Clarity in the night

Before we went to bed, my husband was irritating me. Wandering around, "trying to clean up," moving my papers and documents, eventually moving something pretty important and more or less forcing me to find a new place for it. 

My brain knew the old place for it just fine. All this moving around of objects disturbs my own order and I'm an old dog; new tricks don't come so easily to me. I was randomly irritated. Exhaustion and having my things suddenly reorganized led to a generally huffy, unhappy feeling. 

So when we did go to bed, I crawled on top of the blankets to sleep while he was under them. It wasn't really intentional, but I did it and I was too worn out to get up again to cover myself, despite the slight chill in the room.  I fell asleep almost immediately. I guess that happens when you're too worn out even to cover yourself. 

Hours later I woke up to visit the bathroom, and when I returned I climbed under the blankets next to my husband. He stirred, draped his arm over my waist, pulled my body tight into his, and whispered into my ear "You belong to me," before he drifted back off to sleep. 

Just like that, no more irritation.

If only everything was solved that easily. 

Why my husband is awesome, part 345,253,254

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.

Right in the what?

He holds me close to him, his fingers working, his magic voice telling me that I am his, that he can do what he likes with me, that I will come for him before I will be allowed to suck his cock.

I am begging him, pleading to be allowed to pleasure him as his fingers gently stroke me closer and closer to the edge of bliss. "Please, please let me suck your cock," is the last thing I can say before my words are stolen by the things he is saying, by the way his fingers are making me feel.

"You saying you want to pleasure me BEFORE you come? That doesn't seem fair, fuck toy," he growls in my ear, his breath raising tingles all down the side of my face, my neck, my side... all the way to my toes. "You're gonna come for me, all right. Who owns you, girl?" he demands as I am right at the edge.

The effort of answering him makes me fly off. "YOU own me," I squeal, the last syllable trailing into a long scream of pure sexual release.

"Good girl," he whispers, and he keeps going and going and going, making my body dance on the tips of his fingers.

Finally, finally, his touch slows, he lets me breathe. "Suck cock now?" I manage.

"Yes, girl, you can suck my cock now." But his mouth is on mine, he is kissing me long and hard, a kiss that embodies passion itself. My hand moves to stroke the cock he's promised me and I find it big and hard, poking out of the top of the waistband of his boxers.

"There's a monster in your pants," I whisper into his mouth.

"It's got your name ALL over it, girl," he growls, moving more onto his back.

I gasp as his words reach their target, and I slide my body down his. I take him in my mouth with no preliminary teasing - my desire to have him invade me is too strong for that. His groans of pleasure reach my ears and I am emboldened. His boxers are a nuisance, we make them go away together as I settle between his legs, sliding my arms under his ass as his legs go over my shoulders and his feet rest on my back.

"Yeah, that's where you go, girl, with your face impaled on my cock," he growls as I take him as far down my throat as I can. My moan cannot leave my body because its exit route is full of hard male flesh, but I tremble with arousal anyway. He must feel my shaking in his cock, under his feet, because he makes a pleased noise too. I pull my face away to breathe, gasping in great lungfuls of air while rubbing my face against his cock, letting my tongue lick before I dive down onto him again.

His cock in my throat, I grab the outside of his thighs and press his legs together around my head, trapping myself. I would scream from the intensity of it but I can't. He makes a half-strangled noise that I don't hear from him often,  and after I have run out of air, I pull off him to breathe again. I breathe heavily as I rub my face along his cock, and I am so absorbed in the intensity of what I am feeling that I realize he's coming only as it goes up my nose.

It stings.

It's hot. It's sexy-hot and I can't believe this just happened, but I slurp his cock back into my mouth to consume the rest of what he gives.

For the first time, he's come up my nose.

I'll take it.

Fucking after a 5K

"You love being my fuck hole, don't you?" he growls into my ear. I'm half on my side, half on my back and he's behind me, my leg wrapped around his waist, my foot pushing against his ass, his huge cock plundering my insides to the point of pain. I am incredibly wet due to the face-fucking I just received and the amazing things he has been saying.

I whimper my response. "Mmhmm, mmhmm." I do, I do, I do.

"Say it," his voice rumbles as his fingers tighten around my wrist.

Oh God, if he makes me say it. Oh, God, I can't hold it together. The words stumble out of me, falling over themselves and making me repeat some sounds. "I luh-love b-being your f-fuck hole," I stammer. Too many sensations pouring through me from the center, the effort to make words is too much and I can feel the distraction of being forced to speak such words driving me closer to orgasm.

He hears my voice catching. "Say it again," he orders.

Holy shit, my head is going to explode. I do what he's asked, repeating the words, and then I do it again, and again as he keeps fucking me, and I'm exploding, tightening, arching, pressing, screaming. He feels too good and I can't contain the sensations.

The hand that's not holding my wrist tight is stroking my spread sex, rubbing lightly across my clit, making me gasp and jerk and squirm around his cock, the post-orgasm sensitivity just driving me close to another and another.

"I love to make my fuck slave squirm," he says, though whether that's because it feels better to his cock or just because he enjoys making me squirm isn't altogether clear.

My hand is trying to get lose from his grip. I want, badly, to reach behind me, wrap my arm around his neck, stroke his hair with my hand. He won't let me go though.

"Please, please, please, please," I beg, tugging on my wrist.

"Hm? What's my fuck slave want?" he asks, keeping his grip on me.

"Oh please, please, I want to touch you," I manage to gasp out between the cries of pleasure he's coaxing from me.

"Oh, that's okay, go ahead and touch me," he says, but doesn't let go of me. I fight to free myself from his grip, to get my hand to his skin, but he won't let go. "Go on, girl, I said you could touch me," he says.

I whimper with frustration and arousal as I tug futilely at my wrist. He keeps pounding inside me, his other hand keeps tormenting my sensitive parts, and I have very little strength for the physical struggle to get my hand to his head.

"Ohh," he says after a few moments of useless struggle on my part. "I guess my girl didn't really want to touch me at all. How disappointing."

I groan, a deep, tormented groan, and I am also on the verge of another orgasm as I pull against his grip. He releases my wrist as I shudder around him. "Good girl," he whispers in my ear as my arm snakes its way around his neck, as I pull him as close to me as I can.

It's the middle of the afternoon and he woke me from a much-needed nap to fuck me. I couldn't be happier. He drives into me, grinding, his fingers stroking my clit, his breath and his voice in my ear, and I am exactly where I want to be, exactly where I am meant to be. I am fulfilling my own very specific purpose.

I don't know how many times I come on his cock before he finally can't stand it. I do know my screams seem to spur his orgasm out of him, and that feels somehow powerful to me even though he is the one causing my screams.

After his cock softens, his hand replaces it. He fills me, presses against my g-spot until I scream in disbelief at the sensations inside me. "Oh my God, what are you doing to me?" I squeal, the sensations so unbelievable that I have difficulty processing them.

"Oooh," he says at my reaction, prodding the same spot again and again and watching me react the same way. "Fucking you," he answers as I scream, a different sort of orgasm taking me over and washing all my strength away.

---

This man, this man, this unbelievable man.
My life, my heart, my body, my love are his.

No description can do justice to the joy that swells inside me when he touches me. I told him once that it feels like a holy moment and that's why I close my eyes, to savor it.

I could type for years and never properly indicate the exact level of wonder with which he fills my life.

This will have to do for now.

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.

Step 1: Flog and spank the slave girl

"Hit me with this," I ask him, handing him a new style of flogger I've just made. I always ask him to hit me with the new types so I know what they feel like before I try to describe them to other people.

He hits me with it. It's small,  but heavy, and packs a whallop. Kind of like a fist, the heavy loops of rope pound but don't sting like some other loopy ones I've made, though there is a little tiny bit of sting to it on some strokes. He keeps hitting my back with it - it feels like a deep tissue massage and I groan repeatedly.

"Enough?" he asks, as I grunt into the pillow.

"Mmf," I answer.

He puts it away, hanging it with the others in the flogger closet, and retrieves our blue silky one from behind the bed.

This one. 

"What you doing?" I ask. I'm exhausted; I haven't moved from my position diagonally across the bed.

"While I have you here," he says, still standing up next to the bed. He shoves my nightshirt up, exposing the skin of my back and my ass. The silky blue-and-white falls land on my back, the softness of the ends trails over my skin.

"How does this one compare?" he asks.

"It's heavy too," I say, "but no sting." I am purring into the pillow as he lands stroke after stroke on my body. I jump a little now and then but mostly I'm just happy. My tensions melt away. I feel amazing and very close to sleep. He climbs atop me, facing my feet, and gives love to my feet and calves. He shoves my legs wider apart on the bed, but just to get better access to stroke me. His foot is near my head and I stroke his calf, but I'm tired and my hand just winds up resting on his leg while I purr at how he is making me feel.

He moves after some long time spend lavishing affection on my lower legs. I realize that he's still standing and I'm in his spot. "You want me to move?" I ask him drowsily.

"Hmm. Yes, I do," he answers. I pull myself into a straighter line, moving away from his side of the bed and turning my back to him. He gets into bed behind me and his hand smacks my ass loudly. I squeal because I wasn't expecting that. He spanks me repeatedly, over and over.  "You should take better care of yourself," he mutters, referencing a cold sore that's beginning to emerge on my lip.

"I only just saw it!" I murmur.

"Well then what am I supposed to spank you for?" He waits a beat, his hand rubbing the warming flesh of my ass, and then he lifts his hand and smacks me again. I purr. "Oh, that's right," he continues, "I don't have to have a reason."

"If you want one there are plenty," I say, raising my ass slightly into his hand. I am referring to my previous post and the misunderstanding there.

"That's not really your fault," he says. He keeps spanking me though, because he doesn't need a reason. His hand smacks me over and over and I am really, really loving it because it's been a while since we had such an extended session.

"There's not much fight in me," I murmur. I'm so tired and he feels so good. I feel like I might just fall asleep.

"That's okay," he whispers into my ear. His voice sends jolts through my body and I shiver. I do so love when he speaks in my ear like that...

"You feel my cock?" he asks. He is so hard, and humping slightly against my arm. I can definitely feel it. I move my hand to stroke against it, turn toward him, curl into his arms.

"Yes sir," I answer, nuzzling my face into his shoulder. His hand tightens into my hair, pulling my face into him so closely I can barely breathe. I moan happily.

He has started Step 2: Drive the slave girl into crazed arousal.

Grafting

My husband and I are that couple.

You know, the ones always lingering near each other, with their hands reaching, their arms around each other, the ones who stop and kiss on the sidewalk for no apparent reason.

Often, when a suggestion is made that involves one of us not being with the other for any extended period of time (like an entire night), we panic, get depressed, then make a solution to fix it. "You go with me," he says, or "We go together."

He was wrapping his arms around me last night and he said that. "We go together."

"Do we?" I asked. "Do we 'go' together, or did we 'grow' together? You know, like the tree that ate the bicycle."

A visual aid for my readers. I know, I'm awesome.

"Maybe a little of both," he said.

"But that's not quite right, is it?" I asked thoughtfully. "Because that's a growing thing that carried a static thing along with it. We're both growing things."

"Mmhmm. Like two trees that fall into each other?" he said, trying not to fall asleep.

I thought about it for a moment, thought over our history, and then it came to me.

I'm a gardener. I would pore over the plant and seed catalogs all winter, dreaming of sunshine and dirt under my fingernails. One thing that I learned was that many fruit trees are not all the same plant. One plant is bred for its roots, and one for its fruit. The fruit of the root plant won't be as nice as the fruit of the fruit plant, and it's likely the roots of the fruit plant wouldn't be as strong or hardy as the roots of the root plant.

The root tree has the top of the fruit tree grafted onto it, and they grow into each other until, if it's done correctly, you'll never know it was two different plants. The original shoots of the root plant are then cut off, and the roots provide nutrients to the top of the new tree, which will be planted in its final destination or shipped off to a nursery.


If you're interested in learning more about the process:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grafting

Before my husband and I were a couple, he was drifting. Aimless, anchorless, like a hot air balloon with no pilot. Nice guy, but he wasn't really headed anywhere. Admittedly, he was quite young.

Before we were a couple, I was casting about for something as well. I wasn't quite sure what was going to happen in my life, I was lonely and didn't see the point in working or being alive. I, too, was quite young.

We came together, and suddenly we were both motivated and things started happening in our lives. From our union came joy, and from that came the confidence to do wonderful things.

I'm the roots - I spread out beneath the surface and nourish us.

He's the flowers and the fruit. He is magnificent - a rock star - brilliant. He shines and has a confidence that has really taken him places - even if a great deal of the time he's just "faking it."

Because we grew together.

Without me, he'd shrivel up and die, and without him, I'd have nothing to live for.

We still have separate facebook profiles, though. Tsk, people.

Vulnerable

He's pulled me close to him and my face is buried against his chest. His fingers encircle my wrist, pull my arm up over my head, and with his other hand he touches the areas left exposed by this position - my sensitive armpit, the inner part of my upper arm. I gasp with pleasure, every breath I take a shuddery one as he traces tingles into my flesh.

"So sensitive," he whispers as he touches me, as his fingers glide gently over these areas that rarely get touched.

"So delicate. So vulnerable," he says, making my breath catch.

He hears my breath catch, draws the moment out as he draws his fingers down my skin. "There's a part of me," he says, his voice even lower, close to a growl, "that wants to beat you here."

I gasp. I don't think he's ever said something so inherently sadistic. I feel my entire body sort of melt against him.

"Now why would I want a thing like that?" he asks. His fingers are still stroking me, skimming over my armpit. "When I can just stroke you gently here and make you shiver?"

"Because you're a sadist," I whisper, and even my whisper trembles.

"Hmm, I suppose I am," he says. "You know I'm not just doing this to make you feel good, right?" he says as his touch elicits a sigh of pleasure from me. "Why do you think I'm doing this?"

"You can do anything you want," I answer.

"Mmm... I believe that's the answer I was looking for. Because I fucking can," he says, and draws his hand back slightly. I brace for the impact but it doesn't come, and he resumes stroking me. "You afraid of me, girl?" he asks.

"No sir," I whisper. There's fear of what it might feel like, when he succumbs to his desire. But not fear of him.

"Maybe you should be," he says. He's still stroking my delicate skin. "This is to show you who's in control here. Who's in control here, my girl?"

"You are," I breathe out. I am so wet that as I shiver against him, I feel the moisture between my legs.

"Good girl," he says. "I'm going to beat you here, you know." His fingers leave goosebumps behind. It's impossible to imagine the slender, loving fingers that are making me feel so good dealing out the kind of pain he's talking about. He strokes until he finds the most sensitive part of my arm, the place that really makes me tremble. "Right here," he says, stroking that spot, so I know. "I'm going to beat you. Right. Here."

He draws his hand back and slaps my most sensitive spot, just above my armpit. I squeal - it stings unbelievably. It hurts so much. I jerk, but he's got my wrist. I'm trapped there, open, vulnerable, helpless. His slave. At the end of my squeal, I kiss his chest - an unexpected, unplanned reaction to the pain. He slaps me, I kiss him.

He slaps me again, higher, on the inner part of my upper arm. That hurts even more. I writhe against him, pull at my wrist, but he keeps it in place. I scream as low as I can manage, and again, my lips kiss him. Gratitude for his gift.

"This is all well and good, this touching you and beating you, but I think I'm missing something. Do you know what that could be?" I can feel his cock, hard and insistent against the hand that he doesn't have trapped.

"No sir," I murmur.

He leans down and kisses me, his lips soft and tender, my head having to lean way back to meet his lips. It's erotic. He slaps my breast while we're kissing, right on the nipple. I yelp against his lips, and find the entire thing even more erotic. I am so ready for fucking. He slaps my inner arm again and it feels like someone set off fireworks in it. Oh, it hurts. I kiss down his chest to his cock.

"Oh, that's right," he says as I lick the head of his cock. "I can touch you," and he takes his cock in his hand and rubs it over my lips. "I can beat you," and he uses his cock to slap my face, twice. "And I can fuck you," he finishes, shoving his cock between my lips.

His other hand still holds my wrist captive, and as he fucks into my face, he slaps my armpit again. "Keep sucking that cock, girl," he says, and slaps my arm and my armpit until it all feels raw and open. I am squealing with pain, but I keep sucking. "Good girl," he says, "good girl. You keep sucking."

His fingers stroke my flesh delicately and even that gentle touch makes me whimper. "Oh, does it hurt, girl?" he says. I manage to make a positive noise. He slaps my breast now instead, still fucking into my face. "Just keep sucking, girl."

I do, oh, I do. My armpit and upper arm are on fire, my breast feels stung, but I suck as if my life depended on it, even when I am struggling for breath to deal with the pain.

He rolls on top of me, his knees on either side of my head, my hand still up above my head. I can see the tiny broken blood vessels and bruises on my upper arm. My head swims with pain and desire. I am so wet.

"Your pussy might like to be fucked," he says, sliding his cock back into my mouth. I suck for all I am worth. My legs spread themselves wide, but I keep sucking his cock. It's hard to give up fucking in one place - a reality - for the idea of fucking in another. My pussy wants him, but my mouth doesn't want to give him up. He fucks my face, and my free arm wraps around him, pulling him into me. He hasn't hit me in a while, but my armpit still burns.

He pulls his cock out, rubs it against my face, moves up so I can suck his balls. He's looking down at me. "Good fuck hole," he murmurs as my mouth gently wraps around and sucks his balls. He moves again, to slide his cock back down into my face. His hand is on the back of my head, holding me up even higher than I can on my own to allow for greater penetration. "Your pussy gets wet for a reason, you know," he whispers down at me. I am grunting, growling, moaning around his cock. It's so huge and hard and it feels amazing right now, fucking my face. My pussy is spread and wanting, but my mouth doesn't care.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck ohfuckohfuck," he says, and he is coming into my face, spurts sliding easily down my throat. I swallow it all.

I keep sucking and licking. His cock stays impossibly hard for a long time, and I lick, suck, and stroke it the entire time. He acts as though he wants to move. "I'll stop any time you want me to," I remind him, my voice husky from the use my throat has just received.

"It's hard," he says.

"No it's not," I laugh, because by now it has softened a little.

He rolls over next to me. "You broke me," I whisper, speaking of the broken blood vessels in my arm.

He looks at it, sees the red splotches and the bruises. "Is that all it takes to break you now?"

I thrill inside. "You're a sadist," I murmur.  His fingers slide between my folds, and at his first touch, somewhere between my opening and my clit, I moan, a deep, pleased moan. His fingers slide around a little, and I keep groaning. I am so so sensitive, all the places he touches me feel incredible.

"Is that pain?" he asks, as I keep moaning.

"No sir," I answer.

"Good girl. Such a little slut," he says.

"Nuh-uh, I'm yours."

"You are a slut. Did you see yourself with my cock?"

"I'm yours," I groan. His fingers make it hard to have this conversation.

"Mmm, so you're not a slut, you're my own personal fuck hole?" he asks.

"ohhh yes sir," and now his words are thrilling me as much as his fingertips. I roll my hips into his touch, and I groan.

"Just for me to fuck wherever I like," he continues in my ear. "Anytime, any way, any how."

He makes me come, and again, and again. I am helpless, and sweaty, and his. He's amazing.

He holds me close and whispers, "You're amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

I'm amazing, he says.

We're both pretty fucking lucky.

Anger & Love: Q&A

From Elisa, whose blog is private right now for some reason I'm not aware of since I've been out of it for a while: My question is this - can you define in the worst of times, why you love your husband? Or: When you are the most angry, what keeps you anchored in your love for him?

My husband is kind of a miracle of a person. We do have some "worst of times," but they're usually completely external to us. Like, the both of us in a craptastic situation, not either of our faults but that we must get through together. So, during those times, it's easy enough to say why I love him - he's my lifeboat. A sort of oasis of calm while I freak out. He doesn't really have lows or highs. He's a generally happy person who just sort of stays even... so when I am miserable, he can hold me and some of his calm imparts itself to me. He loves me, and I can feel that, and so that's what makes me love him. I know that's a little difficult to understand as it's a recursive loop, but love is not programming.

As far as anger... I don't really ever get truly angry at him. Sometimes there's a bit of exasperation on my part with some trait of his that makes no sense to me (bad, bad sense of direction, horrible memory). His parents (mostly his dad) have been the source of much anger and frustration for both of us, but my mom has occasionally been the source of some of that as well. 

I sometimes get intensely sad in my husband's general direction. He tries so hard, but sometimes the very trying triggers the sadness. Just that I'm something he has to expend so much effort toward can upset me. 

Right now, I'm in one of the lower places. When I'm up a bit higher all I can see is the miracle of him, but sometimes I do feel a bit unnecessary and like I'm just in his way. So, from this vantage point beneath the clouds, I can say what keeps me anchored in my love for him is how we are together and how he tries to maintain that regardless of the situation.

We don't go to bed alone. 

If I say "Good night, husband," when we're in bed together, and he's not wrapped around me, he says "Don't 'good night, husband,' me. You're not in a proper snuggling position."

He always comes and kisses me goodbye before work.

He always lets me know where he is.

He works so hard to provide for us. That's a thing I keep reminding myself, too. That the work that sometimes seems to consume him is for all of us. 

Sometimes I just want him though, and wouldn't mind being poor again for all the extra time with him.

Hope that answer was helpful. Thank you for the amazing question, Elisa.

---

It's still March! Any more questions?

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.

Snippet

"Oh, it sure would be nice to make love to my wife," my husband murmured, spooning me as his hand slid over and cupped my breast. He pulled me closer.

"It has been a while," I agreed, sighing softly as our bodies contacted each other.

Our door opened, and our little one came zombieing in, whining, launching himself over my husband to plant his big melon of a head between us. His body followed, sliding down, keeping us separated. He was asleep before he even settled.

"What, did I summon him?" my husband asked. We laughed, but with an undercurrent of frustration.

Such is life as parents.

Enjoy your weekend, lovelies!

---

For those of you who missed it - I'm running a sale on all floggers in my shop!

Beautiful Sensations

If you've been eyeing one, or are interested in one of the new ones I've added recently, now's the time. Sale ends on the 23rd.

My reality

"I like to make you mine - make you know that you're mine."

His hand is pressing on my face as he says that; his eyes gazing into mine, burning into my soul. He presses harder, making my mouth open in an involuntary gasp.

His fingertips drag along my skin just so. How does he make it feel like magic? It's just a touch. The first time he ever touched me like that we'd only been physically together for a matter of hours, and yet I melted. I'd never been so wet in response to anything, ever. I was already his before he ever touched me at all. And now, now his fingers are gently trailing across the top of my breast, circling my nipple, closing around it. My night shirt doesn't provide a barrier to him - he just goes under it.

He squeezes my nipple, a slight tug, barely noticeable. He doesn't let go, though. He's increasing the pressure slowly, slowly, slowly, until my mouth opens and a little cry of pain comes from me. He stops at my whimper, but I moan, arching my breast to his hand. I want him to hurt me more. I need him to hurt me more.

He doesn't disappoint.

Later, his fingers are between my legs, stroking my wetness over my clit. I am moaning. He feels so very, very good; he's so incredibly sexy, and he plays my body and my mind like an instrument he has built himself. "I'm going to fuck you, fuck hole," he whispers into my ear - a harsh rasp that is heated with his desire. I tremble and a little cry escapes me. I can't process the heat of it. He hasn't removed my shirt and my own heat is trapped against my skin.

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

"Oh, yes," I agree. I don't know if he knows but when he's got me that worked up I will agree to whatever he says.

He rolls atop me and his cock is sliding between my folds. Oh, that's been a while. I moan as he presses into me, very aware of the size of him. "Like that, girl?" he asks. "It's been a while, huh?" he says. I am just enjoying him, making noises of pleasure at finally feeling him inside me again. This is what life is about - everything else is just to support this.

He fucks me, gently, as I have been in quite a bit of pain in that area lately. He feels incredible. I am rising up to meet him and.... oh. His earlier manipulations of my clit had left me open in such a way that when I rise up, his pubic bone grinds into my clit. That is very fucking nice. I am fucking him now, from underneath, and he is saying something but I only grasp it at the moment and later it's gone. My clit grinds against him and then I am screaming, pulsing, coming. La petite mort, indeed.

"Good girl," he whispers, kissing me as I recover, his hips making slow circles against me. He fucks me in earnest then, until he too is panting, gasping. "Oh fuck," he moans as he fills me, as I pull him as far into me as I can. His skin is so hot as he rests atop me, as I kiss him.

I am hot. I am on fire. I am burning, composed of molten lava. I will suffocate. "Too hot, too hot," I moan, working my nightshirt over and behind my head. My arms are still trapped inside it though. He rolls off of me so I can get the dread garment away from my skin, and the blessed coolness of the air in our room strokes me, soothes me. He pulls me close but doesn't cover me up.

He is my reality.

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.

Just right

Aisha has a lovely, lovely post and poll up on her blog about whether people are getting enough D/s - control, kink, sex, in their lives.

I've seen the time when I would have answered - not enough - never, ever enough.

And while I count myself among the truly insatiable people of the world, I answered honestly that I have just the right amount of kink and sex in my life. I am truly, truly fortunate that my husband has decided to travel this path with me and give me everything I ever fantasized about, and beyond.

We could add more kink to our lives - and will - why hello there, mister rope - and it would not feel like "too much," for me. But right now, I have stunningly kinky sex almost every day, sometimes twice!

I sit at his feet and he strokes my hair.

He wraps himself around me every night, and I am safe and warm and absolutely, completely his.

He may have never seen himself owning a person, but he does it incredibly well and I am very very grateful to him for taking on the responsibility.

In other news, Lily's book is out! I had the amazing good fortune to be a beta reader, and it is good stuff. Go, read it and be enlightened!

Midnight cuddles

I wound up chatting to a friend last night far, far longer than I probably should have, but I was enjoying myself. My peeps and I spent the entire day out acting like tourists in San Francisco (along with everyone else in the world, it seemed), and we were pretty wiped. I finished up talking to my friend, and even though it was already past midnight, I took a quick bath. Once I was fresh, clean, and dry again, I climbed between our sheets, not even bothering with the pretense of clothing.

My husband is so excited about the Curiosity rover landing tonight that he was up all that time reading about it. He came to join me in bed a little after I slipped between the sheets, and he was vocal about his appreciation of my nudity. "Oooh, I have an amazing wife who gets into the bed all naked and lets me touch her everywhere," he murmured as his hands slid along my back and legs. He pulled me to him, spooning me tightly, and his fingers worked magic designs into my flesh, lingering at my nipples, delicately drawing a line of goosebumps down my arm, my side. He stroked my waist with a touch that made me groan loudly and my eyes roll back in my head.

Still, though, it was late and we were exhausted. I snuggled against him as I sighed and moaned, assuming he was just enjoying himself a little before sleep, when I felt his hardness pressing against me. I turned toward him and we kissed. His fingers kept making me moan loudly, tracing patterns of ecstasy into the small of my back as his lips tangled with mine.

"You're mine," he whispered against my lips, as his hand slapped against my ass lightly. I murmured my agreement. His hand slapped me there again, not enough to hurt, just enough to register as pleasurable, and he moved his hand to do the same to my nipples. "My girl, mine," his voice slipped into my ear, making me quake with desire even as my brain fought for slumber.

"How do you have all this energy, my love?" I asked him softly as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

"It's my love for you," he murmured against my lips.

His fingertips slapped lightly against my nipples and I purred. It felt lovely, it felt like I was owned, it felt like love. His light slaps gave way to gentle tugging strokes, and he asked "Would my girl like to suck that cock?" when he felt my hand pressing against his hardness.

I nodded against his chest. "Mmhmm," I whispered, wetting my lips with my tongue.

"Okay, then, I will allow it."

His groans as I swirled my tongue across his cock while slowly sliding my mouth down over it were music to my ears. "Oh, my girl is such a good, good cocksucker," he praised me as his hands stroked my hair. He tugged it sharply once in a while, making me moan around the hard flesh filling my mouth, keeping me alert enough to pleasure him. As tired as we were, I knew we'd be asleep soon, but I wanted to feel his body tense and release into me. I wanted to hear his groans of pleasure before I fell asleep.

I got what I wanted - his leg over my neck tensed and his hips moved faster as I struggled to keep up with the speed he needed. He was coming in my mouth, groaning with the pleasure of it, and I moaned happily as I sucked it down, knowing I had done well and made him feel good.

As I pulled my mouth away afterwards, nuzzling my face against his softened cock and kissing it gently, he said "Whoa. I'm suddenly very, very tired."

"I bet you are, my love," I responded, glancing at the clock. It was 1:30 AM.

He pulled me up into his arms and we slept really, really well.

His

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

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

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

"Yours," I said through my fingers.

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

"Yes," I whispered reluctantly.

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

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

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

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


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

I giggled. Yep. I giggled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shivered. "I did what you asked."

"And who told you you could stop?"

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

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

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

"No," I said, meeting his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes sir," I whispered.

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

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

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

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

"So fucking good," he agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes sir," I whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes sir," I whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That I am.

Lessons learned

But it's such a pretty flogger. 

1. Don't start making a flogger if it's after 9 PM.
   
   Thanks to a wonderful lurker's request, I made a new flogger, and the next night I wanted to make another one since the first one was purchased. There's a limited time window in which I can make a flogger, though. It takes a couple of hours of uninterrupted, hand-aching holding after all the initial prep is done, and I can't put it down once I start until it's finished. So we may wind up not going to bed until after 11, which leads to my second lesson.
   
   
2. I need sex.
   
   Seriously, sex. Kinky, dirty-talking, hip grinding, perhaps body-part-slapping, nipple twisting sex. I need it. Going to bed after 11 on a weeknight is not a good idea because either I get what I need and we're both exhausted in the morning, or I don't... and not getting what you need isn't good.
   
   
3. My husband loves me
   
   Okay, so maybe I knew that one already. But he was really spectacular last night, helping me with the flogger, covering for me when people who were supposed to be asleep walked into the room, and doing stuff for me. Not to mention the sex. Body part slapping, hip grinding, nipple pinching.. yeah, we did too. More about that up next.

What I am

I am my husband's.

If I were to start talking right now, and say nothing else but to try to describe the extent of my love for him, years would pass, and eventually I would die while still trying to get it right. He is, without a doubt, the sweetest, most wonderful man it has ever been my pleasure and privilege to know.

He is funny, always making me laugh. I am often jealous of how consistently funny he is. I don't have the funny knack.

He is brilliant, and has put his all into building an amazing life for our family, while supporting my choices 100%. We're in a bit of a transitional period right now, and we've both made sacrifices, but I think his part of the burden is more.

He left everything he'd ever known to marry me, to be with me. It just does not get more romantic than that.

He presses my buttons, as I have an entire blog here to explain to my readers. He's always open and willing to press a new one if we find it.

He is an amazing parent as well, and our little one is as addicted to him as I am.

There's a quote from a Doctor Who episode, which my husband wasn't a fan of, but the quote rings so incredibly true for me:

"You know when you meet someone and they're so beautiful, but after a few minutes they're as dull as a a brick. And then you meet someone and you're like 'They're okay; not bad.' But then you get to know them and suddenly their face becomes them and they just become so... Beautiful.
... Rory is the most beautiful man I've ever met."

So I am his.


I am happy to please him in any way I can - and that's not even necessarily related to D/s. I just enjoy pleasing him, in much the same way any person deeply in love with another wants to please their love. He feels the same way about me.


I am submissive to him. I am thrilled when he takes what he wants from me, thrilled that our passion can still flare so hot, so regularly. I am thrilled when his sexy voice whispers sweet nothings or dirty obscenities to me in the heat of the moment, or out of it. His hand pressing on my throat melts me.


We've been married for almost ten years, and our love only grows deeper.

I feel so incredibly blessed to have shared so much of our lives together.

He has gifted me with his dominance, and with treasuring my submission. The interplay between those makes my life so incredibly rich, and I really cannot express how amazing my life is right now.

I am his, and I am grateful.

So much love

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Best friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yep!" He nodded, pleased.

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

"It is!" he agreed.

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

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

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

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

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