"Turn over so I can flog you," he says. Matter of fact, of course I will obey him, I always do. I am a good girl, a good plaything.
I snuggle closer into his side. "I'm not sure that I'm interested," I say, also matter of fact.
"Oh?" he says, gentle amusement tinging his voice. "So now I'm supposed to require an interested girl? When did that happen?"
"No, no, I mean, I'm not so sure I'm interested in any of it."
"Huh. You mean you just want to be snuggled and loved on?"
"Yeah. We're doing okay like this." Barring the ravaging of my exhausted form several days earlier, we'd been getting by on snuggles, kisses, a brief flogging. My brain was becoming used to it, and I much preferred to just happily exist there rather than to fly off into the stratosphere only to have to come crashing back down.
"You don't get to choose though, do you?" His words drive the nail of desire deep into me, and I whimper, burying my face against his chest. "Do you?" he prompts.
"No, but." I squirm as he lifts my shirt, strokes my back and ass, slaps my ass a few times, lets his hands wander over my skin.
"I can take my shirt off for you," I offer. It's a good shirt; I am afraid he will stretch it out.
"This feels more invasive," he says, clutching me close to him. He's right, it does.
"I can put on another shirt if you wish to be invasive," I say. "This one is actually a good shirt." It matters not if he stretches my night clothes that only he will see me in, my good clothes are another matter.
"I'll let you take it off," he relents.
I sit up and do so, then slide back into his arms. "Thank you," I whisper against his shoulder. He is in the drawer, and he has cuffs. He wraps my wrists in the softness of them, firmly, even as I whimper my complaints.
"You're a complicated girl, aren't you?" he asks softly.
"Am I?" I ask. I know what he means, but it doesn't seem that complicated. Needs not met go away.
His hands are everywhere, stroking, slapping. His fingers wander between my legs, and I close them. "What's this? You think you can hide parts of you from me?" he asks. He is persistent, pushing on my knee as I shake my head. He strikes my inner thigh hard then, raining blows down on my inner thighs alternately, pushing them apart when I try to close them. He rolls atop me, holding my legs open, rubbing the hardness of his cock against my thigh that he had so recently been slapping. The soft cotton of his boxers abrades my abused flesh and I whimper, struggling.
"Is there a problem?" he asks, his voice taking on the tone that tells me he knows full well what my noises are about, but wants to hear me say it.
"It hurts," I squeak out, having become unused to even such a simple phrase.
"Oh, does it hurt? Has your leg gone all sensitive?" he asks mockingly, continuing to slowly press against me there. His hands shove my knees even farther apart and his head disappears under the sheet. His mouth is pressing against my sex, opening me, and then his tongue is inside. I groan, trying to close my legs, arching up to his mouth at that same moment, simultaneously begging him to stop and begging for more. His mouth is rough with me too, his tongue taking me; this is no gentle lovers' interlude, he is proving a point. My thighs fall apart and I move with him. We both already know he has won.
He stops. "Who do you belong to?" he asks, his face coming from under the sheet, hovering over mine.
I clench my eyes shut, refuse to look at him, shake my head. "Nuh-uh," I say. Defiant, even as he kisses me, as I taste my own arousal on his lips.
"Nuh-uh?" He is surprised, astonished even. He slaps my breast once, again. "I said, who do you belong to?" Two more slaps, harder. "Who do you belong to?"
My resistance, defense from the need, is melting beneath him. "You," I whisper, my eyes still clenched shut. As if not seeing him will make this whole situation cease. It doesn't work.
"That's right," he says, his fingers pinching my nipple, making me arch up into him and moan. "Now why did I have to ask you that three times? I thought this was already established. You are mine." He kisses me again, sliding off to my side, his fingers occupying the space where his mouth has recently been. My hips move with his touch, and he is talking to me.
"What is this?" he asks, a fingertip dragging up through the wetness he has generated, stroking my clit that has been untouched for days. I groan, a deep, guttural sound from some hidden place inside as his slippery fingertip drags across that magic button. My hips move of their own accord. "A wet, horny slut, I have here. You want me, don't you?"
I shake my head, groaning still.
"That's okay, baby, you can say no all you want. Your pussy says something else. What does it say, baby?"
I shake my head, even more vigorously than before. "Nuh-uh," I whisper.
His lips are close to my ear, his fingers sliding inside me. "It says 'fuck me,'" he whispers, his voice causing goosebumps and an uncontrollable moan to come from me, not to speak of the manipulations of my sensitive bits. "Doesn't it? It says 'fuck me, fuck me.' Let me hear you say it, baby."
I shake my head again, but he is relentless. He presses his fingers deep inside, pressing against my g-spot repeatedly, making me groan deeply and curl into his touch. My wrists twist inside the cuffs, over my head. He presses into me until I come, panting, writhing. His voice is in my ear as his finger continues stroking my clit, making my body squirm, making me moan helplessly. "I like to make you come. I like to touch you here, feel you move, under my control with just my fingertip. This must be what it means to have someone wrapped around your finger. I understand it now.."
"Oh, God, fuck me," I beg.
"I'll fuck you, baby. That's what you're for, isn't it? Good fuck toy," he says, his fingers sliding back inside me and pumping away. I groan. "Good fuck hole," he growls, enjoying my responsiveness to his touch, his words. I am melting into him, a puddle of need, the very need that I have only recently banished. I don't care anymore, I just want this. Want him. Want us, entwined, enmeshed. What does it matter at that point which person is owned and which is the owner when both are one?
I am turning over onto my side, rubbing back against his cock as he presses it against me. "I don't know if it will go in there," he says as it presses just slightly into my opening. I am tight still, even after his fingers plundered me. I groan and wriggle my hips. "Maybe I should fuck you some other time," he whispers.
I grunt and shake my head, pressing back against him harder, wanting this now.
"Does your pussy need to be fucked now?" he asks. I moan in response.
"Let me hear you say it," he orders.
It is a struggle to vocalize, but he is requiring it of me and so I manage it, desperately. "My pussy needs to be fucked now," I moan, coupling the words with a little wriggle back onto him.
His hand is on my hip as he plunges inside me; we both groan with satisfaction. "Mmm.. I bet you'd say that more often if you could," he whispers.
"Yes sir," I agree softly, as we move together. Passion flows between us, wrapped up in sex. He feels divine; he is divinity visited upon me. Who am I to complain that I only get such treatment twice a week? Who am I to resist it when it does occur? Selfish, horny slut, that's me. Complicated? Yeah, I guess I am.
"Were you made to be fucked?" he asks.
"Mmhmm," I whisper.
"Were you made to be fucked by this cock?" he asks.
"I am for you to fuck," I pant, my hips moving, hard to speak through the pleasure he is causing.
"Mmhmm, that's right," he approves. He is grabbing my hip, my hair, and slamming into me over and over. I am crying out. Oh, fuck, that feels amazing.
He comes; or I think he does. I am lost in arousal, desire, need. I am not terribly attentive. I am Greedy Submissive right now. He removes himself from me, though, and his hand replaces his cock as I roll more onto my stomach, my head resting against my bound hands. He is still talking; as his thumb presses inside me, his fingers play with my clitoris. I am nothing but sensation; a hole to fill, an ear to torment. My brain reacts, setting my mouth to constant near-scream. He is pulling my head up by the hair. Yes, yes I am a fuck toy, God, yes, a fuck hole. This is what I am for. Nothing else. I was put here for this. Everything else is distraction. This is the distillation of my being.
I am screaming louder as his fingers continue working their magic - his hand is constantly tugging hard on my hair, my head lifted into the air, his words. A scream turns into a deep, panicked groan as my leg starts thumping behind me. "Come for me, slut," he orders, his voice nearly lost in the noises I am already making. That is all - I was approaching orgasm already but at his command it overtakes me. My neck muscles relax, the result being an increased intensity in the pulling on my hair, which makes the orgasm even more intense. I cannot control anything; I am controlled, I am free, I am screaming with pleasure too intense to bear, but bear it I must.
I collapse onto my face, his hands are gentle on my back, stroking my hair. I am softer now, accepting his touch gratefully, melting into him. We are part of each other, as it should be.
Sleep claims me, and when I wake hours later, wrapped in his arms, I am still cuffed.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Something came over me
I did something a little odd today.
I sat down and I made a flogger. That in itself isn't odd; I do that most days - you should see my closet. However, this time, I had no grand ideas of what was going to happen, but it turned into an all-day project. I was thrilled with the beauty of the result (subjective, I know) and then I realized "Wait. No one's going to WANT this but me..."
And what do I need with a thirteenth flogger, anyway?
Some things are just too pretty to not be created.
I sat down and I made a flogger. That in itself isn't odd; I do that most days - you should see my closet. However, this time, I had no grand ideas of what was going to happen, but it turned into an all-day project. I was thrilled with the beauty of the result (subjective, I know) and then I realized "Wait. No one's going to WANT this but me..."
And what do I need with a thirteenth flogger, anyway?
Such are the hazards of being creative.
Some things are just too pretty to not be created.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
The monster
"Aren't you afraid that you're turning me into a monster?" my sweet, sweet husband asked as he rose up over me, preparing to use his fingers on me after intense, hot, sweaty sex despite my extreme exhaustion. He'd been slapping my nipples sharply not five minutes earlier as he rocked his body into mine from behind, his hand covering my face, his finger filling my mouth, his words of ownership rasping in my ear.
I laughed, hugging his head to me even as his fingers slid inside me. "No," I whispered, kissing the top of his head, giggling and moaning at the same time, my hips arching up to his touch. "Are you?"
"Maybe a little."
Perhaps his fear of the monster is what keeps mine at bay.
All I know is he makes me so, so happy - even when I'm exhausted. There isn't even the tiniest bit of worry in me that he is becoming a monster; though sometimes he makes a truly excellent one.
I laughed, hugging his head to me even as his fingers slid inside me. "No," I whispered, kissing the top of his head, giggling and moaning at the same time, my hips arching up to his touch. "Are you?"
"Maybe a little."
Perhaps his fear of the monster is what keeps mine at bay.
All I know is he makes me so, so happy - even when I'm exhausted. There isn't even the tiniest bit of worry in me that he is becoming a monster; though sometimes he makes a truly excellent one.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Surprise blowjob
We sneaked into the bedroom Sunday afternoon, leaving our little one playing on his own. I said I was going for a nap - my husband said he was too. As his fingers wandered over my naked body, sending the magic tingles all over me that he is so, so good at, I murmured "I actually meant I came to take a nap."
"Oh, me too," he said, his voice low and full of meaning.
"I don't think our definitions of nap are the same," I smiled.
"I think they are," he said, his fingers slowly toying with my nipples.
"Nuh-uh, I don't think so.... you see, mine involves sleep."
"Mmhmm, a likely story," he said as he made me gasp, his fingers applying their magic across my belly and my nipple at the same time. He was hard and hot as he pressed against me, his skin even hotter than the already uncomfortably warm room. His lips found my nipple and he was sucking hard, pulling it up, making me roll my shoulders and make soft pleased noises that still managed to be slightly protesting.
He pulled his lips off my nipple briefly. "Mine," he reminded me gently, causing the last vestiges of my protest to fade into nothing. He toyed with me for some time.
"I'd like to be inside you," he said at one point, in between hot, deep kisses, his hands roaming over my face, my chest, my shoulders. "I don't think it's a very good idea right now, so I probably won't. But I think I'd enjoy that an awful lot."
His cock was poking out of his boxers, even hotter than the rest of his skin. He took it and started rubbing it against my side, and the side of my breast. "I like to play with my fuck toy," he whispered into my ear as I shuddered.
I was next to him, face up as he lay on his side facing me, and after long enough of this treatment, I did some weird almost yoga pose to get into a position to get that cock in my mouth while still remaining on my back. He was doing a lot of toying with my nipples and breasts and far be it for me to be the one to take that away from him. "Oooh, that's goood," he groaned as I took him in my mouth and sucked.
Here's where it got intense: He started fucking into my face, and with each forward thrust, he squeezed my nipple. Hard. No, harder than that. Each time he hit the back of my throat, he squeezed my nipple hard enough that I squealed around his cock and my body bucked. Four or five strokes in and I could feel my own arousal beginning to trickle out. He stopped the punishing squeezes for a moment and I just moaned "uh huh, uh huh, uh huh!" around his cock.
"Oh, you liked that, did you?" he asked, and resumed the activity. Just when I thought my nipple couldn't take anymore, he switched nipples, causing a renewed frenzy in my sucking. "Suck it, bitch," he said, thrusting into my throat hard and holding it there - along with the hard pinch, an extra long time. I squealed and writhed desperately, and after that I felt him becoming more and more excited - probably from my reactions.
He groaned as he came down my throat, and he said something that indicated it was an especially fine orgasm, but I have no recollection of what he said.
"I think," I whispered, later, when I finally let his softening cock slip from my mouth, "that you like to hurt me."
"Maybe," he agreed, "maybe I do when you like to be hurt."
"Oh, me too," he said, his voice low and full of meaning.
"I don't think our definitions of nap are the same," I smiled.
"I think they are," he said, his fingers slowly toying with my nipples.
"Nuh-uh, I don't think so.... you see, mine involves sleep."
"Mmhmm, a likely story," he said as he made me gasp, his fingers applying their magic across my belly and my nipple at the same time. He was hard and hot as he pressed against me, his skin even hotter than the already uncomfortably warm room. His lips found my nipple and he was sucking hard, pulling it up, making me roll my shoulders and make soft pleased noises that still managed to be slightly protesting.
He pulled his lips off my nipple briefly. "Mine," he reminded me gently, causing the last vestiges of my protest to fade into nothing. He toyed with me for some time.
"I'd like to be inside you," he said at one point, in between hot, deep kisses, his hands roaming over my face, my chest, my shoulders. "I don't think it's a very good idea right now, so I probably won't. But I think I'd enjoy that an awful lot."
His cock was poking out of his boxers, even hotter than the rest of his skin. He took it and started rubbing it against my side, and the side of my breast. "I like to play with my fuck toy," he whispered into my ear as I shuddered.
I was next to him, face up as he lay on his side facing me, and after long enough of this treatment, I did some weird almost yoga pose to get into a position to get that cock in my mouth while still remaining on my back. He was doing a lot of toying with my nipples and breasts and far be it for me to be the one to take that away from him. "Oooh, that's goood," he groaned as I took him in my mouth and sucked.
Here's where it got intense: He started fucking into my face, and with each forward thrust, he squeezed my nipple. Hard. No, harder than that. Each time he hit the back of my throat, he squeezed my nipple hard enough that I squealed around his cock and my body bucked. Four or five strokes in and I could feel my own arousal beginning to trickle out. He stopped the punishing squeezes for a moment and I just moaned "uh huh, uh huh, uh huh!" around his cock.
"Oh, you liked that, did you?" he asked, and resumed the activity. Just when I thought my nipple couldn't take anymore, he switched nipples, causing a renewed frenzy in my sucking. "Suck it, bitch," he said, thrusting into my throat hard and holding it there - along with the hard pinch, an extra long time. I squealed and writhed desperately, and after that I felt him becoming more and more excited - probably from my reactions.
He groaned as he came down my throat, and he said something that indicated it was an especially fine orgasm, but I have no recollection of what he said.
"I think," I whispered, later, when I finally let his softening cock slip from my mouth, "that you like to hurt me."
"Maybe," he agreed, "maybe I do when you like to be hurt."
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Vanquished
"Don't smile at me like that," I bit out at him. Insufferable man, thinks he knows everything.
"How am I smiling at you?" he asked, his blue eyes sparkling, the corners of his lips turning up even more.
"Like, 'She's saying 'no' now, but soon she won't be.'"
"Mmhmm," he said, his lips settling over mine. I struggled. His hands clasped my wrists and pinned them down. I struggled, pulling at my wrists, and he tightened his grip. With his mouth, he pushed my shirt over my breast, then fixed his mouth on my nipple, sucking hard, biting. "Mine!" he said when I squealed.
"You're mine," he said, straddling my hips, sitting up. He pushed my night shirt up past my breasts and I twisted. He slapped my breast, hard. I moaned, bucking underneath him, meeting the hard wall of his body that prevented any escape. He slapped my breasts from the other side, setting up a rhythm. I'm not sure how long he went on like that, slapping my breasts, making them bounce, making me buck and squeal. "I can do whatever the fuck I want with you," he said. "If you didn't like that, you should have thought of that before you gave yourself to me."
He rose up, moving his hips until they were in front of my face, and then his cock was rubbing over my face, pushing past my lips, over my cheeks, bumping into my nose. I was grunting, my eyes squeezed shut. "Lick it!" he ordered. I stuck my tongue out and let it glide across his skin as he continued humping my face. He pulled my shirt up and over my head, leaving my arms in it so it was hooked behind my neck. He kneaded my breasts, pressing them together almost painfully as I arched and groaned beneath him, moving his hips to fuck between them.
"Whose are you?" His words were timed perfectly with a slap aimed at my breast.
"Yours."
"And what are you for?" I arched, expecting another slap, but none came. He was patiently waiting for an answer.
"For you to fuck," I whispered.
"I should get on that then." He slid up, his cock pressing into my mouth. I moaned as he pressed against my face, holding the sides of my head. He placed a pillow under my neck for a better angle, and slid in until I gagged, noises forced from me from his cock forcing air out of my throat. I love that noise. He fucked my face slowly, murmuring words that are lost in the fog, making me groan and grunt as he filled my face with his cock over and over.
"Good fuck hole," he murmured softly, praise and degradation combining to make my body tremble as he pulled away. A moan emerged from somewhere deep in my throat, a primal noise coming from a place beyond thought.
"Did you forget that you were a fuck hole?" he asked, his thumb sinking into my mouth, replacing his cock. I could only moan as I sucked on it.
"How does that make you feel?"
I was beyond words, in a place where the feeling has no name. I felt owned, used, simultaneously degraded and adored, and very fucking aroused. I managed a grunt in response.
"Let's see how it makes you feel," he said, sliding down my body.
"Oooh, it makes you feel good," he whispered, his cock sliding into the arousal he had created, filling me up. My eyes were darting around and I was moaning. Our eyes met as he entered me fully. "For lack of a better word."
I moaned, rolling my hips up into him to feel him deeper. "I'd ask you to come up with a better one," he said, his voice gravelly in my ear, "but I think you're beyond finding words. I think you're just reduced to a fuck toy now."
He thought right.
He felt amazing.
We stayed like that, rocking into each other, for some time. My legs scrambled for purchase on our smooth sheets to push back against him. He pinned my wrists to the bed and drove into me, forcing groans from me. Waves of dizziness swept over me as my blood rushed away from my head.
But then he pulled away, seemingly suddenly. "Uh?" I grunted, looking at him as he rose to his knees. He was leaving the bed. "Where you going?" I stammered out.
"I'm going to put you up on this ramp and fuck you," he said matter-of-factly. He kept saying he was going to do that last time too, but he never did. I crawled out of the way on all fours and he plopped the Liberator ramp down in front of me. I whimpered. "Go on, get up there," he said. It's so hard to hold my balance up there at this point, but I did as I was told.
He put the wedge in front of me for me to rest on, because he's not completely evil. I climbed up on all fours and he grabbed my hips, sinking deeply into me. His cock first rubbed against my g-spot and then slammed into my cervix. I screamed and arched up, away from him, but he grabbed my hips and held me, pumping into me like that over and over. Pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain, they coexisted and then they mingled and then I was driving back into him and I was screaming "Oh God," nearly constantly. He grabbed my hair in one hand, pulling straight up, forcing me up onto my fingertips, and he kept pulling higher. His other hand wrapped around my throat, his fingers pressing into my windpipe just so, not blocking my air completely but restricting it just enough that I could only rasp "Oh God," and breathe raggedly, and the whole time he kept fucking me, fucking me, the cock, the hair, the throat. So. Fucking. Perfect.
I was screaming raggedly and he was holding my throat and pulling against it with each thrust, giving my hair a little tug as well, and I felt him get closer to his own release. I screamed even louder, overloaded with the extreme sexiness of it all, as he pumped himself into me, releasing his orgasm into my body.
He pulled away gently and I collapsed there, legs hanging off the bed, face buried in the wedge. He rubbed my back. "You want me to hold you now, love?" he asked tenderly.
This man.
I think he can keep me.
"How am I smiling at you?" he asked, his blue eyes sparkling, the corners of his lips turning up even more.
"Like, 'She's saying 'no' now, but soon she won't be.'"
"Mmhmm," he said, his lips settling over mine. I struggled. His hands clasped my wrists and pinned them down. I struggled, pulling at my wrists, and he tightened his grip. With his mouth, he pushed my shirt over my breast, then fixed his mouth on my nipple, sucking hard, biting. "Mine!" he said when I squealed.
"You're mine," he said, straddling my hips, sitting up. He pushed my night shirt up past my breasts and I twisted. He slapped my breast, hard. I moaned, bucking underneath him, meeting the hard wall of his body that prevented any escape. He slapped my breasts from the other side, setting up a rhythm. I'm not sure how long he went on like that, slapping my breasts, making them bounce, making me buck and squeal. "I can do whatever the fuck I want with you," he said. "If you didn't like that, you should have thought of that before you gave yourself to me."
He rose up, moving his hips until they were in front of my face, and then his cock was rubbing over my face, pushing past my lips, over my cheeks, bumping into my nose. I was grunting, my eyes squeezed shut. "Lick it!" he ordered. I stuck my tongue out and let it glide across his skin as he continued humping my face. He pulled my shirt up and over my head, leaving my arms in it so it was hooked behind my neck. He kneaded my breasts, pressing them together almost painfully as I arched and groaned beneath him, moving his hips to fuck between them.
"Whose are you?" His words were timed perfectly with a slap aimed at my breast.
"Yours."
"And what are you for?" I arched, expecting another slap, but none came. He was patiently waiting for an answer.
"For you to fuck," I whispered.
"I should get on that then." He slid up, his cock pressing into my mouth. I moaned as he pressed against my face, holding the sides of my head. He placed a pillow under my neck for a better angle, and slid in until I gagged, noises forced from me from his cock forcing air out of my throat. I love that noise. He fucked my face slowly, murmuring words that are lost in the fog, making me groan and grunt as he filled my face with his cock over and over.
"Good fuck hole," he murmured softly, praise and degradation combining to make my body tremble as he pulled away. A moan emerged from somewhere deep in my throat, a primal noise coming from a place beyond thought.
"Did you forget that you were a fuck hole?" he asked, his thumb sinking into my mouth, replacing his cock. I could only moan as I sucked on it.
"How does that make you feel?"
I was beyond words, in a place where the feeling has no name. I felt owned, used, simultaneously degraded and adored, and very fucking aroused. I managed a grunt in response.
"Let's see how it makes you feel," he said, sliding down my body.
"Oooh, it makes you feel good," he whispered, his cock sliding into the arousal he had created, filling me up. My eyes were darting around and I was moaning. Our eyes met as he entered me fully. "For lack of a better word."
I moaned, rolling my hips up into him to feel him deeper. "I'd ask you to come up with a better one," he said, his voice gravelly in my ear, "but I think you're beyond finding words. I think you're just reduced to a fuck toy now."
He thought right.
He felt amazing.
We stayed like that, rocking into each other, for some time. My legs scrambled for purchase on our smooth sheets to push back against him. He pinned my wrists to the bed and drove into me, forcing groans from me. Waves of dizziness swept over me as my blood rushed away from my head.
But then he pulled away, seemingly suddenly. "Uh?" I grunted, looking at him as he rose to his knees. He was leaving the bed. "Where you going?" I stammered out.
"I'm going to put you up on this ramp and fuck you," he said matter-of-factly. He kept saying he was going to do that last time too, but he never did. I crawled out of the way on all fours and he plopped the Liberator ramp down in front of me. I whimpered. "Go on, get up there," he said. It's so hard to hold my balance up there at this point, but I did as I was told.
He put the wedge in front of me for me to rest on, because he's not completely evil. I climbed up on all fours and he grabbed my hips, sinking deeply into me. His cock first rubbed against my g-spot and then slammed into my cervix. I screamed and arched up, away from him, but he grabbed my hips and held me, pumping into me like that over and over. Pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain, they coexisted and then they mingled and then I was driving back into him and I was screaming "Oh God," nearly constantly. He grabbed my hair in one hand, pulling straight up, forcing me up onto my fingertips, and he kept pulling higher. His other hand wrapped around my throat, his fingers pressing into my windpipe just so, not blocking my air completely but restricting it just enough that I could only rasp "Oh God," and breathe raggedly, and the whole time he kept fucking me, fucking me, the cock, the hair, the throat. So. Fucking. Perfect.
I was screaming raggedly and he was holding my throat and pulling against it with each thrust, giving my hair a little tug as well, and I felt him get closer to his own release. I screamed even louder, overloaded with the extreme sexiness of it all, as he pumped himself into me, releasing his orgasm into my body.
He pulled away gently and I collapsed there, legs hanging off the bed, face buried in the wedge. He rubbed my back. "You want me to hold you now, love?" he asked tenderly.
This man.
I think he can keep me.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
MY blog-iversary
One year ago I published my first real post, Things I adore, after my About me page had been sitting around for about a week.
It's been an awesome year, guys. People come, people go, and some stay and become amazing friends. I've noticed a lot of folks celebrating their one-year in recent weeks, and I had no idea so many of us started right around the same time.
The blog has become such an astounding archive of my personal life - I think it's the most constantly-updated journal of any sort I've ever kept (and I've kept a lot). Viewing some of my early posts, I can also see how much my writing has improved over the last year.
Here's to many more, wonderful readers!
It's been an awesome year, guys. People come, people go, and some stay and become amazing friends. I've noticed a lot of folks celebrating their one-year in recent weeks, and I had no idea so many of us started right around the same time.
The blog has become such an astounding archive of my personal life - I think it's the most constantly-updated journal of any sort I've ever kept (and I've kept a lot). Viewing some of my early posts, I can also see how much my writing has improved over the last year.
Here's to many more, wonderful readers!
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