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.

Rejection - edited and an apology

I take it back.

I was wrong.

He did respond - oh, my goodness, he did.

It was just late, and it got buried under a mass of other emails and I never saw it, somehow, until right this moment.

I've been wrong a lot, lately.

I'm sorry. To him for casting him in a bad light, and to my other readers for subjecting you to an unnecessary downpour of emotion.

But I'll leave the text here as a monument to my wrongness.

---

He's an amazing husband, really, he is. Sleeping in his arms is  like going home every night - to a true home that's not just a place but safety, security, and love. He never belittles me or makes me feel like I am not enough for him - and often, quite often, I feel very very spoiled.

There's always something, though, and so here's mine: there's a thing.

For over a year now, I haven't directly emailed him any of the fantasies or the near-pornographic sex writing that I've written.

He doesn't respond to it, and I can't handle it.

But I've been working on something - I shared part of it here once - and I thought maybe, just maybe, if I sent a small part of it to him, maybe this time would be different. Maybe he'd like it. Maybe it'd turn him on.

I was wrong. I should have known, because this is how it's been. I write something, I show him, and I get silence in response. At least with the blog posts - that I know he does read - other people are reading them so the resounding silence from him isn't quite as deafening.

As we curled into bed last night, he did thank me for it.

But it feels like the thanks you get when you tell a person you love him/her and he/she doesn't quite reciprocate.

It feels like rejection.

So I retreat back into my shell, until the next time I am lulled out by a true sense of security. My security is real - but he's just not interested in some things.

Flogger Friday - June 21, 2013

I make floggers.

It's what I do. It's something that I sort of fell into as a consequence of my veganism, and then I discovered  I adore it - actually veganism has done that for me in a lot of areas. Funny how a change in perspective can completely shift your entire life and lead you to joys you'd never have expected.

Gardening, cooking, baking, and now making floggers. Who knows what other wonders are to come?

I've recently caused myself a bit of harm that's still healing, so I took the opportunity to do a lot of sitting with my materials and to eyeball some new possibilities. I've crafted three new floggers, all fairly different from each other, and I thought I'd share them because I think they're pretty amazing.

Still-chained blue cutie

Most recent one first! This blue cutie is on the slender side, but delivers a sort of swishing sting/thud combination that's really very nice. The falls are chained loops of light blue nylon. The handle is smooth navy blue.

We have our favorite colors in this household - they show up a lot. Blue and purple make the both of us happy, so my next creation shouldn't come as a surprise.

Purple, silver, and white.

This one's a bit of a monster compared to my usual, but I found the ring attached to it and it was begging to have a flogger made to hang from it. 

It's heavy, thuddy, and completely gorgeous. The purple may lead to it sitting around for a while, but that's actually okay because I like looking at it.

Next, I have a green and black beauty. While it still follows the more standard form/weight of what I've been making, it definitely has a spin all its own.

Green, black, gold accent.

It's another case of a ring inspiring the whole project. The ring is marbled green and black with a gold accent at the top, the falls are black, the handle is dark dark green, and the bottoms of the falls are black striped with mint.

Hard to believe how difficult this was to photograph and get the colors to come out properly. It's even lovelier in person.

I love crafting floggers and I love sharing what comes of my efforts. I especially love it when I hear how much other people enjoy the results. It's total validation! If you are interested, the purple one is listed for sale sold; I will list the others soon.

Have a great weekend!

---

Update: Wow, readers! What a response! The purple one is sold - wow.

The others are all listed now, plus one more!

Sex with an alien

The nonstop screaming orgasms that leave me a sweaty, panting mess, unable to speak or move, will come soon. He will shove a huge plug in my ass and then his fingers will make me lose my mind as well as my breath.

But now, he is holding me. I am on my back, his arm is around my neck, and his other hand strokes my breasts. He raises his hand and slaps my breast pretty hard, then returns to gentle stroking while I inhale sharply from the unexpected pain.

"It's okay," he croons, his voice soft in my ear, sending shudders over my body. "It's all right." His fingers stroke, then he slaps my breast again. I squeal. "It's just a beating," he continues, "I'm perfectly entitled to it."

I melt. I melt right there, even as he keeps delivering firm blows to my breast, as the pleasure/pain of the blows waves through my body, and his voice continues: "And you're perfectly deserving of it."

Ohhh he is really good at this. He claimed to be human but I'm still on the fence. Otherwordly man with godlike powers of orgasm - can he be human? I say he's a sex god but he denies that outright.

Maybe all the humans from Europe are like this. . . but I have my doubts.

Damn.

High-minded pursuits in the bedroom

It is a long conversation. At the end, I merely say "It's like you're all pure and high-minded and I'm running around pursuing earthly pleasures."

He gets his kicks from math and programming. I can do too but I also want to go out, go hiking, see a show, be with friends - and I've always preferred sex to math.

He scoffs. "There's nothing high-minded about it. My earthly pleasures are just different from yours," he says.

I am quiet. Well, he said it at least, and that's all right. The world didn't explode. I feel ridiculous, dressed in a flimsy bit of lace lying in bed with him. I want to go put on something more substantial but my ruined foot would make that far more of a production than I would intend it to be.

I suppose I am quiet for too long. "What are you thinking, my girl?" he asks softly.

No reason not to be honest. "That I want to put on more clothes, but I can't walk."

"I like you naked," he says, and he too is honest. The words coil around my heart, around my stomach, and squeeze warmly. I feel my pulse speed up. "I think you should have on less clothes," he continues, his hand running under the bit of lace I'm wearing, across my skin. He makes my breath catch, my skin raise into goosebumps. I moan softly. I don't move, though.

His hand presses against my face and I moan again. He covers my whole face with his hand and presses, his lips settling against my ear. "You're mine, and you like to do what I tell you," he says. "I'm telling you to take off your clothes."

3 easy ways to submit without sex

Sometimes it's hard to keep ourselves in the head space that a power exchange relationship requires. Life gets in the way, kids get sick, events come at us hard and fast, family visits. Some days it can take all your energy merely not to explode into a giant ball of stress - forget trying to maintain any sort of power imbalance.

If you're like me, that loss of physical connection and intense scenes can really mess with your head. Withdrawal is easy and depression can follow it and then where are you? Nowhere good, that's where.

Thankfully there are a few ways we can submit from within to keep sustenance flowing to that intimate connection so that it doesn't go numb. Some of them are surprisingly, head-thumpingly simple. They just require a little consideration of the relationship as a whole and the direction you'd like to head in.

1. When the D-type talks, the s-type should listen.
   I hear you. "Duh?" you say,"Of course I listen when my Dom talks." But do you? If you're exhausted and just thinking about how amazing sleep would be, or if your D-type has awakened a little before you and wants to chat while you'd just like to grab a few more minutes of shut-eye, do you listen?
   
   There are a myriad of reasons that we don't really, really listen when people talk, but when we've willingly entered into a power exchange dynamic we should eschew those reasons when it comes to our partners. But you have to mean it. Stopping what you're doing with a groan of disappointment to listen dutifully is not going to work. You have to listen willingly and openly and respond thoughtfully. That right there is the biggest connection builder I can think of, even beyond intense scenes.
   
   When it's me, I think of it as another way to express my devotion. He wants to discuss ideas and I want to be open to him not just sexually, but in all the ways I can be.
   
   
2. Even when there is no time or energy for sex or scenes, touch your Dom.
   
   Snuggle up to her on the sofa. Sit at his feet and rest your head on his knees. Show the D-type that you are really in this, and even though your alone time might be taking a hit, you're still very very interested.
   
   I tend to start to feel undesirable after a certain amount of time passes with no sex, but I think I assist myself in that notion by withdrawing from any contact.  Something goes on in my head similar to "If he doesn't want me, I'll just keep myself out of his way."
   
   Ultimately that has always proven a ridiculous construct and I don't know why that feeling keeps returning, but it does. I combat it by continuing to be affectionate, brushing my hand against his whenever possible, and dropping kisses on his head if I pass him when he is sitting.
   
   It's more submissive to keep allowing the touches than it is to withdraw, though my intuition tells me otherwise for some damn reason.
   
3. Do things for your D-type.
   
   Is his family visiting? Plan fun activities for you all to enjoy together. Make them feel welcome and he will feel loved.
   
   Has she been working too hard? Make sure she comes home to a meal of some sort and a sympathetic ear.
   
   Take care of little things that might go unnoticed - plug in his phone, make sure she has her lunch, tidy up something that often goes untidied.
   
   Any one of these things may sound completely obvious, but when you do them from a place of considering your D-type's needs and desires each one can become an act of submission.

The dry spell will end and eventually you will have time for all the kinky naughtiness you are used to. If you don't keep the connection flowing in the mean time though, some of your potential kinky naughtiness time can get used up in restoring blood to the pins-and-needles discomfort. I highly recommend you just avoid that part and skip right ahead to the naughty times.

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.