There's this person who's been bothering me a lot. She hates me basically for existing. I have determined on my own time that she has passive-aggressive personality disorder and I am a likely target for her hatred because I am better off than she. It's always someone else's fault.
But still, in the wee hours of the night after my husband is asleep and I am waiting to be so (I take forever every night to fall asleep), my brain tugs at her hatred, and some days it is worse than others. The other night I started crying, and it actually woke him up. He gathered me closer into his arms. "Please tell me this isn't about something that isn't worth your time and emotion," he said.
"I can't help it," I sniffled.
"Look at it this way," he said, his voice rumbling in a sleepy way, "who would you rather be? You, or her?"
I giggled against his chest, through my tears. "Me, of course."
"Well then."
"You just did that to make me laugh," I complained.
"Everything I do is to make you laugh," he answered. "Or happy. Laughter or other happy noises."
And that is why I cannot help but adore this man. I'm trapped. But it's a happy, happy trap.
Showing posts with label damn my man is awesome. Show all posts
Showing posts with label damn my man is awesome. Show all posts
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Fucking with a vengeance
My life is brilliant. Every night I fall asleep in the arms of my delicious, fantastic, sexy husband who, even half asleep, keeps mumbling about how happy he is with me and how much he loves me.
Every night.
My life is a fairy tale dream from which I have no desire to be awakened.
It must be real, though, because the pain of his fingers clamping down on my nipple still makes me scream. My screams still seem to cause him to erupt. Those pinches do not change my reality except to sharpen it.
He revels in the power I have gifted him over my entire being.
"Your body is mine," he murmurs against my temple.
"Yes sir," I whisper in response.
"Your soul is mine," he says roughly, directly into my ear, and I shudder. His hand is causing pain somewhere. Slapping my breasts, making me arch into him, or perhaps smacking into my spread open vulva.
Every night.
My life is a fairy tale dream from which I have no desire to be awakened.
It must be real, though, because the pain of his fingers clamping down on my nipple still makes me scream. My screams still seem to cause him to erupt. Those pinches do not change my reality except to sharpen it.
He revels in the power I have gifted him over my entire being.
"Your body is mine," he murmurs against my temple.
"Yes sir," I whisper in response.
"Your soul is mine," he says roughly, directly into my ear, and I shudder. His hand is causing pain somewhere. Slapping my breasts, making me arch into him, or perhaps smacking into my spread open vulva.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Sex objects
And now for something... a little different.
We were playing around online, my husband and I, and this ...male creature came along and started hitting on me. Straight up, obviously hitting on me, with no reason other than that I was presenting as female at that time. No invitation on my part, nothing. To be fair, he was hitting on everyone presenting as female.
My husband is amazing and hilarious and perfect, and turned it all into a good time for me. "Wife! Bad wife! Are you being a person again and not a random male sex object?" he said to me, in full view of everyone.
Later, we'd gone to bed and were talking about it. "'Conina I want you to love me too,'" I giggled as I settled, naked, into my husband's embrace. "Who does he think he is anyway? You can't just go around treating people like objects."
"Well," said my husband, his voice deepening a bit as one hand spread over my scalp, tightening in my hair, "only specific people, right?" He rubbed the soft growth of his beard over the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
I purred, shivering with delight as his other hand drew me close to him, his leg completing my entrapment as it captured my legs. I wriggled back into him. "Mmhmm. Only specific people who've agreed to such things," I confirmed.
"My fuck toy," he whispered, pulling my face toward him as he tugged on my hair. His lips met mine and the universe exploded in sensation. His lips, soft and warm, his beard, coarse and springy, the soft noises he made in his throat filling my ears as surely as if they were bomb blasts. Everything was magnified.
His hand covered my throat, holding my head where he wanted it from both sides as we kissed. I whimpered. I love the sensation of having no escape from him. I felt his cock grow hard against my arm where it was trapped between us, and moved my hand to stroke him through his boxers. He felt absolutely enormous. "Oh my God," I whispered against his lips, my eyes momentarily going wide.
"What?" he laughed before continuing to kiss me.
"Oh my God, husband," I said again, my fingers seeking to encircle the massive shaft of his erection and squeeze.
"I don't think it's changed, pretty girl. Maybe it's just been too long since you touched it last." He pressed himself hard into my hand.
"Oh my God, husband," I repeated, and then, "that's quite the monster you have in your pants."
His reply sent butterflies chasing in my stomach and tingles all over my body. He tightened his grip on the back of my head, on my throat. "This is quite the wonderful girl I have in my hands," he growled, his lips again claiming mine, keeping me from further words. But I melted. Ohhh I melted. The noises I made after that were confined to my throat.
How is it that the man I've agreed can treat me like a sex object makes me feel so much more like a person than people with whom I have no such agreement?
What's your experience with dehumanizing behavior from random web denizens?
We were playing around online, my husband and I, and this ...male creature came along and started hitting on me. Straight up, obviously hitting on me, with no reason other than that I was presenting as female at that time. No invitation on my part, nothing. To be fair, he was hitting on everyone presenting as female.
My husband is amazing and hilarious and perfect, and turned it all into a good time for me. "Wife! Bad wife! Are you being a person again and not a random male sex object?" he said to me, in full view of everyone.
Later, we'd gone to bed and were talking about it. "'Conina I want you to love me too,'" I giggled as I settled, naked, into my husband's embrace. "Who does he think he is anyway? You can't just go around treating people like objects."
"Well," said my husband, his voice deepening a bit as one hand spread over my scalp, tightening in my hair, "only specific people, right?" He rubbed the soft growth of his beard over the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
I purred, shivering with delight as his other hand drew me close to him, his leg completing my entrapment as it captured my legs. I wriggled back into him. "Mmhmm. Only specific people who've agreed to such things," I confirmed.
"My fuck toy," he whispered, pulling my face toward him as he tugged on my hair. His lips met mine and the universe exploded in sensation. His lips, soft and warm, his beard, coarse and springy, the soft noises he made in his throat filling my ears as surely as if they were bomb blasts. Everything was magnified.
His hand covered my throat, holding my head where he wanted it from both sides as we kissed. I whimpered. I love the sensation of having no escape from him. I felt his cock grow hard against my arm where it was trapped between us, and moved my hand to stroke him through his boxers. He felt absolutely enormous. "Oh my God," I whispered against his lips, my eyes momentarily going wide.
"What?" he laughed before continuing to kiss me.
"Oh my God, husband," I said again, my fingers seeking to encircle the massive shaft of his erection and squeeze.
"I don't think it's changed, pretty girl. Maybe it's just been too long since you touched it last." He pressed himself hard into my hand.
"Oh my God, husband," I repeated, and then, "that's quite the monster you have in your pants."
His reply sent butterflies chasing in my stomach and tingles all over my body. He tightened his grip on the back of my head, on my throat. "This is quite the wonderful girl I have in my hands," he growled, his lips again claiming mine, keeping me from further words. But I melted. Ohhh I melted. The noises I made after that were confined to my throat.
How is it that the man I've agreed can treat me like a sex object makes me feel so much more like a person than people with whom I have no such agreement?
What's your experience with dehumanizing behavior from random web denizens?
Monday, July 22, 2013
Time travel
He's lying atop me, gazing down. His weight presses me into the mattress, but we're just talking.
"Did you ever think that you might be a time traveler who saw what a miserable lonely old man I was and came back to rescue me from my life of loneliness?" he asks me.
I grin. My heart does a little somersault in my chest when he talks like this, and now is no exception.
"Mmhmm, I did," I answer.
"You have the power of time travel and that's what you did with it?" he growls, a mock scowl distorting his handsome features.
"Anything for you, love," I say.
"Did you ever think that you might be a time traveler who saw what a miserable lonely old man I was and came back to rescue me from my life of loneliness?" he asks me.
I grin. My heart does a little somersault in my chest when he talks like this, and now is no exception.
"Mmhmm, I did," I answer.
"You have the power of time travel and that's what you did with it?" he growls, a mock scowl distorting his handsome features.
"Anything for you, love," I say.
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."
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Masochist, part 2
First part is here.
"Poor, complex girl," he said, pulling me into his arms and kissing my cheek. "Good thing for you I know how to be gentle," he murmured as his hand wandered between my legs.
He does know how. His touch was soft and so so light. I purred softly as he stroked my clit with the slightest of pressure from his fingertip. . . but then his finger stopped moving, just resting against my clitoris.
He was asleep.
I groaned, moving my hips slightly against his fingertip, but it wasn't the same. I sighed loudly and turned onto my side, feeling the frustration that had already been inside me start to bubble over dangerously.
My movement woke him. "I wish I could be as good to you as you are to me," he said softly, his hand on my hip.
"You could be," I answered, a bit snappishly. "I'm not difficult. I just require you to be present." By "present," of course, I mean there with me and not drifting off elsewhere to sleep or think about Doctor Who, rather than just his physical presence. I'm right there stumped by many of Doctor Who's mysteries along with him, but I'm not thinking about it during sex.
He pulled me back toward him, his fingers finding my clit again.
"No," I whispered. "You're bored. That's not sexy. Boredom is not sexy. I'd rather not."
"That's not boredom, silly girl. That's orgasm putting me to sleep. Brain chemicals. Not boredom." And he rose to the challenge, his fingertip gliding delicately across my clit as he held me down, his leg keeping my legs open.
He was persistent, but I was having a really hard time breaking the orgasm barrier. Until he started talking. He talked about the sex we'd just had, about his cock hurting me, and then he was telling me to come for him.
"I can't," I whispered. I wasn't there.
He didn't care though, he just kept talking, and what seemed like an eternity later, I was vibrating, screaming with my arm clutching his head. But he didn't stop.
"Oooh, girl's gonna come again. Gooood fuck hole," he whispered, my world hinging on the motions of his fingertip. I flew away. The second orgasm overshadowed the first by miles.
"Oh my GOD," I screamed as I came, my body arching up and vibrating helplessly.
Still, he didn't stop. The third orgasm was heaven itself unleashed upon my brain. Screams poured from me and my fingers clutched at him, at nothing, at the bed, at whatever they could grab. I broke out into a fine sweat and I was so, so sensitive that every few seconds another orgasm was crashing over me, each one just as good as the third.
"Look at you, fuck toy," he whispered.
"I can't, I can't, I can't come anymore," I panted, just getting over another one.
"Don't give me that!" he growled. "Come for me!" he said, and I did, because his finger just kept touching me in that magic, delicate way that makes me crazy.
"Oh God, Oh, fuck, oh my GOD oh fuck," I kept panting, helpless, tossing my head, trying everything just for another breath of air.
I could feel his cock, hard against me again.
"I have this hard cock here," he said, his finger still creating waves of sensation and setting fire to my brain. "I could stick it in you, but it might hurt you. You want that? You want me to hurt you with my cock again?"
Oh my God. He really just asked me that, while my insides still burned and ached. And I did. I wanted him to fuck me again.
"Fuck, yes," I panted. "Hurt me with your cock, hurt me with your cock. Hurt me with your cock."
He managed to push me over onto my side and slide his cock inside me without taking his finger off my clit - or if he did, I didn't notice it. The burning pain I felt as he entered me was dampened by the intense joy I felt of having him inside me again so soon - and then the pain was GONE. My top leg was over his hip, and his finger just kept delivering the goodness, and he was huge and hard inside me and I screamed with the joy of it - and then he made me come again, pressing his cock as deeply as possible into me. I felt him hot and hard inside me as I spasmed, and I screamed even louder.
"So fucking good," I gasped, disbelief warring with the extreme pleasure I was feeling.
The floodgates on my own verbosity had lifted and I screamed and talked just as dirty as I could have ever asked him to. "So so good to come all over your fucking cock," I gasped out after he held me down through another orgasm.
My brain exploded somewhere around here - I'm not entirely sure what happened. But it was amazing and splendorous and the entire night made me remember why I adore this man so very much.
I do remember, after he had pulled me into his arms, that I whispered in a joking rebuke: "You didn't hurt me with your cock at all."
"I noticed," he responded, somewhat smugly.
He has a right to be smug.
"Poor, complex girl," he said, pulling me into his arms and kissing my cheek. "Good thing for you I know how to be gentle," he murmured as his hand wandered between my legs.
He does know how. His touch was soft and so so light. I purred softly as he stroked my clit with the slightest of pressure from his fingertip. . . but then his finger stopped moving, just resting against my clitoris.
He was asleep.
I groaned, moving my hips slightly against his fingertip, but it wasn't the same. I sighed loudly and turned onto my side, feeling the frustration that had already been inside me start to bubble over dangerously.
My movement woke him. "I wish I could be as good to you as you are to me," he said softly, his hand on my hip.
"You could be," I answered, a bit snappishly. "I'm not difficult. I just require you to be present." By "present," of course, I mean there with me and not drifting off elsewhere to sleep or think about Doctor Who, rather than just his physical presence. I'm right there stumped by many of Doctor Who's mysteries along with him, but I'm not thinking about it during sex.
He pulled me back toward him, his fingers finding my clit again.
"No," I whispered. "You're bored. That's not sexy. Boredom is not sexy. I'd rather not."
"That's not boredom, silly girl. That's orgasm putting me to sleep. Brain chemicals. Not boredom." And he rose to the challenge, his fingertip gliding delicately across my clit as he held me down, his leg keeping my legs open.
He was persistent, but I was having a really hard time breaking the orgasm barrier. Until he started talking. He talked about the sex we'd just had, about his cock hurting me, and then he was telling me to come for him.
"I can't," I whispered. I wasn't there.
He didn't care though, he just kept talking, and what seemed like an eternity later, I was vibrating, screaming with my arm clutching his head. But he didn't stop.
"Oooh, girl's gonna come again. Gooood fuck hole," he whispered, my world hinging on the motions of his fingertip. I flew away. The second orgasm overshadowed the first by miles.
"Oh my GOD," I screamed as I came, my body arching up and vibrating helplessly.
Still, he didn't stop. The third orgasm was heaven itself unleashed upon my brain. Screams poured from me and my fingers clutched at him, at nothing, at the bed, at whatever they could grab. I broke out into a fine sweat and I was so, so sensitive that every few seconds another orgasm was crashing over me, each one just as good as the third.
"Look at you, fuck toy," he whispered.
"I can't, I can't, I can't come anymore," I panted, just getting over another one.
"Don't give me that!" he growled. "Come for me!" he said, and I did, because his finger just kept touching me in that magic, delicate way that makes me crazy.
"Oh God, Oh, fuck, oh my GOD oh fuck," I kept panting, helpless, tossing my head, trying everything just for another breath of air.
I could feel his cock, hard against me again.
"I have this hard cock here," he said, his finger still creating waves of sensation and setting fire to my brain. "I could stick it in you, but it might hurt you. You want that? You want me to hurt you with my cock again?"
Oh my God. He really just asked me that, while my insides still burned and ached. And I did. I wanted him to fuck me again.
"Fuck, yes," I panted. "Hurt me with your cock, hurt me with your cock. Hurt me with your cock."
He managed to push me over onto my side and slide his cock inside me without taking his finger off my clit - or if he did, I didn't notice it. The burning pain I felt as he entered me was dampened by the intense joy I felt of having him inside me again so soon - and then the pain was GONE. My top leg was over his hip, and his finger just kept delivering the goodness, and he was huge and hard inside me and I screamed with the joy of it - and then he made me come again, pressing his cock as deeply as possible into me. I felt him hot and hard inside me as I spasmed, and I screamed even louder.
"So fucking good," I gasped, disbelief warring with the extreme pleasure I was feeling.
The floodgates on my own verbosity had lifted and I screamed and talked just as dirty as I could have ever asked him to. "So so good to come all over your fucking cock," I gasped out after he held me down through another orgasm.
My brain exploded somewhere around here - I'm not entirely sure what happened. But it was amazing and splendorous and the entire night made me remember why I adore this man so very much.
I do remember, after he had pulled me into his arms, that I whispered in a joking rebuke: "You didn't hurt me with your cock at all."
"I noticed," he responded, somewhat smugly.
He has a right to be smug.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Luckiest girl alive
That's me. For real.
Happiest.
Luckiest.
Most privileged geek in the entire universe.
My husband.
This man.
I can't. I have this whole blog here to describe how happy I am with our sex lives, but absolutely everything else is remarkable too.
Okay, so there are our parents. But since they aren't under our control, any angst from them is external to our relationship.
So I find myself at a loss for words for how amazing my husband is, and how happy he makes me.
I could tell you about the amazing sex that we had this weekend, after other amazing experiences that were involved in a trip away from home to celebrate our birthdays. I plan these crazy exhausting things, and this man just goes with it. "Sure, love, we can do x and y and z all on the same weekend. Why not?"
I could tell you how lovely and perfect and handsome and in tune with me he is. How utterly spectacular he is, how I feel completely singled out by the universe to be so blessed that I get to wake up in his arms every morning.
I could write about how he woke me this morning by pulling me into him and proclaiming "Mine!" so suddenly that I was startled awake. I could write about how that ended in a lovely blow job that made me at least as happy as it made him.
I could write about how special it is to have an extra day off to spend mostly curled into his arms, half-dozing in the circle of contentment he makes for me.
In March, we'll have known each other for fifteen years. That's a 1 with a 5 next to it. Our meeting was completely by chance, a stroke of luck, a current in the universe - nothing either of us could have ever foreseen. Our relationship, though? That was all his awesomeness. He took the actions that made us a reality, and he was so fucking brave to have done it.
He credits me for many of the amazing good things in his life - but that coin has two sides. My life with him is so good that sometimes I fear I will wake one day and it will all have been a dream.
Yes, sometimes maybe I get a little irritated about the communication flow - more anal, why aren't we doing this or that, etc, etc, but if I ever actually start that conversation he has never ever made me feel like an idiot for doing so, and usually he addresses my concern pretty damn quickly. What the hell else can a human ask from another human? Not a damn thing.
So here I am, trying to put into words something that really can't be.
I am gazing at him as I type, and he is fondling the beard that he grew out to create sensation for me.
He has sex on his face.
For me.
So hot.
So fucking hot.
.... where was I?
My husband is magnificent. My marriage is dazzling.
I could tell you all of that, spout all of those words, and it still - still - would not begin to touch the true core of the wonder that is my life with this man.
This sensational, staggeringly marvelous man.
Hell. Luckiest girl alive is an understatement.
Happiest.
Luckiest.
Most privileged geek in the entire universe.
My husband.
This man.
I can't. I have this whole blog here to describe how happy I am with our sex lives, but absolutely everything else is remarkable too.
Okay, so there are our parents. But since they aren't under our control, any angst from them is external to our relationship.
So I find myself at a loss for words for how amazing my husband is, and how happy he makes me.
I could tell you about the amazing sex that we had this weekend, after other amazing experiences that were involved in a trip away from home to celebrate our birthdays. I plan these crazy exhausting things, and this man just goes with it. "Sure, love, we can do x and y and z all on the same weekend. Why not?"
I could tell you how lovely and perfect and handsome and in tune with me he is. How utterly spectacular he is, how I feel completely singled out by the universe to be so blessed that I get to wake up in his arms every morning.
I could write about how he woke me this morning by pulling me into him and proclaiming "Mine!" so suddenly that I was startled awake. I could write about how that ended in a lovely blow job that made me at least as happy as it made him.
I could write about how special it is to have an extra day off to spend mostly curled into his arms, half-dozing in the circle of contentment he makes for me.
In March, we'll have known each other for fifteen years. That's a 1 with a 5 next to it. Our meeting was completely by chance, a stroke of luck, a current in the universe - nothing either of us could have ever foreseen. Our relationship, though? That was all his awesomeness. He took the actions that made us a reality, and he was so fucking brave to have done it.
He credits me for many of the amazing good things in his life - but that coin has two sides. My life with him is so good that sometimes I fear I will wake one day and it will all have been a dream.
Yes, sometimes maybe I get a little irritated about the communication flow - more anal, why aren't we doing this or that, etc, etc, but if I ever actually start that conversation he has never ever made me feel like an idiot for doing so, and usually he addresses my concern pretty damn quickly. What the hell else can a human ask from another human? Not a damn thing.
So here I am, trying to put into words something that really can't be.
I am gazing at him as I type, and he is fondling the beard that he grew out to create sensation for me.
He has sex on his face.
For me.
So hot.
So fucking hot.
.... where was I?
My husband is magnificent. My marriage is dazzling.
I could tell you all of that, spout all of those words, and it still - still - would not begin to touch the true core of the wonder that is my life with this man.
This sensational, staggeringly marvelous man.
Hell. Luckiest girl alive is an understatement.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Gratitude
In my life, he has burst like the music of angels, the light of the sun.
-slightly misquoted from Les Miserables
Life
is
good.
My husband, by the mere act of falling in love with me, set into motion a chain of events that has led us through much heartache and strife, through even more joy and happiness.
He brought me the world, and became mine.
Now, even when there is tension between us, he dissolves it.
"Turn over and face me, girl," he says. Like he knows - just knows the difference between me facing away for comfort and facing away because I'm wounded.
In the circle of his arms, no minor irritation can last. Or perhaps it's not allowed beyond the barrier. It melts away as my face presses against his chest.
I belong to him; I am well and truly bound. He knows this.
I am endlessly grateful for the joys of the life we have built together.
The best part has always been there, though, and that is the joy I find when his arms are wrapped around me. Missing that for a single night seems a burden too great to bear.
Today, I am grateful for our love.
I am grateful for the way he indulges my whims.
I am grateful that he works so hard to take care of us.
I am grateful for the scorchingly hot sex that we have on such a regular basis that I can't even remember it all.
I am grateful for his boundless patience, for the way that he is so very, very slow to anger.
And I am grateful that at the end of every work day, he comes home to me and sleeps in our bed, wrapping his long limbs around me and making me feel like the most treasured person in the world.
-slightly misquoted from Les Miserables
Life
is
good.
My husband, by the mere act of falling in love with me, set into motion a chain of events that has led us through much heartache and strife, through even more joy and happiness.
He brought me the world, and became mine.
Now, even when there is tension between us, he dissolves it.
"Turn over and face me, girl," he says. Like he knows - just knows the difference between me facing away for comfort and facing away because I'm wounded.
In the circle of his arms, no minor irritation can last. Or perhaps it's not allowed beyond the barrier. It melts away as my face presses against his chest.
I belong to him; I am well and truly bound. He knows this.
I am endlessly grateful for the joys of the life we have built together.
The best part has always been there, though, and that is the joy I find when his arms are wrapped around me. Missing that for a single night seems a burden too great to bear.
Today, I am grateful for our love.
I am grateful for the way he indulges my whims.
I am grateful that he works so hard to take care of us.
I am grateful for the scorchingly hot sex that we have on such a regular basis that I can't even remember it all.
I am grateful for his boundless patience, for the way that he is so very, very slow to anger.
And I am grateful that at the end of every work day, he comes home to me and sleeps in our bed, wrapping his long limbs around me and making me feel like the most treasured person in the world.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Say thank you
12:45 AM. What the hell? How? A chat with a good friend, a project to complete, lots of wonderful emails to respond to, and a bath. That's how. Time just flies away when you're mixing work and pleasure so very thoroughly.
Climbing into bed with my husband, I was a little put-out. Just a little. He'd coaxed me out of bed in the late morning with an implication we would go back to bed in the afternoon, and it hadn't happened. "In the interest of open communication," I told him as I cleaned up the bathroom vanity and then climbed in next to him, "when you coax a girl out of bed with promises of going to bed later, not going to bed later is going to lead to a discontented girl."
I wouldn't have even been put out if it was earlier, and of course the lateness of the hour was not entirely his fault, although he did nothing to stop my mad typing in the late evening. He is meant to be the one making the command decisions.
He drew me close to him, spooning me with his arm draped around me, and I started playing a game on my Kindle Fire. No tech in the bedroom has been suffering due to my cold - so I just started playing. Fruit Ninja. I assumed he would go to sleep. He didn't. His hand started to slowly, slowly squeeze a nipple until I was gasping in pain, and then he moved to the other one.
"What are you doing?" I squeaked, as he squeezed it hard and moved back to the first one.
"Playing with you," he said blithely, alternating slow painful squeezes with hard, sharp, twisting ones as he moved between my nipples. I was still trying to play. "I bet it makes it hard to slice fruit," he observed as I gasped. Eventually I let the Kindle drop to the bed and I gave myself to the sensations he was causing. God, I love when he hurts my nipples. I raised my arm over my head to provide better targets, breathing through it as he slowly, slowly, slowly squeezed. Through pleasure and into pain that was just a more intense pleasure and I was panting. I could feel myself getting wet just from this.
His hand moved and he slapped my ass, hard. Oh, that's been a while. Pain, spanking, oh, fuck, yes. Who cares how late it is? I rolled over enough to offer my ass up for more, and he gave it. He was landing hard smacks that resonated deep into my being, making me groan because they were so delicious and shook my very bones. "Good girl," he said, and tugged on my shoulder to pull me back onto my side, so he could access my nipples again. He alternated between smacking my ass and slowly pinching my nipple then, until I was groaning near-constantly, my breath coming in short sharp pants.
He pulled me onto my back and then he was smacking me right on my nipples, back and forth between them. "Oh my God," I cried out, far too loudly, arching up into his smacks. Oh, so good. So fucking good.
He yanked my legs apart and then he was smacking me on my inner thighs.
It's been weeks since I've been hit anywhere but on the nipples, and I was super-sensitive to it all, the thighs most of all. I cried out. "Oh my God, that hurts, that hurts, it's sensitive," I panted as I struggled to keep my legs open.
"Is my girl sensitive?" he asked mockingly, knowing that I was, not caring, knowing that it turned me on like a faucet. "Does it hurt when I hit you here?" he asked, slapping my right inner thigh several times.
"God, yes," I squealed.
"And here?" he switched to the other leg, slapping even harder.
"Oh, fuck, yes, hurts," I begged.
"And here?" he asked, centering the blows, right on my pussy. He wasn't slapping nearly as hard, but was doing it faster.
"No no no no no," I panted with each fast strike, and with each "no," he increased the force behind the next blow.
"No no no no no," I said, and then he hit the pain point and it did hurt. "Yes yes yes," I was squealing, squirming, as he continued his rapid-fire assault on my genitals.
When he stopped, his fingers gently explored and found me soaking wet. "Ooooooooooh, what have we here?" he asked, his finger slipping inside and making me groan. "Does the fuck toy like to be played with? Does the fuck toy like to be used?"
"Yes sir," I whispered, arching into his touch.
"Good girl," he said. "Let's see what else you might like."
He climbed up over me, pulled off his shirt in front of me, and put his cock in front of my face, just out of reach of my mouth. I was panting. I am still stuffy and can't breathe well, so most of my breathing is through my mouth, but this was beyond just mouth-breathing. He was straddling my body, so I couldn't bend at the waist to lift up and take his cock in my mouth.
He rubbed it against my cheek, over my open lips. I licked it as it passed, groaning.
"You like that cock?" he asked roughly, already knowing the answer.
I moaned in response, lifting my head as best I could to lick it. He rubbed it against my other cheek, and humped against my face as if he was fucking it, just not quite letting his cock in my mouth. I groaned, and then he was pushing into my mouth, pressing his cock in as I moaned, pushing it in as far as he dared considering my sore throat. He pulled away for me to cough and breathe, and then he pushed in again, fucking my face slowly until I had to breathe, then giving me a moment for air again.
I can't quite put into words how hot it was for me that he was fucking my access to air, and he knew it.
He pressed in so deeply he was almost in my throat, pinning my head to the pillow, and I couldn't breathe. I could feel myself becoming wetter and wetter, and then he pulled away for me to cough, to haul in lungfuls of air.
"Poor fuck toy. You like sucking cock?"
I nodded desperately, as he rubbed his saliva-slick cock against my cheek while I panted for air.
"It's one of your favorite things, isn't it?" he said, shoving his cock back into my mouth.
I sucked, nodding slightly.
"I know. One day, you'll be able to have your face fucked without needing to cough, without needing to breathe. Won't that be nice?"
"Uh-huh," I grunted, as he pulled his cock away again for me to breathe.
He slid down my body then, and unceremoniously started to sink his hardness into my soaking wet pussy. I grunted as the head penetrated me - it felt enormous and I made a lot of noise.
"Good girl, take it, take me," he said, slowly, slowly pressing more into me. Slowly. So fucking slowly. I was writhing beneath him as he made his way into my body, making a lot of noise. He felt so incredible, stretching my internal walls apart, all the way down, and then he kept driving all the way through me, as if I wasn't there, pinning me thoroughly with his cock. I moved under him, squeezing my muscles around his hardness, relishing the feeling of being full of him. It was good. He pulled away slightly only to drive just as hard back down again, and then he was fucking me in earnest, pausing periodically to pin me down with both his cock and his gaze.
"Good fuck hole." My shuddery moan must have prodded him to keep talking, because he continued in the same vein. "This is what you're for, isn't it? For me to shove my cock into over, and over, and over." He accentuated each "over" with a hard thrust into my body that I gladly met, moaning with pleasure.
"Uh-huh," I agreed, out of my mind as we moved together.
"I give it to you and you just say 'thank you,' isn't that right, fuck toy?"
"Uh-huh," I agreed again, not processing what he was doing, the pleasure nerves that kept firing interfering with my normal brain function.
He drove into me, leaned his face down. One of my ears is dead right now, his lips were near my good ear. "Say thank you," he ordered roughly, his voice rasping along my ear canal all the way into my brain.
"Thank you," I whispered, breathless, and then, as if his command and the following words had unleashed some floodgate holding back my voice, I continued as we fucked. "Thank you, thank you, oh my God, thank you," I babbled, unable to hold it back.
"Good girl," he praised me through my babbling. "Are you thankful for my cock, fuck toy?" He drove it inside me and flexed for emphasis.
"Yes sir, ohmyGod, thank you." I was overwhelmed. I kept periodically babbling "Thank you, thank you," when he felt particularly amazing, his body moving against me. His hands grabbed my legs, pulled them up higher as he fucked down into me, and my eyes were rolling, open, closed, open. They caught his gaze once.
"That's right, fuck hole, look at me," he said. I did, as long as I could.
"Oh my God," I murmured, as his eyes burned heat into my soul and I couldn't stand it anymore - the pleasure was too great and my head rolled back, tossing as he kept fucking me. My hands roamed his back, pulling his hips into me hard when he allowed it. Sometimes he pulled away, lifting himself higher to slam into me with more force, but mostly he let me pull him close, our bodies merged and moving together.
His climax approached slowly, intensely. He was groaning for long moments as he came, as the pleasure washed over him. I glanced up at his face - if there ever was an image of bliss, it was his face at that moment.
Before he slid his fingers inside me and made me scream with pleasure over and over, as we lay tangled together, he whispered, breathlessly, "You forgive me for this afternoon?"
I laughed, loudly.
"No, that's not what this was about," he assured me, as he let his fingers take over the pleasure they had initiated so long ago.
Climbing into bed with my husband, I was a little put-out. Just a little. He'd coaxed me out of bed in the late morning with an implication we would go back to bed in the afternoon, and it hadn't happened. "In the interest of open communication," I told him as I cleaned up the bathroom vanity and then climbed in next to him, "when you coax a girl out of bed with promises of going to bed later, not going to bed later is going to lead to a discontented girl."
I wouldn't have even been put out if it was earlier, and of course the lateness of the hour was not entirely his fault, although he did nothing to stop my mad typing in the late evening. He is meant to be the one making the command decisions.
He drew me close to him, spooning me with his arm draped around me, and I started playing a game on my Kindle Fire. No tech in the bedroom has been suffering due to my cold - so I just started playing. Fruit Ninja. I assumed he would go to sleep. He didn't. His hand started to slowly, slowly squeeze a nipple until I was gasping in pain, and then he moved to the other one.
"What are you doing?" I squeaked, as he squeezed it hard and moved back to the first one.
"Playing with you," he said blithely, alternating slow painful squeezes with hard, sharp, twisting ones as he moved between my nipples. I was still trying to play. "I bet it makes it hard to slice fruit," he observed as I gasped. Eventually I let the Kindle drop to the bed and I gave myself to the sensations he was causing. God, I love when he hurts my nipples. I raised my arm over my head to provide better targets, breathing through it as he slowly, slowly, slowly squeezed. Through pleasure and into pain that was just a more intense pleasure and I was panting. I could feel myself getting wet just from this.
His hand moved and he slapped my ass, hard. Oh, that's been a while. Pain, spanking, oh, fuck, yes. Who cares how late it is? I rolled over enough to offer my ass up for more, and he gave it. He was landing hard smacks that resonated deep into my being, making me groan because they were so delicious and shook my very bones. "Good girl," he said, and tugged on my shoulder to pull me back onto my side, so he could access my nipples again. He alternated between smacking my ass and slowly pinching my nipple then, until I was groaning near-constantly, my breath coming in short sharp pants.
He pulled me onto my back and then he was smacking me right on my nipples, back and forth between them. "Oh my God," I cried out, far too loudly, arching up into his smacks. Oh, so good. So fucking good.
He yanked my legs apart and then he was smacking me on my inner thighs.
It's been weeks since I've been hit anywhere but on the nipples, and I was super-sensitive to it all, the thighs most of all. I cried out. "Oh my God, that hurts, that hurts, it's sensitive," I panted as I struggled to keep my legs open.
"Is my girl sensitive?" he asked mockingly, knowing that I was, not caring, knowing that it turned me on like a faucet. "Does it hurt when I hit you here?" he asked, slapping my right inner thigh several times.
"God, yes," I squealed.
"And here?" he switched to the other leg, slapping even harder.
"Oh, fuck, yes, hurts," I begged.
"And here?" he asked, centering the blows, right on my pussy. He wasn't slapping nearly as hard, but was doing it faster.
"No no no no no," I panted with each fast strike, and with each "no," he increased the force behind the next blow.
"No no no no no," I said, and then he hit the pain point and it did hurt. "Yes yes yes," I was squealing, squirming, as he continued his rapid-fire assault on my genitals.
When he stopped, his fingers gently explored and found me soaking wet. "Ooooooooooh, what have we here?" he asked, his finger slipping inside and making me groan. "Does the fuck toy like to be played with? Does the fuck toy like to be used?"
"Yes sir," I whispered, arching into his touch.
"Good girl," he said. "Let's see what else you might like."
He climbed up over me, pulled off his shirt in front of me, and put his cock in front of my face, just out of reach of my mouth. I was panting. I am still stuffy and can't breathe well, so most of my breathing is through my mouth, but this was beyond just mouth-breathing. He was straddling my body, so I couldn't bend at the waist to lift up and take his cock in my mouth.
He rubbed it against my cheek, over my open lips. I licked it as it passed, groaning.
"You like that cock?" he asked roughly, already knowing the answer.
I moaned in response, lifting my head as best I could to lick it. He rubbed it against my other cheek, and humped against my face as if he was fucking it, just not quite letting his cock in my mouth. I groaned, and then he was pushing into my mouth, pressing his cock in as I moaned, pushing it in as far as he dared considering my sore throat. He pulled away for me to cough and breathe, and then he pushed in again, fucking my face slowly until I had to breathe, then giving me a moment for air again.
I can't quite put into words how hot it was for me that he was fucking my access to air, and he knew it.
He pressed in so deeply he was almost in my throat, pinning my head to the pillow, and I couldn't breathe. I could feel myself becoming wetter and wetter, and then he pulled away for me to cough, to haul in lungfuls of air.
"Poor fuck toy. You like sucking cock?"
I nodded desperately, as he rubbed his saliva-slick cock against my cheek while I panted for air.
"It's one of your favorite things, isn't it?" he said, shoving his cock back into my mouth.
I sucked, nodding slightly.
"I know. One day, you'll be able to have your face fucked without needing to cough, without needing to breathe. Won't that be nice?"
"Uh-huh," I grunted, as he pulled his cock away again for me to breathe.
He slid down my body then, and unceremoniously started to sink his hardness into my soaking wet pussy. I grunted as the head penetrated me - it felt enormous and I made a lot of noise.
"Good girl, take it, take me," he said, slowly, slowly pressing more into me. Slowly. So fucking slowly. I was writhing beneath him as he made his way into my body, making a lot of noise. He felt so incredible, stretching my internal walls apart, all the way down, and then he kept driving all the way through me, as if I wasn't there, pinning me thoroughly with his cock. I moved under him, squeezing my muscles around his hardness, relishing the feeling of being full of him. It was good. He pulled away slightly only to drive just as hard back down again, and then he was fucking me in earnest, pausing periodically to pin me down with both his cock and his gaze.
"Good fuck hole." My shuddery moan must have prodded him to keep talking, because he continued in the same vein. "This is what you're for, isn't it? For me to shove my cock into over, and over, and over." He accentuated each "over" with a hard thrust into my body that I gladly met, moaning with pleasure.
"Uh-huh," I agreed, out of my mind as we moved together.
"I give it to you and you just say 'thank you,' isn't that right, fuck toy?"
"Uh-huh," I agreed again, not processing what he was doing, the pleasure nerves that kept firing interfering with my normal brain function.
He drove into me, leaned his face down. One of my ears is dead right now, his lips were near my good ear. "Say thank you," he ordered roughly, his voice rasping along my ear canal all the way into my brain.
"Thank you," I whispered, breathless, and then, as if his command and the following words had unleashed some floodgate holding back my voice, I continued as we fucked. "Thank you, thank you, oh my God, thank you," I babbled, unable to hold it back.
"Good girl," he praised me through my babbling. "Are you thankful for my cock, fuck toy?" He drove it inside me and flexed for emphasis.
"Yes sir, ohmyGod, thank you." I was overwhelmed. I kept periodically babbling "Thank you, thank you," when he felt particularly amazing, his body moving against me. His hands grabbed my legs, pulled them up higher as he fucked down into me, and my eyes were rolling, open, closed, open. They caught his gaze once.
"That's right, fuck hole, look at me," he said. I did, as long as I could.
"Oh my God," I murmured, as his eyes burned heat into my soul and I couldn't stand it anymore - the pleasure was too great and my head rolled back, tossing as he kept fucking me. My hands roamed his back, pulling his hips into me hard when he allowed it. Sometimes he pulled away, lifting himself higher to slam into me with more force, but mostly he let me pull him close, our bodies merged and moving together.
His climax approached slowly, intensely. He was groaning for long moments as he came, as the pleasure washed over him. I glanced up at his face - if there ever was an image of bliss, it was his face at that moment.
Before he slid his fingers inside me and made me scream with pleasure over and over, as we lay tangled together, he whispered, breathlessly, "You forgive me for this afternoon?"
I laughed, loudly.
"No, that's not what this was about," he assured me, as he let his fingers take over the pleasure they had initiated so long ago.
"Sometimes I just ignore these things and pretend they don't exist.
Unless we have special Thanksgiving-themed sex or something. Which would be hilarious
and I'm about to burst into laughter thinking about it."
Turns out, it's not so funny. It's actually insanely hot.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Staying power
All right, you guys. Buckle in. My man has apparently become a fucking machine with the sexual stamina of... a fucking machine. Yeah, okay, so my linguistic skills may need some dusting off. Yours would too if you'd experienced the same stuff I have since last night.
Lots of gaps in the narrative, indicated with the horizontal rules.
We'd been playing Dr. Mario, and I was handing him his ass a lot. "Don't worry love, you can beat me any time you like," I told him, mischievously.
We stopped playing, and he started writing some code.
I went to bed and lay there alone, starting at the ceiling, pondering my own thoughts in silence while my husband wrote code in the living room. A lot of silence elapsed, but I don't know how much because I wasn't looking at the clock, in a meditative haze. After a while he came in, and sat down next to me, chatting away, asking me what I was thinking. I just kept staring, out of it.
"I'm gonna take a shower. You stay here... and think about me."
"Yeah, right," I thought to myself, and continued on my thoughts, which admittedly had been partially about him. I heard him start the shower, and shut it off some minutes after. He came in, looking all handsome and clean, and sat back down next to me, leaning across me and propping himself on his elbow, putting himself right in front of my face.
"What have you decided about me? Do you like me? Do you loooove me?" My lips turned up at the corners, despite my attempts to remain studiously calm and detached. "Do I make you laugh when you don't want to?" I started laughing in earnest then, trying to turn away from him, but he stopped me, slapped my breast, making me cry out and twist. He pulled my legs apart and slapped my bare inner thigh, and I twisted again.
"Oh, what? You did say I could beat you annny time I liked. I like it now, even if it's inappropriate." He hit my breast, my thigh, my breast again.
"That hurts!" I complained, twisting again as he held me flat. My lip stuck out in an involuntary pout.
"Oh, look at you pouting, poor thing. It's not fair is it?" he asked. I laughed and he kept up the onslaught of pain, pinching my nipple, twisting, slapping hard at my inner forearm, slapping my breast again. "Pout, slut, pout, go on, let me see it. Oh, there it is. Good girl. Oh, I knoooow, we're supposed to talk or something, aren't we? I know what you're thinking." I had twisted away partially and my ass was exposed. He slapped me there several times as he spoke, letting his hand linger after each one, rubbing the sting in. "You're thinking 'Stupid nerdy husband, would rather stay in the living room and write code than come to bed and spank his wife.' Is that about right?" Each of his last words starting with "spank" was punctuated with a hard smack to my bottom. I groaned and laughed, because it was true. I'm a nerd myself though, so I get how consumed a person can get with code.
"Do you love me and hate me at the same time?" he asked, leaning over me, his lips right near my ear as I tried to twist away from him and his random blows to my various body parts. "Do I just have you wrapped around my finger?"
He knows he does. I just nodded into the pillow, his voice invading my ear canal turning me into a puddle of girl goo.
"You haven't been tied up in a long time," he said in a musing sort of voice as he grasped my wrist. He stroked his fingers along my inner forearm gently, and then slapped hard, leaving red marks and making me whimper, "And you're not gonna be tied up now, but you can think about it. I'm nice like that."
"I bet you'd like to suck my cock now," he said, leaving off the slapping of my poor red arm and trailing his hand down my body. I nodded again, moaning softly, gazing at the red marks his fingers had left on my pale skin. "Oh, but look, what's this? A horny pussy." His fingers dipped into the wetness there and I moaned, arching my hips up to him. He stroked my clit delicately with a fingertip.
"You wanna suck my cock so bad, don't you? I'm not gonna let you. I'm gonna fuck your pussy." True to his word, he climbed atop me and pressed slowly into my pussy. I arched up into him, running my fingers all along his sides, making soft noises of pleasure.
"Mmm, how's that? Your pussy like that?"
"Yes sir," I whispered, lifting my hips up, squeezing his biceps with my hands, tracing my fingernails delicately all over his chest.
"Mmm, and we're probably going to be interrupted, and then you won't get to suck this cock at all." I groaned at that entirely too likely prospect. "You won't like that, will you? You don't like having to go a day without having your face fucked, do you?"
"No sir."
"Of course you don't.. but even worse is a day without being fucked at all, isn't that right, slut?" he asked as he grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the bed on either side of my head, grinding down into me hard as I writhed under him.
I just moaned and nodded, his words completely incapacitating me. I wanted that cock in my mouth.
"Mmm, you don't just like sucking the cock, you like to dive right onto it, impale your face on it, devour it. Don't you?"
"Yes sir," I moaned, my mouth open, my tongue slipping out to touch my lip, wanting. He's such an evil tease.
"I know you do, slut," he acknowledged as he kept grinding down into me.
"Please, please, please please please please please," I begged, tossing my head, arching, rotating my hips against him, "please let me suck your cock."
"Oh, all right, I'll let you suck it."
But he didn't. He kept thrusting into me, holding me there, taunting me.
"Please please please pleeeeeeease," I begged again, feeling myself grow wetter at being forced to beg.
"Oh, that's right," he remembered, rolling off me.
I did just as he'd predicted I'd do, dove after it, moaning softly as I tasted him in my mouth, coated in the evidence of my own arousal. He turned on his side and tossed his leg over my shoulder, and I settled in for a long, long, long session of cock worship, punctuated with him grabbing fistfuls of my hair, pulling it, using it as a handle to move my head on his cock, making all sorts of happy noises come out of me. I took him in my throat several times, angling my head just right, feeling the head push past the resistance at the opening to my throat, wanting desperately to make pleased gurgling noises, but all noise-making abilities completely removed from me. Each time I pulled away for air, a little breathless reedy moan emerged from me.
"I bet your face is starting to hurt, isn't it?" he asked me, an untold eternity later. I moaned an affirmative around him. My lips were starting to hurt, but I didn't actually care.
"Mmm.. okay, slut. Time to stop sucking the cock. Whenever you're ready."
Well that's clearly a pass to continue as long as I liked. I did, sucking, moaning, taking him in my throat more, letting my hands cup his balls and fondle them gently.
"Hmmm.." he said, coming to his senses long minutes later during a gentler recovery phase of my sucking, "didn't I ask you to stop?"
"Mmhmm," I moaned around his cock.
"And you didn't?"
I pulled my mouth away long enough to breathlessly whisper, "You said when I was ready," and then sucked him right back in, all the way into my throat at first, then sucking hard and rolling my tongue over the glorious hardness of him.
"Oh, that's right, I did. Did that on purpose, too, because I just wanted to keep fucking. your. face," each of those words was punctuated with his hands shoving my head onto his cock, making me squeal with delight, "and I could blame you if you got yourself hurt..." his hand tangled in my hair and he pulled my head off of his cock, a little wail of disappointment issuing from my still open mouth. As soon as he released my hair I dove back after the cock, sucking it into my throat over and over.
"Mmmmmmmmm," he purred, "that's nice. Okay, slut, ten seconds," he said, and he counted down as I sucked. "Ten...nine...eight...oooh, mmm, seven..."
I sucked hard, bobbing my head, swirling my tongue, as he approached two I took his cock in my throat and just held it there.
"One. Okay, sweet cocksucker, time's up," he said, grabbing my hair and pulling me off of him once more. "Turn over." I whined a bit, but I did as he told me.
He grabbed my hip, spreading the fingers of his other hand out over the back of my head, and his cock slid inside my pussy. I moaned deeply, feeling the wetness make him glide, completely frictionless, into me.
"You don't have much sense of self preservation there, do you, girl?" he asked.
"My lips are sore," I answered, feeling it more now than I had before.
"Mmmm, I bet they are. You have been sucking my cock for the last half hour or more. I'm pretty sure faces weren't made for fucking that long. I'm not sure faces were made for fucking at all. Well, I know yours was." I groaned very loudly and trembled, hearing that as his cock plundered my insides.
"You're a fucking machine," I moaned, as he kept pounding me, forever, eternally.
"Mmm, that works out well, 'cause you're a fuck toy," he growled. I felt those words impact me, a fierce ball of wet heat in the pit of my stomach, and I moaned loudly.
"Are you gonna fuck me all night?" I was absolutely delighted at how very very long we'd been at it, but wondering just how much more to expect, beginning to get a little sore and relishing even that.
"Mmmm, you'd like that, wouldn't you, horny little slut?"
"Yes sir," I whispered.
There was a long interlude where I just gazed at him as he moved inside me, still fucking me from behind, my leg wrapped backward around his waist, my body tilted at a perfect angle to just turn my head and look. He looked back at me, his thrusts even more deliberate, his cock penetrating my lower regions as his gaze penetrated my soul, all of me bare before him. "Beautiful girl," he finally whispered, apparently feeling the intensity too, as he grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face to his for a hot steamy kiss.
"I love you," I murmured when he let me go, gazing at him again, the joy of the experience washing over me, so grateful to him for providing us with it.
"I love you too, beautiful," he whispered back to me, a particularly deep thrust overwhelming my ability to keep my eyes open.
"You ready to be fucked a different way now, my girl?" he asked.
"No, sir," I moaned, enjoying him so much, even though I could feel my sensitive tissues beginning to get just as sensitive as my lips had been earlier.
"Oh, you just don't like giving up that cock at all, is that it? 'Why be fucked a different way when you can be fucked the way you're being fucked?' Right, slut?"
"Yes sir, feels so good," I agreed, squeezing my leg around his hip.
He started playing hard with my nipples, pinching, twisting, pulling them a bit, still slowly moving inside me. I liked that a lot and made a lot of noise letting him know so, squirming against him. He drew back his hand and hit my left breast hard, leaving it tingling and bouncing a little on my chest.
"Oh, yes!" I groaned, terribly excited by this, arching my chest up towards his hand. "More, please... please."
He slapped me across the breasts just as I'd asked, more, more, and then he was groaning quite loudly himself and he was coming inside me.
He positioned himself on top of me between my legs, his fingers found their way to my pussy and he slid them deep inside, stroking my g-spot, making my legs spasm, trying to close around him. "Ooh, yeah, baby, take that, I know you like that..."
I wasn't quite there but I was so sore and it was already so late..."You should stop," I moaned as I writhed under him.
"Oh, what's that, stop?" His voice beamed incredulity. "Did my slut just ask me to stop?" He slid off of me and slid his wet finger into my mouth. I shook my head and whimpered, sucking our fluids off his finger. "Mmm, that's just a thing she says sometimes, isn't it?"
I nodded, my body undulating, desperately missing his touch. Since when does he listen to me? Don't stop just 'cause I say you should! What new form of torture is this?
"Come here, girl," he said, gathering me into his arms, his fingers then slipping back to my pussy. "Are you my slut?" he asked, his fingers delicately strumming my clit.
"Yes sir," I said softly.
"You'll do anything I want?" he asked, speeding up his stroking a little as my body squirmed in his embrace.
"Yes, sir," I responded, my lips against his neck, kissing him gently, breathing harder.
"Are you my slave?" he asked.
"Yes, master," I whimpered against his skin, arching up into his touch. He brought orgasms, then. The first one had barely faded before he brought the next one, crashing into me, making me shake. He held me tight.
"I've got you, my good slave," he whispered into my hair. More orgasms, and I was shaking my head, each new one seeming an impossibility to be borne.
"I can't.. I can't.. I can't stop," I pleaded, as I kept shaking, spasming and screaming.
"Oh, don't stop, slut," he urged me as I whimpered. "Where's the fun in that?" He tilted his head to claim my lips with his, so so gently. He slowed down the strokes of his fingertips, and then there were more orgasms coming and I was lost in the waves of pleasure, drenched in inconceivable amounts of sweat.
He slowed down, letting me catch my breath briefly, and then slowly, deliberately, brought me up that cliff again. As I started to cry out and tremble, he said "Oooh, look at that. What's that? Are you having another orgasm?" I nodded desperately against him as I screamed with release. "Tsk, slut, you're not that bright are you? I mean," and he was pushing yet another orgasm out of me as he spoke, "how hard can it be to not come?"
"Very hard," I panted, my voice reedy from screaming.
He kept going, and going, and going, and my hair was completely soaked by the time he was finished with me, satisfied with himself, gathering me into his arms, whispering lovely things to me.
We talked, then, our legs tangled together, my head on his chest. "You're so fucking amazing," I whispered, pressing a sweaty kiss to his chest, squeezing myself as close to him as I could.
He is, too.
Lots of gaps in the narrative, indicated with the horizontal rules.
We'd been playing Dr. Mario, and I was handing him his ass a lot. "Don't worry love, you can beat me any time you like," I told him, mischievously.
We stopped playing, and he started writing some code.
I went to bed and lay there alone, starting at the ceiling, pondering my own thoughts in silence while my husband wrote code in the living room. A lot of silence elapsed, but I don't know how much because I wasn't looking at the clock, in a meditative haze. After a while he came in, and sat down next to me, chatting away, asking me what I was thinking. I just kept staring, out of it.
"I'm gonna take a shower. You stay here... and think about me."
"Yeah, right," I thought to myself, and continued on my thoughts, which admittedly had been partially about him. I heard him start the shower, and shut it off some minutes after. He came in, looking all handsome and clean, and sat back down next to me, leaning across me and propping himself on his elbow, putting himself right in front of my face.
"What have you decided about me? Do you like me? Do you loooove me?" My lips turned up at the corners, despite my attempts to remain studiously calm and detached. "Do I make you laugh when you don't want to?" I started laughing in earnest then, trying to turn away from him, but he stopped me, slapped my breast, making me cry out and twist. He pulled my legs apart and slapped my bare inner thigh, and I twisted again.
"Oh, what? You did say I could beat you annny time I liked. I like it now, even if it's inappropriate." He hit my breast, my thigh, my breast again.
"That hurts!" I complained, twisting again as he held me flat. My lip stuck out in an involuntary pout.
"Oh, look at you pouting, poor thing. It's not fair is it?" he asked. I laughed and he kept up the onslaught of pain, pinching my nipple, twisting, slapping hard at my inner forearm, slapping my breast again. "Pout, slut, pout, go on, let me see it. Oh, there it is. Good girl. Oh, I knoooow, we're supposed to talk or something, aren't we? I know what you're thinking." I had twisted away partially and my ass was exposed. He slapped me there several times as he spoke, letting his hand linger after each one, rubbing the sting in. "You're thinking 'Stupid nerdy husband, would rather stay in the living room and write code than come to bed and spank his wife.' Is that about right?" Each of his last words starting with "spank" was punctuated with a hard smack to my bottom. I groaned and laughed, because it was true. I'm a nerd myself though, so I get how consumed a person can get with code.
"Do you love me and hate me at the same time?" he asked, leaning over me, his lips right near my ear as I tried to twist away from him and his random blows to my various body parts. "Do I just have you wrapped around my finger?"
He knows he does. I just nodded into the pillow, his voice invading my ear canal turning me into a puddle of girl goo.
"You haven't been tied up in a long time," he said in a musing sort of voice as he grasped my wrist. He stroked his fingers along my inner forearm gently, and then slapped hard, leaving red marks and making me whimper, "And you're not gonna be tied up now, but you can think about it. I'm nice like that."
"I bet you'd like to suck my cock now," he said, leaving off the slapping of my poor red arm and trailing his hand down my body. I nodded again, moaning softly, gazing at the red marks his fingers had left on my pale skin. "Oh, but look, what's this? A horny pussy." His fingers dipped into the wetness there and I moaned, arching my hips up to him. He stroked my clit delicately with a fingertip.
"You wanna suck my cock so bad, don't you? I'm not gonna let you. I'm gonna fuck your pussy." True to his word, he climbed atop me and pressed slowly into my pussy. I arched up into him, running my fingers all along his sides, making soft noises of pleasure.
"Mmm, how's that? Your pussy like that?"
"Yes sir," I whispered, lifting my hips up, squeezing his biceps with my hands, tracing my fingernails delicately all over his chest.
"Mmm, and we're probably going to be interrupted, and then you won't get to suck this cock at all." I groaned at that entirely too likely prospect. "You won't like that, will you? You don't like having to go a day without having your face fucked, do you?"
"No sir."
"Of course you don't.. but even worse is a day without being fucked at all, isn't that right, slut?" he asked as he grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the bed on either side of my head, grinding down into me hard as I writhed under him.
I just moaned and nodded, his words completely incapacitating me. I wanted that cock in my mouth.
"Mmm, you don't just like sucking the cock, you like to dive right onto it, impale your face on it, devour it. Don't you?"
"Yes sir," I moaned, my mouth open, my tongue slipping out to touch my lip, wanting. He's such an evil tease.
"I know you do, slut," he acknowledged as he kept grinding down into me.
"Please, please, please please please please please," I begged, tossing my head, arching, rotating my hips against him, "please let me suck your cock."
"Oh, all right, I'll let you suck it."
But he didn't. He kept thrusting into me, holding me there, taunting me.
"Please please please pleeeeeeease," I begged again, feeling myself grow wetter at being forced to beg.
"Oh, that's right," he remembered, rolling off me.
I did just as he'd predicted I'd do, dove after it, moaning softly as I tasted him in my mouth, coated in the evidence of my own arousal. He turned on his side and tossed his leg over my shoulder, and I settled in for a long, long, long session of cock worship, punctuated with him grabbing fistfuls of my hair, pulling it, using it as a handle to move my head on his cock, making all sorts of happy noises come out of me. I took him in my throat several times, angling my head just right, feeling the head push past the resistance at the opening to my throat, wanting desperately to make pleased gurgling noises, but all noise-making abilities completely removed from me. Each time I pulled away for air, a little breathless reedy moan emerged from me.
"I bet your face is starting to hurt, isn't it?" he asked me, an untold eternity later. I moaned an affirmative around him. My lips were starting to hurt, but I didn't actually care.
"Mmm.. okay, slut. Time to stop sucking the cock. Whenever you're ready."
Well that's clearly a pass to continue as long as I liked. I did, sucking, moaning, taking him in my throat more, letting my hands cup his balls and fondle them gently.
"Hmmm.." he said, coming to his senses long minutes later during a gentler recovery phase of my sucking, "didn't I ask you to stop?"
"Mmhmm," I moaned around his cock.
"And you didn't?"
I pulled my mouth away long enough to breathlessly whisper, "You said when I was ready," and then sucked him right back in, all the way into my throat at first, then sucking hard and rolling my tongue over the glorious hardness of him.
"Oh, that's right, I did. Did that on purpose, too, because I just wanted to keep fucking. your. face," each of those words was punctuated with his hands shoving my head onto his cock, making me squeal with delight, "and I could blame you if you got yourself hurt..." his hand tangled in my hair and he pulled my head off of his cock, a little wail of disappointment issuing from my still open mouth. As soon as he released my hair I dove back after the cock, sucking it into my throat over and over.
"Mmmmmmmmm," he purred, "that's nice. Okay, slut, ten seconds," he said, and he counted down as I sucked. "Ten...nine...eight...oooh, mmm, seven..."
I sucked hard, bobbing my head, swirling my tongue, as he approached two I took his cock in my throat and just held it there.
"One. Okay, sweet cocksucker, time's up," he said, grabbing my hair and pulling me off of him once more. "Turn over." I whined a bit, but I did as he told me.
He grabbed my hip, spreading the fingers of his other hand out over the back of my head, and his cock slid inside my pussy. I moaned deeply, feeling the wetness make him glide, completely frictionless, into me.
"You don't have much sense of self preservation there, do you, girl?" he asked.
"My lips are sore," I answered, feeling it more now than I had before.
"Mmmm, I bet they are. You have been sucking my cock for the last half hour or more. I'm pretty sure faces weren't made for fucking that long. I'm not sure faces were made for fucking at all. Well, I know yours was." I groaned very loudly and trembled, hearing that as his cock plundered my insides.
"You're a fucking machine," I moaned, as he kept pounding me, forever, eternally.
"Mmm, that works out well, 'cause you're a fuck toy," he growled. I felt those words impact me, a fierce ball of wet heat in the pit of my stomach, and I moaned loudly.
"Are you gonna fuck me all night?" I was absolutely delighted at how very very long we'd been at it, but wondering just how much more to expect, beginning to get a little sore and relishing even that.
"Mmmm, you'd like that, wouldn't you, horny little slut?"
"Yes sir," I whispered.
There was a long interlude where I just gazed at him as he moved inside me, still fucking me from behind, my leg wrapped backward around his waist, my body tilted at a perfect angle to just turn my head and look. He looked back at me, his thrusts even more deliberate, his cock penetrating my lower regions as his gaze penetrated my soul, all of me bare before him. "Beautiful girl," he finally whispered, apparently feeling the intensity too, as he grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face to his for a hot steamy kiss.
"I love you," I murmured when he let me go, gazing at him again, the joy of the experience washing over me, so grateful to him for providing us with it.
"I love you too, beautiful," he whispered back to me, a particularly deep thrust overwhelming my ability to keep my eyes open.
"You ready to be fucked a different way now, my girl?" he asked.
"No, sir," I moaned, enjoying him so much, even though I could feel my sensitive tissues beginning to get just as sensitive as my lips had been earlier.
"Oh, you just don't like giving up that cock at all, is that it? 'Why be fucked a different way when you can be fucked the way you're being fucked?' Right, slut?"
"Yes sir, feels so good," I agreed, squeezing my leg around his hip.
He started playing hard with my nipples, pinching, twisting, pulling them a bit, still slowly moving inside me. I liked that a lot and made a lot of noise letting him know so, squirming against him. He drew back his hand and hit my left breast hard, leaving it tingling and bouncing a little on my chest.
"Oh, yes!" I groaned, terribly excited by this, arching my chest up towards his hand. "More, please... please."
He slapped me across the breasts just as I'd asked, more, more, and then he was groaning quite loudly himself and he was coming inside me.
He positioned himself on top of me between my legs, his fingers found their way to my pussy and he slid them deep inside, stroking my g-spot, making my legs spasm, trying to close around him. "Ooh, yeah, baby, take that, I know you like that..."
I wasn't quite there but I was so sore and it was already so late..."You should stop," I moaned as I writhed under him.
"Oh, what's that, stop?" His voice beamed incredulity. "Did my slut just ask me to stop?" He slid off of me and slid his wet finger into my mouth. I shook my head and whimpered, sucking our fluids off his finger. "Mmm, that's just a thing she says sometimes, isn't it?"
I nodded, my body undulating, desperately missing his touch. Since when does he listen to me? Don't stop just 'cause I say you should! What new form of torture is this?
"Come here, girl," he said, gathering me into his arms, his fingers then slipping back to my pussy. "Are you my slut?" he asked, his fingers delicately strumming my clit.
"Yes sir," I said softly.
"You'll do anything I want?" he asked, speeding up his stroking a little as my body squirmed in his embrace.
"Yes, sir," I responded, my lips against his neck, kissing him gently, breathing harder.
"Are you my slave?" he asked.
"Yes, master," I whimpered against his skin, arching up into his touch. He brought orgasms, then. The first one had barely faded before he brought the next one, crashing into me, making me shake. He held me tight.
"I've got you, my good slave," he whispered into my hair. More orgasms, and I was shaking my head, each new one seeming an impossibility to be borne.
"I can't.. I can't.. I can't stop," I pleaded, as I kept shaking, spasming and screaming.
"Oh, don't stop, slut," he urged me as I whimpered. "Where's the fun in that?" He tilted his head to claim my lips with his, so so gently. He slowed down the strokes of his fingertips, and then there were more orgasms coming and I was lost in the waves of pleasure, drenched in inconceivable amounts of sweat.
He slowed down, letting me catch my breath briefly, and then slowly, deliberately, brought me up that cliff again. As I started to cry out and tremble, he said "Oooh, look at that. What's that? Are you having another orgasm?" I nodded desperately against him as I screamed with release. "Tsk, slut, you're not that bright are you? I mean," and he was pushing yet another orgasm out of me as he spoke, "how hard can it be to not come?"
"Very hard," I panted, my voice reedy from screaming.
He kept going, and going, and going, and my hair was completely soaked by the time he was finished with me, satisfied with himself, gathering me into his arms, whispering lovely things to me.
We talked, then, our legs tangled together, my head on his chest. "You're so fucking amazing," I whispered, pressing a sweaty kiss to his chest, squeezing myself as close to him as I could.
He is, too.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Such a chore
I asked my husband as we lay tangled in each other's arms if it was a chore being married to me. He was distraught, saddened that I would even ask such a question, that it wasn't bloody obvious to me.
He was holding me with my head on his left arm, his left hand gripping my left wrist, me lying on my back. His fingers tightened around my wrist and I purred as the fingers of his right hand stroked down the sensitive inner part of my forearm. Stroking me there is the first way he ever turned me on, and it seemed a lovely callback. But then he pulled his hand back and slapped me there. I gasped and jumped, reflexively pulling at my arm a bit. His grip didn't relax, he held it there, stroked it gently again, then slapped, again, again, making me jump and gasp.
I've fantasized about such a thing... but I hadn't told him. Here he was doing it, making me purr and then slapping me on the sensitive inside of my arm... I trembled, feeling very very exposed, like he could read my mind.
He held on to my hand as he switched targets to my nipple, hitting my breast with blows of increasing intensity, until I started curling up and my body broke into a sweat, and beyond that.
"You're mine. I can hurt you if I want to. Can you imagine why I might be hitting you right now?"
"No," I whimpered, my body writhing helplessly as he kept hurting me.
"Maybe it's because you called yourself a chore. You're not a chore. You're here for my pleasure, aren't you? You're my girl. I'm your master. You please me. How can you be a chore, silly girl?" He hit me the whole time he talked.
I just whimpered in response.
"Oh, I know, it's just not fair for me to beat your poor breast like that, is it?" he asked sarcastically. "Not without giving the same to the other one," he finished his thought, slapping the other breast just as hard, many more times. I arched and writhed, trying to meet the blows and escape them at the same time, feeling the sweat become a slick sheen over my skin.
"I'm going to pinch it now," he said, his fingertips stroking around my nipple, making me whimper in anticipation of the pain. He pinched it just a little at first, slowly increasing the pressure and the pain, a breathless scream emerging from me as it grew unbearable. "Kiss me," he ordered in the midst of my scream. I tilted my open mouth to his and he took my screams into himself, kissing me deeply, continuing to increase the pressure, pulling my breast up by the nipple as he did.
"Good slut," he whispered against my lips as he released my nipple. "Maybe instead of calling you my slut, I should just call you my chore." I whined sadly against his mouth. "Oh, you don't like the sound of that, do you? Well, it doesn't matter what you like, chore, your job is to take what I want to give you." His hand moved to the other breast. "I'm going to pinch this one too, now," he informed me, claiming my lips in another steamy hot kiss as he pinched, pulling, sucking the cries of my pain into his body as he created them.
"You want me, don't you? You want me to fuck your face," he said, releasing my mouth and my nipple, his fingers stroking my burning breasts delicately.
"Oh, yes, please," I begged.
"Mmm, but it's such a chore to fuck you, so I don't know."
-----
"Oh, you want to suck that cock, don't you? It's right there.. but you can't suck it yet."
He let me curl my body toward it, it was less than an inch from my lips, hard, straining toward me. I slid my tongue out, moaning softly, my breasts burning with the beating they'd already taken, to lick the swollen head of his cock. He taunted me for a few minutes, letting me lick it longingly, before he finally relented. "Mmm, okay, well... I suppose you can suck it, but I'm going to have to hurt you if you do."
That was all the permission I needed. I opened my mouth wide and sucked his cock in, moaning softly with pleasure. His hand came crashing down onto my already-hurting breast, and I turned slightly on my back to allow him to hit me there better, screaming a little around his cock with the pain as the intensity of it increased. "My chore really wanted to suck my cock, didn't she?" he asked as he hit me, hard. "Bad, bad girl." I finally pulled away when the pain of his blows on my breasts became too much to bear, curling into a ball of pain, whimpering that it hurt.
"Poor slut, you just want to make me feel good, is that right? Bearing all that pain just to suck some cock..."
I nuzzled his cock with my nose, nodding against him. "Yes sir," I breathed.
"Mmm, okay, girl, I suppose I can let you suck it without hurting you." He stroked my head gently. "But.. you'll have to tell me 'thank you' every time I take my cock out of your mouth. Can you do that, slut?"
"Uh-huh," I panted, opening my mouth wide, ready.
His hands twined in my hair and he pushed my face onto his cock, pressing deep into my throat. "Take it, take it, girl," he urged me as my throat convulsed around the invasion. "Mmm, such a fucking chore to fuck you in the face, slut," he told me as he held my head and thrust into me. I gagged as he hit bottom, trying to straighten my throat out more as he pushed into it.
He thrust more, tugging on my hair, then moved my head up and down on his cock with a fistful of my hair as a handle. When he pulled away, resting the head of his cock against my lips, I whispered hoarsely, "Thank you."
"Mmmm, good girl," he said, forcing his cock back between my lips.
He rolled on top of me, fucked down into my face, his hands holding my face down to the mattress while he thrust. I couldn't move my head. I squealed, bucking under him. His legs brushed against my sore breasts, bringing fresh pain. I opened my throat as best I could and sucked like my life depended on it. "Mmm, you like it deep in there, don't you, slut?"
"Mmhmm," I managed to say around the cock filling my throat.
He pulled out of my throat, resting his cock against my lips again, and I hoarsely whispered "Thank you, thank you," again.
"Mmm, you're welcome, chore. You want it back in there?"
I nodded, and he teased me, rubbing it all around my face, my open mouth trying to capture it. "Yeah, I know your horny face wants it," he whispered, finally pressing it into my mouth, sliding to the back of my throat, holding my face down and fucking me there for a long time.
He pulled out again, waiting for my "Thank you," and then rolling to my side, pulling me with him, pressing my breasts around his cock and thrusting there, the sweat of my body and the saliva coating his cock lubricating his passage between my breasts. His hand gripped the top one tightly and I moaned, feeling every thrust against my tender, abused flesh.
"Such a chore to fuck your tits," he said, one hand squeezing my breast and the other holding my head against him, stroking my hair as I moaned at each thrust. "Does this hurt? Did the bad man beat up your poor breasts and then fuck them?"
"Mmhmm," I whimpered, pressing my lips to his chest and kissing him, sucking lightly, my arm wrapped around his slim hips, pulling him as close to me as I could.
"Mmm, good," he said.
-----
He was on top of me, fucking my pussy. I lifted my legs into the air on either side of him. "Mmmmm, such a fucking chore to fuck this pussy," he whispered, kissing me as he ground his body into mine.
I bent my knees, and he gripped one of my ankles, holding it out to the side of my body while I held on to the other one. I moaned constantly. "So fucking good," I whispered, opening my eyes to look into his. I couldn't bear the intensity of seeing this handsome man there above me, knowing he was inside me. I spasmed briefly and closed my eyes again.
"It's okay," he said roughly, "you can look at me while I fuck you."
I groaned deeply and opened my eyes again, gazing up at him for another moment before I was overcome again. I really couldn't. I lifted my legs higher.
"Nothing but a fuck hole now, are you?" he asked, making me moan my agreement as he moved, enjoying the sensation my lifted legs created, opening me up to him fully.
"It'd be really nice to come inside you," he mused as he fucked me, "but where?"
"Oh, oh, oh, my ass, come in my ass," I managed between my moans of pleasure.
"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you, chore?" He waited for my whimper and my positive response as he kept sliding inside me. "You like having your ass fucked until you can't stand it? And then beyond that, huh?" He kept grinding down into me, fucking me for a long, long time. I'm amazed at his stamina.
Eventually he said, "Okay, I'll come in your ass. But you can suck my cock some more first." I moaned loudly, excitedly, at that. Love.
"Mmm, my chore likes that, doesn't she?" he said, rolling off of me, making pleased noises as I dove after his cock with a vengeance and a hungry growl. "That cock taste good?" he asked, and I purred, delighted, sucking him into me, rolling my tongue across his lovely, lovely cock.
"Mmm, mmm, mmm... you just let me know when your mouth is tired of that cock, and I'll fuck you in the ass," he said.
I pulled away slightly, just enough to whisper "Not gonna happen," against the head of his cock before devouring him again.
"Not gonna get tired of it? Oh.. guess it's up to me then, isn't it?"
"Mmmmmm-hmmm," I purred, enjoying myself immensely at my assigned task, sliding my mouth up and down.
"Mmm, well, I'm not terribly inclined to stop you," he murmured through his pleased noises, "I like fucking your face." I was propped up on an elbow but I laid down, pulling him over on his side, and we stayed like that for a long, long time.
"Oh, that's right," he finally said, ages later, "you said you weren't going to get tired of that cock. You ready to get up on that ramp and have your ass fucked?"
"Nuh-uh," I whispered, sliding my tongue across the head of his cock. I hadn't thought we'd have to have the Liberator ramp involved. I'd envisioned something a bit more relaxing.
"Mmm, well, I'm ready to shove this cock into that tiny little asshole of yours and fuck it," he said brusquely, getting up, walking around to the bed, and putting the ramp on it.
I climbed up on the ramp obediently, presenting myself on my elbows and knees, and he was gently applying lube to my ass, stretching me just a tiny bit with a finger. Too soon, his cock was pressing against my tiny, tiny opening, then he burst through, holding still for just a moment.
"Mmmmmmm, how's that?" he asked.
"Uhhh, too big," I begged, desperate for a bit of time to adjust.
"Mmmmmm, nonsense," he said, gripping my hips and pumping despite my cries of discomfort. "See? It fills you up good, doesn't it? Such a chore to fuck you in the ass, slut, but somebody's gotta do it."
He moved slowly, and very, very slowly, I adjusted, and then it felt amazing. He pulled me up, to my hands, then a little beyond that, forcing me to balance on my fingertips, and pressed his front to my back, all along the lengths of our bodies, gripping my breasts. "Oh my God, oh, my God," I moaned, overwhelmed with love and devotion and sensation. If only we could stay like that for longer.
"I love you so fucking much, slut," he whispered as he moved inside me.
He reached around my thigh and let his fingers play in my pussy, his other hand yanking on my hair or gripping my throat. I screamed a lot.
He slid his fingers out of my pussy and stood up straighter, gripping my hips. "Such a fucking whore.." he said, quite clearly, deliberately. I startled, surprised, a whimper of uncertainty slipping out of me. "Yeah, you heard me right, fuckin' whore. Fucking chore," he said, gripping my hair tightly and pulling my head up and back toward him, making me cry out, a constant stream of ohmygod pouring from my open mouth as he moved inside my ass.
The intensity built and built and it grew from intensely pleasurable to almost unbearable, and he was still moving, still hard inside me. He moved faster and I was grunting with every movement; he felt impossibly huge inside my ass, which squeezed tighter around him involuntarily every time I thought about it. Then he was moving faster, moaning, grunting, excited, and I moaned with him because I felt him swell to an even more impossible hugeness.
He pumped his orgasm inside me as I urged him on with my moans, and he kept moving slowly, gently, afterwards.
"You want to lie down with me? Now that that chore's over with.." he murmured softly, sarcasm dripping from the last part. I whined and nodded, and he slowly withdrew, running his hands over my back. He pulled away from me and I stumbled off the ramp, pushing it off the bed and collapsing with my head toward the foot of the bed. He slid up next to me, pressing his body to my back, squeezing me close, hooking my top foot with his and pulling it back so he could slide his fingers to my pussy. I moaned, so sensitive there, trembling in the circle of his arm. His fingers were relentless, coaxing the pleasure from my exhausted body, whispering in my ear. "Sexy slut, I love you so much," he said. "You like this, don't you?" I purred for response, my body writhing as the pleasure built and built. It became too much and he liked that, as my body shook. "Mmm, yesss, squirm for me, baby," he murmured commandingly in my ear, continuing on until I screamed with release, my legs trying to kick but trapped by his, just vibrating there.
He didn't stop there. I thought he would, but he didn't. Orgasms cascaded onto me, through me, and I screamed over and over. "Mmmhmm, yeah, baby, come again for me," he whispered right into my ear, his fingers playing their magic on my body.
"I can't, I can't take anymore, love, please, please, love..."
"Mmm, yeah you can," his sexy voice said straight into my ear, his fingers pushing, pushing, and then I was screaming even louder, my legs vibrating between his, my whole body a tense arch of release, and I was begging him again to stop.
"Mmm, you can come again for me," he assured me.
"No, love, no..." I begged, writhing, trying uselessly to close my legs to him, to get away from the all-consuming intensity of the pleasure he was forcing on me.
"You don't get to say no, slut," he reminded me, forcing the loudest, hardest, longest orgasm from me. I collapsed against him afterward, panting, and he held me quietly as I rolled into his arms, resting my head on his chest, dropping little kisses all over him.
We talked. We talked and stroked and kissed and we turned around the right way on the bed to get the blankets on us and he held me against his chest and we talked more, about the amazing sex we'd just had, about how lucky we both felt to have each other, about how amazing our life together is. We talked for half an hour or more, kissing each other randomly in between. I told him, after some time, how it affected me to open my eyes and see his handsome face above me while he's inside of me, and he said that he'd noticed that.
"I think... it turns me on a little bit, the power I have over you," he told me.
"mmm, just a little?" I asked, grinning, kissing the smile on his face.
"Mmm, okay, a lot," he admitted. "I think you'll find I'm turned on right now..."
Oooh.
Well, one thing led to another.
And another, and another, in the morning after we'd slept...
I feel like I hit the kinky nympho jackpot.
I suppose I'm not a chore after all.
He was holding me with my head on his left arm, his left hand gripping my left wrist, me lying on my back. His fingers tightened around my wrist and I purred as the fingers of his right hand stroked down the sensitive inner part of my forearm. Stroking me there is the first way he ever turned me on, and it seemed a lovely callback. But then he pulled his hand back and slapped me there. I gasped and jumped, reflexively pulling at my arm a bit. His grip didn't relax, he held it there, stroked it gently again, then slapped, again, again, making me jump and gasp.
I've fantasized about such a thing... but I hadn't told him. Here he was doing it, making me purr and then slapping me on the sensitive inside of my arm... I trembled, feeling very very exposed, like he could read my mind.
He held on to my hand as he switched targets to my nipple, hitting my breast with blows of increasing intensity, until I started curling up and my body broke into a sweat, and beyond that.
"You're mine. I can hurt you if I want to. Can you imagine why I might be hitting you right now?"
"No," I whimpered, my body writhing helplessly as he kept hurting me.
"Maybe it's because you called yourself a chore. You're not a chore. You're here for my pleasure, aren't you? You're my girl. I'm your master. You please me. How can you be a chore, silly girl?" He hit me the whole time he talked.
I just whimpered in response.
"Oh, I know, it's just not fair for me to beat your poor breast like that, is it?" he asked sarcastically. "Not without giving the same to the other one," he finished his thought, slapping the other breast just as hard, many more times. I arched and writhed, trying to meet the blows and escape them at the same time, feeling the sweat become a slick sheen over my skin.
"I'm going to pinch it now," he said, his fingertips stroking around my nipple, making me whimper in anticipation of the pain. He pinched it just a little at first, slowly increasing the pressure and the pain, a breathless scream emerging from me as it grew unbearable. "Kiss me," he ordered in the midst of my scream. I tilted my open mouth to his and he took my screams into himself, kissing me deeply, continuing to increase the pressure, pulling my breast up by the nipple as he did.
"Good slut," he whispered against my lips as he released my nipple. "Maybe instead of calling you my slut, I should just call you my chore." I whined sadly against his mouth. "Oh, you don't like the sound of that, do you? Well, it doesn't matter what you like, chore, your job is to take what I want to give you." His hand moved to the other breast. "I'm going to pinch this one too, now," he informed me, claiming my lips in another steamy hot kiss as he pinched, pulling, sucking the cries of my pain into his body as he created them.
"You want me, don't you? You want me to fuck your face," he said, releasing my mouth and my nipple, his fingers stroking my burning breasts delicately.
"Oh, yes, please," I begged.
"Mmm, but it's such a chore to fuck you, so I don't know."
-----
"Oh, you want to suck that cock, don't you? It's right there.. but you can't suck it yet."
He let me curl my body toward it, it was less than an inch from my lips, hard, straining toward me. I slid my tongue out, moaning softly, my breasts burning with the beating they'd already taken, to lick the swollen head of his cock. He taunted me for a few minutes, letting me lick it longingly, before he finally relented. "Mmm, okay, well... I suppose you can suck it, but I'm going to have to hurt you if you do."
That was all the permission I needed. I opened my mouth wide and sucked his cock in, moaning softly with pleasure. His hand came crashing down onto my already-hurting breast, and I turned slightly on my back to allow him to hit me there better, screaming a little around his cock with the pain as the intensity of it increased. "My chore really wanted to suck my cock, didn't she?" he asked as he hit me, hard. "Bad, bad girl." I finally pulled away when the pain of his blows on my breasts became too much to bear, curling into a ball of pain, whimpering that it hurt.
"Poor slut, you just want to make me feel good, is that right? Bearing all that pain just to suck some cock..."
I nuzzled his cock with my nose, nodding against him. "Yes sir," I breathed.
"Mmm, okay, girl, I suppose I can let you suck it without hurting you." He stroked my head gently. "But.. you'll have to tell me 'thank you' every time I take my cock out of your mouth. Can you do that, slut?"
"Uh-huh," I panted, opening my mouth wide, ready.
His hands twined in my hair and he pushed my face onto his cock, pressing deep into my throat. "Take it, take it, girl," he urged me as my throat convulsed around the invasion. "Mmm, such a fucking chore to fuck you in the face, slut," he told me as he held my head and thrust into me. I gagged as he hit bottom, trying to straighten my throat out more as he pushed into it.
He thrust more, tugging on my hair, then moved my head up and down on his cock with a fistful of my hair as a handle. When he pulled away, resting the head of his cock against my lips, I whispered hoarsely, "Thank you."
"Mmmm, good girl," he said, forcing his cock back between my lips.
He rolled on top of me, fucked down into my face, his hands holding my face down to the mattress while he thrust. I couldn't move my head. I squealed, bucking under him. His legs brushed against my sore breasts, bringing fresh pain. I opened my throat as best I could and sucked like my life depended on it. "Mmm, you like it deep in there, don't you, slut?"
"Mmhmm," I managed to say around the cock filling my throat.
He pulled out of my throat, resting his cock against my lips again, and I hoarsely whispered "Thank you, thank you," again.
"Mmm, you're welcome, chore. You want it back in there?"
I nodded, and he teased me, rubbing it all around my face, my open mouth trying to capture it. "Yeah, I know your horny face wants it," he whispered, finally pressing it into my mouth, sliding to the back of my throat, holding my face down and fucking me there for a long time.
He pulled out again, waiting for my "Thank you," and then rolling to my side, pulling me with him, pressing my breasts around his cock and thrusting there, the sweat of my body and the saliva coating his cock lubricating his passage between my breasts. His hand gripped the top one tightly and I moaned, feeling every thrust against my tender, abused flesh.
"Such a chore to fuck your tits," he said, one hand squeezing my breast and the other holding my head against him, stroking my hair as I moaned at each thrust. "Does this hurt? Did the bad man beat up your poor breasts and then fuck them?"
"Mmhmm," I whimpered, pressing my lips to his chest and kissing him, sucking lightly, my arm wrapped around his slim hips, pulling him as close to me as I could.
"Mmm, good," he said.
-----
He was on top of me, fucking my pussy. I lifted my legs into the air on either side of him. "Mmmmm, such a fucking chore to fuck this pussy," he whispered, kissing me as he ground his body into mine.
I bent my knees, and he gripped one of my ankles, holding it out to the side of my body while I held on to the other one. I moaned constantly. "So fucking good," I whispered, opening my eyes to look into his. I couldn't bear the intensity of seeing this handsome man there above me, knowing he was inside me. I spasmed briefly and closed my eyes again.
"It's okay," he said roughly, "you can look at me while I fuck you."
I groaned deeply and opened my eyes again, gazing up at him for another moment before I was overcome again. I really couldn't. I lifted my legs higher.
"Nothing but a fuck hole now, are you?" he asked, making me moan my agreement as he moved, enjoying the sensation my lifted legs created, opening me up to him fully.
"It'd be really nice to come inside you," he mused as he fucked me, "but where?"
"Oh, oh, oh, my ass, come in my ass," I managed between my moans of pleasure.
"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you, chore?" He waited for my whimper and my positive response as he kept sliding inside me. "You like having your ass fucked until you can't stand it? And then beyond that, huh?" He kept grinding down into me, fucking me for a long, long time. I'm amazed at his stamina.
Eventually he said, "Okay, I'll come in your ass. But you can suck my cock some more first." I moaned loudly, excitedly, at that. Love.
"Mmm, my chore likes that, doesn't she?" he said, rolling off of me, making pleased noises as I dove after his cock with a vengeance and a hungry growl. "That cock taste good?" he asked, and I purred, delighted, sucking him into me, rolling my tongue across his lovely, lovely cock.
"Mmm, mmm, mmm... you just let me know when your mouth is tired of that cock, and I'll fuck you in the ass," he said.
I pulled away slightly, just enough to whisper "Not gonna happen," against the head of his cock before devouring him again.
"Not gonna get tired of it? Oh.. guess it's up to me then, isn't it?"
"Mmmmmm-hmmm," I purred, enjoying myself immensely at my assigned task, sliding my mouth up and down.
"Mmm, well, I'm not terribly inclined to stop you," he murmured through his pleased noises, "I like fucking your face." I was propped up on an elbow but I laid down, pulling him over on his side, and we stayed like that for a long, long time.
"Oh, that's right," he finally said, ages later, "you said you weren't going to get tired of that cock. You ready to get up on that ramp and have your ass fucked?"
"Nuh-uh," I whispered, sliding my tongue across the head of his cock. I hadn't thought we'd have to have the Liberator ramp involved. I'd envisioned something a bit more relaxing.
"Mmm, well, I'm ready to shove this cock into that tiny little asshole of yours and fuck it," he said brusquely, getting up, walking around to the bed, and putting the ramp on it.
I climbed up on the ramp obediently, presenting myself on my elbows and knees, and he was gently applying lube to my ass, stretching me just a tiny bit with a finger. Too soon, his cock was pressing against my tiny, tiny opening, then he burst through, holding still for just a moment.
"Mmmmmmm, how's that?" he asked.
"Uhhh, too big," I begged, desperate for a bit of time to adjust.
"Mmmmmm, nonsense," he said, gripping my hips and pumping despite my cries of discomfort. "See? It fills you up good, doesn't it? Such a chore to fuck you in the ass, slut, but somebody's gotta do it."
He moved slowly, and very, very slowly, I adjusted, and then it felt amazing. He pulled me up, to my hands, then a little beyond that, forcing me to balance on my fingertips, and pressed his front to my back, all along the lengths of our bodies, gripping my breasts. "Oh my God, oh, my God," I moaned, overwhelmed with love and devotion and sensation. If only we could stay like that for longer.
"I love you so fucking much, slut," he whispered as he moved inside me.
He reached around my thigh and let his fingers play in my pussy, his other hand yanking on my hair or gripping my throat. I screamed a lot.
He slid his fingers out of my pussy and stood up straighter, gripping my hips. "Such a fucking whore.." he said, quite clearly, deliberately. I startled, surprised, a whimper of uncertainty slipping out of me. "Yeah, you heard me right, fuckin' whore. Fucking chore," he said, gripping my hair tightly and pulling my head up and back toward him, making me cry out, a constant stream of ohmygod pouring from my open mouth as he moved inside my ass.
The intensity built and built and it grew from intensely pleasurable to almost unbearable, and he was still moving, still hard inside me. He moved faster and I was grunting with every movement; he felt impossibly huge inside my ass, which squeezed tighter around him involuntarily every time I thought about it. Then he was moving faster, moaning, grunting, excited, and I moaned with him because I felt him swell to an even more impossible hugeness.
He pumped his orgasm inside me as I urged him on with my moans, and he kept moving slowly, gently, afterwards.
"You want to lie down with me? Now that that chore's over with.." he murmured softly, sarcasm dripping from the last part. I whined and nodded, and he slowly withdrew, running his hands over my back. He pulled away from me and I stumbled off the ramp, pushing it off the bed and collapsing with my head toward the foot of the bed. He slid up next to me, pressing his body to my back, squeezing me close, hooking my top foot with his and pulling it back so he could slide his fingers to my pussy. I moaned, so sensitive there, trembling in the circle of his arm. His fingers were relentless, coaxing the pleasure from my exhausted body, whispering in my ear. "Sexy slut, I love you so much," he said. "You like this, don't you?" I purred for response, my body writhing as the pleasure built and built. It became too much and he liked that, as my body shook. "Mmm, yesss, squirm for me, baby," he murmured commandingly in my ear, continuing on until I screamed with release, my legs trying to kick but trapped by his, just vibrating there.
He didn't stop there. I thought he would, but he didn't. Orgasms cascaded onto me, through me, and I screamed over and over. "Mmmhmm, yeah, baby, come again for me," he whispered right into my ear, his fingers playing their magic on my body.
"I can't, I can't take anymore, love, please, please, love..."
"Mmm, yeah you can," his sexy voice said straight into my ear, his fingers pushing, pushing, and then I was screaming even louder, my legs vibrating between his, my whole body a tense arch of release, and I was begging him again to stop.
"Mmm, you can come again for me," he assured me.
"No, love, no..." I begged, writhing, trying uselessly to close my legs to him, to get away from the all-consuming intensity of the pleasure he was forcing on me.
"You don't get to say no, slut," he reminded me, forcing the loudest, hardest, longest orgasm from me. I collapsed against him afterward, panting, and he held me quietly as I rolled into his arms, resting my head on his chest, dropping little kisses all over him.
We talked. We talked and stroked and kissed and we turned around the right way on the bed to get the blankets on us and he held me against his chest and we talked more, about the amazing sex we'd just had, about how lucky we both felt to have each other, about how amazing our life together is. We talked for half an hour or more, kissing each other randomly in between. I told him, after some time, how it affected me to open my eyes and see his handsome face above me while he's inside of me, and he said that he'd noticed that.
"I think... it turns me on a little bit, the power I have over you," he told me.
"mmm, just a little?" I asked, grinning, kissing the smile on his face.
"Mmm, okay, a lot," he admitted. "I think you'll find I'm turned on right now..."
Oooh.
Well, one thing led to another.
And another, and another, in the morning after we'd slept...
I feel like I hit the kinky nympho jackpot.
I suppose I'm not a chore after all.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Vanilla is the finest of the flavors
I was talking to a friend recently, and he told me that his ex had enjoyed watching Monk with him, but he wasn't sure if she really liked it or if she just liked it because he did.
I told him that it's a greater expression of love to like something because the other person does than to just like it all on your own.
When I said it, I remembered how long I've struggled with my husband's intrinsic vanilla. I longed for him to want kink for himself, on his own, independent of my desire for it. The man will do anything for me, truly, anything. Why on earth did I ever feel the need to sully that?
My husband is the excellent sort of vanilla that you add to everything to make it more intense. Kinky girl + fine, pure vanilla husband = intensely hot kinky stuff.
I wanted it to be about him, because I wanted to submit to him, yes. He does get off on dominating me, even though it may be more about how much it turns me on. But what does it matter why it gets him off? It just does, and that's enough. It's more than enough, and lately it's become even better to me, because he gets off on dominating me because it excites me. I'm not a submissive woman he's chosen because he needs a kinky girl to match his own kink. He chose me for me. My submission was a part of that all along, but it wasn't a deal-breaker one way or the other. I am his submissive woman, and he knows he can have me do anything he wants. Mostly he just wants me to be happy. Why would I struggle with that? Silly, silly submissive girl. What the man really, truly wants is for you to be happy. Submit, already!
I struggled because it didn't feel like submitting, to just be happy, to enjoy him, us, the way we are together. To just offer myself to him, with no fight, no rules, to present myself for spanking, or flogging, or sex. To even take over in bed sometimes, to lavish affection all over his body with my hands and mouth, show him just how much I adore him, how much I desire him even if he doesn't lift a finger, even if he doesn't hurt me, didn't feel like submitting, but it is. I know he could change what I'm doing at any time, make me stop, tie me up, spank me, anything. That's how he's still in control.
Is that what submission looks like? That's what mine looks like, and it's good. We're blissfully happy.
Some switch in my head flipped (yeah, another switch), and I'm softer to him, more submissive, more compliant to pretty much any whim of his. You want some chocolate, love? I think I can get you some chocolate.
He wrote me this, among some other things, in a letter he sent me for my birthday last month (quoted with his permission):
He serves me by letting me serve him, by doing delicious, incredible things with our bodies, by pushing all the right buttons at all the right times. His ability to press those buttons, to take me to those places, just makes me love him more, be more devoted to him, trust him with every fiber of my being, and want him forever. He brings that trust and that love into every single thing we do together, whether it be making dinner or writhing in ecstasy or building a house. He is present, he is mine, and I am his.
And that, by jove, that, is way, way better for me than if he had come dominant, if that was just the way he started. He's dominant because that's what I need. Like the empathic metamorph Kamala, he became my perfect mate. What's not to like?
Apparently March is question and answer month in the great realm of the blogosphere. I'm compelled to answer any questions you want to put to me, right out here in public.
Unless it puts me at risk of outing myself, of course.
I told him that it's a greater expression of love to like something because the other person does than to just like it all on your own.
When I said it, I remembered how long I've struggled with my husband's intrinsic vanilla. I longed for him to want kink for himself, on his own, independent of my desire for it. The man will do anything for me, truly, anything. Why on earth did I ever feel the need to sully that?
I like vanilla, it's the finest of the flavors.It intensifies everything from chocolate to raspberry. I have the biggest bottle of vanilla in my cabinet, because I use it in everything.
My husband is the excellent sort of vanilla that you add to everything to make it more intense. Kinky girl + fine, pure vanilla husband = intensely hot kinky stuff.
I wanted it to be about him, because I wanted to submit to him, yes. He does get off on dominating me, even though it may be more about how much it turns me on. But what does it matter why it gets him off? It just does, and that's enough. It's more than enough, and lately it's become even better to me, because he gets off on dominating me because it excites me. I'm not a submissive woman he's chosen because he needs a kinky girl to match his own kink. He chose me for me. My submission was a part of that all along, but it wasn't a deal-breaker one way or the other. I am his submissive woman, and he knows he can have me do anything he wants. Mostly he just wants me to be happy. Why would I struggle with that? Silly, silly submissive girl. What the man really, truly wants is for you to be happy. Submit, already!
I struggled because it didn't feel like submitting, to just be happy, to enjoy him, us, the way we are together. To just offer myself to him, with no fight, no rules, to present myself for spanking, or flogging, or sex. To even take over in bed sometimes, to lavish affection all over his body with my hands and mouth, show him just how much I adore him, how much I desire him even if he doesn't lift a finger, even if he doesn't hurt me, didn't feel like submitting, but it is. I know he could change what I'm doing at any time, make me stop, tie me up, spank me, anything. That's how he's still in control.
Is that what submission looks like? That's what mine looks like, and it's good. We're blissfully happy.
Some switch in my head flipped (yeah, another switch), and I'm softer to him, more submissive, more compliant to pretty much any whim of his. You want some chocolate, love? I think I can get you some chocolate.
He wrote me this, among some other things, in a letter he sent me for my birthday last month (quoted with his permission):
I really dig your devotion to me... I suspect it may potentially be inflating my ego on occasion, but it feels really, really special to be loved and desired so much. I may feel a tad bit awkward reading your blog about our activities, but I can't deny it's incredibly hot and flattering as well. On that note, I really love pushing your buttons and am delighted we have the wonderful sex life that we have.
Did I mention you rock and I am very much in love with you? Being without you always has a sense of loneliness attached to it. The only way I feel completely at peace is with my body pressed against yours. Makes everything better. As you know I'm a big fan of our morning snuggle moments and feel sad when we miss out on them.
[...]
I love you and I hope you enjoy your birthday my beautiful, thank you so much for being mine and being so good to me.
Yours forever,
Writing doesn't come easily to him, so I can only imagine it took him some time to write that, along with everything else he put into that letter. But he did it for me, because he knows how much I value the words. I write for the joy of writing - he writes for the joy the words will bring me.husband
He serves me by letting me serve him, by doing delicious, incredible things with our bodies, by pushing all the right buttons at all the right times. His ability to press those buttons, to take me to those places, just makes me love him more, be more devoted to him, trust him with every fiber of my being, and want him forever. He brings that trust and that love into every single thing we do together, whether it be making dinner or writhing in ecstasy or building a house. He is present, he is mine, and I am his.
And that, by jove, that, is way, way better for me than if he had come dominant, if that was just the way he started. He's dominant because that's what I need. Like the empathic metamorph Kamala, he became my perfect mate. What's not to like?
Apparently March is question and answer month in the great realm of the blogosphere. I'm compelled to answer any questions you want to put to me, right out here in public.
Unless it puts me at risk of outing myself, of course.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Magic
My husband and I have birthdays that are really, really close. He was premature by a few weeks and born a few days after I was, and I always joke that he knew he had to get out to be with me. Those few days between our birthdays exist as a kind of extended celebration between us.
The night before his birthday, we had sex that passed over the midnight mark, and he sent orgasms rolling through my body one after the other while I moaned and kicked and slapped the bed helplessly. "Oh fuck yeah," he whispered in my ear as the spasms rocked me. The morning of his birthday, I slipped down his body before we had to get up and sucked him to an orgasm we both enjoyed a lot.
We spent the day together, doing things that were amazing in their ordinariness. We went to a vegan restaurant for lunch (we hardly ever go out, so this was special), we bought toys, we took little head to a playground, we came home and he opened his presents, we snuggled on the bed for a while, and then I cooked him a fantastic Indian feast with the dessert (not Indian) of his choice. It was exhausting, but there was this magic over the whole day.
I made a new flogger too, while he played with little person.
It's pretty.
He didn't use it yet.
He had a headache, so I thought we would just lie in each other's arms and stroke each other until we fell asleep, but then he started stroking me with his magic fingertips, sending tingles all over my body and causing soft pleased noises.. okay, sometimes loud pleased noises, to come out of me.
Then, as I felt his cock growing against me, I slid down to suck on it and I sucked for a long, long, long time. He just let me, not really pushing or trying to fuck my face, which is amazing because that's when I can really deep-throat him. I love it when I can take my time, just fully experience him with my mouth and throat.
Eventually he told me to stop... in fact, he said he'd told me to stop earlier, but I hadn't heard him and he hadn't pressed the issue. He did make me stop once when he felt an orgasm impending, "because I wouldn't be able to do anything else with you."
He spooned me, then slid inside me and his cock felt as hard as steel - and having experienced Njoy's pure wand, I know whereof I speak. "Oh wow," I gasped out, "that's really hard."
"You can take it, can't you?"
"Oh yesss."
"That's good, because I have every intention of fucking you with this thing," he told me, his voice soft, loving, his words making me tremble with want. We moved together, delicious, in love, and he came, later, with an intensity that I really, really enjoyed.
He fell asleep. I laid there for a few minutes, wanting to curl into his arms but not wanting to wake him. I finally decided I would try to curl into his arms without disturbing him, and of course, he woke up. "I didn't mean to wake you," I whispered, as he wrapped his arms around me.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he responded, squeezing me, kissing me, and then using his magic fingers all over my skin again.
"Why are you magic fingering me again?" I asked softly between gasps of pleasure.
"Because I want to make you feel good, love."
And he did. Oh, he did.
Afterwards, I asked "I thought you had a headache?"
He said simply "It went away."
Magical day.
So in love with this man, and so happy that we have each other.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Life is good
He's long and lean and wiry and he moves with the unconscious grace of a man who knows his body is just a shell for his spirit, and thus occupies it completely, without hiding inside it. He slides back into bed with me, his arms and his leg wrap around me and encircle me with absolute love and complete acceptance and understanding. His hand threads through my hair and holds my head against his chest, regularly squeezing me to him and murmuring sweet words of joy and fulfillment.
I am not silent in this. I have my own words of delighted satisfaction that spill over; I couldn't contain them if I tried. I am purring and squeezing him back.
"Life is good with you." he tells me as I gaze adoringly up at him.
Sweeter words were never spoken.
I am not silent in this. I have my own words of delighted satisfaction that spill over; I couldn't contain them if I tried. I am purring and squeezing him back.
"Life is good with you." he tells me as I gaze adoringly up at him.
Sweeter words were never spoken.
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