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.

Happy Valentine's Day?

When you settle into a routine, feel comfortable in your relationship…it always happens. He found a way to shake me, to have me sitting here nervous and questioning myself.

I suppose I should have known it was coming, but it’s been months since he brought up the subject of an extended-use butt plug. I regularly update a tumblr erotic blog for him and he comments on the ones with the pretty jeweled butt plugs but he hasn’t mentioned the idea of me wearing one in…well…a long time.

But it’s Valentine’s Day. Where most girls and wives get pretty flowers or candy or jewelry or maybe lingerie, I’m getting, apparently, a steel butt plug. Cue butterflies. Lots of them. I’m pretty sure in fact, that those butterflies are actually in a desperate battle from the way my tummy is quivering right now.

And he’s needling me about it too. It’s not here yet so he’s exaggerating the size, and talking about the safety precautions he researched. Telling me how when I wear it, I’ll never forget I’m his.

I so love/hate any anal activity at all. It terrifies me that regular anal is changing my body, that my body is different and it’s no longer a fight to get inside me when he wants to fuck my ass. I look at blogs with girls gaping after anal – which he likes, very much – and I look at pictures of girls you can tell have often played with large anal toys. It scares me that visually I might be different, even if physically I feel the same – I don’t feel looser, but I know there’s a change. My body accommodates him in ways it never did without a lot of patient foreplay before. On my own, I would never explore anal or any type of backdoor sexual activity (rimming, fisting, fucking – any of it) but it’s such a turn on for him that even as I hate it, even as part of me is horrified at being touched there or of licking him, it still turns me on.

And this…this is another level. If he goes as far as he’s talking about, even in the parts of my life where I feel normal, whatever that means, he will always be there. There’s no way to escape that. And that’s scary. I feel like…this is another level to take from me. To give to him. Sometimes I feel like a person and sometimes…I feel like his. I feel like we’re about to push the scales further towards him. And as much as part of me wants that part of me fights that. I have felt, if not exactly comfortable, happy with submission….and I suppose that means I have much, much further to go. The question is…how far does he want me to go?

Happy Anniversary ... part 1!

I don’t even know where to start this post – there is so much in my head and in my mind and in the past few days! I’ll break this up into a few posts because so much happened that I’m having trouble sorting my head out.

I guess I’ll start with my mouth and say – OUCH.

Yes, good place to start. Auspicious, even.

Let’s backtrack. Last Thursday, I was on my knees between his legs, his cock in my mouth, sucking him. Eyes closed as per his rules. Occasionally he’d grab my head and force himself deeper in my mouth – occasionally I gagged, coughed, spluttered. But I wanted him to come, wanted to feel him pulse in my mouth.

And we were well on our way, except one of those times when he took control, we tore my tongue.

Uh…yeah. I can’t really explain it except that I tangled my tongue with his penis as he was thrusting and my tongue got shoved backwards before he made it to the back of my mouth. I felt it happen – a really sharp twinge – but oral sex like that is never comfortable and I really didn’t think much beyond breathing without gagging other than a quick mental “ow.” And then I tasted blood as I tried to move my tongue to lick him when he let me suck him again…and my brain caught up.

I managed to tear my “sublingual frenulum” which is what the little membrane that connects your tongue to the bottom of your mouth is called. It means that extending my tongue too far in any direction is painful, and it bled quite extensively the night it was injured.

To my credit, my first thought was “how can I get him off when my tongue is swollen!” which he got a kick out of, before declaring my mouth off limit til it heals. Which was fantabulous timing, since Saturday was our anniversary and we had a babysitter the whole day. Boo.

And unfortunately, it’s now been several days and while the wound is closed, it’s not healed and is still sore. Double boo =(

But Saturday brought our anniversary, a day blessedly child-free (thank you, M-I-L!), and a day booked at a couple’s hotel (it’s essentially a sex hotel, though I don’t know if it’s a regional phenomenon or if they’re throughout the u.s.). And even better, the conclusion of the ban on vaginal sex. Sentence served (no time commuted for good behavior though!).

Which meant I was desperately turned on and had been operating at that level for days. I was ready to get sincerely utterly and totally fucked.

And that meant, of course, that he made me wait.

When we got into our little cabin, he made me close my eyes and strip. He collared me and…I realized he’d made a modification. There was some kind of lead or leash attached to the collar, and that was new. I was told I couldn’t open my eyes until he told me to – and then he pushed me onto all fours and started fucking me from behind. I knew I was in trouble when I got close to orgasm immediately – I just felt –starved- for him inside me.

But instead of pushing me over the brink, he stopped, laughed and told me he was eating. I was then tied to something, my food put in front of me and told to eat. My food was messy, so he allowed me to use my hands. (I was grateful for that – it was unnerving to eat on the floor…eating without my hands…I dunno.) Occasionally, he’d reach down and stroke my hair…like I was a dog. I actually remember thinking “He’s going to treat me like a dog!” and being both startled and unnerved by that.

It felt…strange. It was the most overt expression of the agreement we made since we’ve started. It was humiliating. And somehow, oddly comfortable in a way I find profoundly discomforting. The ease of slipping into that…it felt normal. And that’s disquieting, because while I am comfortable with the idea of games that get me off, we’ve definitely long since passed the point where this is a game (at least – in my mind…I suppose it’s not my place to speak for his, although I believe we’re on the same wavelength). We’re finding our comfort levels in a new way of interacting and it bothers me that I’m so comfortable giving up my … my … my what? Autonomy? Personhood? Feminism? Self? to getting him off and…to what? Getting him off and satisfying him, I guess.

And yet as uncomfortable with how much this fit it was also really hot.

Like, really hot. It felt erotic. I felt distinctly powerless – periodic tugs on the lead reminded me I was on my hands and knees on the floor, eating on the floor by his choice and not mine because I hadn’t had one. So little but so…not little, too. Distinctly aware that whatever he told me – whatever he wanted – was his. And that was completely tantalizing, even if I was doing my best to eat a chicken sandwich, with my eyes closed, that was determined to fall apart.

When he decided I was done eating, I wish I could say he told me to blow him. He led me – by the collar – onto the bed, and directed my mouth, but it wasn’t his cock.

It isn’t that we have done rim jobs in the past, but it was a long time ago, and I didn’t like it then either. I suppose for the same reason I don’t like anal sex – it feels…icky, I guess. It took me a couple moments to work up to what he wanted, and he was patient…to a point. But far sooner than I’d like, he had me licking his asshole. And then impatiently demanding “More! Deeper!” until I was sticking my tongue in as deep as I could go, my nose and face pressed so deeply into his ass that at times it impeded my breath. I felt…even more humiliated. He had me doing it because he liked it – it was something we hadn’t done in ages because I don’t like it. And despite how much I didn’t like it, I liked that he was making me do it anyway. It’s as close as I’ve ever come to balking – which isn’t to say close, but he knew this was something I dislike. And somehow it’s hot that he had me doing it anyway.

And then, finally – mercifully - he told me to fuck him. The cabin we were in had mirrored ceilings and I know he enjoyed that, but I was still not allowed to open my eyes – and yes, I asked. Usually I can only tolerate sex in that position occasionally because riding him puts him deeply inside me in a way that gets painful. And I won’t lie, it was – but the need to fuck him was so intense that nothing was going to stop me. Even though I was setting the pace, he tugged the lead on my collar and slapped me often enough to remind me I was only setting the pace because he wanted me to. I never stopped moving, but those little moments re-oriented to me in the incredible flurry of movement that possessed me. He beat my breasts as I bounced up and down on his cock, eliciting the occasional squeals and yelps – and the immediate response of “Take it, whore.” That’s not something he usually calls me, but it worked here, and if anything pushed the frenzy up a notch. (This breast beating also earned my first and only bruise of the day, despite the intensity of the spankings and pain to follow – it’s a tiny thing too, the size of my fingertip.)

I don’t honestly know how many times I came while on top of him; I have no idea. The first orgasm came and went almost too fast – it was so, so, so long overdue and so long awaited that I felt almost trigger happy and it came up before I had a chance to savour it. He slowed me down the next time, controlling the pace a little more, and the second time I came I could feel the moisture on my thighs and on him, felt like my heart might hammer out of my chest and felt incredibly heated. If he hadn’t made me keep going I might have melted, lost in a languid haze, but I have literally lost track of what came after that. More orgasms, more pain – pinched nipples, smacked breasts, and fingers dug into my hips.

And eventually, he set the pace entirely, dictating with hands how fast I should bounce and how far out of me he should go…when he finally came, I collapsed on top of him.

And fortunately for me, the next item on the agenda was collapsing together into the hot tub  =)

A month, a lifetime...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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…

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…)