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.
Friday, June 28, 2013
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.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Helpless
Right now, I'm barely managing to get around my apartment.
We went hiking, and I sprained the hell out of my ankle after nearly 4.5 miles on the trail. Thankfully it was a loop, and we were almost finished, so the ranger station was close. My love fetched a ranger to help us.
But now I am injured, and one of my deepest, darkest, most frightening and, yes, most exciting fantasies is to be used while being genuinely injured. The fear of possibly being hurt more, the true helplessness, it all blends together beautifully in my brain. I have a swollen, aching foot and the opposite knee is a mass of bruised tissue that hurts really badly as well.
It's been exhausting, relying on my arms, my good knee, and my good foot to get around. My brilliant, loving, sexy husband has been amazing - helpful and solicitous. He's let me give him blow jobs, and he's touched me, brought me to orgasm with his fingers, but he's been terrified of hurting me further - overwhelming me with gentleness. Which feels lovely and like love and I adore him for it, but I was ready for something a little rougher after a few days.
In the mean time, I had been sinking into the feeling of uselessness that comes with not being able to do much. I began to feel more and more like a useless lump of humanity.
I told him. I steeled myself for his shock or disgust, but I should know by now it's hard to faze this man. Even so, revealing these little hidden bits of myself feels terrifying. I told him that my injuries turned me on, made me feel actually, truly helpless. Not like I could get up and run away or anything.
And my man. My wonderful, open-minded, beautiful man who apparently would in actual fact do anything to make me happy, he responded by turning into an evil sadist bastard and beating me, just like I'd asked. He started once we were in bed and he was holding me, long enough after the conversation that I was a little surprised when he went for my ass.
My ass already hurt from sitting on it way too much with my foot up to keep the swelling down, but he didn't care as his hand smacked into my backside. I squealed, I stretched, I squirmed, but I couldn't even kick my injured foot out, couldn't stretch and push away from him with it. Couldn't bash my bruised knee into his leg. I couldn't do much of anything except accept it, cry out, process the pain.
Oh, how I processed the pain. It was brutal but it was teetering on the edge of orgasmic. My brain really, really processed it. It took that pain and wrung every morsel of feeling out of it, through the entire gamut from true discomfort to bliss. He wasn't holding back either, or if he was I couldn't tell. It hurt, and it felt incredible, all at once.
I carefully turned onto my other side, my back toward him, and he had an even better swing now, even more force into my backside. He brought a flogger into play then, smacking the heavy rope strands into my back, my ass, the backs of my legs. It felt incredibly heavy, nearly unbearable, and my body writhed. My foot wanted to push against the mattress, to stretch and to fight, but I had to keep it still or suffer even more.
"You can't get away from me," he growled into my ear, his free hand tangling into and tugging on my hair, "and I think I will fuck you tonight."
I whimpered in response, feeling my body respond, swell, lubricate for the fucking he was promising. But not yet.
My arms were over my head to protect my face and neck from any stray strands of the flogger, and he was taking a break, dragging the soft trailing nylon ends against my skin, making me purr. And then he targeted my breasts - a heavy smack of the heavy rope into my nipple. A knot caught me right on center and the breath whooshed out of me.
"Oh fuck," I breathed out, stretching as much as I could, thrusting my chest forward for more. Holy shit, that was incredible. I can't remember the last time he'd flogged my breasts and my breast was singing a hallelujah chorus of delight while my nipple simultaneously screamed in pain.
"Oh, I think you like that," he growled as he did it again, and again, and again. I screamed for the joy of it, for the pain of it when a knot would catch my nipple again, about every third strike.
"Don't even think of trying to get away," he said, trading the flogger for a braided version that terrifies me when he uses it on my ass. The nylon braids stroked my screaming nipple, made me gasp and whimper. "Writhe for me, girl, writhe. Good fuck toy," he whispered into my ear, swinging the braids down hard against my breast. "If you try to get away, I'll just have to drag you back and beat you more. Can you imagine how much that would hurt?"
I nodded, whimpering with a kind of aroused fear that is completely unique. The thought of him dragging me back to him and beating me after I'd tried to run away on my damaged foot made me even wetter as I writhed under the heavy blows from the braided flogger.
"Oh you are turning me on, girl," he said, moving the bedclothes from between us and letting me feel his erection against my sore ass. "I do think I will have to fuck you," he continued when I moaned my pleasure at feeling him. I moaned and wriggled, leaning forward to provide him easier access to do just that.
"Good hole," he murmured, pressing his hard cock against my slippery opening and resting with just the head inside, until I wriggled.
His fingers stroked my aching nipple and I begged. "Nipple hurts," I whimpered.
"Yeah? That's interesting," he said, squeezing it tighter, making me scream. I wriggled back against him again, wanting more cock, so turned on by his control.
"You want more cock?" he asked. "You want this cock to fuck you?"
"Yes, oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I begged.
And he did. He slid inside, pulling me to him by squeezing my breasts. My ass burned where he'd beaten it, a pleasantly aching reminder when his skin brushed mine. My breasts were still singing joyfully at having been flogged, my nipple screaming in burning agony while he held it tightly, and I loved all of it.
I was so wet. Surely I was wet enough he could fuck my ass. I wanted him to fuck my ass. I wanted to feel completely invaded by him, and I shifted a little to try it.
It wouldn't even go in a little bit. Not even the tiniest, little bit. I groaned my frustration as he resumed fucking my more willing opening.
But later, he went for it himself. He pushed me forward as he fucked me. "You want me to fuck your ass, slave?" he asked. "You want your master to invade you? Would that make you feel more used?"
"Oh my God, yes," I responded, panting, insane with the want of that.
He lubed my ass while he fucked my pussy, making me groan and whimper at the fullness of his finger in my backside.
And then his cock was aimed at the opening that had already rejected him once, but this was his decision and it was going in. As the head made it through I screamed, groaned, and bucked. So intense. Too intense. Couldn't handle it. My body tried to get away even as my brain relished the overload.
"Not going anywhere, fuck hole," he informed me, gripping my hair in one hand, my hip in the other, and pushing steadily onward - but slowly enough I felt properly invaded, not ripped open. It was delicious. "Going to fuck your ass now," he said, and he did.
His hand went back to my nipple, tortured me there a bit while he moved, and then moved between my legs. "Give me that pussy," he growled into my ear, and I opened my legs for him to touch me there, whimpering as his fingers contacted my sensitive clitoris. His cock never stopped moving in my ass, never stopped feeling amazing, as his fingers began to work their magic on my other bits. His thumb was on my clit and he sank some unknown (to me) number of fingers inside my pussy.
"Oh my God, too much, I can't," I groaned as he overloaded my brain with sensation and my body with fullness.
"Too much?" he asked. "No such thing. This is what you're for. You're for your master to fuck and to fill as much as he wants. Isn't that right?"
Oh God, I thought, you're right, I'm for you to fuck.
All that could make it out through my groans was "Yes sir,"
"Your ass makes such a good fuck hole," he growled as his fingers moved in my pussy. My ass clenched on him.
Oh. And I wanted to say You like fucking my good fuck hole? but the thought of saying it was too much and I started to tremble there, impaled on his various parts.
"Oooh," he said, knowing an impending orgasm when he feels one. "My girl is going to come for me while I fuck her ass, isn't she?"
"uhhhh-huh," I groaned, tremors racing over my body.
"Go on then, fuck hole, come while I fuck your ass," he growled, and the thought of it was too much, with his fingers moving inside me, against my clit, his cock in my ass. I came screaming and wishing I could say the things in my head that were contributing to making me come.
The orgasm lasted a long time - he drew it out on purpose with his fingers, his cock, and his voice. When my body was finally limp and relaxed, he pushed against me again. "Not done with you, fuck slave," he said. "You're going to come with my cock fucking your ass again."
It's not hard for him, once he's gotten me there once, to drive me there over and over to the point of exhaustion. So that's what he did this time, finally culminating with his own orgasm.
"You want me to come in your ass, slave? You want your master to fill you up? You want to feel well-used?"
"Oh, fuck, yes," I whispered, hoarse from screaming my own pleasure, still seriously enjoying the sensations of his cock and his hand moving on my sensitive parts.
He groaned his own release into my ear, pulling me tightly to him.
As I stretched in his embrace, practically purring as my faculties of speech came back to me, I said "It's strange that you have to treat me like an object to make me feel like a person again."
He stroked my hair. "Maybe I treat you how you want to be treated, and that acknowledges your wants and desires and makes you feel like a person."
He's a smart man.
And hella sexy.
We went hiking, and I sprained the hell out of my ankle after nearly 4.5 miles on the trail. Thankfully it was a loop, and we were almost finished, so the ranger station was close. My love fetched a ranger to help us.
But now I am injured, and one of my deepest, darkest, most frightening and, yes, most exciting fantasies is to be used while being genuinely injured. The fear of possibly being hurt more, the true helplessness, it all blends together beautifully in my brain. I have a swollen, aching foot and the opposite knee is a mass of bruised tissue that hurts really badly as well.
It's been exhausting, relying on my arms, my good knee, and my good foot to get around. My brilliant, loving, sexy husband has been amazing - helpful and solicitous. He's let me give him blow jobs, and he's touched me, brought me to orgasm with his fingers, but he's been terrified of hurting me further - overwhelming me with gentleness. Which feels lovely and like love and I adore him for it, but I was ready for something a little rougher after a few days.
In the mean time, I had been sinking into the feeling of uselessness that comes with not being able to do much. I began to feel more and more like a useless lump of humanity.
I told him. I steeled myself for his shock or disgust, but I should know by now it's hard to faze this man. Even so, revealing these little hidden bits of myself feels terrifying. I told him that my injuries turned me on, made me feel actually, truly helpless. Not like I could get up and run away or anything.
And my man. My wonderful, open-minded, beautiful man who apparently would in actual fact do anything to make me happy, he responded by turning into an evil sadist bastard and beating me, just like I'd asked. He started once we were in bed and he was holding me, long enough after the conversation that I was a little surprised when he went for my ass.
My ass already hurt from sitting on it way too much with my foot up to keep the swelling down, but he didn't care as his hand smacked into my backside. I squealed, I stretched, I squirmed, but I couldn't even kick my injured foot out, couldn't stretch and push away from him with it. Couldn't bash my bruised knee into his leg. I couldn't do much of anything except accept it, cry out, process the pain.
Oh, how I processed the pain. It was brutal but it was teetering on the edge of orgasmic. My brain really, really processed it. It took that pain and wrung every morsel of feeling out of it, through the entire gamut from true discomfort to bliss. He wasn't holding back either, or if he was I couldn't tell. It hurt, and it felt incredible, all at once.
I carefully turned onto my other side, my back toward him, and he had an even better swing now, even more force into my backside. He brought a flogger into play then, smacking the heavy rope strands into my back, my ass, the backs of my legs. It felt incredibly heavy, nearly unbearable, and my body writhed. My foot wanted to push against the mattress, to stretch and to fight, but I had to keep it still or suffer even more.
"You can't get away from me," he growled into my ear, his free hand tangling into and tugging on my hair, "and I think I will fuck you tonight."
I whimpered in response, feeling my body respond, swell, lubricate for the fucking he was promising. But not yet.
My arms were over my head to protect my face and neck from any stray strands of the flogger, and he was taking a break, dragging the soft trailing nylon ends against my skin, making me purr. And then he targeted my breasts - a heavy smack of the heavy rope into my nipple. A knot caught me right on center and the breath whooshed out of me.
"Oh fuck," I breathed out, stretching as much as I could, thrusting my chest forward for more. Holy shit, that was incredible. I can't remember the last time he'd flogged my breasts and my breast was singing a hallelujah chorus of delight while my nipple simultaneously screamed in pain.
"Oh, I think you like that," he growled as he did it again, and again, and again. I screamed for the joy of it, for the pain of it when a knot would catch my nipple again, about every third strike.
"Don't even think of trying to get away," he said, trading the flogger for a braided version that terrifies me when he uses it on my ass. The nylon braids stroked my screaming nipple, made me gasp and whimper. "Writhe for me, girl, writhe. Good fuck toy," he whispered into my ear, swinging the braids down hard against my breast. "If you try to get away, I'll just have to drag you back and beat you more. Can you imagine how much that would hurt?"
I nodded, whimpering with a kind of aroused fear that is completely unique. The thought of him dragging me back to him and beating me after I'd tried to run away on my damaged foot made me even wetter as I writhed under the heavy blows from the braided flogger.
"Oh you are turning me on, girl," he said, moving the bedclothes from between us and letting me feel his erection against my sore ass. "I do think I will have to fuck you," he continued when I moaned my pleasure at feeling him. I moaned and wriggled, leaning forward to provide him easier access to do just that.
"Good hole," he murmured, pressing his hard cock against my slippery opening and resting with just the head inside, until I wriggled.
His fingers stroked my aching nipple and I begged. "Nipple hurts," I whimpered.
"Yeah? That's interesting," he said, squeezing it tighter, making me scream. I wriggled back against him again, wanting more cock, so turned on by his control.
"You want more cock?" he asked. "You want this cock to fuck you?"
"Yes, oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I begged.
And he did. He slid inside, pulling me to him by squeezing my breasts. My ass burned where he'd beaten it, a pleasantly aching reminder when his skin brushed mine. My breasts were still singing joyfully at having been flogged, my nipple screaming in burning agony while he held it tightly, and I loved all of it.
I was so wet. Surely I was wet enough he could fuck my ass. I wanted him to fuck my ass. I wanted to feel completely invaded by him, and I shifted a little to try it.
It wouldn't even go in a little bit. Not even the tiniest, little bit. I groaned my frustration as he resumed fucking my more willing opening.
But later, he went for it himself. He pushed me forward as he fucked me. "You want me to fuck your ass, slave?" he asked. "You want your master to invade you? Would that make you feel more used?"
"Oh my God, yes," I responded, panting, insane with the want of that.
He lubed my ass while he fucked my pussy, making me groan and whimper at the fullness of his finger in my backside.
And then his cock was aimed at the opening that had already rejected him once, but this was his decision and it was going in. As the head made it through I screamed, groaned, and bucked. So intense. Too intense. Couldn't handle it. My body tried to get away even as my brain relished the overload.
"Not going anywhere, fuck hole," he informed me, gripping my hair in one hand, my hip in the other, and pushing steadily onward - but slowly enough I felt properly invaded, not ripped open. It was delicious. "Going to fuck your ass now," he said, and he did.
His hand went back to my nipple, tortured me there a bit while he moved, and then moved between my legs. "Give me that pussy," he growled into my ear, and I opened my legs for him to touch me there, whimpering as his fingers contacted my sensitive clitoris. His cock never stopped moving in my ass, never stopped feeling amazing, as his fingers began to work their magic on my other bits. His thumb was on my clit and he sank some unknown (to me) number of fingers inside my pussy.
"Oh my God, too much, I can't," I groaned as he overloaded my brain with sensation and my body with fullness.
"Too much?" he asked. "No such thing. This is what you're for. You're for your master to fuck and to fill as much as he wants. Isn't that right?"
Oh God, I thought, you're right, I'm for you to fuck.
All that could make it out through my groans was "Yes sir,"
"Your ass makes such a good fuck hole," he growled as his fingers moved in my pussy. My ass clenched on him.
Oh. And I wanted to say You like fucking my good fuck hole? but the thought of saying it was too much and I started to tremble there, impaled on his various parts.
"Oooh," he said, knowing an impending orgasm when he feels one. "My girl is going to come for me while I fuck her ass, isn't she?"
"uhhhh-huh," I groaned, tremors racing over my body.
"Go on then, fuck hole, come while I fuck your ass," he growled, and the thought of it was too much, with his fingers moving inside me, against my clit, his cock in my ass. I came screaming and wishing I could say the things in my head that were contributing to making me come.
The orgasm lasted a long time - he drew it out on purpose with his fingers, his cock, and his voice. When my body was finally limp and relaxed, he pushed against me again. "Not done with you, fuck slave," he said. "You're going to come with my cock fucking your ass again."
It's not hard for him, once he's gotten me there once, to drive me there over and over to the point of exhaustion. So that's what he did this time, finally culminating with his own orgasm.
"You want me to come in your ass, slave? You want your master to fill you up? You want to feel well-used?"
"Oh, fuck, yes," I whispered, hoarse from screaming my own pleasure, still seriously enjoying the sensations of his cock and his hand moving on my sensitive parts.
He groaned his own release into my ear, pulling me tightly to him.
As I stretched in his embrace, practically purring as my faculties of speech came back to me, I said "It's strange that you have to treat me like an object to make me feel like a person again."
He stroked my hair. "Maybe I treat you how you want to be treated, and that acknowledges your wants and desires and makes you feel like a person."
He's a smart man.
And hella sexy.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Why you should worship your husband's cock? -CWS challenge response
I'm sorry, even writing the title of this post up there made my stomach turn. I dislike language that indicates I know better than someone else. "Should" has no place here unless I am talking about myself, or about given facts - "Dominants should not abuse the trust of their submissives."
I posed it as a question because that's the only way I could even write it there - and the answer, actually, is quite simple. If your husband worships you, adores you, keeps himself clean, and the two of you enjoy being sexual together, then that's step one. If you worship and adore him right back, then you probably will want to give cock worship a try. It might not wind up being your "thing," but you never know unless you give it a shot.
That's stuck in my head and is a thing I remember - long, long after he's forgotten ever saying it himself. It's especially helpful for those moments when I am despairing of being able to save money, but our bills are paid.
Another one of those lines that has stuck with me came from the keyboard of a close friend of mine. We were talking about sex, positions, fantasies, blow jobs. I was a virgin but I was very well-read and oh, so ready to have sex with the man I loved at the time.
My friend said to me: "If you love someone, you love every part of them."
Hello, thunderstruck moment. Hello, duh. Hello, silly silly girl. Of course that was true. She wasn't talking about the "bad-habit-get-you-killed" parts of them, but the actual, physical parts. Fingers, nose, neck, chest, back, toes, legs, pussy, cock. All the parts. Your adoration is meant to shower that person.
Do I believe that married people should worship their husband's cocks? That men have some inalienable right to have their partners go down on them?
No, I don't. Not all husband-wife partnerships manifest in sex at all, and not everyone who is sexual is into the same things.
Do I believe that people in love who DO have sex should worship each other's bodies?
Yes. Yes, I do.
For me, this results in bestowing lots of affection upon my man's cock, because, hell, it makes him feel good. It makes him feel really, really good. He likes kissing, and he likes cocksucking, and he likes being touched, so I kiss him, and I touch him, and I suck his cock. I try to put the love I feel for him in every touch, every stroke, every kiss. I try to communicate my adoration, my gratitude for the gift of his companionship through my life. He's amazing, he takes amazingly good care of me, and I want him to feel that I know it every time I touch him.
Of course, I get a great deal of pleasure from making him feel so good, and my submissive bent means that I thoroughly enjoy being "used" for his pleasure. I love making the people I love happy. Putting a smile on someone's face is an incredible feeling, and even more so when it's the person with whom you're in love. A blissed-out post-orgasmic smile, complete with sighs of fulfilled pleasure, is the most fantastic reward, not to mention the incredible amounts of good will such an act generates - even after all these years. Honestly, after a bit of a learning curve, there's not that much effort involved in creating that reward.
If for one second I thought he was uncomfortable with his cock in my mouth or down my throat, I'd transfer my affections to something he was more comfortable with - something that could bring him more pleasure. It's not about his cock - it's about him.
But since he continues to enjoy my ministrations, I'll continue providing them quite happily, and try every single time to make him feel as good as I am happy to be married to him.
I wrote this post in response to Spanky's June challenge over at CWS.
The CWS Challenge for June is to write a post on the topic "Why you should worship your husband's cock." I hope some of you have thoughts to share about this topic. Maybe someone will read your post and be inspired to finally take the plunge? Or somewhere a hubby will show it to his wife and say "See! This is what I've been trying to tell you."
But - I really, really hope no man tries to get his cock in his partner's mouth by saying things like that.
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