Apr 132017
 

“You never hear of the bullet that hits you, it is one of the few blessings of battle.” – Burke Davis, Marine! the Life Chesty Puller

My ex-husband wrote me a list of reasons why he loved me and our life together one week before I drove out to be with him, a drive that he turned me away from him once I arrived. With texts like this, perhaps it may make sense on why I didn’t see the bullet that killed us. Hello purging, glad you are now deleted from my phone.

  • I love the way you look at me when we wake up together, that sparkle in your eyes and that smile you get, especially when you know we are about to have some wonderful morning sex.
  • I love the way you are willing to jump into anything.
  • I like it when you take control, it makes me go crazy and turns me on so much like nothing else.
  • I love how giddy you get when we are going or doing something new!
  • I also like how you try to involve everybody and don’t let people feel left out.
  • I love how we are each others biggest fans and supporters.
  • I love how we drive and encourage each other to be the best that we can, even when it sucks to do so.
  • I love how we can just talk forever and not stop.
  • I can not wait to finally really go RV shopping with you!
  • I love you too, soulmate. Copilot to the open roads.
  • Our home will have a hide away library/romper room we will spend hours in…..
  • We will be those people that will have a map of the United States and get stickers to fill in the entire thing!
  • I am going to have my mini pitbull and you will have your Pom and we will happily fit in the home and RV
  • We are going to be busy people when we retire. There is so much traveling we need to do, not just in the RV but all I’ve r the world. We have talked so much about our worldly travels we will have and I can not wait to begin them. I mean I get to be stuck on a plane with you for over 8 hours that is a great start!
  • Another thing I love about you and I, we get each other what we want.
  • When we retire and build our own house, I will put in a beautiful garden and maybe a green house, so we can have wonderful flower year round.
  • I can’t wait to start exploring this new area with you!

Apr 052017
 

The conversations pieces were from notes (in bold) that I posted in this blog February 2nd, 2016 and I show I last modified this post in May of 2016. Some of them blurred as to exactly when they occurred as I truly was an emotional wreck on the drive and for a few weeks after he asked for the divorce. I believe the May edits were probably more of spelling edits and of course my introduction (before the bold) was just written).

My letter D for this year was almost my letter D for last year with the post Driving, but I wasn’t to that part of the story yet, so I modified it to be P for Pressure:

“I drove across the country, literally from one coast to the other, with my family and what belongings I could take. I only stopped to sleep, get gas, and food. I was exhausted but pushed on, rushing because I was finally going to moving in with my husband and I had job interviews to make.

Every time he talked to me, he mentioned how hard it was for him to know that soon he wouldn’t see his girlfriend all the time, how great his girlfriend was, how soon I would meet her, asking how soon I would allow them to see each other all the time again. He told me the night before I was to arrive that she sent me a message asking when I would meet her so that I would be fine with them.

Five hours before I arrived, 42 hours later on the road, he told me that some kink events I wanted to go to I couldn’t, because I was a bad person, because he went to those things with her and it just wasn’t right that we would be going instead of him with her.

I told him, exhausted and really tired of every mile closer to him getting more negative about my arrival because of what it meant to their relationship, that I didn’t want him to have a relationship with her anymore….”

I shouldn’t have pushed for him to end their relationship, perhaps I was beyond tired and emotional from the trip. What I didn’t share (but of course wrote down because I write down every damn thing it seems) is some of the conversations I was having with him (not her, she reached out too, a reason why I blocked her on Fetlife later).

“Shy timid virgin foreplay” were words he used to describe how she was so very different from me, some qualities that he really appreciated. He felt that he could mold her, teach her, something I knew he always found appealing and why he used to explain his surprise at liking “someone like me” when we first started dating – he used to look down upon and judge women who were very experiences sexually. He found the concept of virgins or inexperienced women appealing. I was trying to be happy for him at this point in the car drive still, and he only ever wanted to talk about her, kept diverted the conversation I was trying to steer of plans of seeing each other again and our future back to her. I had probably prompted the conversation to thing that he had experienced that perhaps I could do as well, and he dismissed my ability to do so with this type of talk.
“So tight,” a comparison I didn’t want to hear (if it was even a comparison or just a description) and one that pinged so many of my insecurities that I winced at even through the phone as if I’d been hit. I have no idea why he felt the urge to explain her in this towards the end a long day of my driving closer to him. It led to keeping me awake that night in a hotel room, trying to talk myself away from so many fears.

Doing new things,” and all the sudden, the closer I got to him on the drive, the more he shared about wanting to experience new things with her, and what they had already done that was new to him; including “cutting with my knife,” and  “buying of toys.” I was incredibly upset over the knife that I viewed so symbolically as ours, as leading us towards kink, being used on another woman. He had other knives, but he used ours. I tried to convince myself that I had no right to get upset because I had never vocalized how I viewed the knife as just ours, never thought to. It wasn’t his fault – he probably just naturally gravitated towards that knife for use on another because that what he knew from us.

Day two on the road and his grumpy tone of: “When will I see her again”, how he would miss sleeping next to her, telling me to check her Fetlife “message to meet,” and respond, though I was driving, to give her reassurance – which I did and wanted to. Later in the day he described how they were both crying at the loss that my arrival would mean, “how she was already pushing for more,” though the details of what that meant were vague, though he stated that soon he would want her to live with us. He said that he didn’t want to go to events with me because what if she was there, and they had already, in the two weeks that he knew her, had already gone to several public events together and that was their thing. When I argued that, he compromised me on some events he would go to with me, but ensuring that she wouldn’t be there first.

When I mentioned that suddenly I felt like she was more important, he stated that she was “no more important than you,” and I felt done with the drive towards his, felt like I was no longer important at all, felt like a woman he knew for two weeks would always be a priority over me, the family and future, we had built together.

I felt like he no longer wanted any part of that. As I drove towards him, I made an ultimatum: I didn’t want him to see her while we settled in for a few weeks, and then when kept describing how wonderful she was and how awful I was, I further that threat and said that he had a choice of her or me.

42 hours on the road, when I could no longer turn around nor veer towards somewhere else for the night: was when he told me he wanted a divorce, no longer wanted to be with me. 5 more hours more I was in front of his door, having no where else to go, exhausted and hysterical, begging for him to forgive me and be with me.

So these were the conversations or notes in bold that occurred, that broke my heart little by little each mile I traversed.

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.

Feb 212017
 

Febraury PhotofestHave I ever shared that The Wanderer knows me intimately? Perhaps it is because we have been friends for so long, but he knows how uncomfortable some words make me. And sadist that he is, he uses them and smiles about them (even from distance, I’m sure).

For example, he wrote to me that I was a good cocksucker. Okay, even writing the words makes me squirm a bit.

But he told me that as my mouth was wrapped around him last time as well. In the act, he uttered words that turn me shy. It was a contrast – a mind fuck that I always find delicious – as my body and mouth were wanton and bold, but words suddenly make me feel like a sheltered and shy unsure youth.

*This picture is not with The Wanderer. It’s a shadow that I love from the photo story of David and I.

Feb 162017
 

An unrelated picture that continues the hotness that is David

Febraury Photofest

 

 

 

 

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.

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.

Jan 222017
 

I am like Pavlov’s dog with music selections.

Pavlov came across classical conditioning unintentionally…Whilst measuring the salivation rates of dogs, he found that they would produce saliva when they heard or smelt food in anticipation of feeding. This is a normal reflex response which we would expect to happen…

However, the dogs also began to salivate when events occurred which would otherwise be unrelated to feeding. By playing sounds to the dogs prior to feeding them, Pavlov showed that they could be conditioned to unconsciously associate neutral, unrelated events with being fed. – Psychologistworld.com

Certain songs will often remind people of a memory or a person. I find myself reacting to certain songs with physical reactions as well. It’s not that I’ve necessarily played with all these people often (though all but one I have), it’s just that music seemed to be prominent with us or in association with them.

Give me R&B or sexy pop beats, and I think of sex with my ex husbandOccasionally, my nipples will perk up or I will begin to tighten in anticipation. It’s strange to still have this reaction considering that it’s been so long, but it has been far longer still that this music trained me to respond with thoughts and aching for sex. With masturbation, I will still often play our radio station, so strong is my reaction that it helps my own self orgasm.

“I panted, by this time hours of pleasure not allowing me any sense of realism, and unable to help himself from toying with my quivering self, his fingers grazed my clit. I sucked in my breath, already feeling dizzy from the slight contact, my legs parting without thought. Suddenly two of his fingers danced upon my pearl, and I was so taken with pleasure I had no idea how I ended up laying with my back on his chest, one solid arm across my shoulder and neck so fingers could tugged at a nipple, the other hand quickly alternating between slipping into my sex and rubbing up into my clit.” – Incapable of Thinking

Always and Forever – Luther Vandross[jwplayer mediaid=”6952″]

Ride It – Jay Sean[jwplayer mediaid=”6954″]

Signs of Love Makin’ – Tyrese[jwplayer mediaid=”6955″]

Making Love (Into the Night) – Usher[jwplayer mediaid=”6956″]

Alternative music and I think of Mimir’s beautifully crafted scenes. Mimir had so much going on in his scenes that truly it’s a bit hard to pin down what specifically gets me physically reacting. It’s more like a whispered memory across my skin of sensations, an intake of breath of wondering what would have occurred, and a slight feeling of homesickness for rope and scenes crafted in a space that always felt safe and uniquely tailored to me. It’s an utter feeling of longing but incredibly sexy to me as well.

“He moved between my legs, and so softly – the merest gossamer of touches, slid a finger against the delicate lace of my underwear. If I had not been so fixated on his every move, if I had breathed too deeply, I might have missed the touch. It was a sharp contrast to the earlier dominance, this soft caress at my lips.

My body cried out for his touch. My mouth remained silent, not wanting to break the spell with demands that would go unheeded simply because they were uttered. He is not a man to be rushed.” – Take Down

Beautiful – 10 Years[jwplayer mediaid=”6957″]

Evil Angel – Breaking Benjamin[jwplayer mediaid=”6959″]

Bloody Creature Poster Girl – In This Moment[jwplayer mediaid=”6960″]

Industrial German and I think of painful rope with Master MondayRope with him was not unheard of, but we didn’t do it very often. Though I did see his look of planning often to this music, and occasionally was treated to some of his expertise. The music makes me me miss rope in general, but very specifically how badly it can cut into muscles, or the tension creating little doubt of being bound together, or the excitement of something new or creative. It’s a slight adrenaline rush.

“Did I mention the music was awesome? It’s amazing how music can create a scene, and in this case I feel it did. Next thing I knew I was being strung up and fully suspended with legs adjusted from time to time to a more painful position than the last. I was blindfolded and it was then used to pull my head back, in which he arched my back to tie the blindfold into an ankle. That was a tight tie, it didn’t allow any forgiveness or releasing of tension. It was very uncomfortable but sustainable, and I wished that I had been in it longer. He spun me around in that position, his hand brushing over my blindfold, my upturned chin, my tensely pulled back neck, my chest.” – Hurty Rope

Blutengel – Sing[jwplayer mediaid=”6961″]

Centhron – Lichtsucher[jwplayer mediaid=”6962″]

French pop songs and I think of being beat by Mr. Texas. – it’s a reaction I unconsciously created as country music just wasn’t doing it for me and he doesn’t care for most modern songs – so I picked Stromae and have tailored the songs specifically for our scenes. It is hearing these songs that inspired me to write some of my physical reactions to hearing certain music. Especially Love Story, and I think of having a cane taken to me, of the ebbs and flows to create a great scene where he is able to keep my pain threshold with a stinging strike just right and then use another song to build me up to perhaps punching on the back of my bottom or thighs, perhaps flogging (our newest exploration), or some other type of pain that while I handle it better, it certainly brings up the level of pain. Or he just may grip my hair and pull my head back forcefully as he slams his body deep inside of me, a hand around my throat and his deep throaty “mine” that imprints me as thoroughly as the marks. My body gets tense in anticipation of either an orgasm or bracing for impact when hearing this music now.

Love Story – Indila[jwplayer mediaid=”6963″]

Mes Aures – Frero Delavega[jwplayer mediaid=”6964″]

House’llelujah – Stromae[jwplayer mediaid=”6965″]

*I’m not including a post selection for Mr. Texas – for one I haven’t written much about our moments yet, for another, he is my future and we are beginning to strengthen my reactions to him and the music even further – I can’t wait!

**I had twelve songs picked out already as this sat in drafts, and when I saw the prompt for Wicked Wednesday, I thought it was perfect.

Masturbation Monday badge - small
Wicked Wednesday

Dec 152016
 

This actually does include a cowbell, but I’ll get to that part later…

We met at a Starbucks down the road from a dungeon that I had never been to. He had been contacting me to play with him for a couple of of months but with life being so busy and then my sister dying, I just stopped going. This was to be my first solo kink event after she died, and I almost canceled.

It didn’t help any that it was a stormy night and many parts of the roads were closed or traffic was horrendous through all the car accidents.

He walked in the door and immediately stated: “you look so vanilla.”

I was wearing a sweater that is appropriate for work, and jeans. I had asked previously if there was a dress code and he stated there wasn’t. “Well yes,” I was a bit taken about and briefly worried if I appeared too vanilla, “but I do vanilla well and we are meeting at a Starbucks.”

He agreed, ordered a drink, then we sat down and began negotiations. He had watched me play with others and also read my fetishes and notes on Fetlife, so I was already impressed with his coming to the negotiations informed. I had asked around about him, read his fetishes as well, but had never seen him play (hence why I asked around about him). I was told he was creative by others.

The scene last four hours…

He warned me that he brought a lot of things, and I parked behind him at the dungeon to help him carry in his bags. Once we entered, I saw some friends and we visited for a bit, then staked out a room.

By the time we finished the scene, it looked like a cross between a toy store and a torture chamber. Seriously, there are so many titles I could have picked…

“Violet Wands and toy swords”

“Floggers and paddles and toys, oh my!”

“Race tracks and nerf bats”

“Cruising a dungeon tied to a moving cart”

I undressed down to panties. He started with a posture collar that barely fit my small neck, and then with rope. Starting anything with rope is always a good move, as that’s my primary love. “I’ll give you a tour of the dungeon,” he told me as he tied me to a moving cart that he had modified by placing soft cushiony foam on and attaching tie off rings around all the sides. He tied my legs and hands to the cart, and then off we went where he dragged the rope attached to the cart all around the place, introducing me to people I had never met and showing me the different rooms. He would spin me around from time to time, and when we were in the entrance to the place talking to people the door opened to the outside and he shouted out, “good lord, woman, cover yourself,” and wrapped an arm around my breasts amid my laughter.

He was a very playful man, even more obvious once we went back to the room and I was bent over a bench while he opened up his play bag. My behind and backs of the legs were treated to what I consider standard sadistic implements like:

Paddles (okay if they thud), rods (nope, somewhat wimpy – “remember I hate sting,” I would remind him), a toy sword (“I dub thee…” he went on a serious voice at one point and gently touched both sides of my shoulders as he spoke).

Wooden spoons, spatulas, but then also a strange and large frosting knife (so cold when it wasn’t smacking me).

I was tied to a St Andrews cross, after he claimed I was far too short for it and he dragged steps against it so that I could stand up higher. A flogger rhythmically swiped at my back, thighs, and bottom, a relaxing moment that I appreciated. Hot wheels race tracks swung into those areas, and the plastic tracks stung and hurt so badly that I asked him to switch out somewhat quickly.

I was tied laying to a high platform and the violet wand came out, the noise always far more frightening than the actual feeling, and he began with larger implements that lit up beautifully but were hardly felt, down to the unseen pinpoints of pain from a pencil lead.

I wasn’t paying much attention to the doorway or what others were doing, being so involved experiencing different sensations, but I would still occasionally become aware of my surroundings a bit more, mostly because of noise. Often, we would have an audience in the doorway, but what really drew a crowd was the cowbell. I could tell because of the laughter.

Yep, this man had a cowbell.

When a good song came on, and I was bent over a bench, he handed me a hefty cowbell and told me to hold it at a certain angle. Then he sat himself down, took out drumsticks. and beat down upon my body in time to the music, every so often hitting that cowbell. The noise was…well, a cowbell. It rang alongside my ear and after awhile I began to like the sound as it signaled a hit reprieve from the drumsticks. The noise also drew the crowd, as earlier in the evening he was discussing how he had brought a cowbell, and people remarked they were curious how it would play out (see the pun?) in a scene. Once they heard the cowbell, their merriment in their laughter was apparent even over the sound of the cowbell.

I am glad I met up with him, as laughter is a bit fleeting for me right now.

*Last year, for the Christmas prompt set to the song, “Little Drummer Boy”, I shared a time my husband slapped my labia for the first time. This year, Exhibit Unadorned, is opening up the old prompts and I thought how much had changed in a year (a divorce, a new relationship, etc.). So I thought I had far more of an appropriate scene in playing with new partner for the first time that went with the prompt of drummer boy.

Aug 142016
 

So with my husband and I reconciling, one of the first things on his list was anal play for him. He hadn’t experienced it in months and I think that he was even made to feel that it was viewed negatively in some regard.

He missed it.

He had thrown out all the toys that he was in possession of that we had split, so we no longer had the very cool dildo that went beautifully with our harness (and also fit inside of me with vibrations); I was still in possession of the harness. So, off we went to a sex store where we found just a standard dildo that the harness would hold in. It was more malleable than the other dildo, which actually helped cut down on me accidentally hurting him; the downside is when I really got going it would slip out a little easier. It was also lighter, so while nothing was inserted into me, at least it stayed put in the harness a bit better.

Armed and ready, we were going to try pegging again.

Actually, it was a scene that I was giving him with pegging so he laid down tied in the center of the bed with a pillow under his bottom. I started with softer sensations (he dislikes pain of any kind). My hands would roam and my mouth was active the whole time:

tongues danced together with gentle caresses reaquainting fingertips with his body, soft sighs and a building of passion and love and trust;

blindfolding him with a soft leather strip so he could focus more on the physical sensations and less visually, my mouth hovering above his own as my tongue darting out to trace his lips as he tried to catch a kiss;

brushing his skin with feathers as my mouth would roam and suck at delectable areas that incited moans;

using stinging flicks of a toy as my teeth would nibble and occasionally bite, causing goosebumps and pinkened marks to appear across his body;

taking the tines of the wheel and traversing across his body as teeth would sink into muscles, causing him to jump or take sharp intakes of breath as he worked through the brief flashes of pain;
an ice cube melted in my mouth as my tongue swept across his reddened areas, cooling down the heated flesh right before I would drip hot wax from a candle, reheating the area and giving a contrast.

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. A black hood (a new toy of mine) with just an opening for the mouth was pulled over his face, effectively turning him more of an object that I was toying with and a mouth to fuck, as I immediately told him to stick out his tongue so I could straddle and fuck his face. I made sure to press my hips down every so often to make his breathing a little more labored as he brought me pleasure.
It wasn’t long before I placed on a glove, a lot of lube on one finger, positioned myself between his legs, and then my mouth teased the tip of his erection as I slowly circled his anus before inserting the finger. As my finger moved deeper into his body, my mouth moved lower down his shaft. Two fingers increased my sucking, which moved at the same time of my fingers – down and in, up and out. Three fingers – a bit trickier as my pinky always seems to be in the way, my tongue swirled around the ridges of his head as I inserted before attempting to deep throat him as my fingers tried to fill his body.

He sighed and moaned and groaned, his hips occasionally tried to thrust up and welcome the sensations even further. He was so hard in my mouth, occasionally pulsing at a delicious part, hitting the back of my throat at times, his muscle clenching around my fingers as they curled slightly, explored, slid in and out.
I decreased the sensations before stopping, taking off my glove and moving up his body, briefing sliding my own body to where he was inside of me and grinding on top of him while I took off his hood and kissed back his humanness. I kissed the sides of his neck as I took off his blindfold, slowing rotating my hips rather than fucking him roughly, leaned down to passionately kiss him before I slowly unraveled him to freedom, wanting him to have full use of his hands and legs. His hands immediately went to my hips to fuck us to pleasure, but I removed myself off him and told him to put me in the harness.
Less than a minute later I was again between his legs, liberally applying lubrication on my dildo, positioning it at his entrance. He seemed surprised that rather than enter him, I leaned forward and kissed him, pressing my body down on his own and telling him how much I loved him. Then I leaned up and carefully entered him, watching his face closely in between the toy disappearing into his depths. He gave me verbal feedback the whole way in, positive that it felt good, that it wasn’t hurting, that he could take more. When I was all the way in, I praised him as I leaned forward for a kiss again before straightening up and slowly easing out and then in. One hand stroked his cock and the other caressed his balls. Masturbation Monday Week 102

Soon I was fucking him, both hands gripping his hips like he so often did to me to have more leverage and go as deep as I could, and his own hand was stroking himself. I slipped out a couple of times, but eventually his body tensed and his hips lifted as his hand slowed while white spurts shot across his chest with his orgasm. It was a magnificent sight; it was verbally decadent to hear his sounds; it was incredible to create and be a part of.

I finished the scene for him with a warm wash cloth, cleaned the beautiful white streaks and hardened candle wax off his skin, had him sit up for a drink of water before rolling over so I could wipe off the excess of lube between his cheeks. I had a candle going of massage wax the whole time and poured enough over his broad expanse of back, rubbing his muscles and feeling any residue tension leave his body, before using another warm wash cloth to remove any oil that didn’t soak into his skin. I covered him with a blanket as he laid so peacefully and heard him snore before I even left the room to clean up our toys. Masturbation Monday badge - small

 

 

Aug 022016
 

Wicked WednesdayShe knew he was working, but they still wanted to be near each other. So when she entered his office, she wasn’t surprised that he was on the phone behind his desk. He smiled and gestured her over, standing up and coming around the desk. He put an arm around her and positioned her facing the desk, taking one wrist and placing it palm down on the edge of the desk. She put the other one there herself, trying to be accommodating while he worked. He lifted her skirt and caressed her bottom through the lacy underwear she wore.

She looked over her shoulder at him and he winked at her. Somehow all the more naughty of a gesture because he was on an important business call.

He finished the call after a few minutes, caressing her the rest of the call. When he put down the phone, he told her to go to the conference table on the other side of the room. He moved the chair on the end and she perched up against the edge, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him deeply. When he broke off the kiss after some moments, he undressed her slowly, taking advantage of the time he had in between phone calls. His mouth followed the paths of fabric falling down or rising above her luscious body. She felt shy to be naked in an office, but she had locked the door behind her and did as he asked.

He kissed and tweaked her nipples as she gasped at the pleasure/pain that sent currents deep within her. He leaned her back slowly, her bare skin pressed back onto the cold glass table. His fingers wasted no time in plunging into her wet body, curling upwards and moving at a tempo that he knew all too well would bring her to orgasm. Her moans and body arching told him he was close, and when he felt her body tighten around his fingers, he withdrew.

She sat up whining her displeasure. He tried to look wide eyed and innocent. “What? I need to get on another call.” He smiled and winked at her, grabbed a small chocolate from the candy dish in the center of the table, unwrapped the foil and popped the sweet morsel in her mouth; “no noise from you,” he teased, then turned and went back to the desk, throwing the order, “stay there,” behind his shoulder where she laid so temptingly close. He initiated the call, and walked back to her, loving the view of her legs spread, her ankles resting on the edge of the surface and her knees bent. He walked alongside her body, his fingertips beginning at her foot and tracing the path up to the side of her face. His thumb brushed against her plump bottom lip and she smiled before sucking it into her mouth.

She could be the tease as well and her eyes seemed to threaten that as much as her mouth promised.

He pushed a button to mute the call and pinched a nipple in response. Just as he guessed, she yelped in protest. He again placed another chocolate on her tongue to replace his thumb, his finger pressed against both of her lips in a quiet signal before hitting sound, made a comment towards the call, halfheartedly listening, then hit mute at a time where he felt the people on the other line were going to be continue without him, stepping up to her body and rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger before rolling her clit with the same thumb. He watched her eyes go to half mast and her breathing become more shallow at the pleasurable sensation.

Unfortunately, the call seemed to require him again as he spun around and again engaged in conversation. He stayed on until it ended, checked the time, and decided he had enough time to bring her to orgasm for waiting so patiently…for a price. He noticed that there were a few more colorful candy wrappers littering the table. She always did have a sweet tooth and felt that he was just as guilty in craving her body – he just couldn’t resist.

He pulled out some binder clips used to hold stacks of paper from his desk drawer and then rolled the chair to face between her legs. Such a great leveled view. In anticipation of him there, she spread her legs slightly wider, not seeing the clips in his hand. He placed one on the outside edge of her lip, and the pinch caused her to cry out in surprise. A finger dipped in and soothed her with pleasure before he grasped the other lips and carefully pinched more of the lip lining right at her entrance. Even slick, it held and from her noises he knew that it pinched painfully. Even more carefully, he placed a smaller clip on the hood and her noises told him that he was pushed the limit with the location. His thumb again thrummed against her button, the small clip  bobbing with the motion.

She whined as both pleasure and pain rolled through her body. His fingers slowly eased into her, his hand brushing against the clips on either side of her entrance and added contrasting sensations. It hurt and continued to become more painful as he moved more assertively, and yet the pleasure built and she felt her body become more tense to welcome the gathering orgasm.

She tightened around his fingers and he made sure that his hand spread to push the clips more fully, adding more pinch during the height of her orgasm. She cried out as her pleasure coated his fingers, and with his other hand, he removed the small clip on her hood. She whimpered and he curled his fingers. She moaned. He removed the clip on her inner lip, hoped that the haze coming down from her orgasm was still present to make the pain a bit more tolerable, and smiled at her reaction.

He loved how reactionary she was.

The last clip came off before he withdrew his fingers. He leaned forward and praised her as he kissed her lips, the smell of chocolate from her breath mingling with her wet scent an aphrodisiac to him, then regretfully turned towards his computer and phone to take another conference call. She sure did make conference calls a lot more interesting.