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.
I was pushed fully on my stomach, my legs spread by Mr. Texas’ knees as he popped the head of his cock between my lips and past the initial resistance of my entrance. My wet body allowed the rest of him to slide effortlessly to my wall, which he hit surprisingly fast and painfully. A few more thrusts that hit and hurt, and my body stretched more fully to accommodate him, adjusting to where it was less pain and more pleasure.
Even in the pain, I tightened in the pleasure and raised my hips to welcome him hitting the depths that caused the discomfort. I love the uncaring taking, the forcing in. It turns me on far more than words can express. Even now, as I type this, I grow wet with the memory.
I groaned a bit too loudly. He yanked back my head with a fist in my hair; I moaned even more, arched back and took him deeper, and he pushed my face into the bed.
Perhaps he did so because of the sleeping kids in the house, he is after all quite considerate.
I struggled to breathe for a minute, my nose squished uncomfortably. I came; I screamed. The uncaring nature of such an act, the pounding of him inside of me, the slight objectification of being used in such a manner, all of it so unbelievably hot to me that orgasms simply didn’t cease, pleasure after pleasure crashed and didn’t ebb. It allowed me to not think, to go from dream to orgasm after orgasm, to not even have to be conscious of my own noises or own reactions, just to be repeatedly rammed by his cock. I felt every ridge, every throb, especially the tip of his head and the curve underneath – felt like a hook scratching an incessant itch against my walls.
The fist demanded my head up so quickly I had to use elbows to brace myself, a hand went around my throat and his fingers felt and dug where I showed him I liked on either side. Normally, he allows my own weight to dig into his fingers, this time they squeezed as he lowered my head upon the fingertips, my elbows no longer needed to brace myself up. His cock continued it’s relentless pleasure thrumming in my body. His fingers around my throat competed with attention. Dizzying, I felt my legs lower and my body become heavy. My eyes were already shut or otherwise I would have noticed the world go dark; I only noticed the gasping of breath as he rolled me over, the heaviness of my body, the haziness of my brain.
“I think you passed out for a moment, your whole body went limp,” he thrusted himself between my thighs as he stated that, and though it didn’t sound like it – I still sensed the concern even as he fucked me senseless.
I knew amid foggy brain and orgasms he still needed reassurance. I also knew that if I passed out, it was done correctly, safely, and was far shorter than my ex husband and I would do.
“Probably, and that’s hot. I’m fine,” I managed to breathe out in between cries of pleasure. I bit down on his shoulder as my arms wrapped around him, my heels digging in to his hips to pull him in even deeper.
He leaned back, grabbed my wrists, forced them over my head, pressed upon them with his body weight as just that action alone caused another orgasm. I was so tense under him and in that tension tightened even more as his own grunts and groans signaled his release.
I fucking love rough sex, feeling forced, being taken, pinned.
And I fucking love the softness of being held, of reassuring that what occurred was amazing, of praising each other and communicating how deeply we care for each other.
I swear there is something wrong with a lover of mine. Either that or I’m losing my touch at training.
Maybe a bit of both.
I am incredibly verbal while having sex. When something feels good, I tend to verbalize it, either with words (a more conscious things) or just the sounds that slip unbidden from my mouth. I sigh, I moan, I groan, I state “yes” or “that feels good” or “don’t stop”. I arch into the touch, I hold it tighter, I grind down onto it.
It’s only when I get overwhelmed that I get confusing with directions, when I start to unconsciously say: “no yes” or “stop” (but don’t mean it). It’s when I grip tighter but then push away, squirm a bit from the sensation but say yes. But this is after an orgasm or two, so if a lover gets confused and stops, I’m okay…
I’ve had mine.
But I have a lover who stops when I tell him not to, slows down when I physically am at my most welcoming. He is constantly ruining my orgasms with the premature ending of what feels good. I am not being confusing in what I want to occur because I haven’t even managed to have one orgasm yet. Maybe he thinks even the slightest noise means that I’ve already achieved an orgasm, instead of I’m just beginning to feel the build up of pleasure.
But honestly, regardless of how confused I get when I have an orgasm, when I say “don’t stop,” it doesn’t mean to stop. Honest.
My ankles were tied to the legs of a wooden chair, spreading thighs and exposing the lacy fabric thinly shielding my sex. Next, wrists were tied behind my back and rope ran across my chest in a harness that he used as a way to grab and maneuver me. He pushed me down onto a plush ottoman in front of the chair and caressed my butt through my panties, then I felt the cold prickle of a blade slide up my calf, my thigh, held my breath as it slid under the fabric and heard at the same time as felt the fabric being cut. He cut the shoulder straps of my tank top.
So fucking hot.
He slit the fabric up the side of the hip, and then the waistband. The fabric fluttered down, exposing the curves of my bottom. His fingers traced the curves and dipped into my pussy, fingered me to an orgasm.
He pulled me to sitting, sat himself down on the ottoman in front of me. He was naked. He pulled me back down slowly while kissing me until he laid back and his cock was at my mouth. It opened for him and I tasted his desire at the tip, slid lips down his hard shaft, sucked and licked my way down to impale him at the back of my throat. I bobbed as much as I could with hands tied behind my back. After a few minutes, and some groans of appreciation, he pulled me up by the rope around my chest and I was back to upright.
He clenched the fabric at the front of the panties and pulled it slowly, sliding the pieces of fabric between my wet slit and the chair. When it was fully removed, the knife appeared in his hand again and the bottom of my tank was cut, then a bit more, every time a bit gave and the fabric parted, it caused me to catch my breath a little. And then he took two sides and ripped the rest of the way until the rope stopped him. Then I was breathless while I moaned in appreciation. He pulled the remaining top half of the top down, revealing first one breast, which he kissed and caressed, and then another. He cut through the fabric and pulled it slowly to one side until I was naked except for the rope.
He untied my ankles and picked me up, kicking the chair out of the way. He laid my back gently down on the ground and tied my legs tightly ankle to thigh. He fingered me to an orgasm and my bindings felt even more tight into my thigh muscles as I shuddered. And then he bent me over the ottoman and fingered me again. teasing the tip of him against my entrance but not entering. He picked me up and laid me down on my stomach on the ottoman, liberally applying lube and then a glass anal plug. He entered me, creating such a full sensation with the anal plug and granted me an orgasm before withdrawing and rolling me over on the ottoman.
He slid deeply into my depths, his body weight causing my own to dig painfully into my wrists tied behind my back. It was a minor inconvenience in comparison to the tightening of pleasure. The angle that he was thrusting in and out of me was exquisite and rubbed all the right places. I moaned through two orgasms before I heard his accompanying groans of his own release.
Mr. Texas tied my wrists – taking a few times as it had been a month since he even touched rope and the rope kept tightening. He strung the rope up to the sides of the head board, stretched one side too far where the shoulder wasn’t down. Experience taught me my shoulders would fatigue if they weren’t down, so I requested he loosen the rope a bit so my shoulders rested comfortably down, adding that my wrists up were fine.
Futomomo ties for the legs, where the ankles and calves were bound to the thighs – he remembered this surprisingly well and didn’t struggle in the slightest. He used the small loose ends to extra rope to tie into the extra rope on bed posts that restrained my wrists. I thought that was very clever, as it spread my thighs as much as possible and moved them slightly up as well.
I was now spread open naked, a position that makes me feel vulnerable in an appreciated way as it assists the mind set that I want to achieve.
Ugh, I had actually suggested this was hot to me. Yet, in the moment, orgasm denial is such a tensioned tease that is hard for me to deal with. I whined my disappointment. Fingers again became aggressive inside of me, this time he allowed a full orgasm to slam into my body, quickly slapped at my inner thighs with his other hand, waited for me to come down from my orgasm and gripped and spanked at the lower part of my bottom that he could reach.
He slid his hips between my thighs, my tied heels nestling him behind his hips and keeping him pressed against me. I felt his erection at my entrance, the head slipped past my entrance and slid deep into my body. He felt so amazing inside of me and I tightened instinctively. He moved slightly, rubbed up and down a few times, just enough to get me worked up, and then stopped before I could find pleasure.
Withdrawing, he reached up and released my wrists. I think he moved towards the end of the bed, it felt that way. “Play with yourself,” he ordered. I hesitated, I know I did. I don’t do this often, and even though Mr. Texas and I had been together for months, it was at the edge of uncomfortable for me. Yet, if I denied him, would he think that his attempt to take control failed?
Did he he even want to see me masturbate? Just a few days prior I expressed how I found it hot when a lover would masturbate for me, and he replied that he thought that it was odd.
I didn’t want to discourage him – that alone made me tentatively slip a finger between my lips and rub. Was he watching? Did he sit there and get turned on by the sight in front of him? I hoped so, as that would encourage me to listen to this command in the future.
“Harder,” he told me, and I plunged two fingers in, though I couldn’t use my still tied legs to thrust my hips up to get a good angle. “Make yourself cum really hard.” And I moved faster, but the angle was wrong and my mindset was wrong.
Fortunately or unfortunately, he must have believed that I had an orgasm from my fingers, as he moved my hand aside and entered me again.
We had sex until we both found our own release in each other.
1. Have you ever tested someone’s love for you? What did you do? Did things turn out as you expected or hoped?
I unconsciously and consciously test love all the time. Mostly because I feel I am undeserving and if they knew me they wouldn’t love me, so I share parts that I believe to be the scariest.
For example, before Texas and I became serious again: I tested if he would love all parts of me so I shared the blog before he began his reasons for us to be committed. And then much later, I suppose I tested him by asking him to be present while I engaged in orgasm play with another person.
2. Select the answer that best fits your experience. I have dated:
a. all the wrong people
b. romantic companions that were mostly a good fit for me.
c. people that were perfect fits–loves at first sight
d. not all that much, I mainly have had a lot of long term relationships
3. Online dating: What is your success rate? What do you consider success?
Well, I met Mr Texas online. He was the first person to contact me on that particular dating site. And I met the Reservist, who was a hot hook up and may become a great friend, on a dating site.
4. What sexual thing do you do most often that you could commit to doing everyday?
Having sex, oral sex, elements of BDSM, foreplay. These are not hard for me to commit to everyday.
5. What are your thoughts on love and lust?
That the two can be easily blurred, and that love that exists to the most degree in friendship is the hardest to let go of and the strongest.
Bonus: Are you searching for love or are you searching for attention?
Both, I can’t feel loved without some attention. I was in a long term relationship with a man indifferent and it was the worst relationship by far.
How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!
I used to do this from time to time with my ex husband. So many grand moments admist every day moments in which I am busy with just work and family that I don’t write about them. But Texas reads me now, and some are noteworthy despite not having the time to write about them.
I don’t ever try something once, I’m not sure if I’ve shared that. So we had anal sex once, and it was meh. Yet, I know I enjoy fingers from time to time, so taking my own spirit of give something a second try Texas and I tried anal sex again. This time, we took a bit more time with entry and it didn’t hurt nearly as much. We went slow and steady. It started feeling good, and Texas even came. When we were done, there was no mess and I didn’t cry. Heck, sort of my like sister did after her first anal sex attempt, I wanted to give him a high five and tell him it was a job well done.
As ridiculous as it sounds, I have never continuously rubbed myself during sex. So when Texas ordered me to finger myself as he kissed my body, and then entered me around my own fingers, he insisted I keep my fingers on my clit. The other hand he wanted me to pinch my nipples. He was unhurried as he slowly withdrew and pushed inside of me, the ridges of his shaft and underside of his head so prominent against my folds and walls.
Mimicking his pace with my fingers, I circled my clit until it was a hard nub; my other hand slowly twisted and pinched a nipple. He kept his body close, his breath heavy in my ear and I turned my head and nibbled on the side of his neck, listening to how his breathing changed with the different sensations my teeth and tongue created.
In, a long slow stroke where the tip of his head rubbed against so many places. My core tensed and my muscles followed the thickest part of him and clenched along his shaft not wanting him to leave. I moaned and breathed in when he hit as far back as he was going to, smelling the clean scent of his body.
Out, he moved as unhurriedly, giving me the opportunity to feel every single contour of him and my body tensed even further as not wanting him to completely withdraw. Even my fingers tensed: the hardened nub seemed even more exposed from lips parted open for so long and I pressed harder, circled faster, my nipple creating a pain sensation that connected and seemed to add strength to my muscles trying to refuse his movement. I exhaled and bit down on his shoulder when his head poised at my entrance.
Such a maddeningly slow pace. It created so much tension in my body that my shoulders lifted off the bed and I could smell the slight scent of our sweat and our sex. With my own fingers, I pressed harder.
“You’re so tense, so tight,” he groaned as my body shuddered into an orgasm before tensing again into an echo of another – a smaller, faster orgasm. A long breath and shaking body. More tension, my stomach hurt from the slight way I arched up and clenching down upon him inside of me. My breaths were even against me as when a slow tension-filled orgasm began building, I would alternate holding my breath and remembering I had to breathe, crying out in pleasure with every inhale and exhale.
His chest pressed into my breasts, crisp coarse hair against the sensitive nipple I was not currently pinching, and my shoulders felt the cool sheets again, though they did not relax into the mattress.
At such a slow pace, my body could only tense and orgasm.
By the time he found his own release, again commenting of how I gripped him the entire time, we were both sweaty and catching our breath.
When he withdrew and moved to the side of me to hold me, he whispered that we would have to do that a bit more.
I sleepily replied that tensioned orgasms exhaust me, and drifted off to his fingertips grazing my back as my front was kept warm along the side of his body.
I wasn’t even going to write this post, but after:
- I viewed my sister’s body and can no longer deny that she is dead;
- I cried hysterically as I laid my head next to hers;
- I stroked her glorious hair (she had amazing hair);
- I say a tentative goodbye (I know there’s many more);
- I comforted my father – a man that rarely even expresses emotions;
- I bemoaned why there would even be a viewing – how morbid!
- I get drunk at lunch as my father keeps ordering more and more drinks.
- I go back to the bed that she used to sleep in and take a long nap.
- My friends hear about my day and graciously kidnapped me,
- We head towards a kink event which was at a swinger’s club,
- I am distracted by the wonderful performances of my skilled friends,
- I am kissed and cuddled by David,
- I have incredibly public sex with David,
- I ride the sybian,
- He rides the sybian.
- And then I said goodbye to friends and he took me back to my sister’s house,
- where during the ride home I tell him for the first time I just lost my sister and he reacted very compassionately:
At first it seemed we just intended to cuddle once we stripped naked. It was the early morning and we were both exhausted. Plus, we had had multiple orgasms already at the club. His hand grazed my nipple and that was all it took for me to request sex. I was tired, he was tired, so I told him to grab a condom before he thought I was asking for foreplay. He fucked at a fast pace, one that I couldn’t believe he could keep up as long as he went. We moved positions quite a bit, but a favorite of his was me on my side with one leg split up between our bodies. The position allowed him to bottom out and I welcomed the pain.
He yanked back on my head a lot, my scalp complaining at the pain, my body thrumming at the pain and pleasure contrast. He also wrapped his hand around my throat and gently squeezed every so often. David is excellent at creating a helpless feeling and letting me know that he is in control. I surrendered that control to him, my mind more fully escaped into the sensations he was creating.
He also talked dirty to me, something that is always slightly shocking (though why, considering how many men recently have done that?) and takes me away from my orgasms a bit. He called me a “fucking whore” quite a bit, verbalized how he was going to fuck me next, how good I felt, how good he felt – all using crude language that I’m sure would have me blushing, except the shock factor of the words was just enough to penetrate through my orgasms AND also the emotional numbness that was beginning to creep in from the past several days.
Would I like the talk otherwise? Probably not. It’s just not my thing, at least how he was doing it. But in that moment it was appropriate because I needed something to take me out of my comfort zone to help me escape the numbing despair, even if just for moments.
I was being fucked into existence with his hammering inside of me; and I was alive.
He pulled out of me after far too long, my body sore, and tore off the condom, straddling my chest and stroking himself. “I’m going to feed you,” he stated, and then guided my mouth to wrap around his cock, impaling my head on his shaft until his hot cum spilled down my throat. He roughly fucked my throat through his climax and then we cleaned up.
When I came back to bed, he pulled me into his arms and held me tightly, smoothing down my hair. Soon he was asleep, but he woke up every time I stirred and pulled me in close.
It was nice to doze in and out always surrounded by the arms of a friend. It was comforting to not be alone, to be cared for.
When David steered me into a room without a door, in a swinger’s club, with porn playing on a big screen, I was grateful that we were the only ones in the room.
I told him, as he pulled me onto his lap on a couch, that I didn’t have public sex, and he told me to tell him when to stop. We kissed, my shirt came off, then my bra. His shirt came off, exposing his muscular chest and arms. I kicked off my shoes.
Up until this point, this wasn’t new to me – being nearly naked in public. Heck, I’d been fully naked twice in public but they were with my ex husband and it was involving toys in rope.
David yanked on my hair and rotated us to lay me down on the seat, stripped me out of my pants and underwear. There are a few, rare times in my life when I no longer give a fuck about limits (that doesn’t mean I’m unsafe in pushing those limits). Those that care about me worry because they view it as vulnerable, and perhaps I am. Twice this year now I have pushed past my own comforts and limits – once when I did slutfest and a weekend with my husband after my husband left me, and that night in the swinger’s club (so far, but I’m still mourning, so we’ll see what else I get up to). It makes me feel alive when I am otherwise numb trying to cope. When he hesitated at my pants and looked down at me to see if I was okay, I knew we were going to have sex right there in the room. I was surprisingly okay with that.
He fingered me, and I briefly hoped that there was no one in the doorway. At least my head was more towards the doorway and my spread legs were facing a wall. He sat down and pulled me onto his lap where I was facing the doorway, I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t know if we had an audience and he continued to finger me, nibbling on my shoulders, neck, rotating me slightly to bite on my nipples. I arched into his teeth, I moaned and shuddered around his fingers. Now I fully exposed to the view of others, something he intentionally did, but I was focused on the pleasure he created rather than a potential audience.
He ordered me to lay down doggy style on the seat of the couch, and I bent my elbows to brace them on the seat which buried my head against the back bottom of the seat – so no one could see my face and I couldn’t see theirs. He put on a condom and began fucking me at a vigorous pace.
Have I mentioned that David is a military man at his prime and is in amazing shape? There is no part of him that is soft and the hardest part of him was rubbed and built up an orgasm; I welcomed the release of tension that seemed to be consuming me. Of course, once I orgasm once, the others just begin to flood my senses – and I am by no means quiet. He would smack my ass and thighs occasionally as he fucked me, and he yanked my head up by my hair, forced it to the other side. Briefly I peaked and saw the outlines of people in the room with us; I shut my eyes tightly, but orgasms are glorious things and before I could be mortified I was being carried on the wave of another one. He stuck a thumb in my back hole and used the pressure to increase the intensity of my orgasms. We switched positions quite a few more times.
I was sweaty and had no idea how he kept up an almost maddening tempo. When he finally found his own fulfillment and withdrew out of me to hold me tenderly, I was grateful he shielded my face away from the doorway and towards his chest.
And then I heard the men complimenting us. I’m sure I blushed as David thanked them politely. He sounded almost proud, and he should have been – he gave them one hell of a show.
*When I came in from cleaning myself up, some female friends of ours were sitting and chatting with David as he cleaned and sanitized the room. They mentioned how they had tried the sybian in the next room, expressed they were sad they missed the show we obviously gave, and inquired if I had tried it. I was already overcome with shyness and not talking much, so didn’t do much more than shake my head. When I expressed that I had not but I was curious, David took my hand and steered me towards that room.
Guess the night still wasn’t done….