." I answered, kissing him more fervently.

"... to suck my cock," he finished.

Continued here...

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Morning sex

I wake up an hour too early, and I can't get back to sleep. I'm restless.

My husband stirs as I shift in bed, his long arm pulling my naked body against him, his hand cupping my breast and squeezing. "Mine," he mumbles, still half asleep.

I purr. There's nothing quite like being claimed like that - especially when he's not even fully conscious. It means the entirety of 'us' has seeped into him. I stretch against him and move, enjoying the feeling of my skin moving on his.

He squeezes my breast, then rubs his hand down my body, rubbing against my  pussy, letting his finger find my clit. I'm not wet, but it feels nice. But now that he's touched me there, my brain is on it. Why am I not wet? What the hell? Think about something else, think about something else, think about something else... isn't this hot? I am purring, he is stroking me, touching me. He turns my face to his and we kiss - hot, soft kisses, just sort of sinking into each other.

I roll onto my stomach, lifting my ass in the air, burying my face in the pillow. His fingers graze my pussy, lightly touch my ass. I groan as he teases me.

"Does my girl want her ass fucked?" he asks softly, a genuine question.

"No," I respond, breathless.

"No?" His fingers are touching me between my legs again, and I am still not wet. It's not going to happen. I want, but I am thinking about it too hard. He moves his hand and I moan with disappointment.

"Girl doesn't like it when the hand moves, huh?"

"I need some lube," I finally relent.

"You do, huh?" He is quick on that one, getting the lube, squeezing some onto his fingers. When he touches me again his fingers glide across my sex, my clit, and I groan loudly. Oh, that feels so fucking amazing. I am panting, rocking back into his touch.

How long should I wait before I ask for cock? is what I am thinking as I move, as I purr and moan from the sensations he's giving me. His fingers feel fantastic, and I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I want. I can feel his cock pressing against my hip as he touches me, so I know it's there.

He solves that problem. "I suppose next you'll want some cock?" he asks as his fingers glide inside me, around all the sensitive parts, making me rock back and forth like a poor mindless automaton.

"Yessss," I hiss, grateful that I didn't have to think about it anymore. Usually I want the teasing, the long, drawn-out being driven insane, but this was a workday and there was no time for that.

"Such a good fuck toy," he whispers. His hand moves from me and I hear him lubing his cock. Not that I think that is necessary. I don't move, keep my ass in the air.

I am beaming thoughts at him: Get on top of me, get on top of me, get on top of me. Fuck me like a bitch in fucking heat, come on, fuck me.

I have a fear that he is going ask me to turn on my side, which is usually our preferred position. But I really, really want this. Long seconds drag by while he is seeming to ponder.

"You want me to get on top of you, girl?" he asks.

"Uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh!" I say, kicking my feet, driven mad with lust. Fuck yes that's exactly what I fucking want! Maybe he is a mind-reader. Or a body-language reader - that's very possible. It's not like it was a big secret with me waving my ass in the air.

"Oh my," he says softly, his hands on my back as he moves between my spread legs. "I guess that really is what you want...." he nudges his cock at the opening of my pussy, and then he is sliding inside me. I groan. Oh, what a position. What a fantastic position. He rests most of his weight on my back. His arm curls under mine and wraps around my shoulder, my other arm gripping his as I cry out with the pleasure of it.

"You fuck me so good," I whisper as he does just that.

After a while he raises up, his body no longer pressing against mine, his cock fucking into me the only place we're touching. I miss the touching, but something about being deprived of it is hot.

"Take it, fucking horny slut," he says roughly, making me groan into the pillow.

I hear his orgasm approaching in the way his breathing changes, and I am excited by it, so much so that it escapes me in little puffs - "uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh," I breathlessly urge him on as he pulses into me. Oh how fucking hot is that, to be fucked like a bitch first thing in the morning?

He rolls off me, and his hand is back inside me. His head rests on my back as he touches me, so he feels it when I start trembling all over, even though I've begun holding my breath so I don't scream.

"Oooh," he says softly, lifting his head, "is my girl going to come for me?"

"Mmmhmm," I pant, shaking, on the edge of it.

"Come for me, then," he says, his fingers drawing the pleasure out, out, out, until I can't help but scream as I tremble there next to him. "Good girl," he says as he keeps gently touching me, weaning my sensitive bits from his touch.

My hair is sweaty and sticking to my face. I wipe it off my forehead as I curl into his arms, kissing his chest. We spend a few lovely minutes like that, looking at each other, stroking each other, before his alarm goes off.

Morning sex.

I'm for it.

Monday, January 21, 2013

A funny thing happened while cleaning the bedroom

I have a funny story, which I was reminded of while over reading The Taming of L.

I make floggers, and I don't really make a big secret about it within our home. To my little one they're just beautiful works of art, so he doesn't pay them any mind. The exception to that is when I've just finished a new one - he'll tell me "So pretty!"

My husband keeps our selection of floggers stashed between our mattress and the wall (platform bed). It makes quite a nice pile, and with his long arms he can reach any of them.

Several nights ago, he used all of the floggers on me - plus our riding crop. It was pretty nice, as there are several floggers he hardly ever uses. I could definitely tell the difference - I was looking behind me trying to figure out what he was hitting me with.

Anyway. The next day, I was cleaning in our bedroom when the little one came up to me. "What's this?" he asked, and I didn't see him right away. "Mommy?" he asked, to get my attention. "What's this?" He was holding the crop, which had been resting on top of the pile of floggers - behind our mattress.

Oddly enough it wasn't that awkward. "Hey, you know we've told you not to go back there," I said to him.

"Sorry!" he said, handing me the crop and going about his business like nothing ever happened.

Fun times in sexyland.

Do any of you have funny I've-been-caught-out stories?

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Cara's comeuppance

This is the start of a little something I'm working on. Hope y'all enjoy it!

"Property doesn't get to walk away from its owner." Nathan's arms went around Cara's hips and pulled her back into the bed with him, a little "Oomph" of surprise knocked out of her. She'd thought he was sleeping. His lips grazed her temple as he cuddled her close, spooning his body to hers. "Wouldn't you agree?"

She whimpered, nodding her head, hopelessly aroused. A tear of frustration slipped out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes it seemed like he thought this was all a game, and then, sometimes he was like this. Dominant. Forceful. Loving. Perfect. The thoughts fled as his fingers on her chin turned her face toward his. “You don’t get to leave me, my girl,” he whispered, his lips settling over hers, soft and warm and tasting slightly of mint.

He inhaled her breath. She kissed him back, but he was definitely the one in control of this interaction, as she struggled to keep up with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She was breathing hard by the time he let her lips go and started to stroke her nipples. She placed her hand over his and squeezed her nipple between his fingers until she yelped with the pain of it, and he followed suit, switching nipples and doing the same, squeezing until she cried out, over and over. “Poor girl,” he said in her ear, his voice making her shudder, “you get teased a lot but rarely get enough relief.” His fingers slid down between her legs, which she obediently opened for him, hooking her top leg backward around his hip as she whimpered.

“Mmmm, nice wet slave pussy,” he crooned. “My nice wet slave pussy,” he clarified as he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them up to press hard into her g-spot. She cried out loudly as he did, writhing in his embrace. It didn’t take long before she was arching up into his touch, panting for breath, teetering on the edge of a monster orgasm.

“Ooooh are you gonna come for me?” he crowed. She didn’t answer, just kept panting, squirming on his hand, close, so very very close. “Ooh, I think you are,” he said. “Come for me, sweet bitch, come for me, that’s right.”

Her head was pounding. She couldn’t get enough air, and she was screaming what little she could get away as the pleasure took over, wrung her body out and used her muscles up. She went limp in his arms afterward. “Want you,” she whispered weakly, feeling the iron of him pressing into her side.

“Then have me, girl,” he said as he turned her more onto her side again. His cock nudged at her opening and she wriggled back onto him, making soft delighted noises as his hardness speared her soft heat. He let his fingers stroke her clit while he moved inside her, her noises nearly as exciting to him as the sensations themselves. She began to breathe harder, to nearly scream as he moved inside her and his fingers stroked. 

“Oooh, you’re gonna come for me again.” She shook her head, helpless to stop the impending train of her orgasm, but trying anyway. “Oh yes you are,” he said roughly. “My girl does what she’s fucking told. Now fucking come for me.” Her body shook, clamping down on his cock inside her, arching up into his touch that quickly became nearly unbearable. She screamed, a series of short screams of pleasure that she couldn’t bear in silence. A few thrusts and he joined her, groaning. “So, so sexy.” He whispered into her hair, pulling her as close as he could. “So, so mine.”

“Yes sir,” she murmured dreamily, already halfway asleep.

“Nathan?” She asked sleepily, stirring from deep slumber. Light was streaming through the curtains, but it wasn’t quite time to get up yet. “What are you doing?” he was wiping her sex with a warm cloth.

“I’m cleaning you up,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I can do that,” she said, moving to close her legs, a little embarrassed.

“Actually, you can’t,” he said, tugging on her ankle. “Open your legs for me now.”

She obeyed, shivering as he cleaned her up. “Why can’t I do it myself?”

“I have plans for you,” he murmured.

Monday, January 14, 2013

Too hot to handle

Overwhelmed may begin to describe it; I don't know if I can do a fair job of it beyond that. I do know that I spent a good deal of time just reliving the wonder of it in my head. Sometimes, the man I married is so truly magnificent that I can't understand what he is doing with me - with any human. Surely he should be consort to a goddess somewhere.

There was a thing between us. It was just a tiny thing, said by him in the heat of the moment, but it'd been under my skin for days. It's so rare that we argue, that he says anything at all hurtful, that this was major. I withdrew. I still participated in our marriage, still enjoyed his company, but during quiet moments those words came back to me, made me sad all over again.

He held me in his arms last night, and after several failed kisses, he extracted the problem from me. "But that was days ago!" he said, sounding surprised.

He apologized. It was sincere, and as his words melted the protective ice around my heart, I melted against his side. When his lips came down on mine again, his hand on my throat, a moan rose up to greet him as I kissed him back. I gloried in it as he claimed my mouth, little whimpers of release finally escaping. The ecstasy of belonging to him was unleashed on my brain again, a flush of excitement, of submission, creeping all over my body as our lips danced. "I want to keep you safe from the monsters," he whispered. "I want to make love to you. And I want to use you as my fuck toy."

I whimpered, all of those words hitting me in all the right spots, turning me to a quivering mess. "Do those things conflict?" he asked.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Belted, flogged, fucked

My Christmas spanking went on forever. His hand smacked into my backside until I was tender, crying out, protesting with each blow.

"It hurts," I begged.

 "Hmmm.. you're right. My hand does hurt," he murmured, and rummaged in the drawer for something. I felt the cool faux leather of his old belt brush against my heated skin and I inhaled sharply, anticipating the blow that was to come to my already tenderized flesh. It did not disappoint. I yelped loudly as it smashed against me.

"Oh my God, it hurts so much," I whimpered as he kept striking my ass and the backs of my thighs with the belt. I squirmed. I wanted it over and I didn't want it over at all. I wanted it to go on forever but I thought that might just destroy me.

"Poor thing," he whispered, giving me a break, smoothing his hand gently over my heated bottom. I gasped as even his gentle touch hurt. A flogger, then, glorious and soft and cool, draping over my burning rear, trailing its tiny knots up my back. Oh, it felt amazing, soothing my pain as it settled from a fiery burning sting to a deep ache.

"Ahhhhhhh," I breathed out with relief, and then he was flogging me. Smack, swish, smack. Oh, that felt divine too, the softness of the cold rope falls thudding into and gliding over my hot skin, my legs, my back. I was squirming in an altogether different way, presenting my ass to him and writhing in sheer pleasure as long soft moans of delight came from me.

"Turn over," he ordered after a long time of this.

I moaned at the thought of putting weight on my back and ass, but I did it. My bottom complained, but it settled to a dull roar as my husband began to flog my breasts. Oh. Yes, I like that. My body surged up into the blows, offering my breasts to the lash of the flogger each time it retreated. My mouth was open, a stream of delighted gasps and pleased moans issuing from it. I was on, all right.

Suddenly, he was on top of me, and his cock was sliding into my extremely wet pussy. I groaned as his hardness filled up all the space inside me, and he thrust down into me a few times, making me clench around him and purr with the delicious feeling of being impaled.

He withdrew far too soon, though, and slid up my body to slide his cock into my mouth, letting me taste my own arousal on his skin. I was out of my mind with want, and I sucked on him fervently. But then he was gone. He was sitting on my midsection, and I heard sounds. My head was still tossed back, my eyes squeezed shut - wet sounds were coming from him, but he wasn't moving.

Oh, God, what is he doing? I thought to myself, and slowly, slowly, I moved my head to look at him.

He was straddling my midsection, slowly masturbating his hard cock. The wet sounds were the moisture from my body on his cock as his foreskin slid over the shaft. "What if I just sit here and masturbate? What will you do?"

I groaned, twisting beneath him, mouth open, tilting my hips up more. I thrashed. There was no way I could get to his cock with any part of me, the way he was sitting.

"I see. You'll go crazy. Which part of you should I fuck?" he asked deliberately, still sliding his foreskin over the head of his cock. "Does your mouth want it more? Or your pussy?"

"I don't care, I just want it in me," I panted, and even as I spoke he was sliding down between my legs.

"Was that an order? I don't take orders so well, you know." He nudged the head of his cock against my sex, letting it slip inside just a very little bit.

"God, no, please... please fuck me," I begged, tilting my hips up to him.

"That's better," he whispered, letting his cock press all the way into me. "Good fuck toy," he said, a groan from him indicating how good it felt, even as I was gasping with the sensations flooding me.

A blur. Moving, sighing, whispered words of pleasure, love, dominance. Oh, it felt amazing.

After he was finished, his fingers found their way inside me and I was screaming. Screaming, as he said "Come for me, yes, good girl, come for me - merry Christmas, fuck hole."

Over and over. Until I was begging for him to stop, for the pleasure to end. Begging, because I was exhausted, soaked with sweat, and sore. My muscles vibrated with the intensity of the repeated release.

But "lots of orgasms" is what I asked for.

He does love to give me what I want.

Friday, January 4, 2013

Three weeks

He is so sexy. He was talking near-constantly. "You like it when I do things to your face? To your head? Yeah? Me too. It feels intimate, doesn't it?" His hand was pressing against my face, he pulled my hair, he pressed my head hard against his chest. I cried out each time, unable to contain the extreme emotions he was causing in me - and oh, God, the arousal. The desire. I was right there with him and he was keeping it that way with his constant stream of words.

"I like taking you for my own." His hand slipped between my legs, where I was a slippery mess. His thumb across my clit made me gasp. I felt his cock press against my thigh and I groaned and pressed my body toward it.

"You want something, girl?"

"Cock... cock," I pleaded, my hips moving with his fingers. He was pressing my g-spot and I screamed.

"I'm going to try something new. You don't get any cock - until you come for me." His fingers continued their dance and I whimpered, so sensitive, wanting him to fill me up.

"Oh, God. Please. Please." I writhed under him - he climbed atop me and rubbed his cock against my splayed-open sex.

"Not until you come for me. I suppose I could be extra mean and take my hand away. That would make it pretty hard for you to come, wouldn't it?"

"Yes sir..." I was terrified he would do that.

"Good thing for you I like making you come." His cock rubbed against me, his fingertips delicately stroked my clit.

"Oh, please." I arched up, moaning, trying to tempt his cock into me. It clearly wanted to be there.

"Gonna come for me?"

"No,  please... please."

"No? You don't seem to understand how this works. You come for me when I tell you to. You're mine."

"Oh, God... please." I was melting beneath him, turning into nothing but a puddle of need. His fingers know exactly where to touch me and they were making sublime use of that knowledge. Participating in the conversation became more and more difficult as the pleasure built inside my head.

"You don't need that cock."

"I do!"

"You don't need it. You don't need it at all." His fingers worked their magic through all his words, and as I was protesting that I did need his cock, I felt the spasms start. A deep moan started in the back of my throat and soon I was screaming.

"Good girl. Good fuck toy," he praised me. He kept his fingers moving - forcing another orgasm out of me.

My voice was strained when I could resume normal speech again, but still I begged. "Oh, please fuck me now.."

He complied, moving his hand out of the way and sinking deeply into my body, making me groan as his girth stretched me. "What do you even want with that cock?" he asked roughly.

"Feels so good," I whispered, rolling my hips up into him.

"You can't even come with that cock there. What kind of slut gives up orgasms for cock?" He pressed me down, pinning me to the mattress with his cock. I groaned. I love that.

"I... I can come with the cock there." It's true - it's happened. Not terribly often.

"Sure you can. Uh-huh."

I was beyond response, lost in sensation, not caring about his disbelief. I wasn't going to come with his cock in me like that, but who cares when it feels so fucking fabulous?

Glorious fucking. How do people not like sex? Seriously. Though definitely the right partner makes a huge difference.

He was asking me something. The fog of pleasure, the words he'd been pouring into me, were changing. This was a question.

"Maybe I should fuck your ass. Would you like that?" He ground his hips against me, his hot length pulsing inside me, generating an answering pulse, a clench, from my inner walls.

"Oh yes," I answered, the words perhaps a bit slurred, drunk on sensation as I was. I would like that very fucking much, in fact. But my hands were clutching his hips, pulling him into me over and over, not particularly willing to give up this present pleasure for a future one - even if the future was immediate.

Since he's the one in charge, though, he pulled away from me, leaving me empty as he rolled to lie next to me. I whimpered with the loss even as I turned my back to him.

"Poor girl just wants to be full of cock, doesn't she?" he whispered as he squeezed lube onto his fingers. I whimpered as he applied it to my ass, squealing a little when his finger penetrated me there. "Good girl," he whispered, and then it was his cock pressing against me - hard and impossibly big. He applied slow, steady pressure. "Take it, girl," he coaxed as I groaned.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," I whimpered as he slowly speared me. And then - oh, God - then the head of his cock entered my clenching ass in such a way that it felt so fucking incredible and all I could do was groan with a deep, unbelievable pleasure. He wasn't even all the way in me and I felt like I could come again any moment.

"Good fuck hole," he said, pulling back just slightly and pressing all the way in, making my cries spiral up into the darkness. "Take it, bitch." He grabbed my hip and pulled me back onto him, his other hand tangling in my hair, the elbow of that arm in the center of my back - both pulling me toward him by the hair and pressing me forward, keeping me from relieving the pressure on my scalp. I love that so much. The noises coming from me were animalistic - grunts, groans, uncontrollable noises of pleasure and overwhelmed sensations. That noise - the vibrating one that sounds like several voices coming from my throat at once - that one - started coming out of me as he fucked my ass, and he talked.

He talked and fucked, pulled and pushed, and I screamed, writhed, and existed as a mass of nerve endings for him to excite.

He excites me so fucking well.

When he came, I felt each spurt expanding his cock, making it feel even bigger inside me, impossible to accommodate, but I did. Of course I did. That's what I'm for - accommodating him.

I am mainly in the lifestyle to get my brains fucked out.

So far, it's working very very well.

Imagine this - multiply it by three weeks - pile a bunch of physical labor into the mix - and you get why I haven't been around much. Having the screaming sex trumps writing about it every single time.

I do like the writing though.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013


Sex is not just two bodies colliding mindlessly until they happen to feel enough pleasure to stop.

It's about presence, and it's about intent, and, at least for us, it's about love.

Being there with what's happening is just as important as submitting to what's happening, and I have been excelling at being there for quite some time.

But what happens when I am distracted, when there are a million thoughts racing through my head and none of his caresses, none of the blows of the flogger, actually reach my essence? It is off planning a wiring diagram or wondering how we will ever finish the things we'd like to do - what happens?

Sometimes he may persist, drag me back through sheer force of his own not-inconsiderable will.

Sometimes, though, what happens is nothing at all. If I am not present, I cannot participate in play, in love, in sex. I may as well not be there at all.

Being present in the present is every bit as important as being willing to participate. If the body is willing but the spirit is off flying away somewhere already, there is no point.

Interestingly, the same goes for him. He sometimes sets himself on auto-pilot, and his essence is gone off on walkabout. Who knows what he's really thinking, but it certainly has nothing to do with me.

Here's the thing: we can both tell. Why bother pretending when both of us know?

Maybe we hope. We hope our wandering thoughts can be harnessed to do this thing that we actually quite enjoy. We have faith that eventually we will break through and our imaginations will be captured by what is actually going on rather than some imaginary plan for the future.

I am glad we both have faith, have hope - but most of all I am thankful that it isn't necessary so terribly often.

I am incredibly thankful for presence.

Happy new year, everyone.