I can’t believe what I’m about to write this post about.
Seriously. It’s almost comical.
Oral sex.
No, no blow jobs. No attempted deep throat. No ass licking. No getting face fucked.
No…I mean receiving it.
Am I really about to write a blog post about submitting to…oral sex?
Yes, yes I am. Apparently, even acts normally reserved for giving pleasure can be used sadistically. -swoon-
Because last night, as I was falling asleep, he stormed into the bedroom and yanked the blanket off of me. I was drifty – if he’d waited a little longer, I would have been sleeping. When he forced my legs apart and put his mouth at my clit, I think I may have smiled. It’s very rare that he goes down on me, but when he does, it’s nice. It’s gentle, it’s different from any other kind of stimulation, it feels incredibly intimate.
If I had been more awake, I might have picked up sooner that that was clearly not the kind of mood he was in. As he held my legs open, his tongue was rough – strong stimulation immediately. Not at all what I was used to, but I was still half-asleep – I was relaxed, it was intense but it felt good. When I came, I remember thinking, “He’s so sweet!”
…ha. Ha, ha, ha. Because when I came, he didn’t stop. Instead of letting me come down nicely, gently, it felt like he upped the intensity. It from pleasurable to intense to OMG-FUCKING-STOP-PLEASE. It felt like he was sucking on my clit, and on an over-sensitive little bundle of nerves, it was wonderfulhorrible. I came again, fast, begging him to stop the entire time.
“I’m done, I’m done!”
“You’re not done until I say you’re done.”
Do orgasms with orgasms on top and orgasms on top of orgasms on top of orgasms sound fun? Two days ago, I may have thought so.
I know better today. I have never, ever been so tense, or so whiny. I begged him to stop. I tried to get away. I tried to push him away. I told him I was done, that okay, he could stop now. Any time. Please. Every muscle was tight, and I couldn’t have kept still if I wanted to. (For the record? I didn’t. I wanted to get the fuck away. Sort of.)
And he told me he wasn’t stopping until he felt like it. Which wasn’t fair, because adding arousal to an already over-aroused girl was just a low blow.
At some point, he even told me to stop trying to get away or he was just going to tie me up.
I don’t need to be tied up to get flogged. I don’t need it when he’s applied tabasco to my clit. I don’t need it to get caned.
While I think I’d enjoy those things more if I didn’t have to focus on keeping myself together and was free to struggle, I don’t need it.
Even when he bites me, which scares the ever-loving-fuck out of me, I don’t need to be tied up. (It’s close. Biting terrifies me, I’m always certain I’m going to lose a chunk of myself. But I don’t need it.)
But apparently, I can’t submit to oral sex. Aren’t I special!
When he finally decided he was through torturing me – when I was sure if he did it any longer I was going to break something from the tension – he had me suck him for a minute and then set my dazed self on top to fuck him. I was so spaced out at that point, pushed out of my head by the sensations and so turned on, that this will sound funny, but I mostly remember feeling very melty while fucking him. Liquid, languid. Did I come? I have no idea! Knowing me, probably.
Today, he asked me about it. I told him my take, and stupidly asked something to the effect of “did he know that not stopping after I came would feel so intense?” Of course he did.
That was the point, Echo. Pleasurepain takes many forms, and he doesn’t particularly care how he gets me there. His only comment was that next time he did it, he was tying me up.
…next time? –quiver-
How can I be both utterly turned on and utterly horrified at that thought? –amused-
