Why being married is awesome

We'd just finished a spectacularly mind-blowing session. He'd fucked every single part of me from several different angles - including my armpit-breast area, and we'd just collapsed after he'd given me my second orgasm.

"Ooooh, I like being married to you!" he said, resting his arm across my back as I panted into a pillow, trying to recover.

"mmmmm, why is that?" I asked breathlessly.

"Because we get to have sex," he said.

I laughed. Because so many things were going through my head right then. Like, being married isn't a prerequisite to having sex, and being married doesn't guarantee sex, and even if it did, then he could be married to anyone at all, absolutely anyone, and it wouldn't have to be me.

But all those thoughts went through my head in the split second before he continued: "...and you're a particularly amazing person to have sex with."

Be still, my heart. When he gets shit right, he really, really gets it right.

Sleepiness

On Mother's Day, we were going to go for a hike.

But our child woke us up way too early and I spent the day battling intense sleepiness. Standing up became difficult as the afternoon progressed.

"You want to just go take a nap?" my husband asked.

"No, I don't. But yes, I do." I answered. What I honestly wanted was to hike. But I didn't think I would manage very far before succumbing to my overwhelming exhaustion. "I don't want to be by myself, though."

"Oh, I'll come with you," he said, hugging me tightly to him before I turned to go into the bedroom.

I struggled to remain standing long enough to let my jeans, donned especially for hiking, fall to the floor. I crawled into bed and my heavy eyelids slammed shut.

My husband's arms went around me and he whispered into my ear, "I'll lie here and hold you."

I sleepily mumbled my pleased gratitude. As I snuggled into him, I felt his cock grow hard against my arm. His hips drove it against me.

"I can't promise I won't fuck you though," he growled, his arousal becoming more insistent by the moment.

"Mmm," I murmured, "I can't promise I'll be too responsive."

---

There was fucking. And there was responsiveness wherein he forced me to beg to be fucked. And then there was a second fucking.

My husband has a fetish for exhaustion. Not for actual unconsciousness, but sleepiness so overwhelming that it's grabbing and pulling me.

I'm having trouble finding out what that's called. But he definitely has it.

I kind of dig it. It fulfills my need to give him what he wants, even if it's not what I necessarily want in the moment.

Fucking is better than sleep anyway.

I need to find more ways to wear myself out, but preferably not so that I'm miserable all day.

Apparently there's a listed fetish for your OWN exhaustion making you horny. Kopophilia - but where is the "my partner's exhaustion turns me on" fetish? I'll keep looking.

Happy stick

We're cuddled together in bed on a Saturday morning, sunlight streaming through the gaps around the curtain. The night before we had amazing anal sex that left me feeling completely sated for the entire night, and now that it's morning I'm still feeling residual happy chemicals. I'd love more sex, but we have plans. 

I drop little kisses along his chest and shoulder, and I'm thinking about how amazing last night was. "What's it like, to go inside a person?" I ask him. 

"Hm? Well, if you think about it, it's not really me, it's just a bit that sticks out from me."

I roll my eyes but I don't know if he can see it. I sigh in an exaggerated fashion. "That's not helpful," I grumble, but playfully.

"Okay. It's like. . . it's like stabbing someone with a happy stick, over and over."

I collapse into helpless giggles for a very, very long time.

Happy stick, indeed.

Making the girl blush

We get up to some awfully intense things in the bedroom, but my husband rarely speaks aloud of them outside the bedroom door.

The other night, I was feeling horrible. Overstimulation from constantly caring for our child, bills, cleaning, and a lack of sex for several days had contributed to me generally feeling withdrawn and angry on a broad, not-directed-at-anyone scale.

He followed me around and when I wound up in bed, he forced himself on me despite my protests.

"But you're not going to stop me, are you girl? I wonder why you're not going to stop me, girl," he said as he performed all sorts of things upon my person. I didn't resist. I only answered his questions when he made me, though.

But later, when it was all said and done and a large chunk of the evening was gone, I mentioned how late it was as we sat on the sofa together and talked about what to do next.

"Where did the time go?" he asked, a little startled as it was 10:30 at night by now.

"You munched it up," I answered. This is common in the language of our marriage, we speak of time being munched a lot. It's not out of the ordinary. His response, though, was.

"Oh, so it was between your legs, then?"

I couldn't even respond. I gave him a look of incredulity as the blood rushed to my face.

You'd think that making me blush would be harder than this by now, but nope, it really, really isn't.

What makes you blush?

Advice from my husband

"My nipples were really, really sensitive today," I whispered against his chest as he held me in his arms in bed. He'd abused them pretty terribly the night before and every time I moved, all day, I was reminded of that fact.

"Maybe you should stop hanging out with a nipple sadist," he replied into my hair.

As if.

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.

When I quit

I went to bed alone, fairly early, feeling sad, forlorn, and exhausted. My hands hurt; I think I have arthritis in them. There's hardly any time any more for us to just be the two of us, and I'm feeling it. Add to that the cold sore that's kept us from kissing for nearly a week, and I have not been a happy camper. So while my husband worked at the kitchen table I took my netbook to bed - against our long-standing mutual rule, no non-book tech in the bedroom.

From there, I sent him a message via Google talk: "I think you should know that I quit."

Soon thereafter, he joined me because he'd noticed I posted something on facebook. "What you doing with your computer on the bed, girl?" he asked me. He hadn't gotten the message.

"I sent you a message," I said, as I continued what I'd been doing.

He took out his phone and checked his Google messages. "Um, you quit what? Quit me?"

I shook my head, put my netbook away, and started playing a game on my Kindle Fire, sitting on the edge of the bed. We made fun of the game, laughed a bit. My husband went to brush his teeth.

When he returned, his entire demeanor had changed. "Why don't you put the game away?" he whispered in my ear.

"Whyyyy?" I groaned. So not in the mood for this. Not in the mood for him to do things he doesn't want to do to cure the mood I am in. Not in the mood to be that person who requires attention. Not in the mood to be soft, compliant, willing.

"So I can play with you," he answered simply. "You can be the game instead of the player." As much as I wanted to push him away, those words still sank into me, started eating away at my reserve. If it is a game, he plays it too well.

"No," I said firmly, turning the game off, putting the Kindle away, and settling back into his arms. No reason to push the issue. I figured if I did as he said perhaps we'd get away without the theatrics.

"'No?' There's just one problem with that, isn't there? I think you know what the problem is," he whispered in my ear, his voice sending shivers all over me despite my best intentions.

"I don't know," I whispered. My entire body was thrilling to his words, even as my head balked. Traitorous body. One day it will do what I tell it. That won't necessarily be a good day.

"You don't get to say no, my girl."

I sighed softly, resigning myself to whatever was about to happen. Perhaps if I feigned indifference long enough he'd give up and go away. (aside: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, GIRL? Do you hear this man?)

"You seem to think that I'm not interested in you. You're wrong." He had pulled me onto my back, shoved my nightie up over my breasts. He slapped my nipple, hard.

I gasped, bit my lip. "Am I?"

"You are." He slapped my nipples back and forth, alternating, causing me to twist and buck. I sighed loudly, obviously. He ignored me. He shoved my legs open and began slapping my inner thighs, hard. Okay, so there would be no feigning indifference. I was gasping. It hurt. My knees kept coming up, together, and he kept shoving them apart again with a casual flick of his arm, continuing to slap. So much ownership is expressed in that casual flick, like my legs closing was no more troublesome to him than a fly buzzing near his head.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, since I was making a lot of noise indicating such. "What are you going to do? Close your legs? Is that going to stop me? Open them. Keep them open until I say otherwise." Oh, my God. Oh, God. I do so love it when he tells me what to do. It hurt so badly, but I was so turned on by the entire situation, by his words, and my legs lay as if bound. My muscles tried to resist but I forced them to stay down, open, as he continued to rain blows on my already sore thighs.

"Good girl," he said as he finally finished, his fingers trailing lightly over my reddened skin making me squeal with the pain. "Sensitive girl," he observed, and grabbed a flogger from the small pile on the corner of the bed. He trailed the ends over my thighs, letting the knots drag harshly against my skin. I squealed again, twisting slightly but still keeping my legs open. He lightly slapped the ends against my thighs, but that didn't hurt as much as the knots dragging there.

"Huh," he said, surprised. "It almost seems like this" and he dragged the knots against my thigh again, making me squeal, "is more painful than this." He lightly slapped the soft ends against me.

"It is," I whispered, my throat already dry from crying out and open-mouthed panting.

"That's interesting," he said, trailing the flogger ends up my body, letting the knots drag the soft ends behind them, creating shivers of anticipation the whole way. He brushed the ends across my face, and then he tapped them lightly against my face, but it was clearly not just a brushing, not just an application of the sensual possibilities the soft ends bring. He was slapping my face with the ends of the flogger - silky though they are, it made an impression. I felt myself get wetter as I moaned with each soft swoosh against my face.

"How does it feel to be my plaything?" he asked, dragging the flogger down again, between my still-open legs, and lightly flogging my pussy with the ends, much the same way he'd just done to my face.

"Helpless," I responded between soft moans, arching up.

"You like that, huh?" he asked. Talking about the flogging. Yes, I like the flogging. I like the helpless feeling too.

He rested the flogger handle on my shoulder, the falls draping next to my head.

His fingers found my core, my clit. I gasped and arched into his touch. "Oh, God," I whispered. The man works magic with his fingers.

He was on top of me. What? When did that happen?

He lifted the flogger from my shoulder, dragged it over a little. Oh my God, he was pressing the flogger against my throat. First the handle, then the rope, pressing against my throat, draping over it and then the pressure, his hands on either side pushing. I gasped. A little tiny scream emerged from me, all that my limited voice channel would allow.

"Mine," he whispered, looking down at me. "You want me to fuck you, don't you? You need fucking." He rocked his cock against my thigh.

"Yes, yes, yes," I panted, rising up to meet him.

He pressed his cock against me, pressing my folds open. He nudged just the head inside me and I groaned as he rocked barely into me. "But what if I don't?" He pulled away completely, leaving me empty, rubbing his cock against me again, pressing it into my thigh.

I whined.

"Ah, you'll whine. Like a puppy. Or like a bitch in heat." He continued teasing me with his body, rubbing into me. "Whine for me, bitch."

I did. I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to. I whined and I got wetter and wetter as I did what he told me.

"Good girl. You'll get the cock back, I'll fuck you," he whispered, slowly nudging his way back inside me.

I rose up, but he didn't let me engulf him. "Sweet little bitch," he murmured, sinking all the way into me at his own pace, as I kept whimpering, trying desperately to take more of him. "There you go, there's your cock. How's that cock feel?"

"Oh, God," I moaned, rolling my hips into him, squeezing tightly around him. It felt good. No, better than that. Fucking amazing. Words. What are words again? I moaned louder.

He moved inside me, his hand wandering over my body, pinching my nipple, then pressing against my face, pushing my head into the mattress by my face. A deep, guttural noise came from me, lower than a scream but just as long. "Oh God, oh my God," I chanted, my words distorted by his hand pressing the side of my mouth out of shape.

"Mine," he said, calmly, clearly, as he kept pressing into my face, his hips pressing mine down as well. Resting on his elbow, he locked his other hand behind my head, taking a fistful of my hair and pulling it hard, my head trapped between the force of his hand in my hair and his other hand on my face. I screamed as he moved, his body surging into me relentlessly, his fingers regularly tightening in my hair.

He let go, balanced on his hands, looking down at me, driving into me slowly. "My girl likes a nice slow fuck, doesn't she?"

"Fuck, yes," I whispered. I lifted my legs up, bending my knees, opening myself to him even more. I grabbed my feet and pulled up, pressing my knees into his sides. I was rewarded with a deep groan from him.

"Ohhh this is my fuck hole, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes boring down into me.

"I am yours," I answered, moaning constantly. My legs began to ache after a while and I lowered them, driving my heels into the mattress to lift my body up to his - higher, higher, and he was surging into me deliberately, emptying himself into my body and moaning loudly, his pleasure quite obvious. I squeezed him against me. He rolled off me.

"Can I close my legs now?" I asked softly, meekly.

"You may close your legs," he agreed. I did and rolled onto my side, facing away from him. He snaked his hand around my waist and pulled me tight to him, then slipped his hand between my legs from behind, sliding his thumb easily into my pussy.

"Ohhh," I groaned, surprised. His fingers began slowly stroking my clit, and I rolled more onto my stomach, letting him have his way with me as I lifted my hips in the air.

"My puppet. My sweet little fuck puppet," he whispered into my ear, driving his thumb deeper into me, making my body move to his command. I whimpered.

"Oh, you like being my fuck puppet, don't you?" He twisted his hand for emphasis.

"Yes sir," I moaned, my hips dancing with his motions.

"Mmmmm," he said, the simple vibrations in my ear making me shiver. I was quickly approaching orgasm and his words were only driving me faster.

"Come for me, girl," he whispered in my ear. I did. I screamed, kicking, pulling away from him, my leg vibrating as I came for him.

"Good girl," he said, not stopping his movements, his voice continuing to say sexy things in my ear, my body dancing on the end of his hand like the puppet he'd decided I was. "Good girl comes when she's told, and all I have to do is say, 'come for me,' isn't that right? Come for me," he whispered roughly in my ear, triggering another orgasm, more screams, more kicking.

He didn't stop. He kept going. I was a mass of nerve endings, a screaming, writhing mass of open emotions and sensitivities and he just kept touching me there, in that spot that made it all so fucking good, his thumb buried inside me giving me a sense of fullness that made it all that much better.

"Girl likes orgasms," he noted, his detachment somehow making my state of completely helpless arousal all the more arousing.

"I can't.. I can't," I begged, too sensitive, too many orgasms having taken their toll. Wait, did I say too many orgasms? No such thing.

"Yes you can. You know you can. Don't lie to me, fuckhole."

My head took over from there.

Don't lie to him, fuckhole.

Don't lie to him, fuckhole.

Don't lie to him, fuckhole.

I came, screaming, the most powerful one yet shaking my body, my legs going completely out of my control. My head was pounding with the force of the blood rushing through it. "Oh my God," I whispered shakily as I came down from it. As a credit to his empathic abilities, he did stop then, pulling me close to him and rubbing my body, kissing my neck, whispering words of love and praise. He's pretty awesome at aftercare. Hell, he's pretty awesome at most things.

"I love you," he said softly into my ear, as we were falling asleep. "Don't quit me."

For the record, I would never, ever quit him. We go together.

So I am not allowed to quit - at least not without discussion and a valid reason beyond "I think you're not into me."

And me? I am okay with that. Better than okay. Thrilled. I may have started all this, but it is not okay for me to end it.

Resistance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shake my head, groaning still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmhmm," I whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His

We were snuggled into bed, my head happily resting on his shoulder, when he moved, sitting up a little, taking his arm from behind my head and using it to rest on as he gazed down at me.

"Don't look at me and stuff!" I begged, moving my hand to cover my face as he moved over me.

"Don't look at you and stuff?" he asked, incredulously. "Whose are you?"

"Yours," I said through my fingers.

"And can't I do whatever I want with you?"

"Yes," I whispered reluctantly.

"Then move your hand. I want to 'look at you and stuff.'"

My hand remained on my face until he slapped my inner thigh a few times. "Be a good girl," he admonished.

I moved my hand, but my face was scrunched up in resistance, and I couldn't stop. I tried to relax the muscles of my face, but knowing he was now looking at me even more than he would have been made it impossible. Why, oh why did I draw attention to myself?

"Look at me, fuck toy," he demanded, after what felt like an hour but was probably merely seconds. I trembled, moaning. "Maybe you didn't hear me," he said softly. "Look at me."


I opened my eyes and he was there, looking at me.

I giggled. Yep. I giggled.

I closed my eyes again, trying to stifle the laughter.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked, amused.

"No," I said, opening my eyes again. I giggled again, turning away and covering my face with both my hands this time.

"What's funny?" he insisted. "Is your own shyness funny?"

"Yes," I agreed. As good an answer as any.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked. "My girl is supposed to do what she's told, isn't she? And when she doesn't, I have to punish her?" he whispered the words in my ear.

I shivered. "I did what you asked."

"And who told you you could stop?"

I sighed, opening my eyes. My giggles evaporated as I turned back toward him again.

"Good girl." He kissed me, climbing on top of me and pressing his cock against my upper thigh, letting me feel how hard he already was. We kissed for a while, my eyes closing as his lips and mine danced, opening again because he wanted them that way after each kiss.

"Is it getting easier for you?" he asked, gazing at me lovingly.

"No," I said, meeting his eyes.

"Well, you're doing better," he praised me as he kissed me again. "Tell you what," he said, rising up higher, "instead of looking into my eyes, you can look at my cock." I scooted down between his knees as he raised up over me.

He rubbed his cock all over my face, moving up and brushing his balls against my lips until I sucked gently on them. I looked up and saw him looking at me as I did so, making me moan as my gaze crossed his.

He moved again, rubbing his cock all over my face again, teasing me, letting me lick it as he moved. "Take it," he finally urged as he pressed it between my lips.

"Mmm, you like this, don't you?" he asked as I moaned around the hardness filling my mouth. His hands pressed down on the sides of my head, pinning it to the bed as he fucked into me. My hands clutched at his thighs, over and over as his cock filled what it could of my throat and then withdrew. "I should write it on your forehead," he said, looking down at me as I sucked, "'This is my face to fuck. You can't have her.'" I trembled and moaned quietly as his words knocked the wind out of me, still sucking as that image branded itself into my mind, the words appearing on my own internalized image of my face as he spoke them. Objectifying. Humiliating. And, for me, white hot as all fuck.

"Your face isn't the only part of you that likes to be fucked, though, is it?" He was moving down, his eyes once again meeting mine straight on, his cock prodding against my pussy until he found what he was seeking: the source of the arousal seeping from me. I threw my head back as he slowly pushed into me, his eyes looking into mine as my mouth opened and I moaned. He felt incredible, huge, and hard, and I am sure my amazement was reflected in my eyes.

"My fuck slave," he said as he ground against me, making me feel his full length buried in my body. "So wet, my beautiful girl. What a slut you are. You like having your face fucked, don't you?"

"Yes sir," I whispered.

His hands fondled my breasts. "You like having my cock rubbed all over your face, the face people look at when they look at you. If only they could see what you liked to do with your face, slut." I moaned beneath him, tossing my head and arching into him as his words buried themselves in me like steamy bullets. "You like taking my come and rubbing it all over your breasts, don't you? And then going out with my come all over your tits." I shuddered, nodding as he kissed me again. "Such a slut. MY slut, aren't you?" he asked as he pulled his mouth away.

"Yes sir," I whispered, my body undulating with him. His hands pinned my wrists for a time, his fingers encircling them and squeezing as he moved. "You're so nice to fuck me so often," I said, feeling genuinely grateful as his cock filled me over and over.

"It's what you're for, bitch," he said, kissing me hard. I could only moan in agreement with him as his lips claimed my mouth and tongue, his cock moving slowly inside me now, making me crazy with the slow strokes against my sensitive membranes. I could feel every tiny movement and it felt incredible.

"So good," I whispered hoarsely when he let me speak again.

"So fucking good," he agreed.

"I suppose I could fuck you from behind," he murmured, ages later, heat that had built between us wiping my ability to recall those long, steamy minutes. My legs ached from holding them up and wide for so long.  "But first, I think I'll let you taste how wet you make me," he said, sliding his cock out of me, and moving up to sit astride my chest again. His cock, slick with my juices, slid between my lips and I groaned as I sucked the taste of me off him.

"Such a nice set of fuck holes I have here for myself," he rasped as I sucked him. I pulled my mouth away to moan deeply at that, and he responded quickly. "Keep sucking," he whispered.

My pussy clenched. It wanted his cock back, badly. I felt myself lubricate even more, uselessly, as I sucked, rolling my tongue over his hard, velvety shaft, clutching his hips and lifting my head to take more of his cock, cutting off my air and willingly gagging myself.

"Okay," he said at length pulling his cock away from me, cupping my breasts around his length and fucking them. I arched my back and groaned loudly, over and over, feeling his hardness press into my breasts. Generally breast fucking is mostly for him, but this felt really amazing to me. I stayed in that position, moaning as he stroked himself with my flesh. "Turn over now, fuck slave, so I can fuck you from behind." He moved off me and I turned over. "Yeah, give me that pussy," he said, his fingers plunging into my wetness with a speed that was a little painful. His fingers were soon replaced by his cock and I sighed with the fullness.

"Too bad I can't look into your eyes like this," he said. I was sightlessly staring straight ahead of me, my mouth open in an eternal moan as we rocked. His hand locked in my hair, his other hand on my hip, and he moved me on his cock like the toy he's named me to be. "I suppose I could always fuck you sideways later," he finished his thought.

The words glanced off my consciousness. Could I even look at him now if I had to? Just the thought was too much for me. "Oh, God," I transmuted my constant moan into words to suit my emotions.

He picked up my leg and I draped it backwards over his hip, letting his hand wander freely between my legs. When his hand left, I put mine there, feeling him as his cock thrust slowly into my body. "You like feeling me fuck you, toy?" he asked.

"Yes sir," I whispered.

"You like having your fuck hole stuffed full, don't you? I bet you'd like it if I let you sleep like this, with my cock shoved inside you."

"Mmhmm," I moaned, words lost to me.

"But I'd have to stop fucking you for that, and I don't think you'd like that, would you?"

His hand moved and he pinched my nipple, slow but hard. The pain built inside me until I complained. "It hurts," I begged. "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts."

"What hurts? This?" he asked, twisting my nipple a little. I squealed in response. "That's okay," he said, soothingly, "I can fuck you while you hurt."

Oh, God. He really just said that. I just moaned. Over and over, as he fucked me. I couldn't even respond to him with words anymore. When I felt his orgasm start to overtake him, I pulled him into me, hard, with my hand on his hip and my foot on his ass. I love feeling him shudder to completion in my body; love knowing that we did that together, that he feels incredible and it's partially because of me. I love knowing that he can do that just because he wants to.

His hand wandered between my legs as he recovered, fingers pressing into my g-spot and making me groan. "You like being fucked everywhere, don't you, fuck toy?" he asked softly as his thumb stroked my clit. "You're for me to fuck, aren't you? I can fuck your face. I can fuck your pussy. I can fuck your tits. And I can fuck your ass," he said, his fingertip playing across the hole he referred to. I jumped, making a noise of agreement. "Would your ass like to be more full?" he asked, pressing his finger against me there.

"Yes sir," I whispered.

He started to pull his hand away from between my legs and I whimpered, clutching at his shoulder. "It's okay, greedy slutty thing," he assured me, "I'm not going anywhere."

He got the lube from the drawer and came back. "What's the point of having a fuck slave if you don't use all her fuck holes?" he whispered as his finger slid, aided by lots of lubrication, into my ass. I can't exactly describe what was going on there - but there was lots of penetration, and his thumb on my clit, and I was out of my mind. "Ohh, that's where that finger goes," he said, and I was suddenly fuller. He fucked me with his whole hand, and "out of my mind" doesn't quite begin to describe it.

"My sweet, sweet collection of fuck holes," he murmured as his hand plundered my nether regions. "Come for me, fuck toy," he said as I began to tremble. "Yeah, that's a good toy, come for me, girl," he urged as I screamed, kicking. He didn't stop. "Come for me, come for me," he urged, and my body responded, shaking, screaming, kicking, my hand slapping his back a little. "Oh my God," I squealed as he let me float down, wrapped in a blanket of indescribably delicious pleasure.

He gathered me into his arms and we chatted, after he turned off the light. He feels like heaven. There's no place I'd rather be than snuggled against my love's chest. We talked about how amazing sex is, how lucky we are. "I'm so yours," I told him as we kissed.

"I like it when I tell you to come and you do," he said. "I like to feel like I'm in control."

"You are in control, my love," I whispered to him.

"Oh, yeah."

Eventually my shoulder started to hurt and I had to turn over, to face away from him. My leg was backward over his, knee bent, which meant my legs were open to him. His hand briefly brushed my pussy, and then his fingers were gently toying with my nipples. "Aren't we meant to be sleeping, my love?" I moaned. The gentle strokes of his fingers on my soft nipples were sending electric jolts through my body.

His cock was hard again. I felt it throbbing against my back. His fingers were in my pussy then. "Are we? Give me this pussy," he rasped, and I hurried to obey. His cock pushed inside me and it felt bigger than ever - my tissues having swollen after the previous use. I groaned as he fucked me, hard, fast, reveling in his use of my body. This was about him and I loved that it was. He does so much for me and this is one thing that it absolutely thrills me to do for him. It hurt a little, but mostly it felt incredible.

Afterward, as we were drifting off, I asked him what caused that. He didn't know. "Sometimes, you know, I might start to take it for granted, that I can fuck you any time I want."

I shivered hard at that, and stifled a moan. A moment of silence passed while he processed my reaction.

"Did that excite you, to hear me say... that?"

"Yes," I nodded, even though it was terribly unlikely he could see me in the dark.

"I see," he said, squeezing me to him. "Mine."

That I am.

Snippet

I have been doing a lot of driving during our vacation. Yesterday, after about an hour behind the wheel, the seat belt kept riding up high on my neck and abrading my skin there. I had to keep thrusting my chest forward to get the seat belt to rest properly.

"Breasts are so annoying!" I complained as I wrestled with the seat belt.

"That's why I have mine on you," my husband responded quickly, without even stopping to think about it.

Oh, yeah.

Best friends

We're going to go on vacation soon, and we had tickets to a show.

Our car was due for servicing, and it would have needed it anyway, since it will be an awesome road trip of a vacation. It's been way too long since we went wandering in our car.

So we had an evening out to ourselves. It was awesome. I picked him up from work and we took the car for servicing, taking a walk to a nearby restaurant for dinner while we waited. The food was amazing, and while we talk so much during the day that we didn't have that much to say, the company was fantastic too.

After we picked up the car, we parked in the middle of downtown and walked arm-in-arm to the theatre, which turned out to be beautiful, an old grand lady, recently restored to her former splendor. 

We couldn't help but notice how we were pretty much the youngest people there, which is kind of nice when you're noticing more grey in the mirror every week. We have a lot of life left in us yet.

The show was spectacular, and a lot of fun. If only I'd worn longer pants, I could have enjoyed it even more. My calves and shins were freezing the whole time. I pressed my left leg to his right one while they both bounced to the music, for the warmth it could provide. It helped a lot, actually. We held hands, our fingertips stroking each other during the softer songs - we relinquished our grip on each other to clap to the rhythm or to express our appreciation.

The night was brisk - but after the chilly theatre it felt warm. We walked back to the parking lot, my arm around his waist, his arm around my shoulder. We chatted easily, and he made some comment about liking the song "Johnny B. Goode" for 'obvious' reasons.

"Ahh," I said, knowing exactly why. "Back to the Future, right?"

"Yep!" He nodded, pleased.

"It's good being married to a geek, isn't it?" I asked him playfully.

"It is!" he agreed.

I squeezed myself closer to him as we walked. "It must be awfully hard to be married to a non-geek."

"That must be when you go to geek events alone."

"You're my best friend," I said, leaning my head into his shoulder. "What's the point of being life-bonded to someone who isn't your best friend anyway?"

"I guess different people get married for different reasons, and so the world goes around." He was waxing philosophic on me. We chattered on about sleeping in your office and beer advertisements and then we were at our car. 

Later, once we'd crawled into bed together, all the various end of day tasks complete, he snuggled up to me, pulling me close to him. "You're my best friend," he said, kissing my neck softly, "with the best benefits."

Every day I'm loving you more and more

I have a monster of a sex post coming. But it's eating my brain away.

I thought I'd share something my husband told me that melted me into a little puddle of girl.

I asked him if there was anything more I could do for him, in general.

He responded: "I don't have a perfect idea of you in my head. My perfect you is you, so whatever you are is perfect."

Set straight

I spent a good chunk of yesterday reading conversations that I had with my husband in the days immediately following his first visit to see me, when we'd been ripped apart and we were both miserable with longing.

The man worshiped me.

I brought him home from work in the evening and various distractions led to not much time to connect between us, and I began to feel sad. We went to bed and he ordered me to face him so he could look at me. I rolled toward him and buried my face in his shoulder, but he wasn't having it. He pulled my head up by the hair to look at my face. I closed my eyes.

"Open your eyes," he said.

I whimpered.

"Come on. Don't make me make you."

I opened them. Tried to focus on my own image in his eye. "So hard," I whined. I've been known to gaze raptly, adoringly, into this man's eyes for a long, long time, so this wasn't normal behavior for me. I think part of the difficulty was coming from how I was feeling: sad, disconnected, neglected, and just not wanting to be open enough for him to see I was feeling that way because I knew it was unreasonable.

"Why is it so hard?" he asked.

I whined again. "Because you can see me."

"I like to see you," he whispered softly. As I looked at him, I felt all my concerns disappear into the blue pools of his eyes. When I buried my head in his shoulder again, it was out of an overwhelming surge of affection and tenderness.

I made a suggestion while we talked afterward that made him very unhappy. It involved me leaving this place for a while, being separated from him for an extended period, for several reasons that in practice were very logical. The heart isn't logical, though. "You don't get to give yourself to me and then take yourself away," he said. "How could you even suggest that? You were reading today... surely you know how unhappy we were apart? Surely you remember how awful that was."

I do remember. I don't want to live through it again.

He held me a while longer, his hands stroking my body, and then he asked what I was thinking. "Are you thinking you need a beating? I think you need a beating, trying to get away from me. Turn over."

I turned on my side, facing away from him. "More," he said. I rolled onto my stomach. His hand smacked my ass several times, making me gasp. He rummaged in the drawer for a while, gathering things, and then I felt a soft flogger, which drew soft purrs of pleasure from me. "You go with me, slut," he said, his other hand stroking my hair. "You don't get to leave me, sweet slut. My sweet girl." A more painful flogger landed across my backside then, and he kept swinging it.

"I never wanted to leave you," I managed, feeling it was important to say that. I never would want that, but we could make it through if it was more reasonable to do.

"Mmhmm, then why you come up with such a horrible idea?" He kept flogging me and I was starting to squirm and twist. He was hitting my sit spots with the flogger too, and he stopped once in a while to smack with his hand. I felt myself growing wet for him, and I couldn't reason enough to carry on conversation, so I just moaned.

He put the flogger down, and then he went back in the drawer. I felt the wooden spoon stroke across my ass, and I inhaled sharply. He did mean to leave an impression. 5 smacks with it, I think, and I was squealing helplessly, each one feeling completely unendurable. "You learned your lesson?" he asked me, gathering me into his arms.

"Yeah, I think so."

"What's that, then?"

"That you don't like me thinking of us being apart."

"Good girl," he said, kissing my head.

"You did ask what I was thinking, though," I defended myself. Not that I mind the spanking at all, but it's not like I had planned the whole thing out.

He agreed with me. I really didn't know just the thought of it would shake him so badly.

A brief interlude later and we were kissing each other with hot, steamy kisses. He was stroking my hair and face, and he pulled my shirt off so he could touch the rest of me. He started brushing his fingertips across my nipple oh so very very lightly, and it felt like absolute magic, heaven dancing across my breast. My mouth opened wide and I moaned loudly as he kept doing it. "I think you like having your nipples touched," he said. Mmm, master of observation, isn't he? I squirmed in the circle of his arms and tugged a bit on my wrist that he was holding, for the sheer joy of feeling his strength.

He pushed my thighs apart and his fingertip stroked my clit. "Mmm, a little excited here, aren't we?" he asked as I gasped and squirmed more. He teased me, slipping his fingers just barely inside, then sliding his fingers all around the sensitive membranes, then brushing across my clit again. I bucked and wriggled and moaned, and he fastened his lips to mine and took my noises into himself. "You like this, don't you?" he asked.

I managed something resembling a positive response, as he didn't stop for me to gather breath for words.

"Mmmm, then how would you like me doing this while you suck my cock? Yeah? Let's find out." He turned completely around then, on his side. I was stunned. He's a lot taller than I am and the few times we've tried 69 didn't really come out that well, I thought, but it was very sexy that he was willing to try again.

He gave me a moment to adjust to his positioning, to get his cock in my mouth, before he shoved my legs open again and slid his fingers between them, whispering "Good girl," as I opened them wider for him. Then I was screaming from the overwhelming sensations of cock in my mouth and fingers on my pussy. I screamed around his cock as I sucked, and then he started slowly thrusting in my mouth while his fingers plundered my pussy, and I moaned and screamed every time I had air to do so. I wasn't really in control of anything, and he put me even less in control when he rolled atop me, thrusting down into my willing mouth and throat. I grasped helplessly at his lower back, bucking under his ministrations, sucking as best I could through the screams and the moans as his cock entered, opened my throat, stopped my breath, and withdrew, allowing my moans and screams out, then starting the whole cycle over again.

Then I felt his mouth lower onto my pussy, felt his moans, his tongue, against my sensitive membranes, as his fingers continued sliding into me, as his cock continued fucking my face, and I lost my mind. I screamed, then sucked hard on his cock, pulling him down into me as hard as I could as I just absolutely lost it. I heard and felt his moans as well, and he came down my throat not long after. I sucked the orgasm from him hungrily, clutching him to me even as he thrust.

He stayed like that for a while longer, continued playing with me, letting me suck his softening cock, before he moved off me. I whimpered, bucking my hips, missing him. "Don't worry, I'm not done with you yet," he said, sliding his arm around me again, kissing me as his fingers moved down to stroke many more orgasms out of me.

Want to leave him? Never.

Every single day is awesome

That man of mine, reader, has a devious, devious mind. I adore him. He is absolutely, beyond the shadow of a doubt, magnificent.

In a nod to Kitty, I'd just like to say that we read in bed last night. It's something we have done before, but not for a while, and it wasn't planned. I started reading The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty last night, and he came into bed with me and peered at what I was reading. "That's an interesting book," he said, from the text he saw on the screen, "mind if I read with you?"

And while I did a little, because it made me blush, we read the first chapter together, silently.

Afterwards, I told him it made me blush. "Even though I've written worse. Today."

But I like for him to make me blush. It's nice to know I still have blushes in me.

"You like for me to make you do lots of things," he said.

---

We were facing each other on our sides, but I was sucking his cock, of course I was. It had already been going on for a while - starting with enthusiasm, working through into just a thing I do, and then into an absolute frenzy of arousal, partly because this was just a thing I did, and partly because he was enjoying it so much. "Mmm, slut, better be careful," he said as I sucked particularly hard, stroking all along the underside with my tongue, "or I'm going to come down your throat."

I moaned and redoubled my efforts at that, working my throat, pulling him into my face with my hands on his ass.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? But I have other plans for you. Mmm, you want to know what my plans are? I'm gonna fuck your tight little ass. Yeah, you'd like that, you like for me to come in your ass. Mmm, I may bypass your pussy altogether, you know. That pussy's been wanting me for a while, hasn't it? Yeah, I know, it enjoyed me this morning.. but something was missing, wasn't it? Yeah, no proper fucking. I'm such a bad man, teasing you like that. I'm going to fuck your ass, but I like to fuck your face an awful lot." He grabbed my hair and moved my head back and forth on his cock which of course made me scream because I love it so much. "Yeah, just like that. Sweet fuck hole. You like to be my fuck hole, don't you? I love my fuck toy..." Seriously, oh my God, he just kept talking and I moaned at his words, ever louder as the ideas he planted got hotter and hotter.

"Stop sucking my cock now." I had been sucking for so, so long, and he was gloriously hard underneath my lips and tongue. I didn't want to stop, but I desperately wanted to obey. I stopped sucking and pulled my mouth off of him with a whimper. He didn't move. My lips rested against his hot, hard flesh and I moaned with want.

"Don't suck it," he admonished me, as my tongue slipped out to caress the head. I kissed and licked at it, and eventually, as I opened my lips around the head and slipped it inside my mouth, he repeated himself. "I said don't suck it!" I whimpered and let the head slide back out, resting my lips against the shaft and breathing hard. "Don't even think about it," he said, and I moaned against him.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" he asked.

I nodded, my mouth open wide against his shaft, helplessly silent in my desire.

"Don't," he said harshly, a flogger coming down across my ass. I squealed. "What are you thinking about?"

"Sucking the cock..." I whispered.

He hit me again with the flogger. "Such a slut, aren't you? Can't even stop thinking about sucking my cock. What are you thinking about?" he asked again, as I licked him longingly.

"Mmmf," I said, kissing his shaft wetly.

"You're thinking about sucking the cock!" and he flogged me again.

That went on for a deliciously long, torturous time, until he finally said "I suppose I should give you something else to think about," and he rolled over on his side, pulling my leg over his hip. He reached his hand between my legs, feeling how absolutely wet I already was, and then he pressed his cock against my opening. I groaned and pressed down against him, but he rocked backwards. "You want it to fuck you, don't you?" he asked.

"God, yes, please," I whispered, kissing him. He rocked his hips back and forth, thoroughly soaking his cock in my arousal, pressing against my opening and then pulling away.

"I'm not going to fuck you. Don't even think about it," he said, rocking, teasing me, as I tried to press down and take him inside me. I groaned loudly at this new torturous game and my body shook with desire.

"You're thinking about it," he said as I rocked into him. He drew his hand back and slapped my breast several times.

"God," I moaned, fastening my lips on his neck, biting gently, sucking.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his cock repeatedly nudging my opening, so, so slippery. Had someone dumped an entire tube of lube on us? No, that was all me.

"Please, please fuck me," I begged, wriggling as his cock rubbed against my swollen clit.

"I told you not to think about it!" He slapped my breast again. "Slut, and here you are just thinking about it."

Forever. He did that for forever, and it drove me absolutely insane. No matter how I wriggled, he could always just pull away. I kept thinking surely, surely, he'll fuck me now. Surely.

When he'd had enough torture himself, he rolled me onto my back, pinning my wrists down and sinking inside of me. "Don't think about it," he said, thrusting into me several times, grinding as he sank in completely. I arched up and ground against him too, gasping, moaning deeply with the extraordinary pleasure of finally being full.

"I suppose it's hard not to think about it while it's fucking you," he relented, "so you can think about it now."

We moved together, moaning, grinding, he talked. "I bet your pussy's glad I didn't skip it," he said as he rotated his hips against mine.

"Yesss," I responded, bucking under him, tossing my head from side to side, moans constantly issuing from my open mouth.

"Mmm, I see an open mouth there. I think it needs a cock in it. I'm going to fuck your face now. Gonna hold your head down and just slide my cock right into you. Nothing you can do about it," he said. I grabbed his hips and pulled him down to me harder, grinding, grinding, moaning loudly, so very close to getting off. "You seem like you're trying to stop me," he commented.

"Ugh," I said, forcing myself to stop. I dropped my hands down to my sides, whimpering.

"Good girl," he said, melting me. He kept thrusting and grinding into me, though, not stopping even though I'd stopped pulling him into me. "How nice it would be to come down your throat," he said, "or in your ass." I groaned loudly at that. "Poor girl, you keep being teased with the promise of me coming in you, and all you're getting is fucked." He grabbed my hands where they'd dropped at my sides and pinned them over my head. "And you don't like being fucked at all, do you, slut?" he asked as he pressed into me extra hard, pushing me deeply into the mattress.

"I do, I do, God, I do," I said, writhing under him.

"Good, slut," he said, pounding me for another minute before he pulled out and moved up my body. His cock smelled fantastic and it tasted pretty wonderful too as he forced it into my mouth. I lifted my head and he grabbed the back of my neck, thrusting deeply into me and making me gag as I sucked him. He slid back down my body, his cock gliding smoothly back inside my pussy as I opened my legs wider and grabbed my knees.

At length, he decided to change positions. "I want to fuck you sideways," he said, rolling off next to me.

I quickly turned my back to him, tossed my leg backward over his hip, and turned my torso slightly toward him. He slid his hard cock easily inside my wet heat. "Ohh yeah, and you'll give me what I want, won't you? Because you're mine and you do what I tell you." His fingers wandered to my clit and stroked it, making me moan and buck. "Mmm, and I can play with you like this, too."

He slipped a finger, possibly more than one, inside me with his cock and I bucked and squealed. It stretched me, filled me uncomfortably as he kept thrusting into me. I bucked, trying to get away. "Too full," I whined.

"You can take it," he assured me confidently, slipping the fingers away. My wild movements and loud noises calmed as his cock alone moved inside me and I purred. "Is that better?" he asked.

"Mmmhmm," I confirmed.

"That's funny, because you seemed to like this more," he said, slipping the fingers back alongside his cock.

"Nnng," I grunted.

I think, then, he took his fingers away and replaced them with his thumb. I cried out loudly, over and over... and then he slipped his fingers in my mouth. "Suck my fingers, slut," he ordered.

I took them in my mouth with a loud groan. "You taste like sex," I whispered, my voice rasping from the use my throat had endured.

"I wonder why?" he asked sarcastically.

"I think I'm ready to fuck your ass now," he told me after a while. "Go on, get up on your ramp."

He kept moving inside of me and I groaned. "Hmm, I'll give you a few minutes to recover," he said, slowing his thrusts inside me. He still didn't stop. "You don't seem to be moving,"  he said. "I suppose it might help if I stopped fucking you, huh?" He slowed even further and pulled away.

Anal is so hard on the ramp. I moved, though, and he actually got up and got the ramp for me as my physical exhaustion was apparent. I climbed on top of it on my hands and knees and he stood next to the bed. He slid his cock into my pussy and I moaned, arching my back. I spread my knees as far as possible on the ramp, and I felt his fingers applying cool lube to my little hole. "So sensitive," I whispered, shivering as he touched me there.

"Is your ass ready for me?" he asked as he kept thrusting, his fingers pressing against my asshole.

"Ugh, so sensitive," I repeated, begging a little.

"I said, is your ass ready for me?" he repeated.

"Mmf, yes sir, whatever you want," I responded.

"Good girl. Good slut," he said, pulling away and pressing the head of his cock to my asshole.

I panicked a little, squirming. "So big!" I cried out.

"You can take it," he said, pressing.

"Too big! It doesn't fit!" I whined.

"Of course it fits," he said, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me back onto him, forcing himself inside me in one go. Oh, God, it hurt. It felt like he'd punched straight through me. I screamed. "See?" he said.

"No, no, no, no," I squealed, struggling.

"You don't get to say no," he told me, making me scream again, "you just get to do what I say." He held my hips and moved slowly, but too much for me. I couldn't adjust, it hurt, it hurt. I whimpered. But at the same time I was so incredibly turned on, and slowly, slowly, I did adjust. The burning soreness didn't dissipate, but the intense pain did, and then it was glorious and I could hear him again. I moaned with intense pleasure as the pain faded.

"...sweet fuck hole. My sweet fuck hole. Love my fuck hole," he was saying. "You like it when I fuck you here, don't you?"

"Yes sir," I squealed, unable to say anything without almost screaming it at this point.

"You know what you need?" he asked, moving slowly, his hands wandering over my back.

"Uh?" I responded.

"You need me to pull your hair now, while I fuck your ass. Isn't that right?"

"Uhhhh... yes sir," I managed, breathing hard, crying out with the intensity of it as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back by it. His other hand held my throat, my head prisoner between his hands. I panted helplessly, impaled, imprisoned, and so very aroused. I could feel the wetness of my arousal running uselessly down my thighs as he roughly pounded into me.

"Gonna come in your ass," he said, moving faster, harder. The lingering soreness made me scream with almost every thrust, and then I felt him swell larger and empty himself in me, responding to each of his loud moans with one of my own. Scream, moan, scream, moan. Just an average night around here.

He pulled out of me and I collapsed on the ramp, my feet on the floor now. He climbed onto the bed next to me and slipped his fingers inside me, pressing my g-spot, stroking, rubbing my clit, making me pant and moan and squirm. He kept talking too, of course. "Just fuck holes for my pleasure," he whispered. His thumb found its way into my ass and I squealed with surprise. "Oh, didn't I tell you I was going to put my thumb in your ass? I'm a bad man..."

He pumped me with his fingers in my pussy and his thumb in my poor sore ass until I bucked, screaming, my legs and head both coming up behind me so I was a perfect arch on the ramp. Screaming, coming, panting, collapsing... and then, gathered into his arms and stroked, loved, adored.

We slept our favorite way, naked with all our limbs entwined.

Glorious.

Marriage - political humor from my man

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

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

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

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

Love this man.

Damn good

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

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

Oh, yeah.

Happy Valentine's day!

A friend of mine posted this list of vintage valentine cards thinking they're creepy or weird, or whatever.

Another reason vanilla people confuse me.

I think some of them are a bit strange, in a "how's that even supposed to be sweet?" way, not a "that's too creepy!" way.. but I sent these two specifically to my husband. :)

Last night, as I was snuggled into my love's arms, he asked me if I'd gotten any comments on something I'd posted on facebook.

"Nuh-uh," I responded, "people don't like me."

"That's crazy talk," he said, "they like you more than I do."

I was stunned. My mouth opened. A little pained squeak came out.

"Wait wait wait wait!" he said quickly, turning over to wrap himself around me tighter, closer. "That's not what I meant! I meant they like you more than they like me!"

A few more squeaks and a lot of hair-stroking later, I collapsed into laughter at the entire situation.

This morning he gave me the sweetest card, with his own heartfelt message of geek love on it.

I adore him.

An attempt at temptation

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Incredible

Sometimes he's so incredible he takes my breath away.

He doesn't withdraw from me. I can see, if he were a different man, this tragedy having an adverse affect on our intimacy. I spend a great deal of time crying, great heaving sobs wracking my body. He holds me.

I blew up at something, some stupid exchange yesterday. We were going to work out but the place was being cleaned, and I wanted him to walk faster. I was cold. He was wearing a jacket, and I hadn't worn one because working out generally makes it not necessary until we can get back home.

"It's not that cold!" he told me.

"Says the man wearing a jacket!" I snapped back, and stormed off in the wrong direction. He followed me, all the way back home via the scenic route around the complex. I came in, near tears, and my mom asked why we were back already, if we wanted to watch something. "I want to go to bed," I managed to get out past the blockage in my throat, and swept past her to curl myself into a ball on my bed. She gracefully kept our child with her, and he followed me, wrapped his arms around me as my dam burst and I cried.

He had me turn over so he could hold me better, held me there as I cried, thoroughly wetting his sweatshirt. He whispered sweet words to me, wished that he could make it better. No one can make this better, but he handled this, handled me, so well. He held me there for a long time. I slept a little, but didn't realize it. "Did I sleep?" I asked him, much later.

"A little."

"Did I snore?"

"A little."

We got up and rejoined my mom and our child, I made dinner, we watched a movie.

Conversation

Scheduled post. Enjoy!

A comment on slashdot regarding TV:

"It's just boring to sit down and talk about something. I do that already when I go out eat with my girlfriend and it's enough."

Seriously? I'm sure this fine gentleman had ladies chomping at the bit to be his girlfriend.

My husband and I talk all the time. If we do watch something then we sit down and talk about it afterward, or we talk about it snuggled together in bed, which really is our preferred method of talking and always has been.

Perhaps the online nature of the formation and initial growth stages of our relationship led to this apparently bizarre way we enjoy each other, but I like to think we just like each other a hell of a lot.

A sampling:

We were getting ready to go to bed and I had a bunch of things to say, that blanket doesn't go there, it's cold, how did you manage not to hear me when I was explaining this thing to you, etc.

He finally responded jokingly: "You complain a lot! I should probably beat you, but I'm too tired," and he climbed into bed with me and we laughed together.

He held me snuggled close to him and was explaining a problem he's having at work: "So there's a rectangle, and when you rotate it.."
I interrupted: "Is it on a plane?"
"A plane?"
"Yeah, a plane." I held my hand flat against his chest to indicate what I meant. It went over his head.
"No, love, it's not on a plane."
"So it's 3D?"
"What? No, I thought you meant an airplane. Yes, it's on a plane."
"I'm not stupid, baby."
"Well I am!"


I collapsed into giggles against his chest while he went on to explain the rest of the issue.

Kinky or not, we're talkers, and the hours can disappear and the daylight fade outside while we lie all tangled up in each other and just talk. It's really quite beautiful. When we've had great stretches of time alone, (hardly ever in the last few years) we've made love, talked, made love again, talked.

Boring? Not by a long shot, mister.

Maybe the problem with that commenter's conversations is himself.