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 042016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallMy husband and I are still separated by distance as we attempt to repair our relationship, but we see each other on weekends, with phone and video calls getting us through the rest of the week. I requested he make me a video of himself masturbating so I could watch it during horny or missing moments.

He gave me a live show from the shower, his body soapy and slick as he ran his hands up and down over his skin, and stroked himself. My fingers drifted to the passion his vision created; I made sure he could see exactly what he inspired. We masturbated together.

When we were done, I again reminded about wanting the video. He told me he would (and did later that night), but that I needed to also make him a video by the next day.

We are already getting right back into the power dynamics, apparently, as he knew that making a video would be a challenge for me, so warned that there was a consequence if I didn’t. Unfortunately, not because I hesitated but just because I was busy that following day – I forgot.

I thought it was just a live show I put on for him as punishment, I was wrong…

He told me to lay a few out of my sexier (what he considered sexy, not me, learning from last time) clothes, take a picture, and he would decide what I was wearing. This was my first clue that he would be completely in charge and I was to have no say. Next, I did the same of my lingerie including stockings, then of the Doxy wand’s attachments. When he received all the pictures, he gave me a detailed list of items to have readily available and what to wear: lingerie under clothes, stockings, vibrator, wand with attachment.

I already strongly disliked this punishment, already it was more effort than just sending a video would have been.

When he called me that night, he told me to pick out music and strip dance, but to keep on the lingerie. Ugh, I didn’t want to move to music while he watched live, I couldn’t hit delete if I looked like an idiot. I’m sure I looked like a deer in the headlights as I slowly peeled out of the outer clothes.

He wasn’t messing around with the whole punishment concept either, as the next order was to play with myself – already not an easy task with an audience. He was specific with giving him a teasing view of my breasts as I caressed them still wearing the silky lingerie, of lifting the bottom of the fabric with one hand as my other hand’s fingers teased and felt my wetness despite my embarrassment. “Insert one finger,” he would occasionally stroke himself so I was aware of his reaction to his show, “add another one.” I was a puppet, his to command. “Go deeper.” “Watch my fingers,” and he would curl and stroke the air the way he wanted my fingers to move deep in my own body. The man sure did know how I liked to be fingered, and I begged to cum, though he stopped me before I reached climax.

“Edge yourself with the wand,” I hesitated and he gave me a look that brook no argument. He wanted me to lay it on the bed and straddle it, in essence riding it. The attachment was already on and I slid my body on top of it. He wanted me to start on low and the vibrations felt so amazing to my already worked body. He told me to pinch at my nipples as I felt the pleasure between my thighs, and slowly he added another speed, eventually bringing the wand to high, commanding me to with hold from an orgasm – I pleaded with him to change his mind and give me some release. When I became far too overwhelmed and couldn’t resist, I jumped off of it, my chest heaving from the effort, beginning to sweat from the tension. He praised me, had me slowly and gently caress my body through the silky lingerie, and then edge myself again with the wand. I must’ve given him a look, because he followed through with a threat, and I begrudgingly straddled the toy again, immediately asking for an orgasm. Much quicker this time, I jumped off it, an orgasm threatening my overworked body.

My fingers would eventually be called on to bring me to an orgasm, again he set the tempo and the motion of how I was finger myself, promising that I would finally find my pleasure. I was to lay on the bed, my stocking legs spread to give him the best view, leaning up on one elbow so he could view my face. “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”. Oh how my body and mind remember that word uttered from his mouth. 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.

Masturbation Monday Week 101I was gasping for breaths, great heaving intakes as if I had run the vast distance to him.

But this wasn’t the finale I thought it was, oh no! He had already pushed so many comfort zones in this punishment, already assured us both that I wouldn’t forget so easily next time, but he wasn’t done yet with me.

 

Dec 152015
 

*We have a whole large chest of toys, but my favorite toy is simply my husband. He’s an inventive toy. This was written when he slapped my sex for the first time (2 years ago). 

I folded laundry on our bed while he organized the sex toy chest. He went to get something and returned, approached behind me and cupped my breast with one hand, the other lifted my hair and kissed the back of neck, whispered how sexy I was.

“You should get me off,” I said as he walked away, back to the chest.

“I will,” but he didn’t seem in any hurry, so I went back to folding laundry, put it away, hoped he’d hurry with the chest so he could get to me. He stood up again, went to the door, locked it. I smiled and stripped out my clothes, knew what that meant. “Are we having sex?” he queried.

“I don’t know, but can I get naked while you please me?”

“Want me naked too?” He slowly took off his shirt, already knew my answer. I laid down in the middle of the bed, and he kissed me, sucked on a nipple, and his fingers slid between my folds. “Wet already. Somehow I knew you’d be.”

His finger teased in and out, spread my juices around, rubbed my gspot, almost got me there, and then withdrew completely. I whined. “Oh I’m not done, girl. I know what toy I want to use.” He already had my Lelo in the other hand and slowly inserted it. I came, and came again. He fingered me, in that insistent and harsh way that makes me squirt, and I knew he wouldn’t give up until I did. He positioned himself between my legs. “Of course we’re having sex, you knew that was going to happen when you demanded I please you,” he said, slid in effortlessly. I was so wet that when I wrapped my legs around his hips I could feel my juices on my thighs. We had amazing sex, and I orgasmed several more times before he switched positions and came as well.

We cuddled, and his fingers wandered around the curves of my body. As they skimmed my thighs and nipples, I caught my breath, moaned a little. He smiled, a smile I recognize when he realizes that I am so sensitive and is going to play some more because of my reactions. He kissed me, gently nudged me onto my back, and his finger slipped so easily into my body. I moaned and raised my hips. His finger slid out and up to clit, circled a few times. And then he slapped my lips. I yelped, more from surprise.

He had never done that before. He did it again, and I moaned and raised my hips. “Did you cum?” he asked after a few more times of stinging drumming on my wet lips, going back to just holding me.

“No, but I could,” I honestly admitted, and there was his hand back there, palm and fingers slapped my sex.

“Hurts so good?”

“Yes,” I panted, “hurt me, please, I want you to.” And he increased the tempo and force, his mouth sucked and nibbled and even bit on my nipple, and I came.

He sat up against the headboard and hauled me up and around so that I was using him as a backrest. His legs moved on top of mine and spread them. His hands stroked up and down my body, sometimes his barely-there nails dug into my skin and scratched somehow, other times he gripped my skin so tightly it hurt.  His hands gripped and squeezed my breasts, pinched hard on my nipples as his mouth kissed the side of my neck, squeezed, and the fingers went back to their relentless pinching. I came, not knowing whether to arch into his fingers or try to escape them.

One hand went around my throat and gripped tighter than normal. The other hand went to my throbbing clit and strummed until I came.

He pushed me off of his chest, grabbed me and threw me face down on the bed. “You wanted me to hurt you,” he said, leaned down to get something out of our toy chest and then straddled my thighs. I felt the unmistakable sting of the misery stick on my ass and when I started whimpering from one cheek, he moved to the other. I squirmed, it stung, and then his palm came down a few times, almost soothing in comparison to the stick.

He grabbed my hips and raised my ass up, so my knees were underneath me. He entered me and began pounding into me; I had to grip the sheets to keep myself from sliding. A hand grabbed my hair and raised my chest up as he continued thrusting in, and the other hand went around my throat. I came, I screamed.

He pushed my head back into the bed, the hands still around me. My knees would no longer support me, and laying down, he continued to hammer into me. “Fucking cum,” he growled in my ear, his hand around my throat tightened at the same time as he pulled harder on my hair. I did. “Stay there,” he ordered, and though I was on a declining orgasm, I clenched and tried and did. “Don’t you fucking come down.” I muttered a complaint of some sort, denied the ability to stay, but my body managed. “Use my thumb to keep you quiet. Bite if you need,” the hand around my throat offered his thumb in my mouth, and I did bite down. “Only focus on me inside you.” I was incapable of anything else anyhow. He slammed into me as far as possible, kept a fast pace, and I heard his harsh breathing in my ear, and the tensing of his body as he finally found his own orgasm.

His weight came down on me more fully, but he quickly rolled up over, spooned, gently caressed my body a few more times. I sighed, “I’ll leave you alone, let your body come fully down,” he promised and left the bed. “I have to go in order to not mess with you,” he admitted, throwing on clothes.

I smiled, not able to fully open my eyes, not wanting to move. Sweat clung to my skin, plastered the back of my hair to my neck. My muscles were sore from being so tense. I was aware of my hurt throat, both from his hold and from screaming. I drifted to sleep before he even closed the door.

Even when he woke me, some time later, my mind was quiet the rest of the night, my body was content to just do nothing.

Wicked Wednesday*Also written for Christmas Erotica Prompt to the song of Little Drummer Boy.

 Posted by at 7:01 am
Sep 202015
 

We laid in bed and played a cooperative game together on our phones. He reached over and pinched a nipple, hard, tugged it to the point that my pussy clenched and tightened from the pleasurable pain and I climaxed.

But first, let’s get up to this point – where an orgasm is this simple to achieve. Rewind to hot foreplay where he demonstrated he most certainly was in control, for a good hour. Toys came out, he had to sit on me while torturing me with a vibrator after all that, and then a wand. Sex in so many positions, orgasms denied and forced. Ended upright on knees against the headboard, I gripped the top tightly for balance, he gripped my hair and my throat and pounded into me from behind until we both screamed.

Sweetly, tenderly, he administered aftercare as I shuddered and tried to be coherent. I got up after a long while and cleaned up. Laid back down and snuggled.

After some time, we found ourselves playing a game together on our phones; I simply wasn’t ready to get up and face the real world yet and he loves it when I can just do nothing. But my body was so sensitive, and a touch on my bare nipple and a moan demonstrated just how much I was still feeling pleasure. In between a few turns, it became a habit to tug on my nipples, or suck and bite. Then a hand around my throat to hold me still as he fingered me. And fingered me. And oh-my-fucking-god-how-I-squirted fingered me.

I lay breathless, panted, beside him, but after giving me one orgasm, he would calmly turn over and play another few rounds. My muscles tensed, clenched, in anticipation of when he would touch me to orgasm again. I couldn’t concentrate on the game. I felt his body heat touching the side of my body, smelled his skin, found myself listening to his breath for a clue of when he was going to move towards me.

And he did frequently, his fingers brought me to orgasm with either nipple or sex, then a short intermission.

My nipples were stinging constantly with the consistently tugging, and I liked it. I liked being constantly aware of them, an almost thrumming went from each tip to my sex and made me throb.

“I think you should take the whippy thingy to my breasts,” I panted after another orgasm. I couldn’t remember what the hell it was called, and I didn’t care, I only wanted to know if I would like that type of stinging pain on my already raw nipples. It was a small whip with rubbery-type thin strands.

He laughed, rolled off the side of the bed, and grabbed it. And cupped a breast, making the hardened nipple stand out even more. Soft at first, then he began rhythmically whipping across my breast, my nipple hurt so badly at first, and then the thrumming became stronger and pooled between my thighs. When he moved to the other nipple, I still could feel the one he left. Again, it hurt instantly, but the rhythm drew my body to welcome it, my core tensed in preparation of an orgasm.

And then the strands hit hard between my lips, the tips curled up and stung my ass. I groaned and asked for more.

More? What was I thinking? I wasn’t, I realized when the strands constantly grazed my wet lips, nipped my clit, my lips engorged as if welcoming the tenderness. I came, I yelled.

He threw. The black implement disappeared over the side of the bed and he was in between my legs, positioning himself to slide inside of me. His head parted my lips and I came just from that. Then he thrusted deeply, and the orgasm intensified. He waited for me to finish, then pulled out. I whined.

“Stop. You’ll like this,” he stated, folded over a pillow and positioned it under my hips. Once again he was inside of me, and the angle positioned the tip of his head up towards my g-spot. I clenched my core so much from the force of sensation there that my head and shoulders raised up level to my hips. I tightened so much that his grunts were heard mingled with my scream as we orgasmed together.

 Posted by at 8:20 am
Aug 172015
 

Masturbation Monday Week 50We cuddled, lazy on a morning that the bustle of life can wait for. His fingers wandered around the curves of my body. As they skimmed my thighs and nipples, I caught my breath, moaned a little. He smiled, a smile I recognize when he realizes that I am sensitive and he is going to continue to get more of my reactions. He kissed me, gently nudged me onto my side, pressed his warm body against my back, and his finger slipped so easily into my body. I moaned and raised a leg, draped it over his thighs to give him more access. His finger slid out and up to my clit, circled a few times. His finger teased in and out, spread my juices around, rubbed my gspot, almost got me there, and then withdrew completely.

I whined. “Oh is there something I can do for you?” he whispered, his voice still husky from not using it during the night, his words tickling my neck. I reached back and gripped his upper thigh, pulled him closer into my body, felt his erection. He softly fingered me, a pace that was maddeningly only because it was unhurried and my body tensed for so long in anticipation. As I clenched around his fingers, as I felt my juices coat and the waves of pleasure come, he bit down where neck and shoulder meet. I came as his teeth applied delightful pressure to muscle, as he marked me for a later reminder of this intimate moment. He let go of my skin as my body released from the climax and rested his face on the back of my head, in contrast my own panting – his breath still was slowly coming in and out and brushing against the wet bite marks.

He continued to finger me, now in an insistent and harsh way that makes me squirt, and I knew he wouldn’t give up until I did. My thighs were coated in this orgasm, his fingers creating a noisy concert as they directed just one more orgasm after squirting, again slowly guiding me there, allow my body a more relaxed state, the scent of my pleasure drifting delightfully about the room.

We continued spooning after his fingers withdrew, and despite how hard he still was pressed against my body, he seemed content to drift back towards slumber again.

 Posted by at 8:08 am
Jan 262015
 

Laying in bed, I rolled over and positioned myself to give him a blow job – a sure signal that I was in the mood and we were having sex. He didn’t complain.

After some time, I traveled up his body, leaving a trail of kisses behind me. I playfully bit his neck, kissed and sucked his sensitive zones there, and shifted to his mouth.

He smiled and turned away. “What makes you think you warrant a kiss?”

I smiled back playfully, my hands gripped the side of his face and I attempted to force his head still for a kiss.

Thwap!

I was suddenly on my back, forcefully thrown off of him and pinned down by a hand around my throat. Okay, so maybe we weren’t being playful.

“Who is in charge?”

“You,” I couldn’t help smiling. That firm voice was one that gets me excited and anticipating what’s to come.

“That’s right. I have another idea for your mouth,” he leaned back briefly to grab some lube and then positioned his cock at my mouth. He slowly inserted it and withdrew, once, twice, and then pushed back to the resistance of my throat. I opened wider, exhaled, opened my throat to try to accommodate more. I didn’t get much more, but some. “So good, you’re getting there,” he stated softly, his finger teased between my lips, plunged in and curled deliciously. I whimpered and arched, so ready to cum already. He stopped and looked at me. “No cumming,” he ordered.

I took a deep breath, nodded, tried to relax with his finger rather than tense against it. He rubbed in ways that I loved, but I kept my eyes opened and focused on his face and didn’t cum. He leaned down beside me, his hand patted and then smacked at my lips as he whispered in my ear, “you can cum when I kiss you. Really kiss you. Not when you force me to, not when my lips graze yours,” his mouth hovered over my lips, stirred from one corner to the other, lips so close that my tongue could easily touch – wanted to touch. He stopped smacking. “You can’t cum until I kiss you,” he repeated, still kept his mouth close to my own, the finger again inserted and rubbed, the palm brushed against sensitively stung skin. He coerced my body to squirt.

Damn!

“What did you just do?” he sounded disappointed. I was angry at him for forcing an orgasm that I had no control over.

“I came,” I all but wailed.

“Yes you did. What should I do now?”

“Kiss me?” I suggested.

“What are you going to do to be punished?”

I hated being asked to decide my own punishment. It wasn’t fair. Especially since he forced the orgasm. “Head?”

“You won’t like it,” he warned. I loved giving him head. “Understand? It’s a punishment,” he picked me up like a rag doll and flung me to the side of the bed, a hand in my hair with my head over the side before I could get my bearings. I opened my mouth to receive him and he thrusted in, deeply, not giving me time to adjust. Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden and I tried to take more of him, to relax around him. He withdrew and pushed right back in, hit the back and kept pushing patiently. My hand slapped at his thigh, I couldn’t breathe. When he withdrew, I coughed.

“No cumming,” he reminded me and pushed me into the center of the bed. He entered my body, and I took calming breaths, kept my eyes on him, tried not to cum. He positioned himself up to rub a place that is amazing to me. I struggled to relax.

“Please, let me cum,” I begged. I touched his face softly, my hands roamed his body and went back to his face, occasionally tried to pull him closer to my face. “Please kiss me.”

“Oh you can cum,” he said, “whenever you want. And if you keep putting your hands on my face to insist on a kiss, I will put hands on your face.” I withdrew my hands, kept them to his shoulders. With him fully in control, my brain stopped thinking and I just felt what was going on.

Then, he positioned pillows under my hips and the head rubbed up against the roof of my body. I tried, but this time to no avail. I tensed and arched and orgasmed, didn’t even try to hide something he could feel around him, and moaned. He let me calm down, increased the tempo until I almost came again…almost. He edged me four or five times, it felt easily like twenty times. I thought he was being extreme. He withdrew.

“And now what’s it to be?” He flipped me over, reached for some rope and tied my wrists to the bedpost, stretched me slanted across the bed. “Come on, decide. You came.”

“Anything, please let me cum,” my body trembled from all the edging, from the need for release.

“Should I beat you?” He hand spanked my ass, hard, not building up but already at the level that stung and kept that.

“Yes, please let me cum.” My ass already felt hot and red.

A blindfold was placed on my face. I heard him in the toy chest. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you decide your punishment-”

“Anything,” I panted, desperate.

“You can choose what’s in my left hand or my right. That’s all I’m going to give you.”

I had the choice but no clue what they were. Evil. Wicked. He’s left-handed; an instrument with more precision and force was easier with his left hand. “Right.”

“Okay,” he took a moment, and then his hand was back to spanking. “This isn’t it. This is your warm up.” I tried to remain still and not twist away from his hand. I have no idea if I was successful but suddenly his hand stopped and hot wax poured down the cheek that was already hot and sensitive.

I cried out, jerked, felt wax run towards my sex, froze. That was why he needed a moment and spanked me – for the wax to melt. He poured some more, and it burned against skin recently hit. It was a challenge to remain still; I was vocal about the pain, however.

“We’ll go up a little distance,” he said, and the wax splattered and pooled up my spine. Something cold touched the center of my back and I shuddered from the surprise. More hot wax rained around the cold object. “Stay still if you don’t want to burn yourself,” he warned. I realized that the shockingly cold object was the candle holder laying on the center of my back.

He was seriously testing my will tonight. Staying still was never my strong suit.

He took off the blindfold and I saw him untying my wrists. He picked up the candle and put it on the nightstand. “Come here,” he hand was in my hair as he dragged/motioned me to the headboard. I gripped the top, my breasts against the cool wood, and he entered and pounded into my body. The hand compelled my head to the side, and he kissed me with a crazy passion. When he stopped, I was breathless and already orgasming. The head of his penis crashed into my wall repeatedly, caused both pleasure and pain. I was going to feel it later, but my body welcomed it, I pushed against him as he pushed into me and a tempest dance of a harsh orgasm welled. My screams covered his own sounds of pleasure.

It was the roughest we had ever had sex, I thought.

After, my body unable to even move, my fingers too sore from gripping the headboard to release it, he eased out of me and gently pulled me away, onto the soft mattress and against his body. He curled me up tightly against him, my back on the bed, the top of my head tucked into his chest with his face securely keeping it there, his arms my anchor and blanket, my legs draped over his. He held me, kept me warm, praised me, loved me, cherished me until my trembling ceased and I drifted into a deep slumber.

I needed that.


Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 2:21 pm
Dec 082014
 

I masturbated and it all went horribly wrong. It started with me waking my husband so that I could run errands, but he decided to join me, seemingly stressed about time, rushing to do a few things. While impatiently waiting, I decided to surf tumblr, and then decided to masturbate.

I don’t do this activity often. And never if he’s home. But he was busy, I didn’t want to stop him getting ready as we had a lot to do that day, so I went into the bedroom, locked the door against children, and grabbed my vibrator. I didn’t give myself any warm up, and forced it through my dry entrance, slowly eased it in, pulled out and smeared my juices waiting inside around my lips. Then I thrusted my vibrating toy in and out, hard and rough and frenzied. I heard my orgasm as I felt the tension, and then I felt liquid hitting my hand, little splatterings that surprised me.

I JUST MADE MYSELF SQUIRT!

Okay, normally an activity that I don’t like, as I this is my only sexual hangup. But I’ve never been able to do it to myself (not that I’ve tried), and suddenly I had. It’s like victory music came on in my head, I felt so powerful and in control and proud. Yes, proud. I did it!

Right after the corny music in my head played and I soared on all sorts of self-congratulation-feelings, I thought that I needed to tell my husband – as he was the one who first got me to squirt.

Enter the perfectly timed knocked on the door. “What are you doing?” his voiced asked.

Pause, could kids hear? “Something,” I said, and hopped out of bed, going to door.

“Are you playing?” he asked, his voice angry. “Why are you playing? I’m in the fucking house!” he gritted out each syllable, and suddenly I “was fucking hot to being utterly ashamed of my body and my sexual urges and like so many of my desires/likes they became my dirty little secret(Molly’sDailyKiss). 

Shame is a powerful thing, it causes people to deny their true feelings, it makes us feel bad about ourselves, there is no happiness or freedom to be found in shame. It strips people of their ability to learn and explore who they are, it makes us secretive, lonely and confused and when it comes to the female body and female sexuality it has been used as a tool to control and suppress. You are not supposed to like and enjoy your own body and women who do are often viewed in a negative light. The fear of that light keeps women (and men) in the dark when it comes to owning and sharing their desires.(Molly’sDailyKiss).

I don’t even masturbate much when he isn’t home, perhaps once a month or every other month, (people view this as odd as I will gladly have sex all day long)  and didn’t see anything wrong with taking care of myself while I waited for him. I didn’t want to hear a no, or have him feel obligated, I wanted an uncomplicated quick orgasm, I also wanted to run errands as soon as possible. It seemed a win.

In discussing it, he felt left out, as I have never left him out before. I listened, apologized that he felt left out. I expressed he made me feel embarassed and ashamed that I had masturbated and explained my reasoning behind the decision, as well as the fact that I didn’t see anything wrong with it, but would make sure he didn’t feel left out in the future. He didn’t apologize, he stated that he was okay with me feeling bad, as I hurt him.

It was a juvenile thing to say that caused me to cry, as I was already feeling very vulnerable. Later, he apologized, but by that point, it didn’t make me feel listened to or respected.

And as for the squirting – that’s my very first hangup since becoming sexual active. It also occurred with my 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. And I had never done this before, so 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. While we communicate openly and honestly, sometimes we just fumbled and stick our foot in our mouth. I hated squirting.

The resolution with this has been that he can’t sniff, no matter how strong the urge. He can get me to squirt whenever he wants, with ease, but I hate the mess, the sensation, the reminder of that first time that for some reason I can’t rid myself of, the fact that he’s never expressed that he finds it sexy or hot, rather that he viewed it as he first did. So while he continued to make me squirt over the years, it’s dwindling to now just in the shower.

When I made myself squirt, for some reason I was okay with it, which makes me question perhaps I am finally getting over my only issue, but the subsequent discussion and hurt feelings sends me curling inward with my feelings and thoughts, and I haven’t felt like reopening the wound to inspect it, except now in writing this.

*I am in no way trying to insult my husband. The issues are with me, and I am responsible for solving them. And he has allowed me to express my sexuality very freely, and tried to support me however he can. I have found more freedom in feeling safe to explore while being with him than ever before in my life.

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 9:33 am
Jul 032014
 

We were in the shower, the water streamed down his gorgeous body, my vantage point the center of his sexy chest, when without warning his hand was around my throat. He backed me into the shower wall, his foot kicked at my ankles to part my legs, the hand an anchor to pin my body to the wall.

His other hand tangled in my hair, soaken tresses dripped down my body to disguise a wetness suddenly evident between my legs. He gripped my head back, an awkwardness as I was still immobile at the throat, and kissed me passionately. Lips came down hard, a tongue demanded and took.

His muscular thigh pressed between my legs. He released my hair at the same time as his kiss ended, and mouth and free fingers went to nipples, one to suck hard, the other to agonizingly pinch. His thigh pressed higher, I stood on tiptoe, and at moments it was his thigh that kept me up.

And his hand encompassed my throat against the wall still.

My mind went silent, my heartbeat and the stream of water white noise for an already meditative state.

He was here, I was here. How nice.

His mouth upon my breast, his finger pain from nipple tip interfused and blended and pooled, his thigh steady and hard and rooted. My own hips slid along his thigh, clit rubbed up and down, around, ached, grew, required.

Oh how I needed…

Teeth clamped down on breast and I groaned, I panted, muffled by a mouth that claimed my own again. The tugging of fingers ceased, blazed a trail down my stomach and his thigh surrendered my boon. I relied on tiptoe again, unbalanced, unsure, unaware. Completely unreliable. Two fingers immediately assailed inside, parted fiercely, curled and cupped and pushed.

Ah-mazing.

I couldn’t breathe suddenly. I was reduced to mewling and gushing. Oh how I gushed tempestuously, his wrist and arm covered in my frenzied orgasm. I melted into the wall, I poured down him, a deluge uncontrolled, completely determinate by his fingers inside me, his hand around me, directed the flood.

I hurt, I ached, I soared, and slowly, when it felt like he had long abandoned his intrusion, I was aware of both arms around me, against my cheek his heartbeat steady and calm in contrast to my pulsated and addled body, warm water soft against my skin, caressed, ministered.

Loved.

He was my anchor.

 Posted by at 11:39 pm
Feb 112014
 

Happy Endings

Happy_ending_tmi

1. What is the best way you like to be brought to orgasm?

Penetration from sex. My clit doesn’t bring me to orgasm until after I’ve already orgasmed, and I love the intimacy of sex.

2. What is the best way to make you orgasm quickly?

My husband knows exactly where to place his fingers to bring me to orgasm faster than can be believed. Sadly, he can also make me squirt with the same accuracy. 

3. What is the typical or usual way that a lover chooses to bring you to orgasm?

Sex, most often. 

4. After a night of sexy play, how do you like to end the evening?

Cuddled and feeling cherished. The younger me would’ve liked to walk away immediately, I’ve become soft as I age.

5. Have you ever been given a “happy ending” from a professional (e.g., Tantric massage) or at an erotic massage parlor?

No, but I would be all about this. Just haven’t found the opportunity.

6. Tell us about something you tried to end? Did you go cold turkey? Did you succeed? Was it a happy ending?

Well, I quit smoking cold turkey. I’ve been very successful. I also, when I was younger, decided to give up sexual intercourse for a year. It didn’t end up as well as I was hoping, however, I did make it to the year mark. 

Bonus: Do you like to give erotic “happy endings”? Tell us about your technique.

I love happy endings in general. When it comes to sexy stuff, I would love for my partner to orgasm. This may be a point of frustration, however, at times. 

To create an erotic mood, I will whisper, tease, text, call – any mode to reach their mind before their body. If I have them, I am most successful if, during intercourse, I clench down on him so that he can orgasm. But I’m not too shabby with my mouth if intercourse is out. 

————

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 tmituesdayblogfrom your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

 Posted by at 5:55 pm
Nov 132013
 

I laid on top of him and began kissing his neck, made sure to rub my breasts against his smooth chest. I started with tiny nibbles, ran my nails up and down his upper arms, felt the muscles beneath my fingertips. Then I moved to an occasional brief lick, followed by sweeping my tongue up and down, followed the muscles and contours of his neck, lips and mouth occasionally sucked in a particularly sensitive zone. He shivered and I felt goose bumps under my fingers. I traced my mouth across the jaw line and nibbled at both full lips, sucked on the bottom lip for a moment, before moving to other side.

He was expecting a kiss, but wasn’t disappointed when my tongue immediately delved to his spots that made him quiver. Slowly, the tip of my tongue barely grazed the lobe of his ear and moved delicately up, followed the outside curve, retraced back down and nibbled/sucked on the lobe.

His hand in my hair, he gripped at the base of the skull and drew my mouth in for a kiss; nothing was delicate or gentle, but demanding and seeking. My mouth crashed over his again and again, my tongue probed deeply into his mouth and danced in tune to his passion, his hand commanded the steps.

And I was commanded away from him, and down. I tried to position myself lower to give him head, but his grip in my hair stopped me. “No, my nipples,” he instructed, guided my mouth to his nipple. I licked then sucked, his hand pushing my head farther against him, my suction increasing. “Don’t let go,” he said, and then pulled me away, so slowly, that I had time to suck as hard as I could and moved my teeth carefully around his nipple, pulling the nub between them as inevitably he moved me off of it. He moved me to the other side, and repeated the command and movement.

His grip was a vice and he hadn’t needed to readjust. Again, he pulled me lower, and again I tried to position for a blow job, but he said, “no, go slow towards it. Make your way down,” and I did, his grip followed rather than directed. I trailed kisses down his stomach, followed the curve of hip/stomach muscle to the inside of his thigh, licked between the sensitive fold, and when he moaned, I sucked hard. Pushing against my head, his hand encouraged the force. A hand on the other side of his hip touched the side of his penis, but almost as if accidentally, not gripping or stroking in any way. I moved lower and ran my tongue under his balls, around each small globe, taking each into my mouth and gently rolling it around with my tongue, sucking carefully.

My mouth moved to the other crease of thigh/groin and repeated the hard licking and sucking. He gasped and tensed. His other hand gripped his shaft and he quickly shoved my mouth down upon it, cautious not to force it all the way down. He was so hard, so inflexible that I could barely take half of his length, the soft head hit the back of my throat, my lips and tongue molded over the ribbed ridges. I marveled over how hard he was, frustrated as well at how my small, inept mouth could not work around such a rigid size.

One hand bracing myself over him, the other caressed his balls as I did my best to pleasure him. His hand drove me up and down at a pace he wanted, but suddenly wrenched me up. He pulled me up, I mistakenly thought for a kiss, but he voice stated my error and, “all the way up,” as he hand let go of the strained tresses finally. Both hands gripped my thighs and picked me up and his face was suddenly under me, pulling me down to his ravenous mouth. I held onto the headboard, biting my lip to stifle a little my cry of pleasure, overwhelmed already at the sensation, and my hips rotated against and around his mouth of their own volition.

Moaning, I began fucking his mouth, finding my own pleasure. When done, he still directed my hips with hands to moving at a slower rhythm, tonguing my clit, sliding down, sucking upon my sex, and steadily back again.

One arm moved across my torso and he pushed me off of him. I was laying sideways on the bed, and he was over me swiftly, his hands parting my lower lips, his mouth sucking hard at my sex, and I came again, begged for him to be inside of me. “No,” he denied, his fingers delving hard into me, his mouth on one nipple, and I screamed and squirting, soaking his hand and the bed.

He smiled, and finally positioned himself between my legs, driving down quickly into me, oiled friction, I offered no resistant. He pulled up, the shaft almost rubbing against my clit and thrusted straight down again, his cock quite visible between our bodies every time he moved out, emerging slick. Orgasming, my only thought was to remind myself to breathe. He kept me up to the peak for so long, I tensed for so long that my toes curled painfully, before he slowed and allowed me back to the present.

I complained of my toes and he chuckled, then positioned me to my side, one leg under his body, the other wrapped his waist. He drove into me, the position allowing him to go so much deeper, and I muffled a complaint of his size at the same time as moaning my pleasure. The pace was fast, and hard, and my orgasm was just as hard. I heard him mention feeling my muscles clench with the force, but wasn’t aware of much more than the feeling of him deep inside of me.

The unmistakable aroma of our fucking permeated my awareness, as did our harsh, ragged breathing, and the throbbing soreness of my greedy cunt pulled still at his cock. I was done, I was sore – I was so full of need, I wanted more. I was overwhelmed.

Rotating again, I was laying on my stomach, one leg on either side of one of his, and he grabbed my upper hip and thrusted in and out with an even harder and faster pace. I screamed, and screamed, and tightened, and I could hear my pleasure flowing between us, and his groans and statements of how tight I was, how hard I was hitting, how much I was cumming, and how he was there with me.

Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 12:31 pm