First time with ginger paired with an intense beating..

So I am sitting on a very very bruised and sore butt right now! *g*

We haven’t been able to play around for a few days, so we were both eager. We set aside all of yesterday after the baby went to bed – no chores, no movies, nothing else. Just each other.

He randomly sent me an email that just said “We’ll be using the cuffs tonight.” We bought a nice pair of leather cuffs but haven’t used them a ton – so his email just sent..chills down my body. Throughout the day he sent me little one-liner reminders of the general plans for the evening and just…wow. Even if it hadn’t been on my mind, he definitely did a good job keeping it at the forefront!

That night, he quickly fastened the leather cuffs on my wrist…which in and of itself was pretty erotic. I’m so pale that the contrast between my skin and the black leather was…stunning. I excused myself to go dress for the evening and surprised him by coming out in nothing but black fishnet thigh-highs and a sexy black top…mmm. I liked the thigh highs, they felt really sexy.

We opened the night with some attempted deepthroating. We did set aside half an hour for me to practice deepthroating bewfore playing, since I really want to be able to deepthroat. I’m getting close! Err…he’s getting close? The idea of throat fucking and deepthroat is so erotic and it’s something that turns him on so much that I really want to be able to do it. We made progress but I’m not there yet…soon, I hope!

When I decided I’d gone as far as I was getting for the night, he flipped me onto hands and knees and told me to spread…immediately he started pressing against my anus and I freaked for a second. I remember asking “Already?!” and he just replied “Now!” and I felt the head of his cock pop into my asshole. Ow! In the past – when we’ve had gentle anal – he’s had me back onto him at my own pace so I had time to accommodate to having him inside me. He told me to do that now and I forget what I said, but I didn’t want gentle…I wanted it rough. We hadn’t played in days and I was hungry for him, and…I wanted it to hurt. That’s strange to say, but I wanted it – and told him so. Without a second to arguing, he forced himself – slicked up only by my mouth from oral only a couple minutes before – entirely inside my ass.

The pain was shocking, stunning, and hugely invasive. It was the kind of pain that’s hard to describe – I didn’t feel torn, just…invaded, completely. I was gasping and not screaming, not exactly, but moaning about the pain – but he ignored me, fucking my ass harder and harder.

Abruptly, he stopped – pulled out entirely, and left me gasping. “I’m not ready to come just yet.”

So hot.

He grabbed something – the wooden spoon, I think? – and began swatting me as he forced himself back inside me. The swats didn’t really hurt – not as much as him inside me did – but it definitely set the tone as he fucked me. Something about being spanked during rough sex was so erotic…it felt so…used. Like I was there for his pleasure. So so hot!

When he finally came, he left me gasping on my hands and knees as he went to clean up and then pretty casually dismissed me to clean myself up.

When I came back, he was equally casually peeling a piece of ginger.

And this…wasn’t a surprise, exactly. I mean…I’d been there when we bought it. But he’d “tested” it on me earlier – had me lying on our bed with a big piece of it pressed to my clit. At first it felt cold, but it began slowly building up, stinging and burning until I couldn’t keep still. “Keep it on. Do. Not. Move. It.” Whimpering and wriggling, I kept it there, my legs pressed shut by him as he occasionally quizzed me on how it felt.

It fucking burned!

And now – despite that! – he was carving a plug of it. I think I was trembling when he – still very casually – told me it was going up my ass. When he finished peeling it, he told me to go rinse it. “Quickly!” he reprimanded when I stalled just a litttttle bit. I won’t lie, I was super intimidated.

But I carefully walked to the bathroom and…tripped, sending the damn thing flying, breaking the end off. I rinsed it anyway and brought it back. I expected to be in huge trouble for that, but he calmly carved a new notch at the bottom and sent me to rinse it again – without dawdling or breaking it.

When I managed to succeed, he had me spread myself open and slid the root in to the notch.

Honestly, at first it was just cold. But it started to sting really quickly – and he didn’t waste any time smacking me. Gentle swats on my clit made me jump and I couldn’t help but tense – and it was like the ginger flared inside me. Intense!

He soon switched to whacking my butt and as much he ramped up & I knew he was hitting me harder than we had played with before, I was also way more turned on than I expected. Occasionally he stopped to touch me and finger fuck me and he teased me about how wet I was…he was pretty clearly surprised at just /how/ wet I was. And…I was really, really wet.

Time lost meaning as he spanked me with the spoon; a whack on the thigh, a spank on the butt, a smack on the breast…all paired with the freaking burning plug in my anus and I was ready for him to fuck me. So, so, so ready.

I started moaning and asking him to fuck me…and he told me to beg. Like I meant it.

And usually…I can’t beg. It’s embarrassing. It’s too much.

But last night? I begged. Fuck me. Fuck me? I wanted him inside me!

He paused.

And offered a deal.

How many smacks was it worth to me? I was starting to really feel them, although it was distant…I wasn’t all there. Too turned on?

Tentatively, I offered…15?

He laughed. 25, he told me.

25. Scary sounding number. I was already sore. But would he really not fuck me if I didn’t?

…I was pretty sure he wasn’t bluffing, and damn it, I needed to come!

So 25 it was – with a catch. I had to count – and ask for the next one.

Freaky. Hot.

At 10 I didn’t think I’d make it.

At 15 he was hitting harder, jarring me out of the fuzzy space I was in.

At 20 I knew I’d make it.

21 hurt like hell.

And then 25 was here.

I was so wet. His cock was soaked as soon as he entered me – but sex with the ginger in felt weird. Strange, and I asked for it out. And then I told him he was taking it out.

He smirked at me and took it out – and then asked how many smacks it was worth to me. I was stunned, that hadn’t occurred to me! Too shocked to handle, we settled on 10.

And he was not holding back! Ow. Ow!

But I was so turned on (and sore) – sex felt amazing. He took me from behind and I came almost immediately, totally incoherent…I felt it everywhere, my asshole throbbing, my clit hardened – I came at least once more before he did, but I think it was actually twice more. I was lost, so lost…

It was amazing. And intense. Best sex I’ve had in a long time…and we have a lot of sex.

When he finally came and we held each other, coming down from it, we kissed and it was sweet…and I made the mistake of mentioning we hadn’t at all pushed my limits.

Which meant he promptly had me back on all fours, smacking my butt again. Ow!

I was protesting – we had just had sex! It had been the second time he’d come, which I was sure meant there was no sex again tonight. I like being spanked, but not without sexual context. He ignored my protests and kept spanking…and he said I might be able to negotiate my way to getting fucked again.

Warily, because I was sore – and he was still spanking me as we talked! – I asked how many.

60.

60!!

I had no idea how many times he spanked me before we settled on an amount for sex before, but 60 was a lot.

It sounded like a lot. I was pretty sure it would feel like a lot.

But despite multiple orgasms and two rounds of sex, I felt starved. I wanted to drop off that cliff again, wanted to shudder as I came while he fucked me…

60.

It was a lot, and these were I think some of the hardest spankings he’s ever given me. 10 felt so incredibly far away. 20 and I was writhing after each stroke. Halfway and I was definitely unsure my ass could hold up. 40 I was starting to bliss out again, getting locked into the heat and intensity of it. 50 and I was gone, totally confident I would make it.

51 rocked me. Badly. It wasn’t the hardest hit, but he thwacked me directly on my asshole with the handle of the spoon – ow. That’s a place that turns me on to be whipped, but he’d already roughly fucked my ass earlier…I was almost ready to call it off. But 9 more? 9 more? 9 more, and so wet I could hardly believe it?

The next couple were lighter to I think apologize for 51 – but the last 5 were intense, aiming closer to my thighs or solidly across both cheeks. They stung and flared, but when 60 came and went, I incredible. Fucking sore, but incredible – accomplished, hot, and completely triumphant.

I came hard again, and each time he thrust into me, there was this .. sensation, or sensations, rather, that are hard to describe. The pleasure of his cock combined with the pain of his hips digging in to my sore ass…

It was erotic.

It was intense.

Afterwards, my ass looked red with only shadows of bruises to come, but I could feel the swelling beneath the skin where the bruises would be, the firmness that meant deep bruising was coming.

I wasn’t disappointed this morning – I have one sore, bruised ass today.

And I am totally fucking content.

Remembering anal..

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A fun night...

Last night began, blindfolded with a thick silk scarf. In the hall, my heart beat anxiously in my chest – I could hear him, ripping and tearing duct tape in the living room. Setting something up – but I had no idea what.

Rip.

Rip.

Rip.

In the dark, both physically and mentally, each “rip” of the tape brought a swell of anxiety. “Are you turned on?” he asked, but the only response I remember making was a slight anxious whimper.

Finally, when he was done, I felt him in front of me. “Do you have any questions?” he asked softly, and I think I shook my head, soft breaths caught in my throat. He had lots of plans for tonight, he told me, and I was definitely going to be sauced – whether just my ass or whether it was more would depend on if I was good or not…

Then quickly, stunning me, he sealed my mouth with duct tape. I tried to gasp, but that didn’t work very well and I contented myself with quick anxious breaths through my nose. My hands bound behind my back, he teases me that it will be hard to lead me where he wants to go with my hands bound behind me – so he applies clothespins to my breasts and I am lead in, gasping, by the clips. Though I remember making distressed sounds – those clips hurt! – I am reminded of Beauty’s Release at the same time.

A small flurry of activity follows – usually I can recant events in fairly close order to reality, but I can recall what happened last night but not the precise order…the memories are instead pleasantly fluid.

I remember him smacking and slapping my breasts as I knelt, usually with hands and sometimes with the wooden spoon. I remember gasping and moaning as the smacks and slaps stung, but there was no real pain – occasional stings, but nothing really hurt. More clips came out – how many, I couldn’t say, but he told me they were symmetrical. As he applied them, he occasionally brushed them gently, and I moaned at the pain this brought. I was wet; it hurt but each time he did it I felt pangs of arousal in my cunt. He ripped the tape off when he got them all on, forcing his cock into my mouth and I did myself to suck him, tasting every bit of him, trying to work him with my tongue before he covered my mouth again with the tape.

Pushing me forward so that my clipped breasts dangled, he fucked me from behind. The contrast was so intense – the pleasure of him driving into me, feeling him deeply inside me and edging me towards climax as the stinging of the clips was amplified by the motion…I was making urgent sounds and I don’t even know what I was wishing I could ask him to do – fuck me harder or remove the clips? My priority seemed to flip every 2 seconds and the world seemed really hazy, the only clarity between my legs and in my breasts. Thinking about it today has me squirming. I feel like I hate the clothespins when he brings them out – but I love how he uses them and how much they turn him on.

Before he came, he stopped fucking me and dragged me back up on my knees so that I was kneeling again. He began removing the clips, taunting me gently as he did because each removal felt molten – as much as I had whimpered when they were pinching and being jostled as my body was shaken by the intensity of the sex, removal is a hundred times more intense. I cried out each time, wanting desperately to rub my breasts as the stinging hot pain flared. He teased me that he could just leave them on if it would make me feel better.

Pushed forward, I found myself on all fours, still gagged by the tape across my mouth. He told me to get my ass as high in the air as I could.

I heard the whoosh of a flame igniting near me, and knew he’d lit a candle. I had a moment to process that hot wax was coming when I felt him pulling my ass cheeks apart as far as they could go – and securing them there with duct tape. It was acutely embarrassing and I wasn’t sure why, but he stroked me and reassured me that he thought it was sexy. I can’t remember if he said that aloud or not but I knew from his touch that he did – I think I remember the warmth of his penis brushing my ass too.

And then the wax was falling, and it was all I could focus on. The searing heat that for a second feels too hot to take, especially when it lands directly on your anus – not knowing where the next drop will fall – my ass, my thighs? My back, my calves? Sometimes even my feet (although honestly I barely felt that). The wax is SO hot for a second – so hot it feels like it should sizzle, then as it cools and hardens it’s this intense warmth as it adapts to your body heat. He has always loved it because it makes me jump – how could it not? How could you take something like that without jumping, without shuddering – especially when several drops fall quickly in a row?

When I felt as if I was as waxy as I was wet, he told me it was time to spank me. He positioned me, legs spread wide, over the couch. I can’t remember if the tape had been removed from my mouth at that point or not – I felt…floaty. Hazy. He told me he wanted my ass a fuckable pink or something like that – I don’t remember the exact words but it told me it would be a lot of slapping, not a lot of pain. And that was exactly what it was – small, almost playful slaps with a couple hard ones interspersed. Occasionally he told me exactly where his next slap was going to land – the hand of the spoon is going HERE and it’s going to be very hard, are you ready? – and I can’t even explain how that made me feel. Dread, arousal, wet…

When my ass was nicely pink – sensitive but not terribly sore, pink but no bruises or marks – he put my back on my knees and told me he was going to sauce my ass now. Not because I was bad, but because doing it turned him on and he wanted to see me squirm.

That was so incredibly erotic I can’t even explain it. Suffering for him because he wanted to see it? He pushed exactly the right button and I was tripped out. Though I admitted I was scared I barely protested as he worked the tabasco deep into my ass – as it started burning he started working his fingers in and out of my ass as I wiggled. I moaned and wriggled and it wasn’t long before he couldn’t stand it – he started fucking me, hard – really really hard, slamming into me. Between the burning in my ass and intense pleasure building inside me I barely felt like I was there, as if I were nothing more than the sensations my body was experiencing…

Trying to get spanked...

It’s been a few days since we’ve played (primarily, waiting for my bruises to heal – common sense says don’t hit bruises, so despite how badly I wanted to play, we didn’t) and I’m antsy to the point of hyperactivity. We have been having sex every couple days, but I need the intensity, his attention for hours…

I was so sure yesterday we would get to play a bit. I was healed to the point where there’s no discomfort at all and the bruising was mostly faded – and it … just didn’t work. It tried being not subtle. “Let’s go play and have sex!” …fail.

I tried being subtle. I teased him, I poked him, I groped him, I was cheeky. I got him to wrestle. At one point he even had me pinned by my hair beneath his knee and my wrists held by his hands as he tried to bite me. I ended up in a pile on the floor, ass up in the air (I have NO idea how that happened, I was a little giggly and shocked about it because I don’t even remember falling, I must have slid off the couch, but there I was, ass in the air and skirt flipped to my ears) and he did slap my butt once…

I remember thinking, “Here we go!” and being pleased I’d been successful in goading him into playing, getting him into the right mood…

..and then he lay back down on the couch and asked for a drink.

Sigh. I ended up going to sleep BEFORE he did, masturbating at least three times, and fell asleep before he came into the bedroom. We did end up having sex where I wasn’t really awake – if not for the physical evidence in the morning I wouldn’t have been sure I hadn’t dreamt it.

And tonight, as soon as the baby is in bed he’s off to the casino with his father, who wanted to go but didn’t want to go alone – so he’s bribing my husband with some money to gamble with.

He’ll be home long after I’m in bed.

And tomorrow’s Sunday, so even if we play it won’t be too long because he has work in the morning.

Tuesday night his season starts so I won’t see him Tuesdays until the end of the school year.

Cue frustration and longing.

A strange email to wake up to...

I’m putting this in a separate post because it has my head spinning and it’s not connected to last night. I woke up to this email from my husband:

“So, I know you want another tattoo, but I was thinking about a slight variation.  How do you feel about a brand?

Oh, and good morning :)”

Wow whoa holy crap. I have to admit this caught me totally and completely by surprise. I got my first tattoo as soon as I got out of high school, and since that night I’ve been talking to him about getting a tattoo about him. A mark of his. While he has said he likes my tattoo, a tribal dragon on my right calf –points to icon- he was never very interested in further tattooing and though he told me on several occasions he’d think about something like that, he never did and after pestering him for a few years on it I pretty much gave up.

So this came entirely out of the blue for me.

My initial reaction is – as everything else seems to be, can’t I ever just have one response to something? – entirely mixed.

I have long known he holds my heart and that if the worst is to happen and he leaves or something happens to him, there is no other for me. I am 27 and have known that for over half of my life – since the moment I met him (which he claims happened two years later than it actually did, hmph!) he has left an invisible but indelible mark on me. My heart is his and thus everything else is. Having a physical mark of his on me feels both comforting and erotic and I have zero compunction about irreversibly altering my body to display that.

Of course, I had always imagined it to be a TATTOO.

I’ve had a tattoo. It hurt, but I dealt with it and I lived. The tattoo I have is an expression of who I am, how I identify my spirit and my spiritual protection. It was a crucial part of my identity that when I turned 18 I was finally able to physically express me.

Cosmetically, I think tattoos can be very pretty. I think mine is very pretty.

Branding is something I had never considered. It was a small part of the copy of the Story of O I read. And that was it until I came across it in a blog last night after my husband went to bed. Honestly, I sort of skipped right past it as not relevant. And I’m positive he didn’t see the blog I was reading.

Branding has implications that are much more raw.

After reading that tidbit dropped in my inbox, we exchanged a flurry of emails. Yes, he was aware it could take up to a year to fully heal. He wants it on my right upper butt cheek. Something small, his initials. Yes, he knows it’s not something we can and follow up immediately with sex. He likes the idea because he wants to be the one to mark me. And yes, he is serious.

I’ve spent the day looking into it when I have a free minute at the computer. Some of my more trivial concerns have been assuaged. Scarring can be beautiful. It’s not actually done with a cattle prod or the course thing they used (from what I remember from reading it 14 years ago) in the Story of O.

Most people, I learned, recommend going to a tattoo parlor that will also brand or “scarification” as it is sometimes called.

The burns are so hot when done right that you don’t feel it in the injured area because the nerves in the skin are killed.

You can do it at a home with a cautery pen.

People who talk say to go to a professional, but people do it at home more often than most of the people who recommend parlors will admit.

A brand seems so much baser than a tattoo. Slaves are branded. Property is branded. Does he understand that implication, the difference between a tattoo and a brand?

…I think he does, and that has my mind whirling.

A tattoo is permanent. But it’s almost passé in today’s world, fashionable – it doesn’t have the primal significance it used to. I had never thought of branding.

But I am thinking of it now.