Oct 082017
 

I have a few go to phrases, “I suck at handjobs,” is one of those. It’s something that I don’t have a lot of practice in because that go-to statement is normally enough to get my off the hook and moving onto things that I do better. The reality is just that it’s a nonpreferred activity in a bag full of fun sexiness, and something that felt awkward to me.

The nitty gritty of that statement is that I feel handjobs are an area of weakness for me and rather than encourage practice and learning about it, I avoid it like the plague. There will be no blemish on my skill level. Nope.

That doesn’t mean that my hand doesn’t wrap around a cock, or that my palm or fingers don’t appreciate sliding up and down to feel how thick and hard he is, the pulse that I can create, the veins that create a contrast to the smoothness. Oh no, I appreciate all of that. My hands will still most likely touch and feel, but they won’t ever promise a motion that promises fulfillment. My hands will work in tandem with my mouth, most often, if fulfillment to him and hands are involved in any way. That’s part of my own fetish anyhow, having him in my mouth, perhaps that’s why: my greedy mouth does not like to step aside for just hands.

I love when a partner shows me how they like to grip themselves, stroke themselves, the pace that gets them off. Besides being visually stunning and a turn on, I do learn from that – just don’t feel confident in that I could duplicate that sensation due to my lack of experience. I will mimic it, but more as a tease and less of an act in itself, stopping rather quickly so I can get to something I feel more confident in. Every man is so vastly different, from my experience, in how they want a handjob that it’s a bit daunting.

There have been some exceptions, I am sure, far far into my past where a man came unexpectedly, but I can’t place one situation. With my ex-husband, I would peg him and stroke him with a hand at the same time, but he took control of the handjob the first time so our go-to was I would encourage him to stroke himself while I fucked him. For us, if he wanted me to give him a handjob until orgasm, I would’ve tried, but he let me off the hook every time – besides our fascination was always deep throating or sex to fulfillment.

With Mr. Texas, he finally vocalized and showed me what he liked, but it is not something that I feel I could duplicate – rather I learned where he likes to be touched best and to what extent – knowledge I use frequently. The few times I have tried to give him a handjob, he has let me know he’d rather do other things – somewhat discouraging me when I feel bold enough to try. Which normally I wouldn’t care about – again, a bag full of fun things to do anyhow, but I would like to try to give him fulfillment in this way, as oftentimes he will just finger me to orgasm without his own pleasure pursuit so I would like to reciprocate… but he doesn’t seem to want me to try? Or perhaps I suck at the act? Maybe his own kink is getting me off without any pleasure being returned? (It’s not our lack of communication that stops me from knowing my answer – it’s my own fear of the answer).

The Wanderer, well, now I have a success story for this post. He loves handjobs – something that filled me with dread, but he is an excellent teacher, and he walked through my first successfully tried handjob. He was able to verbalize exactly what he wanted and needed, and that was such a huge turn on in itself. It was beautiful to witness.

“My hand wrapped around his shaft and he directed to where exactly to hold on the length. Unsure, I squeezed a bit and he directed me to clench harder. Up and down, my fingers felt the muscles and veins and ridges, my palm felt how deliciously hard he was. His encouragement with the timber of his voice, the erotic words directing me, and I found myself growing wet, imagining what I felt in my hand sliding up and down inside my cunt.

As he hardened even more, his thigh muscles tightened and his hips thrusted a bit into my hand, and I felt powerful. I was creating these sensations that he was enjoying, producing pleasure that had nothing to do with me and every bit directed just for him. There is something selfless about a hand job: it allowed me to be more of an observer of his pleasure, gifted me an intimate view of how he reacts and what he liked, such an intimate glimpse.

I felt him pulse and throb against my fingers and palm, watched as his milky orgasm reached its climax and shot out of his cock, heard his groan of satisfaction. It was so hot” – Hot Wax and Hands

[jwplayer mediaid=”7535″]

Sep 242017
 

The first time I wrote about this topic was for Kink of the Week over four years ago. At that point, I had just been spanked for the time after orgasms. I really enjoyed that first time, and slowly, tentatively, carefully I was spanked from time to time – but always after orgasms and never with much frequency.

Kink of the Week also got me to talk about one of the rare times I bruised from having my bottom spanked a year after that, with a partner that was less careful and tentative, and whose spanking I discovered I really enjoyed despite the less orgasm-hazed brain and more with the warm up of just his hand on my skin. I learned that spanking on its own could be something I desired if done right – though far be for me to deny an orgasm.

The following year, again with Kink of the Week, I discussed how hands on my ass has helped me accept that even this part of my body is sexy – before that I thought I lacked the bottom for anyone, myself included, to appreciate.

That post was two years ago and spanking happened irregularly. Since then, I’ve met two men and they both spank me quite a bit.

The Wanderer’s main kink is spanking, and when we first began playing it certainly wasn’t mine – I was still really new to this activity and had a love/hate relationship with it. But I wanted to engage in a kink that he enjoyed, so he gave me my first over-the-knee spanking and showed me the power dynamics that can be felt from just a change of positioning. I have since learned that I enjoy spanking on its own and sometimes want it under the right circumstances. Bare handed spanking is now part of our play, which I had a strong feeling it would be because it was his kink, but I was pleasantly surprised how much I can enjoy it. We engage in this activity so much that I created a category for it on the blog. He’s taught me that spanking on its own can be a whole scene, that sex and other things do not need to occur for me to get something out of it that I need or want. Though again, far be it for me to say no to orgasms – I’ve even orgasmed from being spanked:

“Right when it began to feel good, it began to really sting again. He swatted constantly and consistently at a fast pace and somehow even with my legs rendered useless I managed to twist and turn around his body, wedging myself between him and the bed for protection.

He simply laughed at me and wrapped a solid arm around my waist, continuing his sting assault as he shifted his own body off of the the bench.

I clung to the bench as if it would save my overly dramatic life, pressed my breasts and belly and thighs into it, willing myself to meld into hiding.

He shifted tactics and used thuds – it was probably from his palms but it felt like his fists. My body tensed at the onslaught and I began to clench. More tension and suddenly my body released and surrendered at the pain, creating a pleasurable orgasm in the wake.” – The Brush

At the same time as spanking became part of my play, I was also dating Mr. Texas. He was a vanilla (big emphasis on that past tense word), and spanking seemed to be a good baby step. Mr. Texas doesn’t always like warm up, he loves to see the marks that his hand can create and is often impatient to get there, but he is a natural top in this. (He’s also taught me that I enjoy punching with the thud far more than spanking with the sting.)

He has also made me cry from spanking:

“Mr. Texas’ hands did the real damage as they almost always do, first caressed my reddened cheeks which felt amazing, softly patted a few times, then pulled back and spanked to where the imprint of every finger and thumb connect to his palm was not only visible – it was felt.

I jumped up and elbowed him in the chest, though not hard as I couldn’t see and he stepped back. If we had made eye contact, I’m sure my gaze would have conveyed my dislike over such extreme stingy pain, though he didn’t need to see – he knew how much I disliked it.

“Mother fucker,” I gritted, tip toeing to relieve some sting on my cheek – it didn’t alleviate any. His hand went to my mid back and he pushed me down to bend over the counter again.” – Wet Leather 

Between these two men, spanking has occurred a lot in the last couple of years, as well as the addition of a play partner in a dungeon who has used me as demo bottom for spanking with newbies. I think I claim that bare handed spanking is a kink of mine, something I could not do when I first began writing about it four years ago.

Sep 072017
 

Squirting is a sexual hangup on mine; my very first hangup since becoming sexual active and it happened less than ten years ago. It also occurred with my ex-husband. The first time he made me squirt, he lifted his hand and smelled it. It wasn’t a sexy smelling he was doing, he was checking to see if I peed myself. Since I had never done this before to my awareness*, the sensation certainly felt like I  had. When I saw his hand lift to his nose, it was a horror-movie-moment of slow-motion what-is he-going-to-find? I immediately excused myself and went into the bathroom and cried, mortified and embarrassed. The sexy moment between us had come to a screeching halt and I wished I could have just vanished. The talk afterwards didn’t go well, then, either (once he finally coaxed me out of the bathroom). While we communicated openly and honestly, we just fumbled and stuck our foot in our mouth.

I hated squirting.

Because of that first experience and the fact that he could make me squirt with such ridiculous ease, we compromised that he never sniffed and eventually we settled to only in the shower.

When I squirt, I will cover an entire wrist and leave a pool of my desire dripping onto the sheets or an arm; there has to be enough pressure applied with a vibe or fingers – which curl just the right way inside of me (so far fingering and a vibrator are the only ways that have made me squirt). I dislike the mess outside of a shower, to be honest. Sheet and mattress pad have to be washed, odds are I’ll have to shower – something I don’t feel the urge to do outside most sexual acts but squirting covers so much of my lower half I may as well at least rinse off.

Once, I was able to do this myself with a vibrator.  Feeling the urge to masturbate, I grabbed my vibrator, and without any warm up, forced it through my dry entrance, slowly eased it in, pulled out and smeared my juices inside around my lips. Then I thrusted my vibrating toy in and out, hard, rough, frenzied. I heard my orgasm, the wetness slapping against the vibrator; felt the tension then liquid hitting my hand, little splatterings that surprised me. In that moment I was proud I had accomplished such a feat.

Once, Mr. Texas ordered me to make myself squirt – something my ex-husband accomplished over a video chat once, ordering:

“Harder,” he would urge, “really fuck yourself,” and, “you can go deeper… you won’t be allowed to cum unless you really give it your best effort,” finally followed by the order, “cum”…The sound traveled across miles, from one receiver to another, and hit my body like thunder. I squirted, my fingers and wrist coated from the force, the bottom of my lingerie and the bed catching the drops of the tensioned storm because he knew how to make me do it-even to myself. – My Punishment

I tried for Mr. Texas, but I immediately felt like crying over such an order – I really don’t know how to do it, nor do I even want to (hence why my ex made me- it was a punishment). Truly, what is most frustrating at times is when a partner reads about experiences I’ve had and believes that the dynamics, actions, experiences can happen again. Squirting is elusive now, something that I do not mind in the slightest.

Nowadays, Mr. Texas has gotten me close, and perhaps even achieved this, though I do have a defense mechanism that is instinctively for whatever reason: I hit. I’m sure I did this with my ex-husband but he never paid any heed if I hit him; Mr. Texas stopped immediately, concerned. We’ve talked about why I do this, and so most of the time he still proceeds or even pins down my arm (surprisingly I only instinctively hit with my right, never my left), but squirting orgasms have to be forced from me, and with my own resistance towards them it becomes even more challenging to create this orgasm.

Thankfully, I have so many more less frustrating orgasms, easier to obtain, in such a variety of ways; I’m not sure why squirting orgasms are even desired by a partner. I don’t hate squirting anymore but I can’t claim to like it either.

*I can recall drenching a bed from just fingering and multiple orgasms before my ex-husband, but due to the nature of the multiple orgasms didn’t have the time or the brain power to reflect upon the oddities of the orgasms. I believe that this was my first experience with squirting, about a year prior to meeting my ex-husband.

Aug 152017
 

Kink of the Week’s prompt sparked my interest on names and titles. Actually, that’s like saying I read the prompts and just this one caught my eye – truth is I rarely even know what the prompt is. But I discovered this one, and it’s awesome and thought provoking.

I tackled titles in 30 Days on Kink where I tried to define my kinky self. Then, on the way to a GRUE, Mr. Texas and I were discussing how we define (well, a lot of things), and names and titles are handy for that, though no one model always fits. I stated that I’m going through a kink midlife crisis – I no longer know how to define my kinky self, nor necessarily how to define my relationship with others.

In the 30 Day writing prompt: I defined myself as wife – I am no longer, nor do I have any desire to take on that role.

ADD Brat: yeah, I’m really not that either. I don’t brat often with Mr. Texas – it began as more of trying to show that his role of top would be respected and now is just a natural role with us. I also don’t brat with The Wanderer.

Rope bottom: this has led to the most crisis type feeling with my kink identity as that used to be a primary role I would tell people and now it just doesn’t feel true. I’m sure that rope is still my most responsive kink, but I no longer actively look for it nor do I initiate any rope play. Therefore, can I even really claim this role?

Lightweight bottom: still am this, but I’ve learned I can take far more than I thought possible.

Primal: still am this, though it’s rare I’ll engage, and not with the same intensity (mostly because I’m not physically cool enough).

Switch: I’ve taken on this role far more than I would’ve thought possible.

Submissive: I’ve taken this role far less than I used to.

New to me roles:

Top: A role I find myself enjoying more and more.

Mistress: I’ve been called this in the past on a rare occasion, likewise with the present. It makes me feel slightly like a fraud – I simply don’t feel cool enough for this title, nor does it seem to fit anything I am seeking.

Impact bottom: Surprisingly, I like impact far more than I could’ve thought possible, given my wimpy nature.

Girlfriend: I use this term with vanillas.

Speaking of vanillas…

A few weeks ago Mr. Texas asked what I refer to him as. I asked him in what context.He mentioned that I introduced him as my partner at a rope event. I told him to vanillas, he’s my boyfriend (a term I rarely use), my guy (most frequent), my spouse, or my husband (it’s easier, I found). (No, we’re not legally married.) To kinky people, I refer to him most often as my partner. To people really seeking what type of partner, I would use the term primary, though nesting would work. We’re committed, as much as our relationship defines, and living together and raising little folks. I haven’t quite put a title on it, nor do I feel the urge to (though I know it’s peace of mind to give some sort of shape to dynamics).

The Wanderer and I also recently had a discussion on roles and titles. He has a few he uses for me, though to be honest none of them stick in my head where I could even state them now. I wouldn’t even know how to define our relationship – and I expressed the vague sort of titles I would use for him, though admitted that none felt accurate.

I really dislike titles and roles, though again I know people use whatever vocabulary they have at hand to try to describe just how important a person is to them, and what they consider themselves to be. I am not picking my titles, I’m okay with people defining how they will, and I’m trying to give the same respect when asked how I would describe them (though I’m not assigning titles or roles even in my head either).

The problem…

At the GRUE, there were great conversations on defining what the term relationship even meant to an individual, and what sort of poly they were (if they were poly). Defining things, people, ourselves seem to matter, regardless of how much I dislike doing so – it does increase effective communication with others, something I dearly want.

And the hard limits:

I have a serious dislike of the term “girl” in reference to myself, it just takes me out of my head space in unpleasant ways. Likewise, daddy or mommy (or other parental names) wouldn’t work for me either. I am indifferent on names like slut, I’m learning – it simply does nothing for me.

Jul 262017
 

“It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.” Author Mark Haddon describes this in an excellent book, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. 

That’s what rain is to me on so many levels; it’s sensations without being intrusive. I’ve written that every time it rains I have all the windows open and am most often sitting the doorway to the outside, watching it, listening to it, smelling and connecting as much as I can. Rain is sensed, smelled in the distance, felt in the oppressive weight in the air. It covers all my senses, makes my skin damp. I love how I can feel just a drop or two, and then a downpour can completely cover me. I love a gentle rain that I can play in, or rain that engulfs and takes every inch of my body; in either type or somewhere in the middle you can find me often outside barefoot and appreciating the sensations that rain creates.

I haven’t necessarily rushed home with a lover and slowly peeled off each layer of dripping clothes, licking up the droplets that remain on their skin, but I like that fantasy.

I love how the water can seep between us in ways nothing else can, in between lips, tasting the liquid between sliding tongues.

Rain can shift perspective on everything, blur, clean, refresh the world around me.

Jul 152017
 

My favorite type of fingering is hard/rough, fast, and deep; I love thrusting type motions far more than anything else for orgasms so if one or two fingers are inside of me, filling me, and I can feel the remainder of the fingers and hand slamming against my lips, it’s heavenly. Fingering is something that I didn’t care much for until recent years, when I discovered I liked it exactly that way. I also learned that I can squirt, cover an entire wrist and leave a pool of my desire dripping onto the sheets, if there’s enough pressure applied and fingers curl just the right way inside of me (so far fingering and one time with a vibrator are the only ways that have made me squirt).

Recently I’ve had some amazing experiences with fingers…

…I was teased for a length of time, and then it felt as if his whole fist was inside of me (it wasn’t, I was reassured, just a couple of fingers), painful, and my body wasn’t quite ready and stretched to accommodate but the act of forcing inside of me, the tightness of my body gripped around the intrusion created its own pleasure, and soon I coated his fingers and relaxed more against the pressure. He moved so agonizing slowly, intentionally based on his smile and ignoring of my begging. Finger tips circled the entrance, pressed in, gradually sunk in deeper and deeper where the length filled to almost painful, unhurriedly slid along my walls, out. I squeezed against the length, willed my body to orgasm despite the maddening pace, but he deliberately kept a  measure  I couldn’t. Finally, the pain as his teeth sunk into the sensitive nub of a nipple created such tension that I gratefully climaxed around his fingers.

…A few times I’ve had a new experience of one finger anally inserted and the others crammed into my cunt. It is unbelievable to me  how much I really appreciate the feeling of being filled with fingers, of stimulation in both places so very close together that I don’t often experience. A few times I’ve wondered if I like it so much because it is a rare treat, or if I would like it each and every time I get to experience it; I used to have sex with a finger in my anus more regularly and I liked it every time, so perhaps it is not the novelty of the stimulation.

Fingering seems to be in many of my posts as it’s such an easy way for me to orgasm to…

Half laying on my side and stomach, I woke up when fingers roughly pushed their way into my body, pounded in and out to where the hand and remaining fingers felt like a fist against my lips.

I was already wet, as it seems I always am. I clenched around the fingers and dream and reality splintered with the rough and quick orgasm.”Feeling Forced

Waking up to a fingering is such a fetish I have, but I’ve learned that I appreciate the many different ways of anticipating fingers inside of me as well.

He put a finger in my mouth, and I sucked on it, running my tongue down the side, my lips sliding all the down the length of it, before he pulled it back and moved the finger between my labia, my own kisses allowing his finger to slide inside before it curled deliciously against my g-spot. He moved unhurriedly, rubbing it against my spot, uncurling, slowly easing the teasing digit out, softly circling my entrance, bringing out my cream, dipping back in, back out, spreading my dampness between my lips and up to my clitoris, circling and flicking the nub, again advancing between my folds…oh my…

We had been going all day; my sore body was still so very sensitive as well. “Finger fuck me hard,” I groaned, arching my back, my hips bucking against his slow and torturous finger. He complied, his finger dancing in and down to a rhythm by now he knew I liked. My thighs trembled, tightened, thrusting my hips up to meet his finger, to fuck it even harder….Tightening, tensing, clenching, trying to grip just the one finger, feeling it press, feeling my core absorbing the touch and fanning the sensation outwards, I moaned into my orgasm.” – Finger 

Mar 212017
 

I love storms. Every time it rains I have all the windows open and am most often sitting the doorway to the outside, watching it, listening to it, smelling and connecting as much as I can. I am surprised I haven’t lost my love of storms.

My tempest.

From solitude to engulfed in booms – the varying patterns of this shift are frightful at times.

There’s no place to go in a thunderstorm to escape it; I can push myself further out into the storm or take very little comfort in the return a house that offers no solace. It is not silent and it cannot be drowned out yelling for it to stop.

A thunderstorm is loud, powerful, demands attention, to be heard.

I seek warmth amid the warning winds: want to be touched and possessed, feel the gliding against my body; with lightning as a companion I light up. My body and my mind crave that delight of visual and utterance.

Where otherwise there may be soft silence, I feel awake and ignited with the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning.

The thunder rolls and sometimes a small shake in the ground can even be perceived in the ground. I can look up and see nothing. Rain is sensed, smelled in the distance, felt in the oppressive weight in the air. It covers all my senses, makes my skin damp. It signals a downpour, body feels just a drop or two and then suddenly water pours from the sky.  I can feel myself getting soaked, the lightning exposing far more than the tips of the trees swaying violently, little hidden amid storm. The rain pounds down to the earth, becomes a very deep awareness that fills every sense, the thunder creates a shudder and a groan. My heartbeat will pound to the eruption. The crepuscular does not confuse me, it is a language heard and felt through every nerve, rendered violent but mesmerized with dark erotic fantasies. I am left humble by how it provokes a physical reaction, perceived darkness that demands attention far more than shadowed whispers. I will feel goose bumps along my skin, and my own body tremors slightly. Still, the thundered rolls, but it becomes a background noise so far away, more of a relaxing soothing background sound.

I like things that take, that demand, that awaken, that can be felt everywhere; I like the signal of what’s to come, the roar of it as its there, and the echo that it leaves behind.

Jan 262017
 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/martekristineo/5502801613

I agree with those that feel that a safe word is not needed, that no and stop should be exactly that.

I also agree with those that feel that a safe word is needed, that they don’t want their no and stop to always mean that.

I also realized that I need to be clear where I stand. I used to be the second option – I wanted the struggle, my instinct when something hurts is to say no and stop, but I can continue and I want my partner to push me.

I learned a very hard lesson in the complications of this negotiated use of safe words when I felt like I was forced anally, but he expected me to use my safe word.

“First and foremost, while my safeword did not occur to me, I did have one. My ex truly expected me to use it… I believe that he expected me to safeword if I felt that strongly about “no” after talking to him months later. And I truly did not even think about using a safeword, felt like my “no” and “stop” were enough; after all – just the day prior we discussed needing the safeword before a scene. I didn’t use a safeword with him just having sex with him – never felt that was needed.

Perhaps this is a horrible complication with using safewords, when stop and no don’t always mean stop and no.” – Consent with Anal

My ex and I did discuss safe words before every scene that we felt it was needed – and only the scenes that included impact (or our one time doing consensual non consent). Even in rope I didn’t use a safe word but gave a time that I needed out (even if it was immediately). So I understand why I did not think to safe word, we were just having sex, after all. I also understand why he felt that I would safe word – I do have and use my safe word and he trusted me in that.

So now I’m on the fence with safe words. I still use them, and I’ve been trying to get Mr. Texas to use them. I really like the “yellow” for change up or no further, and the “red” for can’t take anymore. I also, especially when I top him, realize that I am dealing with a man not used to coloring at all, so I listen to his body language,  his words, his noises, and his actions and proceed cautiously, stopping far before he colors. If I force him to color, I warn him ahead of time that is my intent and do only one action (like bite down) until he remembers to use it.

Again, though, I don’t believe that I should only stop when he uses his safe word. If I am playing to the edge it is with someone I trust and who trusts me, someone that I have played with many times before, someone that will know my tells and listen to my body language the same way that I do theirs.

My ex husband should have known mine, should have listened. But we are equally to blame for that scenario.

I still want my no and stop to not mean no and stop when I feel like struggling or fighting back, it is so hot to me that I will be held down or my cries will be ignored. It is also reassuring to me that my safe word will be respected, that I have a safe word.

But I need to start being more consistent with using my safe word, even if I am just having sex, because just having sex is very easily turned into something else once we’re naked and having fun. I need to not view sex as an activity isolated from BDSM, because it is not, and it rarely ever is just sex with me.

I can easily view how I am inconsistent: The Wanderer would never have to worry about me not coloring and using my safe word – we have a clear boundary of no intercourse and a partnership that’s foundation is BDSM. Neither would anyone that I played with in a dungeon or other kink event. Mr. Texas, however, may have to worry if he pushed for something I didn’t want to do – and that’s incredibly unfair to him; but I view us as having a sexual relationship first, exploring each other in BDSM second – and BDSM being new to him especially he needs to read other cues and listen to words (to an extent – he already has figured out my no rarely means no but I like the protest).

I am confusing as hell about using my own safe word and that isn’t fair to my sexual partner. I have learned that I cannot rely, either, on my partner and I consistently using a safe word only in certain scenes (like impact or consensual non consent).

It is up to me to clearly define and use my safe word to my partners, and to be consistent.

Aug 212016
 

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On Twitter, as part of my independent self love goal, I wrote about not completing a task and forgiving myself for that. I was given a last minute (an hour) order to accomplish something and didn’t; I later told him I needed understanding and to keep in mind that it’s fair to ask 24 hour notice. While he agreed that there would be no punishment, and gave me a more simple task I could complete last minute (see picture), he will be “keeping in mind” that I didn’t do it as he asked last time. Yikes!

Tasks are something that I view as being very specific to power dynamics, and something that can be considered almost a to-do list. I don’t view tasks as something that is said in the moment (unless the scene is laid out) – they have to be thought of prior, and in my own experience have a deadline or time set aside.

A recent task I was given

In this regard, with this definition, I have only engaged in tasks with my husband – though I’m sure truly it could be applied to perhaps two other people, but with them power dynamics have been more present but not fully established. It is unquestionable to me that I obey my husband’s commands when it comes to sex and kink (granted that means that a safe word is still applicable and that my hard limits are respected). He also tends to push my comfort levels with tasks – visual in some regard, masturbation being the top requested thing (even during our scenes).

His tasks are almost always while we are separated, as he is a visual person and misses the sight of me, not to mention this is a way for him to continue our power dynamics while we aren’t close to each other – a reminder I need quite a bit of as I’m naturally more dominant in personality. I’ve written about some tasks he will give me:

“I want a picture…you will get dressed in your stockings we got you I like, with your crotchless panties, and take pictures. I want a couple of pictures of you playing with yourself and then in child’s pose. If you are feeling real frisky take your new plug and put it in, pull your underwear to expose yourself while in child’s pose, and take that picture. This may be hard to do but you can use your phone timer, or something, I am sure you can figure it out. Only need to send one picture, you can send more, but I think they will turn out good and we can use them for later [for the blog].”

He’s never before been so specific, so detailed, nor has he ever demanded a photo. In the past, he only hinted or suggested I take one for him.

I think this reflects that he is aware of more of what he likes and wants.

I think this also reflects that gradual change that has occurred in our relationship – he’s more dominant overall nowadays. – Tasks

When he got home some months later, he used a video he ordered me to make and had me watch it while we had sex. This was a hard task for me: for one, I struggle to keep my eyes open, for another I dislike how I look – the reason he had me watch: he told me how sexy he found me and how it turned him on, seeking for me to view myself more positively. (Watch)

Videos are challenging for me, and one of his favorite things, so I get video tasks quite often. I dislike doing them, they are out of my comfort zone, and yet I am excited that he likes them. If I didn’t receive positive affirmation, I may not do them at all (last time was a lukewarm response that I’m sifting through some emotions with – believing that it’s my own emotions versus his).

Because videos are such a challenge, I find loopholes all the time, and he is learning those loopholes. An example would be when he told me to wear something sexy, and I wore a flannel because I found that sexy; though I did give him one hell of a strip dance – another request for that particular task and one that made me feel mutinous. He also knows exactly when I will balk, and has learned that the consequence has to up the ante. The last time I became too busy to complete a task, there was a severe consequence that I am not anxious to repeat (this time he also picked out my clothes so that I would wear something he found sexy), though the my punishment was incredibly hot.

Even though we switch in our marriage, the power dynamics are firmly established when the switch takes place. If I am in charge and he tries to pull rank, I don’t put up with it and his body often feels my displeasure. He hates pain and it really isn’t part of our scenes where I dominate him, “When I increased the sensations in roughness, I also took less care of tenderness – kissing him less, manhandling him more. When he would try to move away from a sensation, my hand was around his neck or my elbows were digging into a pressure point to keep him still, with a warning that he soon heeded to stay still and work through accepting the sensations” (Pegging Again). My elbows tend to be pretty accurate and get the point across on a physical level that I am in charge.

I use tasks most often to dominate him, a handy tool I learned a couple years ago after many failed attempts to give him a scene that he envisioned but couldn’t verbalize, “I…do what I do best: I made a list of what I needed and what I was planning – though the planned part was vague so that he didn’t understand… I threw him the list. ‘Complete each one, wait before completing another as I have a task you need to do in between each step.'” (Lists will save me). 

Some tasks I’ve given him are:

  • cleaning out a wax warmer to put in massage wax (because I was lazy)
  • fingering me to orgasm
  • tying my velcro ties around the bed for his height
  • edging himself
  • finding items for the scene (again, lazy)
  • making me orgasm through sex a certain number of times without cumming
  • putting me in my strap on harness (I just need help with adjustments, but I make him do all the work).

I will also give him some video/phone/writing tasks while we are long distance. These are mostly so I can seek to understand something; for instance, I just recently asked him to think about and explain why he made the comment that I am not a hard enough bottom and that he may find our level of play unsatisfactory long term, also what kind of hard play he was referring to missing and what he got out of it. The comment hurt me, but I tried to understand what he was saying, and not putting my own feelings and implying it to his intention. When I ask for a masturbation video with specifics, I am looking for what he finds hot/sexy/how he touches and when.

So tasks are about power dynamics and firmly establishing/reaffirming them, but also to show care, support, and seek understanding. And then sometimes, they’re just hot and fun and filthy and wonderful.

Except for the rare exceptions, all of the tasks so far between the two of us tend to be incredibly masturbation-worthy.

Jul 192016
 

I had my first orgasm at noon; I had my last orgasm at midnight. There was only perhaps a couple of hours broken up in between all of that. For those that know how easily and how hard I orgasm, that’s quite a day of a lot of orgasms.

Far, far too many orgasms. It was ridiculously easy to get me to orgasm as the night went on.

In the day, I met a man (Tech Talk) that I went out on a few dates with. It was our first time kissing, so why not move it to our first time fucking as well? He is a very sweet man who is interested and incredibly open minded about kink. We had discussed boundaries and limits dates prior to this and the path was laid out on which directions I could go.

So, I gave him some small tastes of kink. I began by giving him different sensations. My fingers swept softly, my nails raked angry red trails down his body. My mouth kissed gently, sucked, nibbled a lot, and then once I realized he had a high pain threshold – bit roughly everywhere; he had already shared that he liked to be bit. Silk fabric caressed up and down parts of his body before blindfolding him. I took a Wartenberg Wheel to him, tiny little pinpricks of marks across his skin which he handled so well that I pressed deeply into his skin and blazed intermittent dotted pieces like those in the center of a road showing the trail I traveled for days across his skin.

He kept complimenting me, saying how rare and unusual I was, how exciting, how he scored himself a hot woman, how lucky he was. He complimented my body, my touch, my mouth. He claimed that I was absolutely amazing at giving head.

And then it was his turn to do things to me. He went down on me for so long that I orgasmed, then he fingered me to a few more orgasms. He stretched on a condom and entered me, missionary for just a moment and then around to hands and knees behind me, then laying down completely on my back. He complimented how I felt while pushing for orgasm after orgasm (which was ridiculously easy after going down on me for so long).

We became a sweaty mess  who both claimed that we needed a nap after we were finally done. But I had places to go, so I cleaned up and left him…

…Onto the dungeon.

Where after a negotiation, I had two people co top me, with no genital touching (breasts were fine), no penetration, no marks, no blood or needle play, but name calling and lighter impact were fine…unless I orgasm. That last part was from an off hand comment that I can take more from an orgasm. (Honestly, I didn’t think I would orgasm while there because of the no penetration rule – I didn’t take into account how my body was already sensitive from the orgasms before I arrived at the dungeon.)

As the man came in with his toy bag, she threw in that piece of information, and he asked if I wanted a hitachi. I said maybe, and that I would think on it. So when the man slapped at my vulva and got the rhythm that I could orgasm even without penetration, it was because I was already primed for pleasure from earlier in the day. He was downright gleeful when he denied me an orgasm that way and I so badly wanted it that I was ready to cry for one. The day had made my body so ridiculously ready to climax.

I ended up agreeing to a hitachi. He placed the wand against my wet fabric and the loud buzzing was no match for my moans as the toy so quickly overwhelmed my body and granted me the orgasm that I wanted. He discovered that I could multiple, with one orgasm crashing in on another. The vibrations of a wand are the closest I ever get to coloring, and yet I either arch to press myself further against or squirm to get away from it – he was having none of shifting away and the toy throbbed all the more harder against my lips. I became very loud in volume when orgasm after orgasm was forced on me, with some impact occasionally thrown in, which provided a short but painful break to breathe but not lessening my volume as I groaned when contact was made. There could have been a room full of people, and so caught up in receiving either pleasure or pain, I could’ve cared less.

It was during this point that he ordered me to look at her and thank her for my next orgasm, and even she offered a protest that she didn’t think I could do it. I did try but ended up looking at her right when it finished, thanking her at the same time.

Afterwards, we all stayed where we were for a bit while I drifted back to reality and got dressed. Then we went into the kitchen area and visited with other people. He looked across the table from me after some time passed and said that he wanted to play again.

So off we went, with the Hitachi and his hands and his words, where I orgasmed until the dungeon closed. Fortunately, he is the one who closes up so I didn’t feel pressured to run out the door – he even walked me to my vehicle.

Twelve hours of orgasms, where one moment set the pace and the path for so many more to be enjoyed over and over again in different ways. I never would have believed my body was so capable of sustaining that many in one day.

*This is the third of seven posts from this one day:Wicked Wednesday

To read the negotiation and beginning play, click here.

To read about more details during orgasming with these awesome two, click here.