1. What is your reality?
This feels like a very philosophical question, and I hate all my philosophy classes, so maybe that’s the answer?
I hate philosophy.
2. Will you have sex today? This week?
Odds are pretty strong I’ll have it again, maybe a couple of times more depending on scheduling around family, and already had sex today. This week is a guarantee – Mr. Texas and I have figured out crankiness ensues if sex does not happen regularly.
3. What did you hate doing this past weekend?
I hate arguing, to which it seems I do quite a bit of. Cleaning wasn’t too bad – of that I do very little of anyhow, and it’s always by choice nowadays. Yeah, I’m spoiled being a sugar mama – almost zero work around the house.
4. What did you love doing this past weekend?
Slow dancing in the living room, binge watching a great show (something I do rarely), playing with my fur babies.
5. Which new technology have you found most helpful in your life? Which do you find to be the most annoying?
My phone has to be my lifeline somedays, though that’s not new technology. I hate any technology that requires fixing of any sort – it’s my automatic crazy button to an emotional meltdown.
Bonus: Go do last week’s TMI questions that were posted on Friday. Great questions!
1. You are going to make a sexy weekend with your lover. Which one are you most likely to enjoy? Which of the activities is most likely to happen?
a. Cook dinner together
b. Play a sexy game
c. Take a bath together
Cooking dinner together is most likely to happen as we’ve done that several times (and dancing in between), though taking a bath together sounds divine – once I can afford to get a custom tub that will fit the two of us.
2. Will you watch porn this weekend? Alone or with someone?
Most likely I will somewhat watch porn (does Tumblr count as porn?) and alone
3. Sexy games–pick one you’d like to play? Why?
a. Naked twister or
b. Strip trivial pursuit – I’m more likely to be better at this
3. Friday night you hit happy hour, you meet a super sexy woman/man and the two of you chat and laugh the night away. She/he leans into you and says, “You’re irresistible, can I touch your pussy/cock?’ What is your answer?
Depends on my mood, and more importantly: am I ovulating (far more likely a yes then)?
4. What do you really have planned for the weekend?
I may travel this weekend, kind of leaving it up to a family member
5. Does this TMI on a Friday have you changing your weekend plans?
Nope, not a bit.
Bonus: What you like to do on the weekend but never seem to get the chance?
Again, that depends on my mood. I’d love to travel more but that’s more financial reasons, not to mention I’ve been incredibly hermit-like recently.
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!
Happy TMI Tuesday!
The night prior The Wanderer and I did wax play but it brought up our need to have a knife. I love feeling a cold, sharp knife slide between hardened hot wax and my sensitive skin.
So the next morning, with a free day ahead of us (an unheard thing), we went a store and I selected a knife that I wanted. He was kind enough to buy it for me. Next time, we’re ready;considering my love of knives, it was really quite strange that I do not own any.
We decided to head towards a boardwalk on a nearby beach, where our first order of business was food. Splitting two meals so we could sample a variety of what the menu offered: shrimp and lobster. Sitting in a shady place on the boardwalk, with the ocean breeze drifting, and after he allowed me to caress him for an hour, the day promised peace that I don’t often feel. Conversation flowed as beautifully as the weather around us – I regretted not wearing a dress again and felt warm as the sun shown upon my jeans. Our friendship is easy enough for the silences not to be awkward amid a constant flow of any topic to happen back and forth.
Lunch was delivered and the lobster arrived wholly intact. I could barely even look at it and before I could request that they de-shell it, the waiter left. Fortunately, it seems The Wanderer is handy with cracking seafood and didn’t mind that I would not be helping in the slightest. He also was incredibly generous with gifting me with some of the best pieces. It was endearing, caring, sweet.
After we finished lunch, he asked me to hold his phones for a moment. It was a first and when he put a hand out, I smiled and cradled them closer, turning away and demanding a kiss. I was secretly worried that he would freak out without not immediately being handed the phones back, but he hesitated, reached around to grab them but briefly kissed me as he did so. A token price, but a huge step in the right direction of relaxation and playful interaction for us.
We walked to the end of the boardwalk after lunch where he had to take a phone call. A slight breeze cooled an otherwise far too warm day and I had to the urge to frolic among the much cooler waves. After he was done with his call, we decided to walk along the shoreline. I took off my sandals and rolled up my jeans above my calves; he did similar though was far more dressed so the casual rolled pants and finger hooked around the heels of dress shoes made a startling contrast. It was simply another reminder that I didn’t observe him relaxing much.
As we walked, we had discussions of vacations that were sadly more of dreams far more than plans – as more time goes on I realize this is unlikely to happen as a marriage and children take the spare down days; still, how nice to dream at times. It was truly our first date, and as dates go this one had visions of a future between two hopeful people establishing a connection; I believe one of us even mentioned that it was an actual date rather than our kink sessions mixed in between his business meetings, even the morning had no real BDSM elements (though the night prior was filled with such explorations).
Eventually we reached my vehicle, and after brushing the sand off of our feet and legs, unrolling our pants, and a brief hug and kiss, I’d drive him to the airport and watch the methodical way he grabbed his bag and made his way in the hurried no-nonsense manner I see every businessman do.
I used to joke that my husband sucked in bed once. He did, but he could laugh good-naturedly about it because he was asleep when he sucked. How that man was fully asleep, and yet could carry on a conversation, be hard, let me ride him, and even cum inside of me fully asleep – I’ll never know. The military may train these men to sleep under strange circumstances, as I also don’t understand how he sleeps through mortars or standing up.
And now he has sucked a second time (almost a third, as the night before that wasn’t that great, though it wasn’t terrible). The last time I had sex with him (why does our last times have to suck in some way?), the sex wasn’t good. That night he didn’t want to have sex with me at all – even though I hadn’t seen him in weeks and we just had two nights (and not even days) together, but in the morning hours after his alarm went off he was apparently in the mood for it. I didn’t even orgasm – and that’s saying something for me. He was fully awake but I received no foreplay before he was pulling me on top of him. I rode him until he found his orgasm in the early morning hours before he climaxed and then began to get ready to go for the day.
Perhaps he was still asleep? No, he was fully awake, he even admitted as much later, and he approached me for sex, not me pushing my body down on his lazy form that I was unaware was sleeping.
Perhaps it was good bye sex? No, good bye sex is meaningful in many ways. It has the passionate ending that is fizzling out but contained for one last burst of brightness. It has longing and love and tenderness behind every moment, and an intense unspoken message in every action. It is a parting gift, a last hurrah. There was no message in his action, no passion in his movement.
Perhaps it was one stand sex? No, even one night stands are more impressive. They explore an unknown body, or a body that they haven’t seen in awhile. People show off a skill normally in a one night, like a one trick pony putting on a display. They seem unsure because it is just for one night. He seemed sure of the steps, of the dance, of the show; uncaring of the tricks that he knows will bring me delight.
I didn’t say anything as he left.
Perhaps it was good bye sex that I was feeling? And I was tired of the words – besides which, he had uttered them far too often and only once to my face – and that was more of a repeat of the words he stated as I drove across country towards him.
Perhaps it was one night stand sex? That was how I felt, as if this person underneath me was just using my body for one time and uncaring of putting on a show; though I was: I was grinding down and tightening in ways that I know bring him pleasure, bring most men to pleasure, putting on my one trick in a way that tires me beyond one show. I didn’t know this person that my thighs straddled, he was an emotionless stranger to me that time and distance and anger and hurt and other relationships created.
…Later that day, when he called me when I driving the distance home, he said that he didn’t feel a connection to me the whole weekend. I could tell and let him know that.
I could also tell where the conversation was leading, as I had heard this enough from him. We didn’t place blame or point fingers, there was no “you do this” but only “I feel this” of a healthy communication expressing of feelings. He didn’t want to do this anymore: he wanted his family to take care of him, he was afraid of change, he was unsure of ever trusting our relationship again.
And to be honest: I was ready to let go. I didn’t want to do this again. I didn’t want to change who I was, what I wrote about, have someone jealousy paranoid, be in a relationship where there was no trust: me not trusting him to stay with me despite time and commitment, him not trusting me in a monogamous setting where I am not even talking to people in a sexual manner. I didn’t want to sacrifice anything further for him – I had already sacrificed so much. And I didn’t want him to sacrifice anything for me when he told me over and over again that he didn’t want to, and I didn’t want the resentment if he did.
“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!
*Switch: A person who vacillates between dominant (I’ll also use topping) and submissive (bottoming) roles within relations.
So at the GRUE (conference/event), one of the most engaging things to me was a conversation about switching. It was looked down a lot, kind of the way bisexuality is at times: being too flighty to pick a side or not really knowing which side to choose rather than a valid choice and natural instinct.
In my new state, a lot of people identify as switch, by far the majority from what I’ve observed. Once in room full of people, the presenter asked how many identify as a switch and everyone but the presenter raised their hand. It’s a bit odd, but at the GRUE it made for an excellent conversation. Such topics were:
How do you switch with another switch? My ex husband and I were both switches (to an extent, he was always a service top if he topped). Our dynamics were always very clear to us – there was no mistaking our role for whatever the occasion – a very strange and special knowledge of knowing each other so intimately. He would voice if he needed me to top him, otherwise the dynamic was he would top me. At times we would go for more of a primal, fight to be on top, role but that was even clearly telegraphed in an unspoken manner between us.
In speaking and listening to others at this conference, I realized just how rare and special that dynamic was as there was little conflict in just knowing what the other wanted and being so attuned as to grant it.
Mr. Texas and I are switches, and while we haven’t been together nearly as long and are no where near as attuned to each other, the agreement is for the most part he tops. We do have a few of these complications that others discussed of two switches being together; for example, sometimes it’s unclear who wants to bottom – I top far more than I ever did with my ex. We will also sometimes switch mid scene. The rule that is keeping us the most satisfied in this dynamic is regardless of who is on bottom at first, I cannot go from bottoming to topping. I just cannot get my head space right to submit and then dominate, whereas he can because he can only take so much pain, which brings me to my next topic that was discussed…
Many of them had triggers that would flip the switch. This shocked me to hear, as many of them discussed how mid-scene they would grab the implement they were being hit with and hit the person topping them. I have never felt this urge, it would not even occur to me. To me, that’s a consent violation unless it was agreed upon. I addressed perhaps a need to disclaim that in part of the negotiations to my fellow switches, as a collective group we were trying to come up to some solutions to some of the issues of being a switch.
Mr. Texas and I, prior to the GRUE, did not switch mid-scene. He would ask me to mid-scene after he topped me for awhile, but I always declined (again, can’t do the head space) until we came the agreement that the order could be reversed (I could go from top to bottom). What began as a negotiation and honest communication with what made us tick has worked to our benefit, as Mr. Texas doesn’t necessarily have a trigger that makes him flip roles – it’s more of a pain threshold that he can no longer tolerate but doesn’t want to call an end to. I am really having fun exploring my more sadistic side with Mr. Texas in a way that was unforeseen, but Mr. Texas is not a masochist (we both love each other’s reactions in this dynamic) so once he’s done but too stubborn to color, he simply grabs me and flips me under him, often with a hand around my throat – a simple and consistent action that always gets me in a submitting headspace.
What I have also discovered since the GRUE is that Mr. Texas does have a sensual trigger that makes me want to top me: when I am not obviously topping but being more playful, I will sometimes straddle him, tease him with my body, have the tip of his head right at my entrance and deny him, press my breasts against his chest, and nip at his neck. It’s really the nipping at his neck that triggers him, his moans turn into growls and he begins to grip and grab at me to position certain ways. This tends to turn into a fight for top but only briefly (nowhere near the savage intensity my ex and I played at, which I am fine with).
What’s the difference between switching and bratty.
*Brat: Within the BDSM lifestyle, the term brat is usually applied to a person of a submissive nature who acts up or causes trouble in order to attract attention. This is generally frowned upon as it is classed as topping from the bottom and trying to control the situation.
I am not sure if the group ever could clearly define this question posed. Bratty also tends to have a negative connotation in the BDSM scene. I know that I am not bratty with Mr. Texas (except once when he asked for a picture while he was at work), but that I was occasionally bratty with my ex husband. Bratty is almost a challenge in my mind and Mr. Texas is new to this role so I try not to challenge him as he needs to gain confidence in it. I was a brat with my ex whenever I wanted his attention, most often when he would tie me and was more focused on the rope than me – a common occurrence. I have not been bratty to The Wanderer – again our dynamic has always been firm in roles, though I am playful at times to get him away from his serious nature, but never in a challenging way or to gain attention. I don’t know if I will be clearly defining the difference but switching is a role and bratty is a mood to me.
The need to address the things done incorrectly. How we know both sides of the coin and will invariably meet up with people that we’re more knowledgeable but will bottom for. It’s somewhat inevitable that the longer someone is in the lifestyle and educates themselves, that they will know more than the person topping them. It’s the case with Mr. Texas, as he knew nothing so I topped from the bottom as I taught him (which wasn’t the case with everything, some things he just instinctively knew), and I teach him what I do know. Sometimes it’s with demonstrating on him, sometimes it’s talking him through something, and sometimes it’s going to educational events with him. Regardless, it revolves around honest and authentic communication – something anyone with any amount of knowledge should do with the person they are engaging with.
*Terms defined by Urban Dictionary
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.
The Wanderer and I spent a night together in which he immediately, with no warm up, beat my ass with a thick leather belt and created welts that marked for a week. We did so many things in the short amount of time we spent in the hotel. Here’s three:
Throat. Something I know he doesn’t do much of but something I enjoy is a hand around my throat. After a belt spanking, playing around a bit, dinner, orgasms, and a spanking, he laid me on the bed and fingered me to an orgasm. Nothing out of the usual, until his hand went around my throat. I’m pretty sure it was for my benefit far more than his, but instantly his large hand held my every thought. That physical reminder that I was vulnerable was all I needed to surrender any shred of control to him. He didn’t apply a lot of pressure along my pulse on either side of my neck, but I didn’t need it to feel powerless. I shut my eyes, focused on his other fingers deep inside of me and curling slightly, rubbing at place that had me crying out and shuddering in ecstasy.
Hot wax. The sad fact is that we were planning on playing with wax six months prior – he even bought the candles. But then I reconciled with my husband, so that didn’t work out at all. I had actually used one candle he bought on my friend – to show her how sensual and intimate wax and knife feels.
With The Wanderer, it was what I thought it would be – sensual and intimate. I was fuzzy brained from pain, tired from orgasms, yet for some reason I was a bit squirmy every time the drops hit my body. It hurt and stung in a way that I was surprised with, but perhaps my head space was all over the place by that point. He measured the drops, his eyes never leaving my body – I was the sole focus of his attention, something that I adore with any type of scene – the sole focus and connection found. After awhile, the pattering of the drops calmed me and I was able to breathe a bit into the rhythm he set, to watch his gaze, drops sizzling and then cooling to hardened little reminders of his travel. He teased around my nipple, not quite touching it but circled around. My skin was pinpoints along the trails, flushed from his attention as much as the heat.
Hand job. Prior to the wax, he had requested a hand job. If anyone were to ask me my deficiency in the bedroom, I would tell them that it was a hand job. I rarely even attempt to give them, and here he was asking for one. “You’ll have to teach me,” I warned. So he promised me he would, and he was an excellent teacher, able to verbalize exactly what it was he wanted from me. My hand wrapped around his shaft and he directed to where exactly to hold on the length. Unsure, I squeezed a bit and he directed me to clench harder. Up and down, my fingers felt the muscles and veins and ridges, my palm felt how deliciously hard he was. His encouragement with the timber of his voice, the erotic words directing me, and I found myself growing wet, imagining what I felt in my hand sliding up and down inside my cunt.
As he hardened even more, his thigh muscles tightened and his hips thrusted a bit into my hand, and I felt powerful. I was creating these sensations that he was enjoying, producing pleasure that had nothing to do with me and every bit directed just for him. There is something selfless about a hand job: it allowed me to be more of an observer of his pleasure, gifted me an intimate view of how he reacts and what he liked, such an intimate glimpse.
I felt him pulse and throb against my fingers and palm, watched as his milky orgasm reached its climax and shot out of his cock, heard his groan of satisfaction. It was so hot.
I can’t wait to see him and learn some new techniques to pleasure him with my hand(s).
It had been months, and I was emotional. Yet, to see The Wanderer’s smile, I was smiling and felt myself relaxing (later irony considering how tense he made me that night).
He was on a conference call, his standing figure silhouetted against the backdrop of the city lights in the large window (what is up with him and large windows in his hotel rooms?). Airplane shadows in the sky, colorful cars nonstop – my eyes were only on him, though I did appreciate how the background represented him so perfectly – always a traveler.
On my stomach, I stretched out on the bed, muscles appreciative after the drive to meet him. He came over to perch on the edge, my dress allowed me to feel the light tracing of his fingers from toes to calves to thighs, up over the curve of my bottom, lingered there with soft circles, followed the sensitive hollow of my lower back, up my spine, across my shoulders, brushed my hair back to smile down at me. I smiled back at him.
He muted the call for a minute. “It’s good to see you smile.” The concern was in his voice and I appreciated it – him caring.
I rubbed his thigh through his denim, had the urge to undo his pants and take him into my mouth. Resisted and listened instead to the timber of his voice as he talked. He threw down his phone, having the device in his ear, and began massaging my feet, took a moment to look at the design I had painted on from the last pedicure and commented it was cute. His hands rubbed and massaged up calves and thighs, became a bit rougher at my rounded cheeks.
His spanking kink is obvious, though this trip he was almost as enamored with my breasts.
I had the urge to take him into my mouth again, whispered I was going down to the bar so that I didn’t distract from his call. He gestured five more minutes, handed me a room key, and we parted ways.
Once he joined me at the bar, mere minutes later as promised, conversation between us was casual, though it would have been odd for me if it didn’t contain some flirtation – so of course there were a few remarks. I spoke softly of my urges in the room and he mentioned that the call would have been a lot more pleasant if I had given in to the urge. A man sitting near us would occasionally give a sidelong glance, a smile, and perhaps he heard a few things I shared.
We had a drink, a meal, then opted for nothing else but the rest of the evening in the room. Our time is few and far between for too many practicals and not enough fun.
The Wanderer allowed me to push him down sitting on the bed as we kissed; I straddled his lap while tasting his lips, used my body to press his further down into the mattress, my hips ground down in promise as my lips and tongue tasted from his mouth, moved onto skin.
Having excellent control and never getting too far carried away, he stopped me, though the regret was still evident in his body language. Still, with a devilish smile, he told me to get up and unpack the items I brought. I moved over to the large suitcase, complaining that toys took up a lot of space. In part, I was a bit defensive – he’s an expert traveler and will be away from home far longer periods and dressed spotlessly yet I always use larger luggage.
Days before, he had instructed that I bring a few items:
- 3 impact implements (I only had two, he reassured me he brought 3 belts just in case, well isn’t that considerate?)
- 3 insertables (which really brought up the fact that I need a dildo)
- My violet wand kit (a huge amount of space needed just for this)
As I took out the gorgeous paddle, he swatted me with it, told me to be grateful he kept on the clothes after I whined. It wasn’t much of a warm up with the force – a sign of what was to come. Next, the crop kissed me through far too thin fabric and my noise signaled complaint…and apparently a please-hurt-me-more if his reaction was any indication.
Grabbed, spun around, and pulled over his lap on the nearby bed before I could catch my balance, his large hands caressed my dress up, he seemed delighted and slightly distracted at my polka-dot panties just briefly before slapping until I’m sure my cheeks were a pinkened hue.
Got it…don’t complain or he’ll give me something to complain; on the other hand I also stored the message to complain so I no longer have to anxiously unpack torturous devices: I’m a flexible learner that way.
He pulled me up and undressed me slowly from behind, sensually his hands caressed, his mouth kissed up and down, his body pressed against my back and ground his desire against my cheeks. My own hands reached back to fondle his growing erection and in my impatience I undid the buckle of his belt. He must’ve felt it as his hands gripped my wrists between our hot bodies.
“Oh you want my belt, do you?” He whispered menacingly against my ear, or perhaps I heard the menace in the meaning.
“No.” I certainly didn’t want his belt but I tightened in anticipation anyhow.
Regardless, he threw me down on the bed and his belt licked painfully at my rear. It stung and felt like it sliced, my skin not warmed up enough for the force.
Yep, I was totally justified in hearing a threat with the belt.
He stood me back up and told me to put back on his belt. I took my time – partly because I had never put on a man’s belt, usually just the opposite, but also to take advantage of slowly touching him even though I had just been punished for trying to take advantage.
I may be a flexible learner, but I also apparently don’t learn the lesson the first go round.
Next, I was ordered to roll up his sleeves and I joked of how boding. Apparently I’m dense as a rock because while I joked, I didn’t foresee the threat that was to come.
He moved a chair into the center of the floor and had me bend over, grabbed a larger, thicker belt and went to work on my ass, not gentle but harsh and painful. I cried out my dismay and pain, trying to escape. Normally at this much distress signs, he would have slowed or gone softer, however this time he simply wrapped an arm around my waist to hold me down and continued his onslaught.*
As if the belt wasn’t enough, he spanked over the belt marks’ welts. Perhaps he wanted to lower the racket I was making with crying out in pain, or perhaps he wanted the racket to be one of pleasure, but he promised me an orgasm as he picked me up to lay me down in the center of the bed. I laid on reddened fire as his fingers delved into my wetness, his words speaking of how I clearly didn’t dislike the belt as much as noises indicated. My body betrayed me.
*This was after my sister died and the weeks in between I had told him that I needed a rough beating to penetrate through the haze and just feel something. He gave me what I asked for – and to date this is probably the hardest I’ve had an implement strike me.
***To see a picture, click here
***To read his account of this scene, click here