Sadists can make anything sadistic. Seriously.

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-

Hurt me!

“Hurt me!”

The words were out before I had even consciously processed them. I didn’t mean to say them. He was inside me, fucking my ass, and interrogating me at the same time. “Is this what you fantasize about? Is this what you want?” Each question punctuated by a hard thrust that made me cry out..I was mostly nonverbal, too turned on to talk back, to answer.

“Tell me what you like about this!” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. My response wasn’t coherent, but I couldn’t turn my mouth off.

“That..you use me! Fuck me, fuck my ass, even when I don’t want you to…even though I don’t want you to..take your pleasure..even though it hurts..”

And then I said it, as he was fucking me harder, both hurting me and creating ripples of intense pleasure as he slammed his cock in and out…”Hurt me!”

And then my brain shut off. He came, but my brain was stuck.

If I’d asked him to hurt me before, I didn’t remember it. Asked him to do painful but erotic things? Sure. Given him the cane, asked him to mark me?

Yes. But in my head, I could justify that. I didn’t want the pain, I wanted the marks. I wanted the situation.

Weeks ago, on facebook, I posted some silly meme about no rainbow without rain and no happiness without pain – someone offered an alternative saying, no flowers without shit. I had responded at the time, joking since obviously my sexual preferences are private and not a common topic of discussion, that I preferred pain and rainbows and added “Maybe I’m just a masochist.”

Of course when he got home, he was amused. Amused enough to mention it. And it caught be off guard. I guess, in my head, in my heart, I had never really thought of myself as a masochist. Submissive. I like kinky stuff.

But a masochist? For some reason, that I can’t explain, I shied away from that term. Masochism seemed extreme. I wasn’t that kinky. Was I? I was quiet, withdrawn, and he teased me, prodded me to talk as we went through our day. We were out shopping, in the car on the way home as we talked about.

“Do you…think of me…like that?” The question was halting, unsure, more worthy of the teenager I’ve grown out of being than the confident 28 year old I (usually think) I’ve matured into.

“Sure.” His answer was so sure, so nonchalant, I was quiet for a moment.

“Well do you think of yourself as a sadist?” I challenged. I expected the answer to be no – he usually tells me he just does what’s fun.

“Yeah.”

And the conversation dropped from there, though there’d be days where he’d tell me he was feeling sadistic, and my tits would usually end up well marked.

But somehow, during that moment of sex, I couldn’t hide from myself. I could justify it. I wanted him to get off despite hurting me. Which is true. Or I could say I wanted him to enjoy his sadistic streak, to please him by taking the pain of his cock. Also true.

But not the truth. The truth is, I wanted the pain in its own right, too.

And isn’t that interesting?

Fun with searches

I was going through my searches again tonight, mostly out of boredom. I had a lot of fun with some that come up:


"bound the clit" - unless you count a clothespin, haven't done that here!

"can i tear my sublingual frenum giving a blow" - yes, yes you can, and it hurts like hell, but not the good kind.

""maui girl" masochist" - I'm not sure why this amuses me so much, but I find it amusing I'm getting traffic from people looking for someone else's blog. Haha!

"we had anal sex and he disappeared" - I don't think I'd be very happy about that!

"delrin cane thickness" - I actually know why this pulled my blog up, but my apologies - I can't imagine what they found was very helpful!

Changing perspective

I love how fast he can flip my head space. We had literally just had sex; it was late, I was tired. I was sore from having worked out not long before. As he grabbed me off the wall he had fucked me against just a minute earlier and guided me into his office, I didn’t know what was coming until he shoved me hard onto the bed there. It didn’t hurt, but it knocked the breath out of me for a moment. It did stun me for a second though, and while usually that might have sent a thrill through me – I was mostly confused. Until I felt him pin my legs and grope my butt, I didn’t even know what his intention was…but as soon as I felt his fingers pry me open, I started protesting.

“Sorry, it’s just too irresistible.” Just his voice alone had my heart going faster; he was so turned on he was almost growling. I could feel his erection pressing against me, and his words…ugh. At the time they made me quiet, because it was the same message I’ve fantasized about – “Sorry, I just can’t resist fucking you even if you’re saying no.” My denial heard, understood, acknowledged, and rejected because he needed to fuck me, needed to fuck my ass – couldn’t not.

I whimpered though, because it hurt. It hurts the worst when he’s too turned on to grab lube, as he splits me open. That was erotic, but it wasn’t enough to invert my headspace.

“Your ass is MINE to fuck.” And he was really growling then, as he fucked me hard, used me hard. It was then, that, that flipped my headspace inside out. It was that moment that I went from wanting it to be over, wanting it to end, to wanting to endure and get him off because I was –his- and because…well, no. Because I was his. I think I said it out loud. I don’t even know, but it was then that I began to welcome the rough thrusts, the pounding and the pain…welcome isn’t strong enough. Want. Want is a better word. It was then that I started to want it, want him to fuck me as hard as he wanted even though it hurt. Wanted him to use my body to find his pleasure, his orgasm. Struggled to accommodate, to give him the angle into my body that I knew he wanted.

I didn’t come. It wasn’t about that. But it was intensely erotic, and feeling his heartbeat against my back as he recovered after coming…

It was so hot. It was so exactly how I want him to use me because it was exactly what I didn’t want and exactly what he wanted.

-amused-

I hadn't thought to look before, but to whoever found my blog by searching "girl porn extreme female piercings tattooed triangle piercing" - my sincerest apologies, as I'd imagine I was not quite what you had hoped to find. *amused*

Letting him down

Just a quick update…freshly waxed, which he loves. I probably wouldn’t opt for it again if it was my choice, I walked out bruised and scalded, but he told me I did well and it was really sexy, and he would be sending me next month.

Not pierced though. We went in for the consultation, I was super super nervous…the piercer was really nice, we did an exam and he explained what he was looking for. Apparently my anatomy wasn’t suited for a triangle (which was expected) or a horizontal or vertical hood piercing (which wasn’t expected) and that if I really wanted a piercing it would be labia. We left at that point because he didn’t want that kind of piercing on me and he took me out to dinner instead, but he admitted he was disappointed.

I do realize he’s not really disappointed in me per se and it’s not my fault that I don’t have the right build for what he wanted, but wow. I feel let down and I feel like I let him down. I don’t know that I actually wanted an extra hole between my legs but damn, I know he did. And not being able to do something he wanted kind of…stings.

But if...

Ugh. He put the jeweled plug in at dinner time, because he told me he planned on playing tonight. But of course, he fell asleep putting the baby to bed.

I had asked just in case if I could remove the plug to take a bath, but to be honest…I didn’t expect him to fall asleep. I’m getting waxed tomorrow and pierced on Sunday…so vaginal sex is going to be out of the question for a bit, and we wanted to make love. So…I didn’t expect this, and didn’t think to ask if I could take it out if I –didn’t- take a bath.

The damn thing is uncomfortable with extended wear. It pinches, and he was rough and I’m sore. And whiny. I’m staring at the clock, pondering taking it out. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t take it out if he fell asleep..

..but if he ends up waking up before I go to bed and he sees it’s not in, I’d be in so much trouble.

…but it’s been an hour and a half. He’s pretty obviously out for the night.

…but if I’m wrong…

*grumbles and continues to squirm in her seat*