Internal experiences, external actions

His hand pushes on the back of my head, forcing it forward and away from him, exposing the back of my neck to him. He rubs the soft bristles of his beard against me there, a thousand tiny points of sensation, and I gasp loudly.

"You like that, girl?" he asks, pushing harder on my head, rubbing his beard against me while I feel myself melting. He moves his chin over to the tender curve between my neck and shoulder, and I inhale sharply as sensation overtakes me. I can't say which thing I love more - the hand pressing possessively yet almost dismissively against my head, or the sensations his beard is awakening across my body. Goosebumps rise up all over me and I moan.

Sleepless morning

5:30 AM: I need the bathroom. Needed it two hours ago but managed to go back to sleep. Sprained ankle means lots of maneuvering, me with my hurt leg supported in an office chair scooting down the obstacle-ridden dressing area to relieve myself, then scooting back down the path, now slightly cleared due to my initial pass through.

I crawl over my sleeping man, lay staring up at the ceiling. My perfect vision lies off to the side, so what I can see of the ceiling is blurry, but the morning light is just starting to peek around the dual layer of curtains covering our window. I’ve just exhausted myself with the effort I’ve expended, but I can’t get back to sleep.

My husband’s body is warm as he tosses his arm over me, pulls me into him. I enjoy his physical presence at the same time as I am frustrated by the infirmity of my own body. I reach over, grab my Kindle Fire, and read some of Shelby’s book.

So hot. Anal sex and spanking and figging, which I cannot stand but have experienced and - oh - it’s so hot, and my husband is right next to me, sexy and warm and - but no. He has to work and he needs his rest.

I’m hungry. I’m aroused, and I’m hungry. Most definitely not a winning combination. The light is definitely coming into the room now, and light has always made it harder for me to sleep. I sit up, pull on my nightshirt, and scoot to the edge of the bed. 

“Where you going now, girl?” he asks sleepily.

“Living room,” I murmur as I pull myself back onto the chair and scoot to the door where I can grab my crutches.

“What time is it?” he asks, confused, his brain clouded with sleep. I never do this.

“I don’t know,” I respond as I reach the door.

I hear him behind me, reaching for his phone to check the time. “It’s 6:30,” he whispers, “only 6:30,” wonder and confusion and sleepiness coloring his voice as he settles back down.

I crutch myself into the kitchen, where we have leftover vegan pizza. I sit alone at the table and munch a slice.

Oh, that feels better. That particular hunger sated, I make my way back to the bedroom as sleepiness overwhelms me.

He moves his feet so I can crawl over him yet again, snaking his arm under my shirt and around me. I purr.

“Missed you, girl,” he says, half asleep.

I purr again as he draws me into him and I pick up the Kindle Fire again, read some more. I must be squirming a little bit against him because I feel his cock growing hard against my backside. I put the book down, stretch and rub my body against his. His hand wanders over my bare skin, his fingers finding my nipples, making me release a little “Oh” of longing. He pulls my shirt off so his hand can wander more freely, and I turn over into his embrace.

“Love my girl,” he whispers, kissing my lips gently. I’m concerned about the garlic on my breath from the pizza, but he doesn’t react to it. My hand wanders over his chest, his back, as he releases my lips and pulls my head against his chest. Oh, I do so love that feeling of protection. I feel his cock against my arm, and I move my hand to press against it. Hot. The man is a furnace and even through his boxer briefs he is hot. 

He moans his pleasure at my touch and I am encouraged to go further - to his skin. I pull the boxer briefs up over his cock and down, and then my mouth is on him, kissing, licking. Oh wow. It’s been too long, and he feels amazing, sounds amazing as his noises of delight fill my ears. His hips start to move smoothly, a gentle rocking motion into my mouth and I moan deeply. My mouth is a hole for his cock and that is how I like it. The thought fills my head as I suck, swirling my tongue over him. It is an intense feeling, and he intensifies it further by grabbing my hair, tugging on it slightly, and saying “Good girl.”

Good girl. I don’t remember the last time he said that. A few days, a week. Oh, but it feels good to hear it, feels good to have my mouth full of his erection, to have my moans of pleasure cut off by his cock entering my throat, to hear him enjoying himself so thoroughly so early in the morning. His leg goes over my neck and I am pinned, helpless as I pleasure his cock. If I were to show signs of genuine distress he’d be off me in a second, but for now the weight of his slim thigh presses against my neck and gives me pleasure in helplessness.

His moans grow more intense and I swirl my tongue, taking a few deep breaths through my nose when his thrusts pull back, ready to hold it for a while. I pull on his ass, drawing his cock into the entrance of my throat, where I suck it so that it pulls in and out of my throat just slightly as he thrusts, over and over, rubbing, rubbing as I hold my breath.

“Oh fuck, oh FUCK,” he moans, his orgasm overtaking me, his ejaculate shooting down my throat as I swallow again and again and again, keeping up the suction because his pleasure continues the whole time. I keep sucking even after he has finished, but carefully while his sensitivity is high. His cock stays big for quite some time and I enjoy having my mouth full of it even when he’s not actively using me.

Eventually he pulls me up into his arms, tossing his leg across my waist. His thigh fits perfectly between the bottom of my ribs and my hip. He tells me he loves me, murmurs words of appreciation for the pleasure I have given him, and I am grateful for it too. His alarm goes off - 7:30 - but he taps his phone’s face to keep holding me. His fingers draw tingles across my breasts, his hand cups my face and makes me feel owned. He slips his fingers between my legs, first circling around my slick opening and making me gasp, and then working his way slowly, teasingly, to my clit. Up a little, back down, up a little until I gasp, back down - until finally he is circling my clit and I am softly moaning my pleasure. I am thoroughly aroused already so his touch is amazing.

He draws my pleasure out for a long time, keeping me close to him, close to orgasm. I am trembling with what could pass for an orgasm but isn’t quite, and his finger moves a little faster.

“You want to come for your master?” he asks softly. I whimper in response.

“I know you do. Go on,” he says softly, “I’ll allow it.” His finger moves across my sensitive bundle of nerve endings and I arch up.

“Come for me,” he says outright, and I am there. White-hot burning explodes through my entire body, a nearly electric shock spreading through my limbs, and I cry out. It is too too much, I cannot bear it but I must because he isn’t stopping, his finger keeps going and my limbs are stretched to the max except for my sprained ankle which must not push, must not push, oh my God it feels amazing and I arch up using my one good foot, into his touch which just keeps on and on like a neverending onslaught of delight. I don’t know if I’m still on the first orgasm or if I've moved on to three or four, but I really cannot bear it anymore and I twist slightly, panting, begging. He relents, his touch gentling, soothing my overexcited nerves, and he wraps me in his arms, his leg over my body again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into my hair, and oh, does he ever have me.

Helpless

Right now, I'm barely managing to get around my apartment.

We went hiking, and I sprained the hell out of my ankle after nearly 4.5 miles on the trail. Thankfully it was a loop, and we were almost finished, so the ranger station was close. My love fetched a ranger to help us.

But now I am injured, and one of my deepest, darkest, most frightening and, yes, most exciting fantasies is to be used while being genuinely injured. The fear of possibly being hurt more, the true helplessness, it all blends together beautifully in my brain. I have a swollen, aching foot and the opposite knee is a mass of bruised tissue that hurts really badly as well.

It's been exhausting, relying on my arms, my good knee, and my good foot to get around. My brilliant, loving, sexy husband has been amazing - helpful and solicitous. He's let me give him blow jobs, and he's touched me, brought me to orgasm with his fingers, but he's been terrified of hurting me further - overwhelming me with gentleness. Which feels lovely and like love and I adore him for it, but I was ready for something a little rougher after a few days.

In the mean time, I had been sinking into the feeling of uselessness that comes with not being able to do much. I began to feel more and more like a useless lump of humanity.

I told him. I steeled myself for his shock or disgust, but I should know by now it's hard to faze this man. Even so, revealing these little hidden bits of myself feels terrifying. I told him that my injuries turned me on, made me feel actually, truly helpless. Not like I could get up and run away or anything.

And my man. My wonderful, open-minded, beautiful man who apparently would in actual fact do anything to make me happy, he responded by turning into an evil sadist bastard and beating me, just like I'd asked. He started once we were in bed and he was holding me, long enough after the conversation that I was a little surprised when he went for my ass.

My ass already hurt from sitting on it way too much with my foot up to keep the swelling down, but he didn't care as his hand smacked into my backside. I squealed, I stretched, I squirmed, but I couldn't even kick my injured foot out, couldn't stretch and push away from him with it. Couldn't bash my bruised knee into his leg. I couldn't do much of anything except accept it, cry out, process the pain.

Oh, how I processed the pain. It was brutal but it was teetering on the edge of orgasmic. My brain really, really processed it. It took that pain and wrung every morsel of feeling out of it, through the entire gamut from true discomfort to bliss. He wasn't holding back either, or if he was I couldn't tell. It hurt, and it felt incredible, all at once.

I carefully turned onto my other side, my back toward him, and he had an even better swing now, even more force into my backside. He brought a flogger into play then, smacking the heavy rope strands into my back, my ass, the backs of my legs. It felt incredibly heavy, nearly unbearable, and my body writhed. My foot wanted to push against the mattress, to stretch and to fight, but I had to keep it still or suffer even more.

"You can't get away from me," he growled into my ear, his free hand tangling into and tugging on my hair, "and I think I will fuck you tonight."

I whimpered in response, feeling my body respond, swell, lubricate for the fucking he was promising. But not yet.

My arms were over my head to protect my face and neck from any stray strands of the flogger, and he was taking a break, dragging the soft trailing nylon ends against my skin, making me purr. And then he targeted my breasts - a heavy smack of the heavy rope into my nipple. A knot caught me right on center and the breath whooshed out of me.

"Oh fuck," I breathed out, stretching as much as I could, thrusting my chest forward for more. Holy shit, that was incredible. I can't remember the last time he'd flogged my breasts and my breast was singing a hallelujah chorus of delight while my nipple simultaneously screamed in pain.

"Oh, I think you like that," he growled as he did it again, and again, and again. I screamed for the joy of it, for the pain of it when a knot would catch my nipple again, about every third strike.

"Don't even think of trying to get away," he said, trading the flogger for a braided version that terrifies me when he uses it on my ass. The nylon braids stroked my screaming nipple, made me gasp and whimper. "Writhe for me, girl, writhe. Good fuck toy," he whispered into my ear, swinging the braids down hard against my breast. "If you try to get away, I'll just have to drag you back and beat you more. Can you imagine how much that would hurt?"

I nodded, whimpering with a kind of aroused fear that is completely unique. The thought of him dragging me back to him and beating me after I'd tried to run away on my damaged foot made me even wetter as I writhed under the heavy blows from the braided flogger.

"Oh you are turning me on, girl," he said, moving the bedclothes from between us and letting me feel his erection against my sore ass. "I do think I will have to fuck you," he continued when I moaned my pleasure at feeling him. I moaned and wriggled, leaning forward to provide him easier access to do just that.

"Good hole," he murmured, pressing his hard cock against my slippery opening and resting with just the head inside, until I wriggled.

His fingers stroked my aching nipple and I begged. "Nipple hurts," I whimpered.

"Yeah? That's interesting," he said, squeezing it tighter, making me scream. I wriggled back against him again, wanting more cock, so turned on by his control.

"You want more cock?" he asked. "You want this cock to fuck you?"

"Yes, oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I begged.

And he did. He slid inside, pulling me to him by squeezing my breasts. My ass burned where he'd beaten it, a pleasantly aching reminder when his skin brushed mine. My breasts were still singing joyfully at having been flogged, my nipple screaming in burning agony while he held it tightly, and I loved all of it.

I was so wet. Surely I was wet enough he could fuck my ass. I wanted him to fuck my ass. I wanted to feel completely invaded by him, and I shifted a little to try it.

It wouldn't even go in a little bit. Not even the tiniest, little bit. I groaned my frustration as he resumed fucking my more willing opening.

But later, he went for it himself. He pushed me forward as he fucked me. "You want me to fuck your ass, slave?" he asked. "You want your master to invade you? Would that make you feel more used?"

"Oh my God, yes," I responded, panting, insane with the want of that.

He lubed my ass while he fucked my pussy, making me groan and whimper at the fullness of his finger in my backside.

And then his cock was aimed at the opening that had already rejected him once, but this was his decision and it was going in. As the head made it through I screamed, groaned, and bucked. So intense. Too intense. Couldn't handle it. My body tried to get away even as my brain relished the overload.

"Not going anywhere, fuck hole," he informed me, gripping my hair in one hand, my hip in the other, and pushing steadily onward - but slowly enough I felt properly invaded, not ripped open. It was delicious. "Going to fuck your ass now," he said, and he did.

His hand went back to my nipple, tortured me there a bit while he moved, and then moved between my legs. "Give me that pussy," he growled into my ear, and I opened my legs for him to touch me there, whimpering as his fingers contacted my sensitive clitoris. His cock never stopped moving in my ass, never stopped feeling amazing, as his fingers began to work their magic on my other bits. His thumb was on my clit and he sank some unknown (to me) number of fingers inside my pussy.

"Oh my God, too much, I can't," I groaned as he overloaded my brain with sensation and my body with fullness.

"Too much?" he asked. "No such thing. This is what you're for. You're for your master to fuck and to fill as much as he wants. Isn't that right?"

Oh God, I thought, you're right, I'm for you to fuck. 

All that could make it out through my groans was "Yes sir,"

"Your ass makes such a good fuck hole," he growled as his fingers moved in my pussy. My ass clenched on him.

Oh. And I wanted to say You like fucking my good fuck hole? but the thought of saying it was too much and I started to tremble there, impaled on his various parts.

"Oooh," he said, knowing an impending orgasm when he feels one. "My girl is going to come for me while I fuck her ass, isn't she?"

"uhhhh-huh," I groaned, tremors racing over my body.

"Go on then, fuck hole, come while I fuck your ass," he growled, and the thought of it was too much, with his fingers moving inside me, against my clit, his cock in my ass. I came screaming and wishing I could say the things in my head that were contributing to making me come.

The orgasm lasted a long time - he drew it out on purpose with his fingers, his cock, and his voice. When my body was finally limp and relaxed, he pushed against me again. "Not done with you, fuck slave," he said. "You're going to come with my cock fucking your ass again."

It's not hard for him, once he's gotten me there once, to drive me there over and over to the point of exhaustion. So that's what he did this time, finally culminating with his own orgasm.

"You want me to come in your ass, slave? You want your master to fill you up? You want to feel well-used?"

"Oh, fuck, yes," I whispered, hoarse from screaming my own pleasure, still seriously enjoying the sensations of his cock and his hand moving on my sensitive parts.

He groaned his own release into my ear, pulling me tightly to him.

As I stretched in his embrace, practically purring as my faculties of speech came back to me, I said "It's strange that you have to treat me like an object to make me feel like a person again."

He stroked my hair. "Maybe I treat you how you want to be treated, and that acknowledges your wants and desires and makes you feel like a person."

He's a smart man.

And hella sexy.

Sex slave

I can't really begin to express how difficult it is growing up and being entranced by the idea of slavery, of being owned and helpless to another person's whim.

I devoured books about slavery all through my childhood- Roman, Greek, Egyptian, American, various and sundry other cultures - simultaneously horrified and enthralled. My very fascination amplified my horror - what sort of person gets tingles when reading about these things?

What was best, when I read the sometimes-fictional books, was when the owner and slave developed a true affection for each other, and then when it became sexual, although not always in that order. There was choice, but there was not choice; there was joy, but there was also ownership.

I tried to pretend the fascination was only academic as I grew older, to mask my fascination with slavery in all its forms with what looked like a voracious love of history, but I never could eliminate the tingly feeling I got when I thought of being possessed, of being owned, taken, controlled. The guilt always came along for the ride too - the guilt of knowing that I shouldn't be so fascinated, that the very concept should be repugnant to me, and that the world should advance beyond those base concepts of people owning people. The pleasure and the guilt became so intertwined that I wasn't always sure which was which. At least in my fantasies I was always the slave and never the owner, though that was a minimal balm at best, since the guilt still told me I was disrespecting people who had no choice in their slavery.

These days, I am a little more comfortable with myself, and I feel much less guilty. I very much identify as sex slave. I know there are people out there who will take issue with that, because I'm not "extreme" enough and because blah blah blah, whatever. Slavery is defined by the Master, not by anyone else. That has always been true - your situation as a non-consensual slave absolutely depended upon who you wound up with.

When my husband pulls me into his arms and says "Mine!" or, even better, whispers into my ear "You belong to me," it thrills me to my core. Every single time. When he further whispers that he is a lucky, lucky man, I can only be grateful. I feel that I am most definitely the lucky one to be gifted with his ownership and his acceptance of who I am. Most importantly, that I made the choice to give him my body, my soul, my Self. Certainly I never would have made that choice or given the gift of who I am to a lesser man.

Sometimes, I think he forgets. He's a lovely person, a sweet and caring husband, and he can be an absolutely demanding master and sadist. In all that, I think he forgets sometimes that there are simpler joys in owning a sex slave, things less complicated than long scenes or multiple orgasm sessions.

There is pleasure to be had from me that doesn't require his energy to be expended beyond a bare minimum. I just want to make his life better. He takes such excellent care of me - really, I am a very very very spoiled girl. It wouldn't hurt him to take a little more from me, even if he doesn't hurt me in the process. Or even if he does. Either way, really.

---

At the same time, I know that sex trafficking is real. I know that there are women and girls out there in the world who have been born or sold or married into a lifetime ordeal of not having the choice of who experiences their bodies and who does not. I do what I can to support organizations that can help.

http://www.equalitynow.org/

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.

Sick and tired

I am insatiable.

Even when I am completely exhausted, my body rebelling at the thought of moving, when he wants sex, I want it. 

I had a long, long drive Saturday. Fifteen hours. That's at least as many as it sounds like.

We finally got home safely, and my husband took the munchkin off to get ready for bed. The two of them fell asleep in the little one's room, all snuggled together.

I was dealing with a little business and some pleasure - bills and blogs, trying to wind down, let everyone who cared know we were safe, taking a brief shower to wash away the grimy feeling of traveling for too long. My eyes were streaming tears of exhaustion when I finally called it and snapped my netbook shut. I stumbled into the little one's room, wondering if we were going to sleep in there with him. That didn't sound appealing - the siren call of our own bed and our own sheets was far too strong to resist.  

I gently tapped my husband's side and he snapped awake.

"What are we doing? Are we going to bed?" I asked softly, as not to disturb the knocked-out little one.

"Yeah," he mumbled sleepily, and stumbled bedroom-ward. He was brushing his teeth when entered behind him. 

The smooth pale blue sheen of our bamboo sheets called to me, and I gladly fell into their embrace. My eyes, held open by sheer force of will for hours by this point, gratefully slammed closed.

My husband climbed between the sheets behind me and pulled my hips back into him, spooning me tightly. I purred as his hands wandered my body, stretching and rubbing against him, letting my legs intertwine with his. His cock stirred against my backside. "You'll forgive me if I wind up fucking you, won't you?" he asked softly.

I groaned. What? "Holy hell, are you kidding?" I vocalized.

"Will you?" he said, humping against me.

He wasn't kidding. His hands wandered up under my shirt, pulling me close to him. He pulled my legs open.

"You can sleep if you like, while I fuck you." He pressed his cock against me harder, grinding. "On the other hand, you probably can't. Can you sleep, fuck toy, while a man's cock is fucking you?"

"No." I whispered.

"I didn't think so." His hand was slapping my spread pussy, over and over.

"What is this for, girl?" he asked roughly.

"For you to fuck," I managed between my yelps of pleasure/pain.

"Yeah, it is, isn't it? Even when you just want to sleep, this pussy is still for me to fuck, huh? I want to fuck you and I will fuck you."

I was exhausted, yes, but his words excited me. I was extraordinarily aroused even though I didn't have the energy to do anything about it, so when he finally slid his cock inside me, it felt amazing. My eyes still stayed closed through the entire thing though - there wasn't enough arousal in the world to pry those lids open.

He was on top of me, driving his cock down into me, talking to me near-constantly. "What a good fuck toy. You know I take you when I want you, don't you? That's right, fuck toy, fuck that cock."

Where he got the energy to do missionary after the day we had I'll never know. Oh, wait, it was that nap.

We fell asleep almost immediately after, tangled all up in each other. Despite my cold, I slept very, very well that night.

Moments like these - when he takes what he wants and I just go along with it because that's what I'm for - sink me deep, deep into subspace. I love feeling owned like that, protected, needed. For me, it feels like love.

Forgive him? I think the man deserves a medal.

Beyond Erotica

Is the title of a horrible movie that we wound up skipping through last night. Bad movie, great post title.

It's been brought to my attention by a dear friend that I need to write. It's true, I do. It keeps me happy, it chronicles my life, and it leads to a deeper connection in my marriage. It's hard sometimes, when you're so busy living, to carve out a few moments to write about it.

For some reason I can't remember, last night we were browsing the movies on offer in Amazon Prime's free streaming, via my Kindle Fire. After I finally put it away, it was approaching midnight. Already tired, I sank down onto my pillow. "Goodnight, husband," I sighed softly.

He turned the light off, and on again. "I think I'll leave that on," he said.

"Why?"

"So I can see you, silly girl."

Snippet

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

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

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

Oh, yeah.

Long time coming

For various reasons, this past week has been a rough one on sex. We'd played, but I hadn't had cock anywhere but in my mouth since last weekend. I count blow jobs as sex for my "more than once a day" desire, but I was really, really missing attention.

To make it even worse, we were about to embark on a journey that would put us with extremely limited privacy for the whole next week. My future stretched out in front of me, bleak and mostly sexless. I was depressed about the days both behind and in front of me.

I was showing signs of stress and depression, and my husband suggested I go to lie down after dinner. I took a quick bath and then did just as he had suggested. He followed me after cleaning up the kitchen, joining me in bed and pulling me into his arms. We talked for a bit and he stroked my face and arms, kissing along my neck. He pressed into my back and I could feel his erection.

"Why are you turned on?" I asked him.

"Mmm, maybe because you're not stopping me, even though you don't feel like me doing these things to you."

"I belong to you," I responded softly, seriously. I had no reason to stop him.

"I love you, girl who belongs to me," he said. In a whirlwind of motion his hand was in my hair, his fingers curled into a perfect tight grip, pulling my face to his. His other hand was at my throat, squeezing roughly, making me feel his dominance. "I like to kiss you, girl who belongs to me." His lips claimed mine and then he was sucking my tongue into his mouth. He does this thing where he keeps it, not letting me pull it away, and I was squealing as I tried. He didn't let me have it, just kept sucking on it, squeezing my throat, pulling me close to him. I kicked my feet at nothing and tapped my hands uselessly against him. He finally let my mouth go and I panted against his chest, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth, like it no longer belonged inside me.

"I could make you suck my cock right now, girl who belongs to me," he whispered. "And you'd do it, wouldn't you? Because you belong to me."

"Yes sir." I was breathing hard still.

"But I should probably leave your mouth alone for now." his fingers wandered down between my legs. I'm so used to being naked below the waist in bed that I do it even when I'm not planning to stay there. His fingers slid inside me and played while he talked to me. I moaned softly as I felt his cock press against my leg.

"Oh, God, I want you," I pleaded with him.

"I know, girl who belongs to me," he said, his fingers pressing against my g-spot and rolling against my clit.

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close to me. "Oh, please, please," I begged.

"Please what, love?" he asked as I humped his hand, unable to stop myself.

"Please fuck me," I begged. "Oh, please, please."

"Mmm, can't have me yet, girl. You'll have to wait for bedtime. It's not bedtime." He kissed me, his fingers working their slow magic.

I groaned loudly and bucked, pulling him closer to me. I was losing it. "Please, Master, please, it's been so long, I'll be a good fuck hole," I pleaded.

He groaned and pressed his hardness against me even harder, exciting me so fucking much more.

"You have to wait, my girl," he whispered. That was it, the cock that I couldn't have, his words, his incessant denial, his magic fingers, and my own willingness to debase myself for his cock inside me sent me spiraling into orgasm. I clung to him as I shook, barely managing to restrain my cries of pleasure. He kept touching me.

Our little one knocked on the door and came meandering in. I clung to my husband, whispering "Oh my God," as they had some sort of conversation. He rolled away from me to continue the conversation and I snuggled up to his back, sliding my hand up between his legs to stroke his hard cock beneath the comforter.

The little one was gathered up for his own date night and my husband rolled back to me, his fingers finding my sensitive places again. "I still want you," I begged.

Despite the fact that light was still streaming through our window and it wasn't yet "bedtime," his shorts were gone quickly, and his boxers, and then he was inside me, holding on to me and fucking me hard from behind as we lay on our sides. It was glorious. "My pussy has missed your cock so much," I moaned out.

"My cock has missed your pussy," he assured me, cupping my breast in his hand and applying slow, intense pressure to my nipple, making me scream.

It didn't last long; it wasn't meant to. After he'd spent himself, his fingers were back inside me, playing me like his own personal instrument, and I was close. So fucking close. I was tossing my head, moaning, he was saying the perfect things to me.

Knock knock sounded at the door.

I don't know if you know this, but Friday night there was a massive blackout on the east coast. Several popular websites went completely down due to it. One of them was Netflix, which is where most of our entertainment comes from. "We need one of you!" said the little person. None of us knew about the blackout at this time either.

"Give us a minute!" said my husband. I groaned deeply. He kept touching me, harder, faster. "I guess one of us should go," he said.

"I'll go if you want me to," I moaned. I'd go anywhere he wanted me to.

"I suppose it would be better if you did. I do smell like sex." He kept fucking me with his hand, driving me closer to the edge of the cliff. I wanted him to push me over.

"And I don't? But I'll go if you want me to."

"Okay. You should go." He moved faster and faster, pressing against my g-spot.

"I can't go if you don't stop," I said, or something that would have resembled that if I was speaking English and not Nearing Orgasmish.

"I'll stop," he whispered, and he did, once he had pushed me right up to the very edge. I shook with unreleased sexual tension.

I sat up and pulled on my clothes. "You're a bad man and I'm not altogether sure I like you," I said in a shaky voice. I was trembling all over, my nipples hard points underneath my shirt.

"I know," he said smugly, a laugh barely restrained behind his words.

Have you ever tried to do tech support on a problem that is literally impossible for you to fix while you are right at the edge of orgasm? It's fucking hard. It took all my concentration just to stand on my feet. And then there are the user questions like "Try it on your computer," which you know won't work but they won't be satisfied that it won't until you show them. Trying to type? Impossible. I trembled all over and this whole scenario took a long time to rectify, finally having to supply them with a laptop and DVDs, and being interrupted several times after that when they did something retarded to the laptop.

There's more to the night - but I have to go sleep. It's been a long hard day and a lovely soft bed is waiting for me now. I hope everyone is having a wonderful July!

Epilogue

I wake to the feel of his hands, confident in their ownership, wandering over my body. My own moans of pleasure have preceded me into the world, and I hear myself before I am really aware of what is going on. His right hand cups my breast and pulls me toward him, while his left flattens against the back of my shoulder, his fingertips grazing the base of my neck. I stretch and purr, moving my legs that are already tangled with his for the sheer joy of feeling his skin move against mine.

"Mine!" he whispers into my ear, giving my breast an extra squeeze as his hands resume their journey over my body. The weight of the word burrows into me, a forceful truth that I can't deny; I am his. I moan as it settles over me. I am still sleepy, but my arousal is battling it.

His hands become more insistent, tugging, pinching, stroking, little gasps and soft cries escape from me. I feel his cock pressing against my ass, my hip, and I wriggle. "It turns me on so much that you've given yourself to me," he says, grinding against me.

More talking, more grinding, I want more, I want him past and present and future, oh God how I want him. And then he is sliding inside me, moving, talking, his hands and his fingers are everywhere, and I am lost in the universe that is just him and me, his voice, our bodies, forever, please fuck me forever.

---

Much much later, a brief interlude during sightseeing with his folks, and I am staring into space, a strange little smile playing on my face.

"You okay, baby?" he asks me, as he knows I tend to zone out sometimes.

"Mmm, been better," I respond.

"This morning?" he lifts a brow.

"Mmmm." I wrap my arms around him and we share a brief hug before we go on to the next thing.

---

Thank you, husband, for keeping me sane.

Robot girl

Monday and Tuesday both went by with no sex and barely any time spent together, exhaustion reigned and we just fell asleep in each other's arms both nights. We got some bad news on Tuesday and it was a long, long day too, so I was even more stressed than just going without sex gets me. I had entered into what I call "robot mode," where I just do all the things I'm meant to do, drive people around and pick them up again, make dinner, clean, etc, with no expectation of joy or love or happiness from life.

I wasn't grouchy, exactly, but I can see how it could look like that to an observer. No joy whatsoever looks pretty grouchy to me, too.

So we went to bed on Wednesday and I lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling, pretty much ignoring my husband while he gazed at me with love, running his hands over my body. I made no move to stop him, but I didn't make a sound of pleasure or a movement of acceptance either. I was really in complete robot mode.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked me.

"Nothing. I'm a robot, remember?" Seriously I was feeling about as human as your basic kitchen appliance, and that's not sexy to me.

"Come on then, robot girl, turn over and let me spank your shiny metal ass."

"You're being silly," I laughed. "Besides, that'd hurt your hand."

"Maybe then I won't use my hand."

"You're being silly!" I repeated, covering my face with my hand.

"I'll be silly if I want to, but you need to cooperate." The man was serious!

I rolled my eyes, but turned over, determined to just stay silent, like a good robot. Oh, when will I ever learn that there's no amount of determination that can keep silence in the face of a man with a zillion impact implements at his fingertips? He started smacking me with his hand, but after a couple he said "Oh, you know what? That does hurt my hand a bit." He went and grabbed some stuff from the drawer.

He started with one of the harder floggers, whoosh, smack, whoosh, smack, and when I remained silent after several smacks, he switched. I think he went through three or four different floggers, with his hand both rubbing and hitting in between. I managed complete silence the whole time, although some of it felt amazing and some of it was just downright painful. He periodically asked me how I was feeling, and I would shrug, because robot girl doesn't feel anything. When I felt the gentle curve of the back side of the heavy-duty wooden spoon rub on my already-tenderized bottom, I barely managed to refrain from whimpering, the anticipation of the pain was almost overwhelming.

He hit me with that spoon. I remained silent. He taunted me. "How does that feel, then? Still not feeling anything?" He hit me three more times, twice for each side, and I managed to stay silent but my breathing was incredibly ragged. He put his face close to the back of my head and whispered "That doesn't sound like a robot. That sounds like a girl who's a bit overwhelmed." His fingers traced delicate lines of agony across the places the spoon had hit, and a whimper finally escaped me. "Yeah, like that," he said, and hit me with the spoon again. I screamed, biting my lip to stifle it, as he hit me again and again. On the final blow, I arched away into the bed and my legs kicked up, unable to bear any more. "Good girl," he whispered against my hair, pulling me over towards him.

"Whose are you?" he asked me, pulling me into his arms and spooning me.
"Yours," I responded.
"Whose body is this?"
"Yours."
"I can pinch your nipple if I want, can't I?"
"Yes."
His fingers found my nipple and began pinching it slowly between them, increasing the pressure by increments until I cried out from the pain. "And why can I?"
"Because I'm yours."
"Good girl. I can hit you if I want to too, can't I?" he asked, his hand slapping my breast hard, several times.
"Yes."
"Because you're mine?" he asked.
"Yes sir," I barely managed through the soft wails I was producing.

He pulled my legs open and slapped me on my inner thighs too, and I struggled, trying to close them again. He pulled harder and slapped again, fast. "Mine, bitch, mine!" he proclaimed, as he alternated slapping my thigh and my breast and I just moaned, surrendering to his power over me, the fight and the robot completely gone.

"Would you like to suck my cock now?" he asked.

I nodded. Even if I didn't like sucking cock, I'd have sucked it just to prevent further spanking, because it was really starting to hurt.

I sucked for a long, long time, until he came down my throat, and he rubbed my head and said I was a good girl. Oddly there was a light, fruity flavor present there and I would have never thought that was possible in a million years, but I found myself probing his cock with my tongue for some time after he'd emptied himself into me, trying to taste more of him.

Then he pulled me up into his arms and used his fingers on me until he decided I should have the butt plug. He pressed it into me and continued using his hand in my pussy, on my clit, while his other hand grabbed my hair and tugged on it.

I came hard as he pressed into my g-spot with his fingers.

I don't do robot well.

And the next day I was a brat again! More on that soon.