I wasn't in the mood...

Sex is few and far between right now; he’s picked up a ton of temping jobs, which is great in that he’s actually making more than he was full time but the hours are crazy. He just worked 30 hours Fri/Sat/Sun – for awesome pay, $35 an hour, but in a different state. Okay, that state is only an hour away, but still. But the time he gets home he’s wiped. We have dinner, put the baby to bed – if we have any kind of intimacy, it’s him wandering out just long enough to come in my mouth and then go to sleep.

And while casual use like that pushes some more general buttons of mine – he’ll stop me in whatever I’m doing, grab me by my hair, force me down onto my knees and push me onto his cock – it certainly hasn’t been doing anything for my sex drive. Masturbation just isn’t the same and I’ve been literally feeling like I’ve wanted to climb the walls, frustrated with life and stressed and horny as hell.

Usually. But tomorrow he has a slightly later start time for the job he’s at, so he stayed up a little later. After he put my collar on, he told me to go lie down, face down.

 “Are you going to rub me?” I asked hopefully. I was horny but stressed and upset, and not in the mood for pain. At all. A backrub…or elsewhere rub...sounded pretty good though, just attention from him…

“I…am not going to answer that,” he told me. Not a hopeful sign.

“I’m not up to play tonight…I’m too upset.”

“Go lie down.”

And I did, grumbling. I wasn’t up to what I thought he was planning, and my assumption was proven correct when he came out with the otk delrin cane.

“I want marks on you – I want bruises,” he told me, threatening.

“I can’t do this love, I’m too upset –“ I protested, but a mean thwack of the cane had me yelping. Fuck, that hurts!

“I want marks,” he repeated.

“You’re not listening to me!” I cried, panicked. That had hurt…and I so could not deal with pain.

“I’m listening. Why can’t you deal with it?” Thwack!

“Ahh! Ouch! I’m too upset…my head’s not in the right place.” The cane is the worst kind of pain for me, so cutting and severe that I can’t take it silently most of the time.

“I want marks.” Whap!

“Ow! You couldn’t want marks when I’m turned on?!” I was panicked, it was really hurting and in the best of situations I have no tolerance for it. I didn’t want to fight him on this but I was frightened…I just…I couldn’t do it. Not then. The day before I would have swooned for a beating but tonight I wasn’t there.

He took his cock out, and he was completely hard, super turned on by our exchange. He grabbed me by the hair and I begged for – and won – my only concession of no hair pulling…I still really wanted gentleness and was trying hard not to fight what he wanted. Holding my head gently instead, he forced his cock past my lips, letting me lick and suck for a moment before pulling out.

“Nope. I want them when I’m awake,” he told me, and climbed on top of me, grabbing my hair and squeezing me. “You’re mine. Your body is mine, for –my- amusement. Deal with it.” Pulling my ass apart, he started forcing his way into my anus…the pain was incredible, because I really wasn’t in a space to deal with it and had a hard time accommodating him inside me. I cried out as he fucked me, almost grateful when he pulled out…and saw his shadow on the wall, raising the cane.

Thwack. Whap.

And suddenly, my headspace just…transformed. It still hurt like hell. I hate the cane. But suddenly, I wanted the marks he wanted. As the cane whistled through the air, to finally fall hard on my ass and upper thighs, I wasn’t flinching and I wasn’t crying out. I was raising my hips upwards to meet the cane, wanting to feel it…wanting the pain, wanting the welts and the bruising. This was the hardest caning I’d ever had and I could immediately tell why I hadn’t bruised (or bruised much) previous times – as much as they’d hurt before this was much, much harder.

He’d grope my butt in between hits sometimes, squeezing and making me wince.

“Here comes a good one,” he warned.

“The other ones weren’t good?” I wasn’t be a smart ass – I was feeling…raw. Dreamy.

“Nope. This one will be really hard.” I gasped when it fell, clutched the pillow I was laying on but I felt…hazy. I wanted more.

I have no idea how many strokes of the cane fell. He didn’t make me count, and I’m grateful – the numbers would probably have scared me.

But without a doubt, it was the longest, most intense caning he’d ever given me. When he went back between my legs to force himself inside my ass again, he told me my butt was one big welt…I felt the hard swellings that would be bruises and the soft welts that would fade by the next day. As he fucked me, forcing himself in and out of my asshole, I felt him slamming against me, the soreness of his groin grinding into my ass just…indescribable.

If I had thought the caning would be over when he came, I was wrong. After he pulled out, he grabbed the cane and in an almost dreamy way I watched his shadow on the wall as the cane fell several more times…and when it was over, I asked for more.

I can’t really explain why, sitting here now, but I did. I asked for, and got, several more cane strokes. And then I offered my breasts, which are now sporting 5 bright red weals. (3 on my left breast, 2 on my right. Assymetry!)

And later, after we’d cleaned up and he’d poured a shot of scotch for himself, I lay on the couch next to him and offered my thighs. Ignoring my left (a bad angle, he said), ten strokes that felt much too hard fell on my poor soft right thigh, which is now sporting some stripy bruises.

The bruises on my butt are just starting to be visible. I can feel them as I walk…and I will feel them tomorrow, and remember his words.

Craving violence

Life has been so stressful since he lost his job. I won’t go into the details here because they’re not relevant to my headspace or to kinky sex or to submission, but I’ll leave it at – it was totally bogus and infuriating. And while he’s picked up a couple of temping assignments, it’s been rough. He was the full time worker. I do work from home, but my primary job is watching our daughter. So tensions have been high between applying for unemployment, putting our student loans into deferment while we scramble to replace his full time position and do the other un-fun necessities related to losing your primary source of income.

It’s been nervewracking. Wondering if we’ll miss a mortgage payment, wondering if we’ll be able to buy enough food, pay all the bills. Most of the worry is superfluous; we’re savers. We have enough in the bank to live through January even if he gets denied unemployment (which is unlikely in the first place). If we empty my 401k and cash out our savings bond it can go on longer. While job hunting is rough, in his field he should be able to find work fairly fast…and the funny part is it’s likely he’ll end up making more than he was at his previous firm. But it’s still nervewracking and tensions have been high.

Understandably, sex has mostly fallen to the wayside. There’s been the occasional lurid encounter – during one memorable babygirl nap we spent the time with my mouth covered by a pillow to muffle my screams and his fist jammed inside me over and over. He made a heroic effort at a second hand, too, but concluded I was just too small for that. (Fisting hurts. Attempting to add more fingers = sore cunt.) Despite the failure to double fist, the attempt turned him on enough that for the first time in a long time we had anal sex with no lube when it wasn’t a punishment or connected with misbehavior on my end. He was just turned on so much he had to have me right then – which meant both my ass and pussy spent the rest of the day throbbing. It’s rare for him to get turned on enough to lose sight of details (like, yanno, LUBE) so it’s a definitely been a memory haunting my fantasies.

But with tensions and stress levels so high often times we spend the day worrying and doing everything we can to manage our new reality (by applying for jobs or taking on new work-at-home projects) that we fall into bed exhausted.

I know it’s been hard on him but without being inside his head, I can’t really analyze it. My own headspace is another story.

It’s interesting because..you’d think the stresses of life would have shoved off my libido. And the first night and first day afterwards, it did. But afterwards, I find myself desperate for a new level of intensity, depravity, and servitude. I can’t word that any better – I’m desperate for it. I haven’t – and won’t – push for it, although I did confess tonight that in the past two weeks I haven’t really felt like I belonged to him. It would be hard to – he’s been so busy and so stressed.

I know it’s not a lack of desire on his part, because while making love a week ago the night of my birthday he sort … I don’t even know how to explain it, but took advantage of me being desperate to get fucked to formally extend our agreement for the rest of the year. He started fucking me, and got me to the edge of orgasm – that place where you teeter on the edge of a cliff and would do anything, anything if your lover would just push you over.

That story would be much hotter – I surrendered my autonomy for the rest of the year for an orgasm! – except that I didn’t remember it until he told me about it the next day. I was so deeply in the moment I think I would have agreed to let him cut off my arm if he’d just have fucked me harder.

So it’s not like there’s not a desire to own me. He may have been slow coming into this agreement, but it’s been him who pushed each time to extend our agreement – not me. I am almost completely confident that he wouldn’t let me out of this if I thought I wanted to – he understands, or at least from my perspective seems to understand, how deeply entwined with my sexuality the need to submit and be owned is. (That sentence took me ten minutes to write. When did it become a need? Or perhaps more accurately, when did I realize it was a need and not just a new bit of spice for a ten-year-old sex life?) And it seems to push more buttons for him than he had thought it would – he taunted me the other day that tears from him saucing me from a punishment the other day (which reminds me, I need to write that story soon lest it too be lost in the morass of memory) had made him hard.

I know the desire is there. But he’s just too tense.

And I desperately want to ease that tension for him. I’ve done everything I can, helped him screen job ads and done the paperwork I can and done my best to cook and clean and budget to a higher degree and everything to make him comfortable. But I can’t help but feel as if I’ve been shoved to the wayside right now. We had months where every day, I knew that all of me was his. That for that day, my body was his and my mind was his and he would exert that control however he wanted to, and that fulfilled both of us.

But right now, I don’t. Part of me feels like this is selfish on my part, that spanking me and beating me and fucking me are low on the priority list. And like I said, I will not push him for any of it – but I can’t help but that feel that way. I need him to beat me, spank my ass and whip my tits until I cry. I need him to force me to endure things that get him off, things I don’t like or want. With things so uncertain I need to feel that control over me, the certainty that I’m his…and I don’t.

And I feel like he’s holding back. That he’s so tense right now he’s afraid to give into the sadism, afraid to use me to let off steam and express what the turmoil he’s dealing with in his own mind. I can’t help but feel that I could be useful and help him in a way that right now he won’t let me…

In my head, he pulls me into his office roughly, and covers my mouth. He tells me that tonight, he just needs me to endure. That it has been a hard week and he needs something – or someone – to take that out on. That tonight he just needs me to take the pain as he uses my body to relieve his tension. That it will hurt, but I need to endure it for him..that even if it doesn’t get me off, it will get him off, and I just need to take it, no safeword unless something unintended has happened because if I only want to stop because I think I can’t endure, he needs me to endure more…

The fantasy plays out in so many ways. Sometimes he binds my arms and canes me past endurance, physically letting off steam on my willing body. Sometimes he slaps my breasts and ass and cunt, switching to his belt when his hand needs a break until my body is covered in weals and welts and bruises. Sometimes he clamps my breasts and nipples and clips, sometimes my breasts and nipples and then sauces my clit while he bites me, leaving teeth-mark imprint bruises all over my flesh.

In these fantasies, I never end up getting off. Because these aren’t out my own orgasm – they’re about the need to make him feel better, the need to be the vehicle for relieving his stress. They end up in him getting off – sometimes he fucks my mouth after saucing my cunt and ass, so I gasp and gag and choke as my bottom burns and he takes his pleasure from my mouth. And sometimes it’s an even darker fantasy that I can’t yet put into words.

These fantasies are interesting to me because I’ve never been a selfless submissive. My priority has always been my husband even before we called a spade a spade and named our D/s relationship for it really is – a power exchange, a power imbalance. But I’ve always told him that no matter what we’re doing it’s very sexual for me, and I want to get off from it. (He doesn’t always let me, but that doesn’t make it less sexual.)

But these fantasies – while I get off masturbating to me because they are so deeply, darkly erotic – aren’t about getting me off. They’re more of an expression of a craving to serve him, to serve needs he’s busy ignoring right now. They’re an intensity that I normally don’t think I could tolerate without a lot of buildup – but the point to them is to disregard my need for buildup because the only thing that matters is my presence, my willingness to endure for him. They do not sound fun to me. At all. And in normal circumstances, they’re an intensity that I simply wouldn’t feel a desire to experience except in fantasy, a level of darkness best left for the moments in your own head.

But right now, the craving to have him beat me harder than we have ever played with is very, very real – the craving to serve him in the way he seems to need most right now.

I doubt he ever will. But the craving is undeniably there.

Being sick is not an excuse!

This has nothing to do with recent events and actually occurred before he got fired, and as much as I want to write about them, I’m afraid I’ll lose this to the quagmire that is longterm memory if I don’t write it down while I have the chance. And I so don’t want to lose anything.

I had been sick. Nasty, icky, ugly sick, and so was babygirl. He didn’t get it nearly as badly (he never does!). So he was being patient and understanding. Taking care of me. He made me tea. He heated up soup. He wrapped me in blankets and took care of food. Gave me decongestant and orange juice. Took over chores. In general, he was perfectly lovely.

And so of course, I was irritated and out of sorts. I was crabby from being sick, crabby from lack of sex related to being sick, crabby from things being not quite done right (which I know isn’t fair, but that was my feeling nonetheless), crabby from certain chores he will just /never/ pick up (nearly 3 years of diapering and he still has yet to wash a single load of diapers no matter how sick I get, which is the one chore that can’t wait because she still needs diapers, rawr). In short, cranky and not a lot of fun to be around.

So logically, this lead to amazing sex. And it started from something that now makes me laugh. He wanted me to drink tea. I didn’t want to drink the tea. He put the mug to my lips and said drink. I said no, I was not going to drink. He said that’s not your call, drink the tea. I said no and shut my lips. He tilted the mug and I told him nope, I’m not drinking, leave me alone in my misery. (Well, I was probably less polite. Okay…I was less polite.) He tilted the mug more.

And that freaking tea spilled all down my chin, neck, chest…it got my tshirt and ugly-comfy bathrobe (oh so sexy) wet. I rawr’ed. I snarled. I changed and huffed at him. I was snippy. And he was baffled. “I told you to drink!” “And I told you I wasn’t going to, AND THEN YOU SPILLED TEA ON ME YOU JERK.”

“Go to the bedroom.”

“What? Why?”

“Just. Go.”

I went, still huffy and bitchy.

He disappeared for a minute and then walked in. Told me to bend over, ass out in the air.

“But I’m sick!” I whined. And he made me bend over anyway. I cringed. He had disappeared so I figured he was either going to cane me or fig me, and neither were pleasant. I didn’t really think either were appropriate for me being sick. Did I mention I was feeling bitchy? Ya.

When he roughly shoved his fingers inside my cunt, I was shocked. It wasn’t at all what I expected – I wasn’t in that kind of mood at all. But he finger fucked me for a few minutes – long enough to let sex penetrate my brain – and dragged me upright by my hair.

“Get into the bathroom.”

“Why?”

At which point he tugged me into the bathroom by my hair, and made me strip, then step into our tub. “Fuck!” I thought.

He had me kneel facing him in the tub. And then he slapped me. It shocked me – he has slapped me before, but not often. It’s for when I’m failing or doing something wrong. I closed my eyes and was quiet. He slapped me again, the other side of my face, and my cheeks were burning. When he slapped me again, it stung, and a small voice inside me protested “Too much, too hard!” but it was…a strange sensation. I didn’t feel dizzy or lightheaded but…rather..floaty? Disconnected. He slapped me again.

“You need this, don’t you? You want this.”

I couldn’t answer. I heard him. But the inclination to speak…was not there. Even if he had expected an answer, I had no speech to give it with. I wasn’t even waiting for the next slap, but when it came it didn’t shock me. I couldn’t open my eyes if I wanted to, and I made small, breathy sounds that seemed to echo inside my head.

“Open your mouth.”

I did so, but I cringed. I wasn’t ready for him to piss on me again. But even if it would have occurred to me to protest, I was still way beyond speech.

I waited, mouth open, cringing. And finally, not cringing. Whatever he was going to do he was going to do and it was his call, not mine. I had been a brat and I knew it, and if this was how he wanted to correct me…he would.

But it never came, for which I was grateful then and am grateful now. (He told me afterwards he was too turned on.) Instead, he yanked me up by my hair – roughly – and forced me to turn around, bent as much as our tub would allow. When I was position to his satisfaction, he forced himself as deeply into my ass as he could get – no lube, not from a tube or from my mouth or even my cunt – and fucked me hard. It hurt intensely, but the orgasm was just as intense.

When he came and cleaned up, me still standing there, he mentioned that had been lubeless. Thanks dear, I –had- noticed.

But you know what? I felt centered afterwards. Calmer, and a very sheepish. I even apologized for being such a brat.

It was a little disquieting afterwards to realize he had been right and that I had needed it.

And for the record, he told me to drink an entire fresh mug of tea afterwards. Which I did, still sheepish.

Just a quick update

For myself and for followers, since I seem to have blinked and have some. I have some fun things to write about, but on the tail end of a flu my husband was fired from his job. This has thrown the erotic out the window in the mad dash to figure out finances and a new gameplan but the pause is temporary and when I have 15 minutes during daylight instead of the middle of the night, I'll try to download how my feelings and identification have interacted with our situation.