Sometimes, Always

Sometimes it’s
fuck me like you own me
I’m not going to break
grab me pull me
force me
don’t ask if I’m okay
leave your mark
make me yours
please show me please
harder deeper faster slower
unwind me
I am shudder moan wetness pain pleasure breath catching need

Sometime it’s
pull me closer
I’m so sorry
wrap me tight
I need to believe
don’t stop
keep going through the tears
please possess me please
tighter stronger deeper
make my brain stop spinning
quiet calm I need you
please don’t ever let me go

Always it’s
the deepest connection I’ve ever known
tethered souls
fulfilling bursting desire lust
I love you I love you I love you
whispers in my ear
moaning gasping devouring
white knuckles twisted sheets muscles teeth sweat trembling hold my breath
look me in the eyes
time stopping narrowing focusing shutting out the world
oh god oh god oh god
anchor me I’m floating away
we are meant to be

What If?

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What if he took her by the hand, led her to their room and asked her to lie back on their soft sheets and relax?

Maybe he’d lie at the bottom of the bed near her feet on his side, head resting on one hand, the other resting on the bed just a few inches from her.

What if he asked her to spread her legs wide for him, allowing him full view, and directed her to touch herself, no looking down or away, only looking into his eyes?

Maybe she’d be asked to touch and touch, building to a plateau, fueled by the look in his eyes and the small, telling movements that assured her he was enjoying what he was seeing – the slight grin forming, his fingers barely curling to grip the sheet, the growing bulge in the front of his pants.

What if she was asked to stop when she was just on the edge, ready, eyes filled with need, and told to remove his pants and touch him, placing him into her mouth, only to be abruptly told to stop, only allowed just a taste?

Maybe she’d be asked to lie back again, to gently massage her breasts, using two fingers to pinch and pull her nipples, to get herself slick and circle and dip with her fingers until she was on the edge again.

What if his hand traveled the few inches up the mattress to barely graze her folds with his fingertips as her own fingers worked, her back arching and her head instinctively turning to the left to bite the pillow so as not to wake the children?

Maybe just his almost-dipping fingers and his slightly tickling fingertips on the outside of her would force her to pause in touching herself for fear of toppling over the edge without permission.

What if, after her body had just begun to calm, he asked her to continue touching herself, this time using his middle finger, tracing and circling her opening before plunging not so gently into her, massaging her g-spot rhythmically, to a beat seeming to match the beating of her own heart?

Maybe he’d tell her what a good job she was doing, but she still didn’t have permission to come, not just yet. Maybe he’d direct her to get to that edge and stop and start again. And stop and start. Maybe she’d try to never break the eye contact because all she wanted was to please him. Maybe watching him, watching her would make her want to keep touching herself for as long as he’d keep watching.

What if he relentlessly massaged her g-spot, now with two fingers, as both of her hands moved to pleasure herself, using her fingertips to travel over her own skin, squeezing her breasts, palms up and down her stomach, two fingers persistent on her sweet spot? What if it became completely impossible to keep her body still or her back flat on the bed? What if her hips danced and bucked? What if her toes curled, pressing their toenails into the bed, a wordless begging of their own? What if the only way for her to remain quiet was to bite her own lip or clench her teeth or hold her breath?

Maybe he’d tell her what a good girl she was for following his directions. Maybe he’d finally tell her if she asked him nicely, he might let her come.

What if she looked him in the eyes, and asked with a shaky, small voice, “Sir, may I please come for you?”

Maybe his fingers would continue to be unrelenting as he said, “Yes, come for me.” Maybe her own fingers on the outside paired with his fingers on the inside, all the fingers stroking and swirling and sliding in all the right spots at just the right time, would make her come so hard she couldn’t stay quiet no matter how hard she tried. Maybe she’d shake and writhe and ride the waves of pleasure for longer than she imagined could be possible from simply the touching.

What if, as her body trembled and quaked, still feeling the downslide of her orgasm, he moved between her legs, entering her and sending her body and mind to a raw, primal place of wanting and begging and needing? Of grabbing and pulling and biting and sweating? Of moans and covering her mouth and many more “please, Sirs” and wetness and smiles of pride and pleasure? Of tired bodies and eyelids which wouldn’t stay open? Of tangling and drifting? Of peace?

Maybe they’d feel as if it was all just as it should be.

What if they finally felt at home?

Lost in You

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Waking in a haze, wrapped in your warmth, the dark curtains manage to dampen the sunlight threatening to creep in. There’s no playing hooky today, so I must open my eyes. It takes every ounce of will power I have to peel myself from the mold you’ve made for me.

As I ready for the day, I can’t stop grinning. I didn’t even know the grin was there until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a little bit of you reflecting with it. Gliding the clothing over my flesh, stretching and bending to dress, I notice the marks, places that are a little sore and tender, delicious reminders, a map of all the places you’ve bound me to you. And that feeling, that overwhelming, consuming feeling, it lingers and lingers. I still feel you. I still hear you. I want you, even more, if that’s possible.

All day, as I go about my routine, I find myself losing entire chunks of time. I pause, again and again, still grinning, still consumed. I can still feel your body moving mine with a look, a few words, a grab or pull or embrace. My body remembers its hyper-awareness as it obeys, my mind lulled and completely focused on you and how you make me feel.

And that look, oh god – I can’t stop seeing and feeling that look in your eyes. That one that sees right through to my core, to a place no other has been before. I hear those two words roll from your lips, the ones that make me want to give you more and more until there’s nothing left.

My forehead still feels the warmth of yours, the pressure of your hand on the back of my neck pulling me to you, your breath hot on my lips, reminding me to keep my eyes open as I obey your gentle command, over and over again. I feel the pride and pleasure and power behind your smile, each time my body complies.

I feel all of you, owning all of me.

My skin tingles, my cheeks are flush and I’m glowing. I’m glowing inside my haze today, lost in you.

I hope you’re lost, too.


-shared as part of Masturbation Monday 132

Tell Me

With kisses as soft
as a butterfly wing,
tell me I’m
your everything.

With a grip as forceful
as a vice,
tell me, command me,
don’t be nice.

With fingertips as gentle
as a summer breeze,
tell me I’m your good girl,
that I please.

With all your weight,
cover me like a blanket,
tell I’m safe, that you’ll
guide us through it.

With strikes as sure
as the beating of your heart,
tell me you noticed,
that it’s a fresh start.

With caresses as warm
as your whisper in my ear,
listen as I tell you
I’ll always be here.

Just Who They Are

“There won’t be any spanky things tonight. It’s going to get wet, though. Please go get the waterproof pad and the big towel and meet me upstairs.”

“Yes, Sir.”

In the center of the bed, she laid out the large, rectangular waterproof pad. She folded the big towel in two, laying it on top. Slipping out of her robe, she crawled to the center of the towel and knelt, her legs parted, ass resting on the bottoms of her feet. Shoulders pulled back, her hands were clasped behind her back. Pink Floyd, The Pulse Album, played in the background and a single candle flickered on the dresser, lighting the room with an amorous glow. Closing her eyes, she could still see the flame dancing behind her eyelids, long shadows, light and dark intertwined. And she could feel a warmth begin to embrace her, despite the chill in the air. She knew he’d entered the room.

Eyes still closed in anticipation, she could hear him. Her laughter poured out, before she even bothered opening her eyes. She knew what he was doing, he did things like that all the time. She knew that sound.

“What? Why are you laughing?,” he said, fetitiously.

Opening her eyes, she watched him doing exactly what she’d already known he was doing – dancing like a fool in front of the bed, gyrating his hips, making his cock flail around like a helicopter blade and slap his belly. He ran his hands over his chest while he shook his ass. All the while, making a face as if he was totally serious and couldn’t believe she’d laugh. When their eyes met, they both broke out in laughter.

She loved that he most always began with silliness. He cut straight through any anxiety or tension, right away, reminding them both that this was about the two of them, being themselves….and that’s it. No games or pretending. Just them, free and bare to one another. It made her love him a little more, every time.

He came closer and took her face in both of his hands. “You’re so beautiful. I love it when you laugh,” he said, looking into her eyes. Leaning in, his first kiss touched her lips, soft and minty, barely grazing the skin. Prickly and rough, his whiskers swept along her jawbone, down her neck, as his lips kissed a path to her clavicle, his tongue dipping into the crevice there. Instinctively, her head dropped a bit, wanting to cradle his to her, longing to have him as close as possible, but knowing she wasn’t supposed to move her arms or leave her position.

Without looking up, his hand reached up to grip her jaw with his fingers, returning her head to its upright position. As soon as he let go, her smile formed. Just as she was reminded a moment ago that laughter and fun were a part of who they are, no matter where they were, she was also just reminded that he was in charge, no matter what. And she fucking loved those reminders.

Is It Hot In Here?

Last night before sleep, M and I were talking again. Just a brief conversation, but it meant so much to me. I thanked him again for knowing me so well. For being here, for being everything to me.

He said he doesn’t always know exactly what I need, but he often knows when I need something. He appreciates our communication, both verbal and non.

Then, he told me his day had been a little stressful, and that spanking and orgasm in the kitchen was just what HE had needed too. He told me he felt better after too. He enjoyed the delivery.

He has told me many times before how much he enjoys the pleasure and connection, me needing him. But, I don’t think I ever tire of hearing it.

OOF. Is it hot in here? And I still have this evening to look forward to……

Darker Desires

Ever have a day when you try to avoid your man? When you don’t want to risk having to look him in the eyes, because he’ll know something is ‘off’ and will press to know what it is? And, you know that when he does, you’re only response will be tears? The only thing you know for sure is that you want to feel him? You need him to not be gentle? You want fiery and fierce? When all you want is the strike of something hard and not just on your bottom or back? You don’t just want to feel it, you want to FEEL it? You want to feel it for a few days? You want his reminders? When all you want to feel is his control and nothing else? I do.

Today, I can’t put my finger on anything specific that is bothering me. I’m not spinning or sad or angry or stressed, not any more than usual. But, I just can’t look him in the eyes right now.

I know what I need and I can ask for it, I’m allowed. But, I’m not sure I can ask for exactly what I want. For what I think I need, the intensity of it. It feels so exposing and I always wonder what he’ll think of me when I do. I think this part of me confuses him a bit.

No matter what, it is all a means to an end….pleasure and connection. A concentrated means to express our Dominance and submission. I know he loves nothing more than to do those things.

So, I’m not sure what I’m afraid of…..I think I’m afraid he won’t want to. That it’s pushing too far and asking too much sometimes.

*I wrote this as I began cooking dinner. Just as I finished writing that last sentence, M came in for hugs and teasing, like usual. He began to joke with me, because he immediately registered something was up. Immediately. Then, without me saying a single word, he spanked me with the spatula, the wooden spoon and the spaghetti strainer. Not a word. I didn’t even have to ask. Standing in front of the boiling pot of noodles, still holding the stirring spoon, he also brought me to a knee buckling release.

Then, he said, “Do you think that will hold you over until tomorrow?”

Chuckling, I had him read what I wrote and we both laughed. We talked and he understands better than I ever imagined and he confirmed I’m allowed to ask and that I should. I’m a little stunned, truthfully. And so fucking in love with that man.

The Wedding, Last Night

I knew at the end of the evening last night, M would have plans for us. I knew there would be a sexual experience and that was extremely erotic to look forward to, but I looked forward much more than that. I looked forward to the dressing up, the closeness, the dancing and talking and enjoying one another’s company. The evening far exceeded my imagination.

Before we even left, he had prepared our room for the activities, pulling back the blankets and sheet, laying out a length of rope, our scarf, two floggers, the crop, the Hitachi and one plug….and the first set of stockings I ripped getting dressed. He made sure it was all laid out so that when I retrieved the last bit of my outfit from the bedroom, I’d see it just before we left…..and I’d anticipate all evening.

At the wedding, as we stood, watching and listening to the vows, M kept winking and wiggling his nose at me. When I leaned in and asked what he was doing, he said, “It’s Morse Code, it means I’m going to do unspeakable things to you later.” All I could do was grin, ear to ear. And blush a little, I mean, he was so hot in his suit and he was thinking about me, knowing I was thinking about him, fueling that anticipation.

We danced closely, a few kisses, my head resting in his jaw, gently gripping hands, savoring the closeness and inhaling his scent. He whispered in my ear that I was the most beautiful woman in the room. I believed him.

I had left the table for a moment and as he sat, waiting for me to return, I saw the look on his face as I walked to him. His eyes followed me, lit up, a slight grin….it was desire and pride I saw. When I sat down he said, “You are a gorgeous woman. You look like a woman walking across the room. Not a girl or a lady, a woman.” His woman.

His hand came to rest on my leg or on the back of my neck, unconsciously, all evening. He leaned in for a kiss or to whisper that he loved me many times. He could not stop complimenting the way I looked.

All evening long, do you know what I felt? Yes, anticipation of the end of the evening activities, but much, much more than that. It was simple, but it was was most gigantic, overflowing feeling. I felt like more than his wife. I felt like he chose me every second, every minute. I felt like I belonged.

Before we left the wedding, he made sure I wasn’t wearing any panties, because he had plans for the ride home.

And, what we did when we returned home – it wasn’t unspeakable. It was beautiful. It was two people, madly and passionately in love, expressing themselves in their truest forms, bared to one another and connected in a way neither thought possible.

In fact, I don’t want to speak about it, I want to shout about it. I want to shout to the clouds how this man makes me feel like I’ve never felt before. Not just the pleasure he elicits from my body in those beautiful experiences, but the ongoing sense of belonging he brings me, the safety he creates and the desire that flows between us – it is what makes my world go round. I want to tap on the shoulder of everyone I pass and share my joy.

I’m passing along some of my joy tonight. I’m sharing my smile with you.

More Than a Dress

Since 1994, I’ve worn a dress 4 times – once for my own wedding and the other 3 times as a bridesmaid. I tolerated the wedding dress, but all others I hated. I hated the way they looked, the way they felt, the way I had to pay attention to how I sat and bent over. I was very overweight and self-conscious every second they were on my body. Dresses were not for me.

Friends of ours are getting married soon and it’s an upscale function and I needed something to wear. I thought I’d give dresses a try again. Yesterday, M took me dress shopping………and I can’t stop thinking about it.

At the store, I gathered up several dresses in my size and took them to the dressing room. M sat in the ‘man chair’ just outside the room, waiting. I slipped into the first one (that’s not true, I wrestled it WWE style until I got it on right), then nervously walked out to show him. The look on his face….the way his eyes lit up….the genuine surprise and…..something else I’ve never seen before….it brought tears to my eyes. All I could do was stand there for him and smile. This same scenario repeated for each dress I tried on. He LOVED choosing for me. He loved asking me to turn around, to walk for him, to try a certain one on again. It was one of the most erotic and connecting moments we’ve ever had.

I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t expect that. I’ve lost a lot of weight, but I’ll always be curvy, I’ll always have skin from the loss. I’m much more confident, but other than when I’m with M, I don’t always feel sexy. Watching him look at me, seeing that gleam in his eyes and that smile of desire and pride plastered on his face – that’s not likely something I’ll ever forget. I felt sexy. I felt like he was proud I belonged to him. The experience was about much more than a dress.

So many times yesterday evening, he’d look at me and say, “You looked so good in those dresses.” He told me how proud he is of me and how much he loves my curves (add in wavy arm movements and suggestive looks). He even whispered that phrase into my ear a couple times between the sheets…..and that desire….it only intensified.

I wonder what his reaction will be if I ask him to take me shopping for heels?!

Happening Too

About a week and a half ago, we had a mishap. M and I suffered some miscommunication and it hurt the both of us. We talked and tried to connect in the days that followed, but he worked 16 hour days and we didn’t see much of one another, except late in the evening.

For the past week, my oldest daughter was away at camp. Youngest daughter sleeps like a rock and goes to bed early, so we took advantage of the extra time in the evenings. We truly talked more in depth than we have in a while, every night, trying to get to the bottom of our miscommunication issue and work past it. I think we ended up having some of the best talks we’ve had since this all began.

While the talks began by revolving around the topic of the miscommunication, they became so much more. They morphed into discussions about how to cater to the others’ stress levels (knowing what the other needs, asking for help), adjusting our rules or expectations, reminiscing about how far we’ve come, the sharing of likes/dislikes and desires, and so much more. We sat or laid together as we talked. We touched. And more.

M took advantage of the time this week to work things through in the bedroom as well. Each night was building upon the night before. We began with simple closeness, just our bodies, a lead and follow, and the deepest connecting experience. He added in similar activities to ones that caused our miscommunication, but we talked them through. By the end of the week, we had talked so much about the topics of edging and denial, communication and aftercare, and he had taken me in directions which surprised me a little, even pushed me again. I’m so impressed with the the way he knows how to encourage me (get in my head), how my body responds, and how to get to a place together. Our talks and the building and deepening of our trust have made it possible. In fact, we’ve discussed so many possibilities and ways to further explore this together, all of which include communication, along with the possibility of mistakes. And, if we stumble and make mistakes, we will face them, head on, together. Just like always.

“If things start happening, don’t worry, don’t stew, just go right along and you’ll start happening too.”

Dr. Seuss