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.

Happy Anniversary ... part 2!

So, picking off where I left off in part one…

The hot tub was amazing. Seriously. We need one. We have a Jacuzzi tub, but if it were big enough for both of us it would be like…perfect. We melted and giggled together, and generally just had fun. (Even if it was a little hot for him…on the plus side, his adorable wincing as he got in lead to a plethora of “hot cock” jokes.)

Of course, I was far from satiated, and it wasn’t long before I was touching him. Stroking his cock, massaging his balls (and finding out I’m not coordinated enough for an underwater blowjob, but hey, I get points for trying, right?). And since it was now on my mind…fingering his asshole.

Just a little.

Maybe more than a little. Just teasing him about him getting fucked, which earned a lot of amused smirks. But mostly just having fun touching him where he usually won’t let me.

When we got out of the hot tub, we lounged on the bed for a while, touching and just being with each other. It was nice.

Luckily for me, niceness gave way when he made me close my eyes and put me over his lap. I was eager. I wanted intensity, wanted the impact and the pain. I wanted it to be the hardest he’d ever beaten me, wanted to feel it for days. Unlike other times when I tried to wriggle out or wuss out for whatever reason, I wanted it, badly.

Alternating between his hand and the wooden spoon, he spanked and smacked me for a long time. Though I yelped now and then when he’d smack my thighs or calves, for the most part I did little more than moan. I think my silence disappointed him because he reminded me a few times that we were in a private enough place that it was okay to scream, but I was in the best place…sometimes it didn’t even seem to hurt, just sharply hot. I have no idea how long it went on but by the end I was writhing on his lap. His hand felt so hot…and the spoon made the loudest sounds. The languid feeling was back, and if I could have talked I would have asked for more, harder, don’t be done – but I was far, far beyond speech. I just felt –hot-, physically heated. All I knew was I wanted more, I was far from what I could take. I wanted to be pushed to safeword, hit harder.

And then he told me the warm up was over, and he took out the otk delrin cane (the rattan one didn’t fit in our luggage bag!). Fuck, even warmed up I have no tolerance for the cane apparently. Which means, of course, he loves it. I seriously think he could have spanked me and beat me with the spoon forever, but I felt like I couldn’t even take a minute of the cane.

In the end, I have no idea how long the caning lasted – not long, I think. I was yelping with almost every stroke, unable to ride the pain the way I had with the spanking. He got an actual scream when he landed a stroke across my calf. Ouch! When he roughly spread my legs and forced his fingers inside me, he laughed.

As much as it hurt, I had given myself away…I was dripping wet. I hadn’t even realized I was wet, much less how wet I was..my face was red as he taunted me because I could –hear- how wet I was, hear the sound that wet flesh makes as it parts.

Still amused, he lay down and told me to fuck him – but instead of facing towards him, he had me face away. Which way I was facing didn’t affect me as he still made me keep my eyes closed, but this was different – he told me afterwards we’d had sex in that position before but I didn’t and don’t remember. I know that I was able to get myself off (then again – what doesn’t get me off?) but I had no idea how to move in that position to get him off. I don’t know if I would have figured it out if given a chance – almost immediately he took control, dictating with his hands on my hips the pace and depth.

It felt amazing for me, and at the same time embarrassing – my pussy made this wet sucking sound every time moved my hips upwards, and squelching again when I went downwards.

When he came, we lay next to each other and I was laughing at myself. As much as I usually accept that this gets me off, there’s always been a part of my head that said “No, pain doesn’t turn me on – this is a game! Just a game!”

…I don’t think I can keep telling myself that any more.

We lay in bed for a while, cuddling and recovering.  Not too long though - he startled me by opening my mouth. His fingers in my mouth made me feel surprisingly vulnerable, and he seemed to be…looking? It felt strange and humbling to be examined. I tried to ask what he was doing, but he just nodded and told me he had decided to put my mouth back to work.

…and again, it wasn’t his cock, to my chagrin. –pantgroanpant-

I think, most times, it would be unusual for him to make me lick his asshole again…but he knew how embarrassed and reluctant I was. While he definitely derived physical pleasure from my tongue…I knew he was making me do it solely because he knew I hated it. And so it amused him as well as felt good. Which turned me on (and damn it, I’m squirming now too!).

This next part makes me uncomfortable to write because it is still, days later, wreaking an emotional storm internally. We had talked about so-called golden showers (I still can't figure out what to call this - golden showers sounds...fun and naughty, but this was just humiliation for me..) before, when we talked about limits and what turned him on and willingness and all that jazz. I knew it would be humiliating. I knew it was one of those things that I would “want” in the terms of wanting to be humiliated, wanting to be pushed lower, wanting to be shown who was in charge and who had no choice in the matter…I guess I can’t really explain it, not to my own satisfaction at least. Intellectually – do not want. Do not want. Do not want.

Should I say it again? Do not want.

But…the part of me that craves to be totally dominated…if I listen to that part…this seems so base, a way of both putting me at absolutely the bottom rung of authority and being marked like territory..And I knew it turned him on. He liked it in porn, he read erotic with it, and he told me flat out he was interested in it.

He told me to shut my eyes and led me off the bed to the bathroom. I stumbled, not sure where we were heading at first.

To be honest when I figured out he was putting me in the shower, I groaned inside my head. He had told me over and over he was interested in cold showers as a punishment and humiliation, and he hadn’t yet followed up on that. A day I was not allowed to wear clothes seemed to be the perfect day for that.

I thought that as he had me kneel in the shower. I thought that as I heard him adjusting towels just outside the shower.

I thought that until he used his thumb to put pressure on my chin, forcing my mouth open.

And suddenly, I knew, and I was utterly terrified. Literally afraid, and I whispered to him that I was scared. He stroked my cheek, but didn’t say a word. There was no out.

I can’t explain the fear. I didn’t think it would hurt me. But my heart was racing and I was suddenly cold…afraid of being pushed that low, I guess?

I was so tangibly afraid I honestly thought he would change his mind, but needless to say, he didn’t.

Even though I knew it was coming, the moment it hit me – hit my mouth – was an overwhelming shock. I think I smelled it before it touched me, and the smell was overwhelming when coupled with the psychological aspect. I tried to let it dribble out of my mouth, but it came so fast that I ended up trying to push it out with my tongue, and when I still couldn’t keep up I turned my head.

He followed me, made me open my mouth again. It covered my face, stopped me from breathing without spluttering for a few moments. It ran down my neck, over my breasts. It was in my hair, the smell was in my nose. 

And when it was finally over, I was in the strangest headspace. Totally utterly humiliated in a way I never have been before. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak.

But when he forcefully pulled me up and pressed me against the shower wall to fuck me, the orgasm ripped out of me in a way that would have shocked me if I was me at that moment. I didn’t feel it coming (uh…forgive the pun – it’s not intentional). In some ways I didn’t feel connected to it at all. I know he fucked me hard, hard enough to make my cheek sore from banging into the shower wall.

When he came, he patted my butt and told me to clean up, I had 5 minutes.

I showered quickly, brushed my teeth and used mouthwash. The smell seemed to cling to me, the taste in my mouth, but I think that was more my imagination than anything else.

When I came out, we spent more time hot-tubbing. I still had a hard time meeting his eyes…not because he told me not to or because I was upset with him, but because I was in a weird place where it didn’t feel like I –should- and I can’t explain it any more than that. He coaxed me out of it and told me I was acting oddly – I tried to explain what was going on in my head but I didn’t really understand it, so I doubt I explained it well.

After that, he fussed around a little with me, made me tea as we spent about an hour and a half in the hot tub, transforming into melty puddles of well fucked people.

When we got out, I lay on the bed while he relaxed on the massaging chair (which he insists we need one for home…haha)…eventually, he gave me permission to suck him, finally. I did so gently, but between the injury from a few days before and the workout he’d given my tongue earlier I knew I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. Instead I begged him to make love to me. (In the back of my head, it wasn’t far from my mind that he might re-institute the vaginal sex ban…)

For the most part our lovemaking was gentle and sweet – although he did make a point of shoving me on the bed before I was ready to climb on, just to prove that even if this was my idea he was still in control.

Happily, he hasn’t outright banned vaginal sex so far. Although we haven’t had it since then…it’s not on total ban.

I can live with that.

It was a happy anniversary.

Introduction to the cane...

Caning.

Oh, we thought about caning. He felt like it was too violent and for me, the stories sort of scared me. You could do damage with those things!

But as we delved deeper into the seduction of erotic pain, of testing my endurance and willingness, caning began to seduce me too. I found myself gravitating towards shoots that including caning shots, pictures that showed caning welts. Stories about being caned.

I read articles about safe caning. About how it felt and where you can and where you shouldn’t cane.

Slowly, it crept into my fantasies.

When I finally mentioned that I might sort of kind of possibly but not really only maybe be interested in trying a cane out, I was surprised at his enthusiasm. Somewhere along the way he had changed his mind too.  I stashed away some funds in paypal here and there and researched, researched, researched. I posted to get recommendations on a good place to get quality canes at affordable prices and asked people’s opinions on which canes they liked and why.

I settled on two. One rattan, one delrin. One long and really thin (the rattan) and one thicker and shorter (the delrin, an OTK cane).

They sat in my cart for days as I danced with my inner demons. Could I, should I, would I buy a cane? Or two canes? In and out of my cart they went, and back in. Caning looked intense. Could I tolerate the sensation? What if I hated it?

…could I tolerate never finding out?

I began checking out and was sort of shocked at my boldness. I was ordering a cane. So that my husband could beat me with it.

And once I ordered it, I promptly shut it out of mind. Me? Order a cane? Nope!

…but it came in the mail, a rather intimidatingly large package, particularly when I knew exactly what the contents were.

Before I gave them to my husband, I tested them on myself. I was excited, and wanted to know if it was a sensation I liked before allowing him to ramp it up. The long thin rattan one was tough to control in such close range, and left remarkable welts on my left thigh that lasted well past a few days. It stung, and I liked it, a lot, but I knew that it was a lot more dangerous because it was very flexible and would be harder to aim with.

The delrin one…mmm. Embarrassingly, I left myself almost immediately with a rather large and obvious bruise on my right inner thigh. Oops! It was thick enough to not sting nearly as much as the rattan cane, but thin enough that the impact was much more focused than anything we’ve tried before. It was shorter too, which made it a lot less flexible and thus easier to control. It stung more than anything else we’d done and…I was excited. Despite the chagrin of marking my own thigh, I had a feeling this was going to be something we’d enjoy.

When he came home, hiding behind false bravado, I handed him the canes – butterflies fluttering futilely in my tummy. I was so nervous, although I wasn’t going to show it. I was handing him instruments that both terrified me and aroused me…a strange, strange combination. I had the gall to lecture him that he needed to read cane safety before I let him use the rattan one on me  - I got an interesting smirk in response, because it was one of those “Duh, Ekho!” type things that I couldn’t quite believe came out of my mouth. I’m going to blame my cheekiness on nerves, because the delrin cane, I graciously allowed (haha) was close enough to other things we’d been doing that I thought he could handle it.

Definitely nerves. Though in my defense, we have not done a lot with submission, much as I’d like to – only bottoming and topping. We’re only starting explore what my submission would mean for us, but it felt impertinent anyway. Couldn’t help myself though - fearexcitementnerves type thing.

Immediately that night, he told me to put my corset on and return quickly.

When I came out, he settled me into a new position on the count – almost like prayer, with me on my knees, forehead pressed to the couch and arms stretched out in front of me. The result: My ass in the air, the rest of me stretched out in a way that’s not uncomfortable, but totally…vulnerable feeling. Different.

When the first blow fell, I knew he’d pulled out the cane and I was shocked. I don’t know – I guess I thought he’d start with hands? Wait on the cane? I don’t know. The first one fell and it was…indescribable. It wasn’t a line of fire, but this incredible stinging flare…OW!  He kept it paced nicely, but with the position I was in I could never tell when the next blow would fall. My butt, my thighs, my upper back, the soles of my feet? It was never so intense that I felt like it should stop or slow down or even considered my safe word, but to be honest I was so turned on and lost that time … well, I had no idea how much time had passed. Intermittently he took me from behind, where I tried to beg to be allowed to come (damn orgasm restriction – speaking was so hard, I was all but beyond being able to verbalize, but I tried!) with no dice. I remember hearing rough breathing and realizing it was mine, and I remember the incredible soreness as his hips slammed into my ass as he fucked me..time was really blurry.

When he finally came and granted me permission to come, it was almost painful it was so intense…I was so ready. Afterwards I collapsed on the couch, beyond speech. Hazy.

What’s strange is the beating wasn’t even that hard. I don’t know. I’ve had worse spankings. In terms of bruising, I had a nasty one coming up on the outside of my left thigh. I had some lovely pink welts across my ass and on my back. I knew there were small bruises, but…I’ve had harder beatings and bigger welts and bruises.

He told me afterwards it was hard to get used to how much less force the cane needed, and my reaction was pretty strong to even soft blows…he thought I was going to safeword and responded by softening things even more. He said my ass turned pink incredibly fast.

I don’t remember ever being close to wanting or needing it to stop, I just remember the intense sexual energy and contrasting lethargy that made me not want to move at all. Did I wiggle away from blows or arch my butt higher to receive them? I don’t know, but that orgasm was…intense.

And the aftermath? The next morning, the bruise on the outside of my thigh was pretty wicked, but on my butt, there were only a scattered smattering of tiny bruises – my guess is from the tip of the cane.

Not so scary afterall, other than for the fact that I know he took it very, very easy on me….