Highlights of week two

I meant to have this up a few days ago, right after week one, but life has been busy, and he’s been rather demanding of my time, too. (I’m not complaining!)

Unfortunately, details are a little fuzzy at this point. It was a few weeks ago, yanno? And that’s too bad, since I really wanted to keep my thoughts together about this, but oh well.

But that being said, two things do stick out from week two:

First:

The orgasm ban was sort of lifted. I still had to ask permission to masturbate to sleep, but I could come during sex without permission and I could masturbate any other time I had the opportunity…with a caveat.

Just one little caveat.

Damn ginger. I have never masturbated with any kind of insertion, but his rule? Masturbation is fine – other than the one before bed – but only if I’m anally figged.

The first night he put the rule into effect, I tried it. I had never come while having ginger inside me and…wow. I came almost immediately and it was super super intense. I felt…it was strange, but even though he was long since in bed (darn job that requires getting up early!) having to masturbate by –his- rule made me feel like he was there. And…having a ridiculously big ginger root stuffed into my ass (I honestly do not think he could have chosen a larger one…ow!) actually made the fantasizing more intense because it added a level of physical sensation to it too.

It was humiliating too. Both because I wanted to masturbate SO badly that I was willing to shove a large freaking vegetable in my ass to do so – and because he knew that I did and that I would – but also because I willingly – no, eagerly – shoved the damn thing into my ass.  It made me flushed after the first orgasm from what I had done.

And that wasn’t even touching the physical effects. Ouch! Burning, stinging, heat. It was so strange feeling my muscles clench and spasm around the root as I came…ouch. Hot. I wanted to take it out. I wanted to come again.

I’m sure no one will be surprised which impulse won…

And second:

“Accidentally” and “fisted” are two words I never thought I would pair together without “wasn’t” or “not” or “won’t” etc, and yet...here I am.

The vaginal sex ban is continuing to drive me wild. Is it October 15^th yet? No? Are you sure? Where’s my fast-forward button! Not only has it had me craving sex, but it’s had me incredibly incredibly turned on almost all the time. It doesn’t impair my ability to get stuff done – not quite – but it’s never far from my mind.

Ever.

When we had a few minutes to ourselves, he touched me. Finger-fucked me. Teased me more and chastised me how much longer we had to go. (A month at that point! Ack!) Teased me with more fingers and taunted me that if he stretched my cunt out enough he might never fuck me there again.

I can’t really explain what happened next except that I felt starved for the sensation of being fucked and I was totally spaced out on the feeling of what he was doing to me. But somehow – without lube and without really trying to – I was wet enough that his whole hand popped inside me. There was a distinct sensation as it happened – he jokes that it was a “schwoop!” sound and no, it wasn’t, but it was the physically distinct sensation of his hand popping past that ring of muscle at the entrance to my vagina. Though that sensation –can- be painful, it wasn’t – I was so turned on it was merely (merely!) intense.

The moment it happened he was shocked. He paused. I wasn’t shocked – while I felt what had happened my thinking brain was definitely shut off.

When he pushed me to come, it was on that intense border of pleasure-pain. I was out of my head. I begged him…to stop, to continue, to be gentler, to be harder…I don’t know what I wanted, but I remember begging.

And afterwards, when I got back into my head…ow. I was so. Freaking. Sore. Which…makes sense. There is a reason lube is your friend when it comes to fisting. For days after every kegel brought back that sore sensation.

But despite that – and despite us deciding that we should try to avoid accidental fisting in the future – wow. I was wet enough that my –body- provided enough lubrication to fit my husband’s –much-bigger-than-my-hand-hand inside my me.

And thus ends the tale of me being accidentally fisted…