We get up to some awfully intense things in the bedroom, but my husband rarely speaks aloud of them outside the bedroom door.
The other night, I was feeling horrible. Overstimulation from constantly caring for our child, bills, cleaning, and a lack of sex for several days had contributed to me generally feeling withdrawn and angry on a broad, not-directed-at-anyone scale.
He followed me around and when I wound up in bed, he forced himself on me despite my protests.
"But you're not going to stop me, are you girl? I wonder why you're not going to stop me, girl," he said as he performed all sorts of things upon my person. I didn't resist. I only answered his questions when he made me, though.
But later, when it was all said and done and a large chunk of the evening was gone, I mentioned how late it was as we sat on the sofa together and talked about what to do next.
"Where did the time go?" he asked, a little startled as it was 10:30 at night by now.
"You munched it up," I answered. This is common in the language of our marriage, we speak of time being munched a lot. It's not out of the ordinary. His response, though, was.
"Oh, so it was between your legs, then?"
I couldn't even respond. I gave him a look of incredulity as the blood rushed to my face.
You'd think that making me blush would be harder than this by now, but nope, it really, really isn't.
What makes you blush?
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Friday, January 17, 2014
Advice from my husband
"My nipples were really, really sensitive today," I whispered against his chest as he held me in his arms in bed. He'd abused them pretty terribly the night before and every time I moved, all day, I was reminded of that fact.
"Maybe you should stop hanging out with a nipple sadist," he replied into my hair.
As if.
"Maybe you should stop hanging out with a nipple sadist," he replied into my hair.
As if.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Top 100 sex bloggers of 2013
Wow. I had no idea anyone had even nominated my blog, that's how out of the loop I have been. Thank you so much to Spanky and Fiona for doing so even while my head was immersed in the real world.
Every year, Rori goes through an incredible amount of material to compile a list of 100 of the most exciting sex blogs you will ever lay eyes on. I'm incredibly honored to have been included on that list for two years, now.
http://www.betweenmysheets.com/top-100-sex-bloggers-of-2013
Pick a few new ones to read, and check out Rori, too.
Here's her list, and congratulations to everyone who is on it!
Every year, Rori goes through an incredible amount of material to compile a list of 100 of the most exciting sex blogs you will ever lay eyes on. I'm incredibly honored to have been included on that list for two years, now.
http://www.betweenmysheets.com/top-100-sex-bloggers-of-2013
Pick a few new ones to read, and check out Rori, too.
Here's her list, and congratulations to everyone who is on it!
100. YOU! As always, I want to leave a place on this list for ALL the awesome sex bloggers out there! So please leave a comment on Between My Sheets with your name/URL to tell us about your sexy blog!
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Fucking with a vengeance
My life is brilliant. Every night I fall asleep in the arms of my delicious, fantastic, sexy husband who, even half asleep, keeps mumbling about how happy he is with me and how much he loves me.
Every night.
My life is a fairy tale dream from which I have no desire to be awakened.
It must be real, though, because the pain of his fingers clamping down on my nipple still makes me scream. My screams still seem to cause him to erupt. Those pinches do not change my reality except to sharpen it.
He revels in the power I have gifted him over my entire being.
"Your body is mine," he murmurs against my temple.
"Yes sir," I whisper in response.
"Your soul is mine," he says roughly, directly into my ear, and I shudder. His hand is causing pain somewhere. Slapping my breasts, making me arch into him, or perhaps smacking into my spread open vulva.
Every night.
My life is a fairy tale dream from which I have no desire to be awakened.
It must be real, though, because the pain of his fingers clamping down on my nipple still makes me scream. My screams still seem to cause him to erupt. Those pinches do not change my reality except to sharpen it.
He revels in the power I have gifted him over my entire being.
"Your body is mine," he murmurs against my temple.
"Yes sir," I whisper in response.
"Your soul is mine," he says roughly, directly into my ear, and I shudder. His hand is causing pain somewhere. Slapping my breasts, making me arch into him, or perhaps smacking into my spread open vulva.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
A new friend
I think you all might be interested to check out Pearl's new blog, over at
Please give her a warm welcome!
Friday, November 22, 2013
Sex objects
And now for something... a little different.
We were playing around online, my husband and I, and this ...male creature came along and started hitting on me. Straight up, obviously hitting on me, with no reason other than that I was presenting as female at that time. No invitation on my part, nothing. To be fair, he was hitting on everyone presenting as female.
My husband is amazing and hilarious and perfect, and turned it all into a good time for me. "Wife! Bad wife! Are you being a person again and not a random male sex object?" he said to me, in full view of everyone.
Later, we'd gone to bed and were talking about it. "'Conina I want you to love me too,'" I giggled as I settled, naked, into my husband's embrace. "Who does he think he is anyway? You can't just go around treating people like objects."
"Well," said my husband, his voice deepening a bit as one hand spread over my scalp, tightening in my hair, "only specific people, right?" He rubbed the soft growth of his beard over the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
I purred, shivering with delight as his other hand drew me close to him, his leg completing my entrapment as it captured my legs. I wriggled back into him. "Mmhmm. Only specific people who've agreed to such things," I confirmed.
"My fuck toy," he whispered, pulling my face toward him as he tugged on my hair. His lips met mine and the universe exploded in sensation. His lips, soft and warm, his beard, coarse and springy, the soft noises he made in his throat filling my ears as surely as if they were bomb blasts. Everything was magnified.
His hand covered my throat, holding my head where he wanted it from both sides as we kissed. I whimpered. I love the sensation of having no escape from him. I felt his cock grow hard against my arm where it was trapped between us, and moved my hand to stroke him through his boxers. He felt absolutely enormous. "Oh my God," I whispered against his lips, my eyes momentarily going wide.
"What?" he laughed before continuing to kiss me.
"Oh my God, husband," I said again, my fingers seeking to encircle the massive shaft of his erection and squeeze.
"I don't think it's changed, pretty girl. Maybe it's just been too long since you touched it last." He pressed himself hard into my hand.
"Oh my God, husband," I repeated, and then, "that's quite the monster you have in your pants."
His reply sent butterflies chasing in my stomach and tingles all over my body. He tightened his grip on the back of my head, on my throat. "This is quite the wonderful girl I have in my hands," he growled, his lips again claiming mine, keeping me from further words. But I melted. Ohhh I melted. The noises I made after that were confined to my throat.
How is it that the man I've agreed can treat me like a sex object makes me feel so much more like a person than people with whom I have no such agreement?
What's your experience with dehumanizing behavior from random web denizens?
We were playing around online, my husband and I, and this ...male creature came along and started hitting on me. Straight up, obviously hitting on me, with no reason other than that I was presenting as female at that time. No invitation on my part, nothing. To be fair, he was hitting on everyone presenting as female.
My husband is amazing and hilarious and perfect, and turned it all into a good time for me. "Wife! Bad wife! Are you being a person again and not a random male sex object?" he said to me, in full view of everyone.
Later, we'd gone to bed and were talking about it. "'Conina I want you to love me too,'" I giggled as I settled, naked, into my husband's embrace. "Who does he think he is anyway? You can't just go around treating people like objects."
"Well," said my husband, his voice deepening a bit as one hand spread over my scalp, tightening in my hair, "only specific people, right?" He rubbed the soft growth of his beard over the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
I purred, shivering with delight as his other hand drew me close to him, his leg completing my entrapment as it captured my legs. I wriggled back into him. "Mmhmm. Only specific people who've agreed to such things," I confirmed.
"My fuck toy," he whispered, pulling my face toward him as he tugged on my hair. His lips met mine and the universe exploded in sensation. His lips, soft and warm, his beard, coarse and springy, the soft noises he made in his throat filling my ears as surely as if they were bomb blasts. Everything was magnified.
His hand covered my throat, holding my head where he wanted it from both sides as we kissed. I whimpered. I love the sensation of having no escape from him. I felt his cock grow hard against my arm where it was trapped between us, and moved my hand to stroke him through his boxers. He felt absolutely enormous. "Oh my God," I whispered against his lips, my eyes momentarily going wide.
"What?" he laughed before continuing to kiss me.
"Oh my God, husband," I said again, my fingers seeking to encircle the massive shaft of his erection and squeeze.
"I don't think it's changed, pretty girl. Maybe it's just been too long since you touched it last." He pressed himself hard into my hand.
"Oh my God, husband," I repeated, and then, "that's quite the monster you have in your pants."
His reply sent butterflies chasing in my stomach and tingles all over my body. He tightened his grip on the back of my head, on my throat. "This is quite the wonderful girl I have in my hands," he growled, his lips again claiming mine, keeping me from further words. But I melted. Ohhh I melted. The noises I made after that were confined to my throat.
How is it that the man I've agreed can treat me like a sex object makes me feel so much more like a person than people with whom I have no such agreement?
What's your experience with dehumanizing behavior from random web denizens?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)