The line between submission and masochism...

We’ve played a lot with sadism and masochism, but less with dominance and submission.

And don’t get me wrong. Erotic pain is definitely a turn on. I hate calling myself something like a painslut or a masochist, because those terms seem so much bigger than me, but it is what is.

I like being hit during sex. I like having my ass smacked and spanked until it's bruised. I like being hit with a belt and having clothespins clipped to my breasts. I like being fucked on all fours with the pins on because it makes my breasts sway and agitates the pinched flesh. I hate/like Tabasco on my clit because it burns and hurts.* I like ginger because stings and burns (and then leaves you fiercely hot).* I like having my anus flicked, whipped, and smacked. I like having my breasts spanked and smacked and pinched, the nipples pinched.

And I like the bruising afterwards. I like looking at them and feeling sore, remembering what I did to earn those bruises.

And what that makes me, I don’t know. Perverted, without a doubt. But even as much as it hurts and is “pain,” it’s the intensity of the sensation that gets me. Before we started acting these desires out, I knew I wanted them and just lacked the courage to see if my husband was willing or interested…my fantasies played around the most intense experience I could come up with, and my fantasy life knew what I wanted long before I could admit it.

So being hurt during sex? (Hurt, not harmed.) Yes. Okay, that’s me.

And not that regular sex doesn’t still have a place in our sex life…it does. A nice place. A comfortable place. A familiar place with the man I have been with for 12 years and married to for nearly 6, in pretty much the same way for most of the more-than-10 years we’ve been having sex. I sincerely doubt it will ever lose that place. I like sex – good sex, bad sex, sweaty sex, marathon sex, quickie sex – and I do not /dislike/ the sex that has made up most of my actual sexual experience.

But.

My lover spanking me? Smacking different parts of me until I’m quivering, skin pinkened and coloured by bruises? Squeezing my sore ass that he beat the night before, just to make me squirm and remember exactly what we did the previous night?

Hot, and right. It’s what I want, what I have wanted for a long time, and for me, it is so, so much better than regular sex. I feel engaged by it.

And while there are definitely things we haven’t done yet – I suspect that I will like them when we do. Canes are on the way. Floggers on the way. I’d like to try face slapping…if I can work up to telling him about that.

But that being said…as much as I have never, since the first time I can remember fantasizing about while masturbating, have never once fantasized about regular sex, there is a theme bigger than pain in my fantasies…

…and it is control.

Or at least, I always thought of it as control. Before I knew there was a world where dominance and submission were acted out consensually in the bedroom, I fantasized about being controlled.

Often times the control was by force, by being overpowered, ravished. Being made a slave, or a prisoner.

But mostly, that was because it was about being put into a situation where I could not escape, being subject to the whims and pleasures of another – having my existence become solely about their pleasure.

And obviously, “solely” isn’t quite a standard I could live up to, though it makes great fantasy element.

But.

I finally talked to my husband about this aspect of my sexuality. Or at least, introduced the concept. We didn’t go into a lot of detail or talk toooo much, because, well…surprisingly, this was harder to talk about than asking him to hit me. And that wasn’t easy to bring up.

But somehow, telling him I’d like him to take control of me, to be in charge, to make me do things…things I sort of want and sort of don’t want…things that are…some of them humiliating….

Difficult, difficult, difficult.

He wasn’t totally surprised. I mean…I’ve gotten him to start talking dirty to me. To “punish” me. He’s known for a while it turns me on to be “forced” into sex. Wanting to be controlled and humiliated isn’t…shocking, considering.

But even more difficult, going through the motions isn’t good enough for my picky kink. Nope. If we play with this, he has to want it.

Because if he doesn’t want it, I don’t. And I mean…some of the things I want I don’t want. Which is confusing enough. But if he doesn’t want to do something but he would do it for me…there are people that works for and that’s great.

I’m not one of them.   

He had known for a long time I responded well to having my hair pulled during sex. And then for some reason when we were talking one day I found out he only did that for me, not because it did anything for him…and that just, blew it for me. It stopped being hot and just started being annoying.

Because while I don’t want to totally sublimate myself in his desires – that’s great fantasy fodder, but does not a long term healthy relationship make, because I have my own needs that need to be taken care of – pretending I am when it’s really just going with the flow for him isn’t what pushes my buttons.

I appreciate that he’s willing. I do. It’s sweet.

I don’t want sweet.

I want to be wanted so badly that at least in some way his needs matter more, his desires matter more. I want what /he/ wants and in a very real manner it doesn’t matter if I want it or not…if he wants it enough to “force” me into it chances are…I’ll find it erotic.

I want to be ravished because he can’t resist fucking me. I want him to want something from me so badly that he’ll take it if I won’t give it…for him, there is nothing I won’t give, but it has to be something he wants. Because if he only does it because he thinks I want it, then I don’t want it.

I don’t know if that makes sense, but there it is.

We’re easing into it to see if it really is something he wants. We’re starting with something I knew he wanted and I always said no…and to be honest, I hate it. Haha.

Right now, I can’t orgasm without his permission. One week trial basis.

That sounds easier said than done.

But I am the woman who on a day off when he worked and babygirl’s grandma took her for a day, I masturbated because I had the time and inclination…16 times. (I counted. In my defense, that was my first alone time in two years other than falling asleep…but still. 16!)

I really, really hate this.

But he really, really likes it, because I hate it. And that means I kind of like it too.

It’s complicated. :P



*The difference between Tabasco and Ginger is pretty extreme. Neither are pleasant, both turn me on. Tabasco is pain - Ginger stings. Different sensations. I prefer Ginger, it leaves a pleasant feeling afterwards which Tabasco doesn't, but Tabasco fits better depending on the mood and is easier to keep around...

A fun night...

Last night began, blindfolded with a thick silk scarf. In the hall, my heart beat anxiously in my chest – I could hear him, ripping and tearing duct tape in the living room. Setting something up – but I had no idea what.

Rip.

Rip.

Rip.

In the dark, both physically and mentally, each “rip” of the tape brought a swell of anxiety. “Are you turned on?” he asked, but the only response I remember making was a slight anxious whimper.

Finally, when he was done, I felt him in front of me. “Do you have any questions?” he asked softly, and I think I shook my head, soft breaths caught in my throat. He had lots of plans for tonight, he told me, and I was definitely going to be sauced – whether just my ass or whether it was more would depend on if I was good or not…

Then quickly, stunning me, he sealed my mouth with duct tape. I tried to gasp, but that didn’t work very well and I contented myself with quick anxious breaths through my nose. My hands bound behind my back, he teases me that it will be hard to lead me where he wants to go with my hands bound behind me – so he applies clothespins to my breasts and I am lead in, gasping, by the clips. Though I remember making distressed sounds – those clips hurt! – I am reminded of Beauty’s Release at the same time.

A small flurry of activity follows – usually I can recant events in fairly close order to reality, but I can recall what happened last night but not the precise order…the memories are instead pleasantly fluid.

I remember him smacking and slapping my breasts as I knelt, usually with hands and sometimes with the wooden spoon. I remember gasping and moaning as the smacks and slaps stung, but there was no real pain – occasional stings, but nothing really hurt. More clips came out – how many, I couldn’t say, but he told me they were symmetrical. As he applied them, he occasionally brushed them gently, and I moaned at the pain this brought. I was wet; it hurt but each time he did it I felt pangs of arousal in my cunt. He ripped the tape off when he got them all on, forcing his cock into my mouth and I did myself to suck him, tasting every bit of him, trying to work him with my tongue before he covered my mouth again with the tape.

Pushing me forward so that my clipped breasts dangled, he fucked me from behind. The contrast was so intense – the pleasure of him driving into me, feeling him deeply inside me and edging me towards climax as the stinging of the clips was amplified by the motion…I was making urgent sounds and I don’t even know what I was wishing I could ask him to do – fuck me harder or remove the clips? My priority seemed to flip every 2 seconds and the world seemed really hazy, the only clarity between my legs and in my breasts. Thinking about it today has me squirming. I feel like I hate the clothespins when he brings them out – but I love how he uses them and how much they turn him on.

Before he came, he stopped fucking me and dragged me back up on my knees so that I was kneeling again. He began removing the clips, taunting me gently as he did because each removal felt molten – as much as I had whimpered when they were pinching and being jostled as my body was shaken by the intensity of the sex, removal is a hundred times more intense. I cried out each time, wanting desperately to rub my breasts as the stinging hot pain flared. He teased me that he could just leave them on if it would make me feel better.

Pushed forward, I found myself on all fours, still gagged by the tape across my mouth. He told me to get my ass as high in the air as I could.

I heard the whoosh of a flame igniting near me, and knew he’d lit a candle. I had a moment to process that hot wax was coming when I felt him pulling my ass cheeks apart as far as they could go – and securing them there with duct tape. It was acutely embarrassing and I wasn’t sure why, but he stroked me and reassured me that he thought it was sexy. I can’t remember if he said that aloud or not but I knew from his touch that he did – I think I remember the warmth of his penis brushing my ass too.

And then the wax was falling, and it was all I could focus on. The searing heat that for a second feels too hot to take, especially when it lands directly on your anus – not knowing where the next drop will fall – my ass, my thighs? My back, my calves? Sometimes even my feet (although honestly I barely felt that). The wax is SO hot for a second – so hot it feels like it should sizzle, then as it cools and hardens it’s this intense warmth as it adapts to your body heat. He has always loved it because it makes me jump – how could it not? How could you take something like that without jumping, without shuddering – especially when several drops fall quickly in a row?

When I felt as if I was as waxy as I was wet, he told me it was time to spank me. He positioned me, legs spread wide, over the couch. I can’t remember if the tape had been removed from my mouth at that point or not – I felt…floaty. Hazy. He told me he wanted my ass a fuckable pink or something like that – I don’t remember the exact words but it told me it would be a lot of slapping, not a lot of pain. And that was exactly what it was – small, almost playful slaps with a couple hard ones interspersed. Occasionally he told me exactly where his next slap was going to land – the hand of the spoon is going HERE and it’s going to be very hard, are you ready? – and I can’t even explain how that made me feel. Dread, arousal, wet…

When my ass was nicely pink – sensitive but not terribly sore, pink but no bruises or marks – he put my back on my knees and told me he was going to sauce my ass now. Not because I was bad, but because doing it turned him on and he wanted to see me squirm.

That was so incredibly erotic I can’t even explain it. Suffering for him because he wanted to see it? He pushed exactly the right button and I was tripped out. Though I admitted I was scared I barely protested as he worked the tabasco deep into my ass – as it started burning he started working his fingers in and out of my ass as I wiggled. I moaned and wriggled and it wasn’t long before he couldn’t stand it – he started fucking me, hard – really really hard, slamming into me. Between the burning in my ass and intense pleasure building inside me I barely felt like I was there, as if I were nothing more than the sensations my body was experiencing…

Languid spankings and revising history

Last night’s playtime was intense – I am wonderfully sore, and every time I walk and the muscles in my butt stretch or contract as I do I smile, because I remember it.

I was lying on my stomach, him between my legs and my legs splayed around him so they were sort of hooked around him. I had my pillow to release my cries into if I needed it, or to lay my head on if I needed it, but for the most part – despite the intensity of the play – I felt mostly languid in a way I’ve never felt before. Each spanking, or smack with the bowl of the wooden spoon, or thwap with the handle of the spoon, hurt for one brief fiery second, drawing a moan out from the depths of my throat. And then I just felt warm. Not sleepy, just…relaxed. He accused me of being tense, but I wasn’t, and by the end even him rest his hands on my butt – either to feel me or to part my ass to look deeper – made me wince and grit my teeth, but the actual spanks and slaps? It actually felt almost relaxing, and thinking about it today it’s sort of unnerving. I’ve long known and buried that somewhere along the way I had grown to like erotic pain, but my memories of last night are almost hazy, fuzzy, and what comes through most strongly are impressions of warmth, of waiting to feel the next one. I hesitate to describe the feeling as “great” because I do know it hurt. I remember he did sometimes hit fairly hard, hard enough to make me actually cry out – usually when he chose to spank the juncture where my butt and thighs meet – but I don’t remember more than brief instants of pain. It’s unnerving because that feeling is so…strange to me. I feel quite confused actually.

The bruises today are unnerving too. We had waited for my butt to heal, for the most part, although we did some light spanking play, so I suppose I had gotten used to a mostly “normal” looking butt. (If you say the word butt enough, it seems to lose meaning…hmmm.) There are vivid splotches of wine-coloured bruising and deep purple bruises, and some pale yellow ones. When paired with the mottled bruising on my breasts, I could easily pass for the victim of something nefarious, and it both amuses me and unnerves me and turns me on that instead these are the marks of love.  I am nearly tempted to post pictures so I can remember his handprints on my skin, remember once the bruises have faded just how thoroughly he beat my ass and breasts.

Speaking of my breasts, I have no idea how I feel about how much he likes to punish them. Clothespins, spankings, pinching, smacks with the spoon – he seems to take great joy in playing with them, and aiming the spoon so he can focus the blow on my nipple. The pain when that happens is so intense, almost electric – and he loves it. He loves to grope my breasts so hard I groan and cry, and my reaction is so mixed, so conflicted I almost want to laugh. I hate it. The spankings on the rest of my body don’t incite the same feelings. Is it worry because I’m lactating? Or do my breasts, jutting out so exposed from the rest of my body, simply seem more vulnerable to me? I know he’s not hitting as hard as he’s hitting my ass but it’s frightening nonetheless. And yet…it turns me on, because I can visibly see how making my breasts shudder with each spanking, bounce each time a clip is removed and I jump, turns him on. The punishment by itself and out of context is unpleasant, but doing something uncomfortable for his pleasure is incredibly erotic. I don’t understand why the desire to make him feel good, particuarly at the expense of my own physical comfort (hah – comfort is a paltry world to describe what I mean here, but as I am not a thesaurus it will have to do), is so strong…but there it is. Beat my breasts, spank my feet, draw bruises on my ass…just get off on it, and it seems I will too.

What a strange creature am I.

On a different note, we found out very hard and very fast last night that I definitely have a limit when it comes to tabasco. I made the mistake of telling him to “stop!” as he was doing his damnedest to smack my nipple with the edge of the spoon. Very quickly, I found myself head down and ass up on the tiny bed in his office. He told me I didn’t get to say “stop” and started dropping something onto my exposed anus. It stung and I immediately freaked, demanding to know what he had just put on me – he remained silent, working it into my asshole. He then started rubbing what I assumed was the same stuff onto my clit and then inside my cunt; by then my nose had caught up to my brain and I was starting to flip. He still didn’t tell me what it was, but it was starting to burn.

I got totally lost inside my own head. He started to smack with a belt and that actually felt good as my cunt and ass burned, but he was telling me to do something to and I haven’t the faintest idea what. He then tried to have me suck him and I was just…lost. I had tried to explain before that that kind of intense sensation is all consuming and absorbs my entire focus, but I guess I didn’t explain it well enough (note to self: cut the shyness crap in the future…no matter how embarrassing it might be, I have to communicate better). It was incapacitating – and I think it was worse because I hadn’t expected it. We had talked about using it on my ass too, and eventually both at once, but I guess I wasn’t ready for that jump and you can’t stop once it’s on.

He started to touch me and finger me and that was when I lost it, starting bucking and telling to stop touching me if he ever wanted to do this again and stuff. I failed though. He didn’t stop – understandably, since we had talked about control fantasies – and I fucking forgot my safeword. He kept trying to finger fuck me as the inside of me burned and it just felt awful as I sobbed and told him not to touch me.

I have no idea how or why, but I was so overwhelmed I didn’t just forget my safe word. Honestly and truly forgot safewords existed. He did figure out pretty fast that I actually genuinely needed him to stop, and he was honestly wonderful as soon as he figured out what was going on. He told me he would have stopped the instant I used my safeword, and I felt so stupid…I have no idea how my brain just…shut out that piece of information. Like, gone, completely. I didn’t forget my word – I forgot that I even had that kind of option.

Uh…oops. Yeah.

And while I had a break down and a sobbing mess, we talked afterwards and the luxurious spanking I described above happened after this, so the evening wasn’t lost and didn’t end on a poor note.

I thought a lot about what happened. I think the sauce in my pussy is probably just not going to be repeated unless I really direly need to be punished, because that was rough. It made it agonizing when he went to finger fuck me, and that I think was what ended up putting me over the edge.

That all being said, I think there are ways we could have done that that would have turned my sex drive to overdrive instead of turning me into a mess.

What turns me on about this is being punished. Ritualized punishment for infraction is just…my fantasies are so structured and vivid that I think the interaction I needed wasn’t there. I like that he punished me for telling him to stop. I didn’t mean to say stop and I wasn’t actually trying to tell him off, but that was definitely one of those punishable offenses. So I like that part of what happened an awful lot.

But surprising me wasn’t a great way for me to deal with that. As silly as it might have felt for him, telling me I was being punished and how would have been hot – if he had pushed me into that position and said “Ekho, you /don’t/ get to tell me to stop. You belong to me, to spank as I see fit – telling me to stop is inexcusable, and I’m going to punish you severely for that. I am saucing your asshole and clit because you told me to stop, and when it starts to burn I am going to whip your ass with my belt. When it stops, you’re going to suck me off.”

Even thinking about that historical revision has me wet, and in that context I could have even dealt with the sauce inside my cunt – it’s all about frame of mind. When he gets home I’m going to share my thoughts on that because I think it was a scenario that could have led to a fantastic orgasm for both of us.

Mmm, actually, we may have to try that again tonight with a new script. *g*

Reclaiming the evening...

Last night nearly didn’t happen, which had me fairly upset. He had spent the day teasing me, building it up – before putting our daughter to sleep he even very carefully set up supplies for tonight in front of me. He gave me instructions – when I finished my shower I was to assume a specific position on the couch and masturbate. He would be back to play in 20 minutes.

Well, fast forward, and after my shower I waited on the couch for an hour before giving up on him. He had fallen asleep. (Which by the way, cemented that if he ever suggests tying me up before he puts her to sleep….nope! Never. Ever. Not a chance. I don’t think he would, because he’s always with me when we’ve done any kind of bondage before, but note to self – if he ever suggests it, refuse 100%.)

At which point I went online, looking at more spanking porn, got restless, watched a movie (Diary of a Nymphomaniac – more graphic than I expected, although considering the subject matter I shouldn’t be surprised, but an interesting movie that I’ll watch again when I can focus more), and finally, grudgingly, clipped off the zipties he had fastened around my wrists and ankles for later ease of …binding me? Bondaging me? I just realized, I haven’t the faintest idea what the appropriate terminology there is, but for immobilizing me).

When I threw myself into bed and shoved him off of me as he tried to curl up with me, I must have woken him. He glanced at the clock and swore, and started apologizing. I didn’t to fight but I was hurt, so I limited myself to monosyllabic answers and tried to hide the tears I was trying not to shed. I wasn’t angry. Well, maybe a little pissy, but not truly angry. Just…hurt. It was like being stood up for a date, and one that the other person had spent the entire day building up.

I was amused that he offered to get up right that second. I was like…no. Haha. I mean, in my mind that ship had sailed about 90 minutes prior. So I’m amused he suggested that at all, I’m going to attribute that one to just waking up because yeah, there was no way.

And then…he started touching me. Running his fingertips up and down my back, my sides, lightly over my butt, my legs…I love that gentle kind of touching, that almost tickle that’s more stroking. It very quickly relaxes me or drives me wild, depending on where…and he knew it. (I’ve been touch centric since I was little, because the household I grew up in didn’t touch. Rarely hugged, kissed…not an affectionate household, and that was something I knew I didn’t want in any relationship I had, and when we had our child I knew that was going to be different for us.)

Honestly, I hadn’t decided we were even going to have sex, much less play – I pretty much figured if he had ditched me by falling asleep, unintentional or not, it was only fair that he touch me and help me sleep, right? So with that thought in mind, I let him touch me. I was moaning without realizing it pretty fast (I’d been turned on all day – I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that it was easy to get me to slip back to that…state?).

When he asked me to turn over, I did it immediately and without thinking about it. He continued stroking me and then – I must have been out of it, because I don’t remember him moving? – he was between my legs, licking me gently. I don’t know if I had been already wet, but I was, fast – and when he gently tugged me out of bed, I found myself following without any real protest. I did warn him I didn’t know that I wanted to play with him, I was still upset…his answer was noncommittal and I was amused to find myself in position over his lap a minute later.

I told him to at least go slow and touch a lot, because I really was upset. He said all right, stroked my back a bit, and then promptly smacked my ass, hard.

I of course protested. That wasn’t going slow!

At that point, he actually did slow down – a lot of really slow build up in intensity, sometimes on my feet, sometimes on my butt, my thighs, my breasts…I was moaning but for some reason determined not to cry out. As far as I knew the threatened punishments were off the table, but I guess I wanted to see if I could do it?

At some point, the new spoon we bought came out. That thing definitely has a bigger impact than his hand, even though I knew he was using less force. He sometimes used the handle and sometimes used the bowl of the spoon – it was so interesting, the handle felt a lot … heavier? More impact from it, which surprised me and I’m not sure why. It definitely left some interesting marks and welts and we learned that you have to be a lot more careful with an implement than a hand – we’ve never really played with stuff before (we had a small whip at some point before, but it was a rubber one, and we’ve never really done a lot with this until we discovered just how much this really turns me on). I can’t quite explain what happened, but the spoon was at an awkward angle I guess, with me on all fours, to spank my breast, and hit poorly? I don’t know how to explain it but there was immediately a wicked bruise. Today it looks horrible, but feels like any other bruise – at the time I didn’t really feel it, I was pretty lost – but he was definitely very cautious after that happened.

When he thought I was about at my limit, clothespins came out. (I wasn’t and was really enjoying it, but he was worried after that smack on my breast.)

Wow. I have to be honest, we had tested one earlier and I thought these would be easy to take. I can’t remember how many he got around my areola, but it was a lot. A lot. And they pinched a little at first, but jiggling them even slightly…ow! Those he left on for a bit, maybe 10, 15 minutes? The ones on my pussy lasted only a minute or two – I was so turned on that those stung really bad. He told me how hot it was, which helped, but wow, did those sting! As he clipped each one on, he occasionally brushed the ones on my breasts…ow!

He had me thank him after each one was on – and that was new. We’d never tried to get me verbalize about what I was going through other than “ow” and moaning – I’m shy about this. Participation in the sense of seeming willing…I don’t know. Part of what’s so hot for me about this is him doing it to me, so I can enjoy it but not…self inflict? That was what was so strange about the tabasco the first time, I did it to myself – that usually feels too dark, too perverted for me. I need that sense of “he made me do it” to enjoy…so I thought thanking him would be hard, would break it for me, but it was actually really hot. I’ll have to think more about why, but it was really hot.

By the time he removed the clothespins from my sex, my breasts were really starting to sting – and he had me switch from being on my back to all fours, where he started fucking me from behind. I have large breasts, but I never noticed just how much they bounce when he fucks me. Well – with the clothespins on, I fucking noticed! He’s evil – he told me afterwards he knew exactly how much I would feel that.

It actually hurt enough that I had to ask him to stop, but I think in retrospect that was more the surprise of finding out much I bounce during sex. I think next time we try that I’ll be better prepared and able to take the pain.

He had me thank him as each one was removed, some gently unclipped and some simply pulled off – I couldn’t decide which hurt worse, but afterwards he spanked my breasts more. My breasts were aching and stinging as he slapped them. I have to wonder what was on my face, because he was watching me very intently. I’ll have to ask him about that later…I do wonder what I looked like. I remember it hurt – flinching, hands clutched behind me so I wouldn’t try to protect them – and then pushing my chest out for more.

When he stopped, there were butterflies in my stomach, because I knew what came next. He offered me a choice – did I want the long cucumber up my ass, or the fat one? I knew he’d pick the fat one if I didn’t say something, but I was silent anyway, too mortified to choose. Either way, this would be the biggest thing I’d ever had inside of me – could I take it? Could I stretch that much? I wasn’t honestly sure and the nervousness, the fear, titillated me as I listened to him carve notches in the cucumber so it wouldn’t be lost inside me. As he lubed me and lubed the cucumber, I felt tenser than I had been all evening.

I’m not sure how large that cucumber was (in retrospect – should have measured it! Oops!), but it took a long time to work in. I was whimpering about how it was too big, I couldn’t take it – and he just told me to take it, that I could do it and he wanted to see it. He had me fuck myself onto the cucumber, so the embarrassment of fucking a cucumber was there too. He teased me, told me I was perverted for fucking a cucumber, and I think I must have been blushing, but all I could focus on was this huge … thing! … invading me. I felt so stretched and I kept telling him it was too big, too big – and he kept telling me to take it. When he had it in, he started fingering me, pushing me to come as he shot a video on his phone, fucking the cucumber in and out of me.

When he yanked it out, I whimpered again – the thing had been impossibly big for me, but I felt empty without it…until he started fucking my ass. I was so turned on, so horny at that point, so wet – I can’t remember if I came once of multiple times, but I was so lost by then, so far gone by the time he finally shuddered and came himself.

And I’m such a cheeky brat. After we cleaned up, both of us, and joked about the cucumber, I told him he hadn’t met his goal – I was nearly as sore as I was the other night, so I told him I would probably comfortably be able to wear jeans the next night.

I was trying to get him to spank me!

I can’t even explain my motivations, but I wanted him to spank me more. He told me he’d tried to go easier because we’d been using the spoon, and I teased him that that was nice, but I was definitely not going to have any issue sitting down the next day. At which point he finally did spank me more – I remember it really did hurt but though I swore and cried I was pushing back for more almost immediately.

I’m not as sore as I was the other day, but I definitely couldn’t wear my jeans today.

Hello Panic, I'm Ekho!

I’m in for it.

Oh my god, I’m in for it tonight. I knew I would be. I sent him an email kind of expressing my feelings from last night and while I did end up waking him up for sex (which wasn’t just sex, it did go further, lots of breast play), it hadn’t been what I wanted…and oh my god, I have to be honest, part of me is panicking and wondering why I didn’t just keep my mouth shut!

We went grocery shopping and bought a new wooden spoon just for sex and a 50 pack of clothespins. Holy crap, I hadn’t even thought of clothespins! I’ve been nervous and edgy since we got home, going between nervous anticipation and panic.

He’s been talking about his plans for tonight – beating my ass with the spoon, finding out how many clothespins I can take, finding out how much cucumber I can take up my ass…

…did I forget to mention the cucumber? Yeah, he picked out one that looks fucking huge to me. Cue panic. Cue a very wet, very nervous me. Holy fuck.

He did a little bit of spanking me with the spoon a little bit ago while our daughter was in the playroom, trying out both ends, and OW. He did no warm up and shit, that hurt!

And of course, being the smart ass that I am (no pun intended), I promptly chastised him for only getting one cheek. Which he promptly remedied, of course, but oh shit.

I’m so in for it tonight.

And the ice on the cake – he told me flat out he’s planning to sauce my clit. That’s enough to freak out about, because that’s growing into a decidedly love/hate thing.

But the real icing? I can’t scream tonight, or he’s saucing my ass too – at the same time.

I can’t be silent. I’m not silent during regular sex.

And he is going to push me to screaming…without a doubt.

I have no chance.

Hello, panic – I’m Ekho!

Testing limits

Last night.

He’d been teasing me, playfully threatening me, the whole day. He wanted, he told me, to punish me – he wanted tabasco on my ass, inside my ass.

Cue sheer terror. Every time he mentioned it, I felt like my heart would beat out of my chest. It seemed unthinkable. I couldn’t do that, and did my best to communicate that. I think I got through, but he threatened – oh, how he threatened. He would make me ask for it – make me choose. My pussy, or my ass? And if I refused to choose – he’d put it on both.

Fear. Excitement. Horror. Apprehension. Arousal.

He couldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Maybe, but not, I was mostly confident, tonight.

When we played last night, I knew I was in for it – I’d told him the previous nights I hadn’t reached my limit for spanking. And well – I knew as soon as the first spanking fell I was going to find my limit tonight.

Interspersed with caresses, slaps fell – some hard, some soft, different spots on my butt. Some ached so deeply I couldn’t help but cry out – so slapped and stung and faded to warmth after only a moment. Sometimes he touched my legs, my thighs, my clit, my feet. Sometimes he parted my ass cheeks and flicked my anus, eliciting yelps.

(As an aside, I still don’t know why flicking or whipping my anus turns me on so much. Another fantasy element accidentally come to life one day a long time ago when he playfully flicked it and instead of yelping I flinched and pressed my ass back at him, begging with everything but words for more. Anal is so difficult for me, and internally I am still so torn over it – I feel like I shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t want it. It’s not just taboo, but it’s the same reason I like being spanked, like being whipped – it HURTS! And even the most gentle anal still has pain associated with it. There is pleasure, but there’s always pain too, and that mix…especially in fantasy…

I don’t know what it is. I’m multiorgasmic, but I have an imagination that runs away with me and any intense sensation becomes fodder for that imagination. Anal was something I both abhorred and fantasized about for a long time, which is an interesting combination. My husband is incredibly focused on my ass, so he eventually shoved me past my prejudice and anal has become a regular part of our sex life.)

As the spanking went on, there was less touching and more spanking, harder slaps. He was clearly determined that I wouldn’t find these pleasurable slaps like the day before – he meant for them to sting, and it worked. Sometimes the slaps came so fast I found myself crying out and wriggling away, but he chased me – eventually pausing for me to catch my breath.

Sometimes, I tensed – anticipating a blow. Often he struck anyway, and being tensed didn’t really help – sometimes, he waited for me to relax and then slapped. And sometimes he ordered me too, and failing to comply immediately lead to several very fast slaps that left me crying and writhing and wriggling to get away.

And while I can’t come from being smacked, I was wet.

Oh my god, was I wet.

And then, on all fours, he started fucking me – but I couldn’t come. If I came, he told me, he was hotsaucing my clit. I had to tell him to stop when I was close to coming – but every time I stopped him before HE came, I got ten hard slaps on my ass.

At that point, my ass felt like it was glowing, swollen and hot. Ten slaps left me crying out, and he said he could already see the bruises.

How long did I make it? How many times did I get to be on the edge of orgasm and stop him?

I’m not sure. To be honest, I hate games like that – I’m extremely sensual and multiorgasmic and just…sex without being able to come is frustrating, and not in the way that’s enjoyable. I play those games for him, because I know how much they turn him on and how much he has fun with them – but they’re not really fun for me.

Each time he entered me, and I felt myself getting closer – and oh, he was pushing me close, sometimes going for a bit even after I told him to stop – he threatened me. If I came…it was the sauce. Was it worth?

And if I held off on coming, my reward was going to be giving him a blow job.

Unfair! I wanted to come.

Oh my god, I wanted to come. I was aching. And despite him going in and out of me, which usually leaves me in need of lube no matter how hot and turned on I am, I was dripping. I could feel the proof of how turned on I was dribbling down my clit.

That was something I thought only happened IN BOOKS. When I thought about it after he went to sleep later I laughed, because I thought that was literary license – not something that happened. But I was that wet.

And finally – I knew. I couldn’t take any more slaps. My ass ached.

We had found my spanking limit. (And I’m pretty sure his hand hurt – he had to take his wedding ring off, haha, because his hand was kind of swollen.)

It wasn’t a choice of whether or not to come any more – it was sauce or slaps.

And I couldn’t take the slaps.

I begged to come – and he sounded surprised. “You want me to burn you?” he asked, and I couldn’t answer because I didn’t. If it was just holding back from orgasm – as much as that wasn’t fun, I could do it. But I was in one of those wonderful dilemmas that I always fantasized about – pick your pain. Burn or slap.

I begged to come. Over and over, desperate. He fucked me hard and I came – it felt like my whole body throbbed. My ass hurt every time he slammed himself inside of me, the skin so sensitive and sore that his hands on my ass actually stung. It hurt to move my legs, and I knew there were bruises forming deep beneath the skin.

But as I came, none of it mattered and if anything it added to the power of the orgasm. It was like I could feel everything – his stomach against my butt, his hands on my hips and ass, my nipples brushing against the arm of the couch – and nothing, because all I felt was the overwhelming all-encompassing climax.

I wanted it to go on forever.

But when it ended, he told me I had to be punished. Still shuddering from my climax, I could barely argue, but I remember begging him not to.

Actually, I don’t totally know what I said, if it was anywhere close to coherent or if it was just “please don’t, please, please” … small echoes of the pleasure I had just experienced had the muscles in my arms and legs still quivering.

But no, he assured me, I had to be punished. I begged, but I was going to be punished anyway. He told me to flip over or he was putting it up my ass, and I wasn’t ready for that, so still pleading, legs closed, I flipped onto my back.

He ordered me to part my legs, and I fought to keep them closed, begging, nearly crying, but my legs fell limp when he actually got…not angry, but…I can’t describe it. The order to part my legs wasn’t playful and it was..close to angry? I still tried to close my legs but it was half-hearted, and though I never stopped begging, something cool and wet dripped onto me.

I think I was crying. I don’t know.

“Does it hurt yet?”

“No..it takes a minute..”

It felt like forever, the anticipation of a pain that doesn’t end when a hand is lifted, and being on my back, sore ass rubbed into the rough couch, hurt.

But then it started burning, and I forgot everything else. It seared and burned and I can’t even remember how it felt, indescribable unless you’re experiencing it but then you’re too incoherent to voice it. It seared and it felt like forever, and I was sure he’d gotten more of me, because unlike before every bit of my exposed pussy burned – no skin on my labia untouched, and he even rubbed it under the hood of my poor throbbing clit.

Roughly, he ordered me to my feet. He tried to force his way inside my ass and I had the presence of mind to ask for lube, which he did. I tried to relax my ass enough to let him inside but it was so hard to focus on that as I sobbed about the burning pain on my vulva – it hurt so badly! He reminded me that that was because I was being punished, and forced his cock inside me. He fucked me as I sobbed, and then he sat, ordering me to ride him and make him come or he’d sauce me again. I tried – I really did, but honestly, that didn’t work for me.

I hate riding him during anal and I usually won’t do it – I can usually only have anal if he’s pushing for it, and I won’t ever ask for it or initiate. Riding scares me because I feel like I can actually injure myself – I’m not sure if that’s possible, but either way, there was no threat that was working to get me to do that enough to get him to come. I tried to comply, but he finally ended up just fucking me really roughly. I usually come when he uses me like that, but I was so focused on the pain I was in that I didn’t.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t turn me on. Being used like that and having the pain of his cock stretching my asshole while my clit burned..

I was so wet. So so so wet. And when he finished, I touched myself, with no reserve, rolling my hips and stroking my clit with my finger tip as it burned. I begged him to finger fuck me, make me come, and he obliged – and it still burned.

I’m pretty sure he must have used more, or maybe I just lost all concept of time, but it felt like it burned for an eternity.

When it finally ebbed slightly, enough for me to have myself back under control, I leaned against him and kissed him gently.

And then rougher, forcing my tongue inside his mouth. Biting his lip. Biting his nippes, his chest, his hips and thighs. I knew it hurt like hell but he barely fought, and then I sucked him, hard. I wanted him hard again, I wanted his cum in my mouth – I tried to threaten him and told him I’d fuck him if he didn’t get hard fast enough, the implicit threat of the sauce that was still burning getting onto his cock – but he was spent, and eventually, I gave up, kissing him deeply and touching him.

We examined my bruising in the mirror in the bathroom after I cleaned up and saw the bruises that were just starting to come up. I liked it. He gently patted my ass – a normal gesture – and I winced. He laughed – the gesture had been a normal every day one, and it hadn’t been meant for pain.

Shortly after, he slept, but I was too wound up to sleep. I read some more spanking erotica, thought about toys. We had talked about buying toys. Canes interested me, but frightened me – you can do so much damage with them if you don’t know what you’re doing, and though we’d played around with bdsm stuff years before, it was only in the past few weeks that my interest had really peeked and we’d started really playing around. He didn’t know what he was doing, and I was afraid to buy one and then find out this was a fad for him that he wouldn’t be interested in next week.

But oh, they interested me. I found something I thought might be worth experimenting with – a chopstick, actually, and used it to thwap the soft insides of my thighs. It left some lovely stripes, but it was too small and too light to do anything more serious – but it was enough to show me I wanted it.

And in the back of my mind, the rest of the night, I thought of the sauce, and I thought of my ass. I wanted to do it, to feel it.

I don’t know why – morbid curiosity?

But it was late, and I didn’t.

But I wanted to.

First time playing in a while...

(initially written 7/27/11)

It was...an interesting night last night. As always, this may not be chronologically correct - the experience was intense and the chronological order these occurred in may have blurred slightly.

He started by by blindfolding me and told me to touch myself as he gathered supplies from the kitchen. I was instantly terrified - my mind instantly went to the tabasco sauce. Did he know? Had he seen me researching? Was it something he had thought about? Could I handle it? To tell the truth, I really hadn't decided WHAT I thought about the tabasco. Had I been stupid? Would I repeat it? But it had me utterly terrified.

The rules were that I couldn't speak unless spoken to and requested to speak.

I broke them immediately; I was utterly terrified and told him so. I hate surprises. I had to know what he was getting together. So he told me, to calm me down. (I was supposed to be nervous, not avidly frightened.)

It was nothing I hadn't expected, and fortunately, tabasco sauce was not on the...itinerary.

Wax. Something large to put inside of me. (What, I couldn't guess.) Rope. A heavier belt to smack me with. Oil.

I was scared, but excited. It was going to be intense. I wanted to feel him hit me, to feel him penetrate me.

I didn't wait long - the slap of the belt on my thigh made me jump. It stung. Badly. The area felt immediately warm. I was made to stand, and rope was used to tie my breasts. I was startled, so startled - I had seen porn with that kind of bondage, but never thought of having my tits bound like that. It hurt! But he seemed to like it, and while I wasn't sure it was something I was interested in, it wasn't something that frightened me or upset me...I was just...apathetic. Although it did make me a little nervous - it made my breasts feel <b>so</b> vulnerable!

Breasts bound, I was told to assume an awkward position on floor. My ass was slapped with his hand, with the belt. Sometimes he changed it up and whipped my belly, my breasts, the soles of my feet. (That really hurts your feet! They immediately feel super warm and throbbing - again, it was something I'd seen in porn, but never thought about doing. It actually really turned me on and I am going to have to think about why later - I can't quite process my feelings on it yet.)

I was rubbed with oil, and though that felt nice, it had me nervous, because I knew what he wanted to do. He likes fisting. It's not really something that's ever turned me on, and it hurts - but it wasn't a limit, and I know it turns him on. He worked on me for a long time, until finally, he was able to fit his large hand inside of me.  I remember making such loud sounds - it was so incredibly intense and I remember thinking my voice didn't sound like it could come from me. Ow, ah..and other more primitive sounds. It hurt - he was so deeply inside me. Pulling out - slowly working his hand back in.

When he paused, it wasn't long before I felt the searing hot drops of wax. On my butt, on my anus. Yow! Searing pain, then sensuous warmth. It frightened me, it stung, and it turned me on. I jumped and moaned each time. Inanely, I worried about dropping hot wax onto oiled skin.

Then his hand, again, and as he did, fingers inside my ass. Telling me I was his slut, that I was too loose for him - much too lose - and that he'd be fucking my ass soon. I moaned, I cried out. He started pushing something well lubed inside my asshole; it felt cool. He apologized for the coolness but kept pushing. It felt wide, but not as wide as him. I was so turned on it really didn't hurt at all - he'd done a good job with his fingers and I was ready to be fucked.

When I felt his cock pushing insistently against me, I moaned and then held my breath, trying to let him in. No matter how ready I am there's always that momentary pain when I fight having my ass fucked - when in my head, I can't believe his cock is forcing its way inside my ass. It hurts while I resist and I wonder if that's why I resist - the allure of anal for me is how intense it is. Sex is great. Anal is...infinitely more sensate, more intense. In my head, I'm reduce to gibberish once I stop fighting the invasion and finally resign myself to his cock deep inside me, forcibly stretching my asshole. "There's a cock in my ass, cock in my ass, in my ass..." is about as coherent as it gets, and I can feel how wet I am as clench and unclench my pelvic muscles. It always surprises me when I come during anal - like somehow, in my head I'm sure that I can't come from this sex. And when I do, the sounds that rip out of my throat sound foreign. Are they my voice, or has the television turned on without my notice?

As he spurts inside of me, I'm shuddering, incoherent. He kneads my ass and I wonder if he ever realizes he does that - it's something he always does at the end of his orgasm as long as we're in that position and my butt is in reach of his hands.

As he helps me up, takes the blindfold off and unties the rope, I'm shaking, quivering. I feel sore, I ache, and tiny echos of pleasure are ricocheting inside my body. He hugs me. We decide to shower together to clean up.

And that...should have been the end of the night. But it wasn't, and I'll write that in a separate entry.