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…

3 hours...

He popped home from lunch to sentence me to 3 hours, and then went back to work.

Sounds like not much, until you consider, that’s how long I was “sentenced” to wear a plug made of ginger for.

I watched him carve it, protesting.

“Why?” I asked.

He shrugged in response. “Because I can.”

And that...is enough. He can.

As I sit here writing, I have plug carved from ginger root inserted into my asshole. I can’t sit still, I’m wriggling. It’s hot, it stings like hell, my bottom feels heated, and I swear he picked the biggest ginger root we had to force inside me. Walking feels funny and there isn’t a moment I don’t remember I’m wearing it. (T-minus 2 ½ hours…)

As he forced it into my protesting sphincter, he apologized that it was so cold but told me I’d warm up. He told me the rules. I can remove it at 4pm unless he calls and gives me permission to remove it earlier. I can remove it if I need to use the restroom, but then need to replace it. I can remove it if for some reason it interferes with my ability to care for the baby.

I protested that he wasn’t even here to enjoy it, and he put my hand against his very erect cock, telling me he was enjoying it whether or not he was home.  He told me to think often about how he'd fuck my ass tonight, filling it with something much bigger than the ginger, and that he was pondering making me carve a second plug for later. He told me he hoped I was looking forward to our anniversary on the 15th when the vaginal sex ban will be lifted...and hinted it might go back into effect on the 16th.

And then he told me to thank him for the reminder he’d given me that my ass belonged to him.

“Thank you,” I whispered quietly. I was confused. I didn’t like the ginger, but I didn’t feel resentful even if it made walking a bizarre ordeal. It burned like hell and he wasn’t even here to enjoy it.But him forcing me to thank him...

When did he learn how to push my buttons so well? (T-minus 2 hours 5 minutes…)

Jumping off the deep end...

Wow, has it really been two weeks since I last posted?

I guess it has. My mind (and body) have been super busy. New toys (scary long whippy cane! Ouch-inspiring black leather flogger!) have been part of it, but more than new toys…

He knew I was upset after the orgasm control week was up. He sort of got why. And I understood his response back, even if I couldn’t control my emotional response to it.

But what I didn’t expect was his next suggestion. When he thought about his response to the week, he told me why he didn’t think it had worked for him.

…not enough control. Too piece-meal.

Piece-meal wasn’t right for him. He wanted…all of it. All of me.

I sort of panicked, I’ll admit. Go from nothing to…all of it? It seemed like a huge leap to make. And yet, I didn’t really know what he meant either. He grinned and pointed out that we would find out together, but for a week, I would belong to him…my body was his. (He made clear I still had my safeword, if I needed it, however.)

So I agreed…Saturday to Saturday. His. Nervous, excited, and wet, I agreed.

The first day, he took my ass twice. I usually had a piece of ginger pressed to my clit because he enjoyed watching me squirm as it stung and burned. (To my frustration, orgasm control was back too – coming was only with his permission. Frustration isn’t really the right word but meh, I like orgasm!) The first time he took me, it was morning.

That evening, long after our daughter in bed, he had me kneel, nude, ass in the air. I braced myself, thinking my ass was in for it again…but instead, I felt him rubbing oil into my cunt. I remember the confusion and the excitement – (confusion: I don’t need lube…I’m wet! Excitement: it’s not my ass, and I’m getting fucked!).

When a third finger joined his first two inside me, I noticed…but didn’t really think of it. My whole body felt hot, my skin felt tight. I begged to come and was denied.

When the fourth finger entered me, vague tendrils of alarm penetrated my brain as I realized what he wanted.

Fuck, I hate fisting. It hurts. (I get off on it…I –am- a masochist…but it hurts.) It’s overwhelmingly intense. I worry about being too stretched out to get him off. (I do lots of kegels, so is this a reasonable fear? I don’t know.) I worry it makes my cunt look funny. (Yes, I do. I know. I’m weird.)

But it turns him on, a lot, and I’ve known this from the few times we’ve done this before. Something about being stretched out around him and how it pushes me beyond what I think I can take…when I protested, he reminded me that I was his and no was out of the question. (I hate fisting, but the exchange gets me hot here thinking about it!)

The feeling of his entire hand finally slipping inside me is indescribable. It’s so distinct…there’s no doubt when you’ve gone from “too many fingers!” to “ohmygosh THAT’S A FUCKING HAND INSIDE ME!” There’s a forceful aspect to the sensation, when he finally gets past the ring of muscle resisting him…it’s a sort of owfuckomgwowmmmmmow type sensation. Sort of.

As the intensity of his hand moving inside me finally, with permission, pushed me off a cliff despite the pleasurepain, I screamed when he took his hand out. It hurt but it was more the absence of sensation that …hurt? To go from overstimulation to him leaving left me feeling shaky and woozy. I was out of it but coherent enough to realize that his cock was now pressing against my asshole…that made twice in one day.

The second day, when we woke up, he took my ass again.

For anyone keeping count at home (and I know I am), that made three rounds of anal sex in two days. That was more than our previous record where we once had anal two days in a row. My ass felt well used, sore.

That night, I begged him to fuck me and said he’d taken my ass several times.

He responded by telling me to bend over because he was going to fuck my ass again. Which despite my protests that that wasn’t what I meant – because as he reminded me, my ass was HIS – he proceeded to do, forcefully.

I don’t remember when, but he began idly threatening me with anal fisting, and the entire week, that was never far from my mind. Vaginal fisting is SO intense, but I know his hand fits there. I’m not totally convinced his whole hand is getting up my ass, and I worry even more about that.

But the idea of it – with no touching – just the idea – gets him hard. I won my only concession – I would have enough warning to do an enema first.

On the third day, he took my ass again. I was sore enough to gasp as he entered me. That made 5 times in three days.

On the fourth day, we made it to six times in four days. And then seven times in five. Eight times in six. I finally found out…this was punishment for complaining about lack of vaginal sex. That wasn’t my decision to make, so to punish me, there is no vaginal sex right now. When he wants to fuck me, it’s my asshole he’s going to fuck.

And goddamnit, that’s brilliant. It sucks (not the anal, although as I’ve explained before there’s a love/hate there) but it’s brilliant. And dastardly. Punishing me for complaining about lack of sex with sex that he likes more than I do. It’s brilliant and it sucks, and it’s erotic as all hell. –fans herself- And if I complain more about lack of vaginal sex I get my ass fucked more. –seals her lips-

 (Our week was nearly up, but I got sick. We decided to extend it two weeks. (See, there was a reason it’s been two weeks since I posted!) I don’t know what I had, but it involved body aches, fever, and stomach maladies. Babygirl got sick too, and it was rough. Because we didn’t get a full week, we decided to extend it a week. I’ll write about week two shortly…)

Being very brave...or very stupid...

(initially written 7/26/11 - reposting from LJ due to switching blogs)

I am sure I will write more on this later when I'm not pressed for time, but my head seems to be swirling and bursting at the moment, so I wanted to get this on...paper? .. while the experience is still vivid in my mind.

A few days ago, going around the internet, I found a spanking blog. And as of course that's an area of great interest to me at the moment, I clicked, read...and read...and read...a lot. It was a huge turn on, and gave me a lot of ideas to try with my husband. Ideas that I'm sure I'll want to write about...eventually.

But one thing really caught my attention. It linked to www.figging.com - and - wow.

Let me back up by saying an element in my sexual fantasies for a long time has been punishment. The idea started when I was 17 and read a book where the Mistress used a cream to create a burning feel on the new slave's clit, and then when the sensation faded, in her anus. Ever since then, variants of that have been ... not on my mind, but an added element to masturbation. It was always a form of ritualized punishment.

I, of course, had no idea it was something people actually did. The book was fantastical, predicated on vampires and werewolves. It never really occurred to me that was something people might actually do during sex.

Fast forward, and I've recently read the Sleeping Beauty trilogy by Anne Rice. In the third novel, one of the slaves is subjected to "itching oil" - and while itching isn't very appealing to me, it was the same idea. Punishment. The application of something that isn't violence, isn't force, that the slave can't escape, can't unring the bell - but must simply suffer through until it fades.

So when I saw the figging website, I was...intrigued. One of the posts was on tabasco applied all over the model's vulva and ass and...oh my god.

That was exactly what I'd fantasized about. Punishment, burning without damage - just pain. (And yes, I won't deny that you can actually be damaged by chemicals. That's not my point, obviously care needs to be taken with any kind of pain play.)

But shit. Tabasco?

It burns my <b>mouth</b>.

For a few days, the idea sat quietly in the back of my head.

It was like the bottle in our cabinet was ... taunting me.

Two nights ago, after my husband went to bed, I had to try it.

I didn't mean to.

I didn't plan to.

But I couldn't /not/.

I poured a few drops in a tiny cup, and carried it into the bathroom. I locked the door in case he did wake up. How could I explain this? It was mortifying. I was blushing as it was and I was by myself. If he discovered me, what could I possibly say? And even as I did this, I told myself it was stupid, I could never go through with it. As I stood there, I was sure I wouldn't do it. I wasn't planning to do it. It was absurd, ridiculous...titillating.

And so it's me, nude, in the bathroom, with this little bit of tabasco sauce. I stared at myself in the mirror, and I was distantly amused to see that I was blushed and had the tiniest most apprehense smile on my lips that I'd ever seen. And it's funny, because even up to the last second I was so sure I couldn't possibly do it.

Still telling myself I wouldn't, couldn't, could never ever do this, I dipped my fingers in the cup - and dabbed it on my clit between my spread legs. Momentarily, I felt satisfied - there, I thought. You can't undo it. There's no way to get it off now. You have to live with what you just did!

But then....disappointment. I frowned. It just felt cold. I gave it a second and then wondered if perhaps it was too old. Idiot that I was, I dabbed the rest on myself, telling myself that if it hurt like hell I deserved it. Doing it to myself? What an idiot. What was I thinking? How could I? How could I <b>not</b>?

I waited a moment, and oh. My. God.

It burned. My whole clit felt swollen. It was all I could do not to roll my hips and moan. The pain was intense. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt. I bounced, tears fell. I hissed. I tried not to moan loudly. It was SO hot and it hurt SO much.

And it was exactly, exactly, what I'd always fantasized about. I found myself masturbating without conscious decision to. Rubbing my clit, which was hard and swollen - and not just swollen from the tabasco. I came quickly, and I cried. I had no concept of time. Had I been there five minutes? 10? 30? An hour? I had no idea, but it was still burning. In my head, I imagined the ritualized punishment, being told this was my penance for some transgression - my mind was in chaos and though my fantasies are usually more structured, more defined, I felt close to orgasm again.

At the height of the burning, I remember thinking I had to try ginger some time.

I masturbated again. I felt so wet. I felt so turned on. I felt soooooo bad, so in pain, so ... punished.


And I had done it to myself!

When I went to bed and lay next to my husband, it was still burning slightly, like aftershocks. I was stunned.

I could never, I vowed, do that again.

Ever.

But without having consciously made any decision, I found my fingertip lightly rubbing my clit as I remembered the experience, riding the waves towards orgasm without having planned to masturbate at all.