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

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 Safeword

M and I discussed having a safeword as soon as we began to incorporate kinky things into the bedroom. We’ve been together so long, it seemed unlikely I’d need it, but at the time, things were not so intense. As we’ve progressed, it’s become very clear why a safeword is needed and why communication is so important, not just after play, but before and during as well.

Even tough we established a safeword (as well as a ‘caution’ word) there is still one very important thing we overlooked – what to do if I used the safeword. We knew play should stop, but we really didn’t discuss what should happen beyond that. We had a general idea, but maybe didn’t realize it’s importance. After what happened the other night, it is absolutely clear that we should have had a better basic plan, at least.

I didn’t mention it, but I safeworded for the first time the other night. When he stopped what he was doing, which had been keeping me on the edge for so long, it felt so abrupt and my fear of disappointing him flooded in, and the high I had been on took a very sharp nose dive. He had no idea how intensely I was feeling, I was just sobbing, uncontrollably. When he kept asking me to sit up and talk to him, I safeworded. Then, I asked him to hold me.

Maybe, if we’d made a clear plan about what to do in the case of the safeword, we could have avoided some of the problem. A safeword shouldn’t just stop the play, it should be a means to communicate that aftercare should immediately begin, no matter what had been going on. Many things, physically and emotionally, should be addressed, for however long that takes, for both people.

I think it’s also important to understand that a safeword doesn’t always have to be used to put a stop to something sexual. When I used it, we weren’t actively engaging in anything sexual. Yet, I felt like I needed to use it to stop the path we were heading down. I just wanted to reel us in and keep us close. I just needed him.

We will have a plan, now, for any situation. And, asking to be held will be the same as using our safeword.

Stronger

Miscommunication is not only misinterpreting what is said or not clearly stating what you mean. It is also failure to say anything at all. It’s misreading body language. That’s what happened with M and I. We learned a valuable lesson.

Since this all began, my body has become increasingly responsive to M, intensely so. I went from not ever being able to have an orgasm, to being able to have one with a vibrator, to being able to have one in most situations with no toys at all. M derives a tremendous amount of pleasure in knowing he is responsible for that, in being the source of my pleasure and the one in control of it. The thing he has enjoyed exploring the most is orgasm control. Slowly, he has included both forced orgasms and edging into our play.

Along the way, it’s taken a tremendous amount of communication for us to get to know how my body responds to these situations. Forced orgasms are fairly easy to figure out, but edging is much more difficult. He’s had to learn all my noises (or stifling of them) and figure out how to read all my body language in order to continually get me to the edge. I’ve had to learn my own body’s intricate responses and communicate that to him. We’ve talked, a lot. But, there have been many times when he’s gotten me to the edge, over and over again, and been unaware. Part of that is because it’s not been the purpose of the play, just a fun/torturous bonus, and another part is my fear of topping from the bottom.

As we’ve progressed, it’s not that we communicate less or that the communication isn’t welcomed, but his dominance is such a presence now. It’s all I see, all I feel. I trust him, completely, and when I’m with him, I am alive in my need to follow. So, it doesn’t occur to me at times to communicate to him if something is approaching the extreme love/hate level because I assume that is the purpose. Except when it’s not. And, when it’s not, it can be pretty overwhelming.

We talked yesterday and uncovered the issue easily. I should have asked to communicate to him that he had been continually getting me to the edge, for a very long time, and that it was making my head explode and go to a not so awesome place, mostly because I thought I’d disappointed him. I should not have covered my face, making it difficult for him to read my body language (this is difficult, because I HAVE to be quiet). He should have asked me for feedback, given me permission to do so, and realized that if I hadn’t asked for permission to come, I hadn’t come. I made sure he knew that I’d never be purposefully defiant, I never have been. He made sure I knew he’d never purposefully reject or abandon me.

From Wikipedia:

“Since orgasm control prolongs the experience of powerful sexual sensations occurring during the final build-up to orgasm, the physical demands of being kept or keeping oneself in this highly excited state for an extended time can induce a pleasurable, almost euphoric state, and at times creates changes within an individual’s perceived consciousness.”

We knew that this was possible without the use of implements or toys, but it had never happened this intensely. It’s never happened this intensely in any situation. I was on the edge for a very, very long time. I went from this subspacey place to a subdroppy place quickly, because I never got the release and I felt like I disappointed him. I’m okay with not getting the release, and he knows that, but neither of us were prepared for that. It wasn’t his intention this time, it just happened.

We are going to do our best to be sure it doesn’t happen again. We learned, and he was right. I think we’re going to be stronger.

I Know

Yesterday, I wrote about how I feel when M and I are together. When he leads and I follow. But, there have been times of miscommunication. When I have trouble turning off my brain, when we both have trouble communicating or expressing ourselves. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens. It happened last night.

He was being relentless, in the best possible way. I knew what he wanted, or I thought I did. I gave and gave and pushed. I gave until the tears came, but I stifled them. I gave past the point of wondering whether I should ask him to stop, past the point when I thought I couldn’t give anymore. I just gave.

Still, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I couldn’t make my brain comply, not at first. I wondered if he’d get tired, if he was disappointed at having to work so hard. I wondered if he’d feel like he was at fault if it didn’t happen. Then, it was pure surrender. Repetition of our word, begging myself to let go, willing myself to still and calm and concentrate and just GIVE, and GIVE. I let him have it all, whatever that meant. I surrendered and I gave, but still, it wasn’t enough.

He got me to the edge, again and again. Over and over and over, until I just stayed, on the highest, most blissfully torturous plateau I’ve ever been on, for much longer than I’ve ever been there. I couldn’t quite get over that edge and I felt like I disappointed him. Then I felt guilt, too. I felt guilt because I knew that I allowed myself to feel disappointment. I wanted so badly to come, not just because he wanted me to, but because I wanted to, and I didn’t. Or couldn’t, I don’t know. I didn’t want to feel those feelings – I didn’t want to feel like I wanted more from him. It felt selfish and horrible. I wasn’t prepared for those feelings. And, I didn’t even know he hadn’t intended to be finished, I just assumed.

My emotions were torn and my brain was spinning. My body was spent, yet, at the same time, it was wrapped and knotted tighter than it’d ever been. All I could do was turn inward.

‘Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. Tell me if I gave you what you wanted. Did I give you what you wanted? Was I good enough? I don’t think I can give you what you want. What if I can’t? What if I want more? What does that make me?’

And I cried. I couldn’t even control it, it just came. I sobbed, harder than I’ve ever sobbed. He asked me what was wrong, but I was so torn and confused I just said, “I don’t know, I don’t know.” He knows I always know something. I can articulate something, at least describe my thought process if I don’t quite know yet what I’m feeling. But, I couldn’t tell him anything. It was too big and full and overwhelming. I just sobbed. He didn’t understand what was happening and just wanted me to communicate, but I couldn’t just yet. I needed to untangle my thoughts. He got upset and felt like I was being defiant in some way. I asked him to hold me, but he did not – I’m sure he felt disrespected. And, I felt rejected. The biggest, harshest feeling of rejection I’ve ever felt. And, I felt like I failed him. Again. That sent me into a very, very painful, dark place.

I was in subspace, but it wasn’t a good space. It was a dark place where I wondered some pretty horrible things. My thoughts weren’t rational or logical. I was completely bare and exposed, totally raw and vulnerable. He was quiet.

‘Am I worth his effort? Have I not earned his affection and compassion? I give, all I have, all the time. I gave all of me just now – do I still not deserve his safety and warmth? Maybe he knows I wanted more – am I too much? Too needy? I’m being punished, am I being punished? Just stop, make it stop. Don’t make him feel bad. It doesn’t matter. This doesn’t matter, I don’t want it to matter. But, it matters. Who is he? Is this who he is? This person who doesn’t care how I feel, is this the real him? What if he isn’t capable of compassion in these times of need. What if he’ll never be that person? What if this happens again? I can’t do this again. This hurts, I hurt. It’s too big. What is he thinking? Feeling? It must be bad, because he doesn’t even want to be near me. It’s all my fault. It’s me.’

I curled in a ball on the bed, shivering. I tucked my arms underneath me and I felt the wet sheet under my face. And, I wondered if I shut my eyes, would it all just disappear? But, when I opened them again, it still hurt. And I was so alone.

We talked it through, as much as possible. It was so late and I was beyond emotional. It was so difficult to even talk and express myself, my head was so foggy. And I felt so goddamn alone. I just wanted him to touch me and tell me it would be okay. That it was just a miscommunication and we’d be okay. But, I knew his head was trying to untangle things, too. I know he thinks and needs time to process things. We did finally snuggle and drift off to a restless sleep.

I know he feels like he failed. I feel like I failed, too. I don’t know how to contain that emotion. I don’t know if I’m supposed to. Am I supposed to? I don’t want to make him feel defeated, like he’s not doing something right. I’m so proud of him, all the time. I know I can push myself, let him push me, but this was an accident. Neither of us were prepared.

This morning, we tiptoed around one another. We hugged and kissed and reminded one another how much we love, but it was rather quiet. He texted me not long after he left.

M: My heart hurts today.

Me: Mine, too. We will be okay.

M: We will be stronger.

Me: I know.

I know.

Overflowing

I unintentionally embarrassed M in public last night. Instantly, I felt horrible and embarrassed, too. Most of all, I knew I disappointed him, and that hurt the both of us.

The entire situation stemmed from two things: my doubting his ability to take care of himself and my need to feel smaller. I was faced with a situation in which I feared he wouldn’t speak up and I would look like the bigger person. My own insecurity reared it’s ugly head, and one not well thought out reaction caused the whole ordeal. A simple look spoke a thousand words.

In the past, we tried spanking as a punishment, but it didn’t fit. The whole punishment thing felt wrong, actually. In fact, we see it more as consequences, not punishment. Natural and logical consequences, if possible. Discipline if necessary, always with the purpose of making it a learning experience. We needed this to be a learning experience.

Last night, I apologized again (I had apologized on the spot). I walked him through my ugly thought process with honesty. Then, I asked for a consequence. Again, he knows me so well. Denial of something I look forward to or enjoy hits home, every time. The night before, I was told we were going to be ‘gettin’ busy’ last night. I was denied that experience.

You know, I won’t lie, it hurt. It hurt because he had his big interview yesterday and we are both a little stressed at the gigantic repercussions we could experience if he gets the job. Mostly, I wanted to soothe his stress and calm his fears; this is a lot of weight on his shoulders. I wanted to let him lose himself in me. So, I really denied him of that. That’s what hurt the most.

Above all, I feel so loved. Discipline is hard on him too, and I know that. I appreciate his knowing what is best for me. I appreciate him following through, even if it means he misses out on something he wanted, too.

My heart is overflowing.

He Knows

M knows me so well. I never knew it was possible for anyone to get me like he gets me. He doesn’t always understand each and every individual emotion or thought process that brings me to a place, unless I explain it, but he knows what motivates me. He understands my core as a person and how I operate. He knows what I need to feel right and good. And, he lives to provide whatever that is.

On Sunday, we talked about so many things. One of those things was a job possibility for M. It’s a long shot, but it would mean a big move. There would be repercussions for my business, but big opportunities for me at the same time. Our girls would change schools and we’d have to sell our home. We may need to be apart for a time. There are so many things to worry and fret about, even if it is just a possibility. Because, if it’s not this possibility, he’s looking for other possibilities. It’s on the horizon sooner or later.

Of course, I cried. Crying is my relief valve, my overflow. As soon as our talk slowed down, he bent me over the ottoman and fucked me silly. He used the crop, which is rather thick and rigid, longer and harder than ever before, on my ass and my back, and other delicate places too. Each and every time it landed, it left a hot sting followed by a burn. A sting on top of another sting, a burn on top of a burn. The flogger followed, that soft, thick, encompassing thud on top off those red, pinpointed, stinging and burning spots was pure bliss. The wide, stern thwack of the giant stirring paddle was a radiating heat right over top of those tender spots on my ass, the waves reaching to the ends of all my finger and toes. I cried, not because it hurt, but because I knew he knew. They were tears of appreciation and relief. As he went on, if he thought I was about to let my brain engage again, he swatted the soles of my feet with that crop and I was instantly in the moment again. The words he used, the sound of his voice in my ear, the grip of his fist in my hair and on my neck – there was only he and I and that moment in time. He pushed my boundaries, especially since I was still tender all over from the days before, and he calmed me, stopping the tears, halting my brain. All thought about those potential worries was gone in a matter of minutes. He made me come. And come. And come. Spooning himself around me, he fucked me some more, reassurance passing between us; he will always be my safety net. Then, do you know what he did? He stopped. He said, “That’s it for now, I’ll finish later.” Guess what? I’m not allowed to question or worry. It’s a rule, dammit. Then, he snuggled me in for some much needed aftercare.

M knew exactly what I needed. He took the air right out of that worry-filled balloon that would have hovered over me all day long. All that potential stress was kept at a realistic, manageable level. Instead of allowing that worry to sneak in again, all I could do was anticipate the finishing.

Later, I let him take video of my expressions during sex. It was just us, no toys. I came, on video. Let’s face it, I didn’t really have a choice about the coming part. You know why I let him take that video? Because, when he looks at my expressions and I see into his eyes – all I see is love and desire and pride. I feel beautiful. I don’t have a single care in the world, other than to continue giving him whatever it takes to keep that expression on his face. I feel like I’m his mirror – I AM that look on his face. I AM that desire in his eyes. He knew I needed to see that, too, to see myself through his eyes. That man is a genius.

I thanked and thanked him for always knowing what I need. Then I begged and pleaded for him to erase that video. I mean, he can see those looks anytime he wants in real life…..

Hopping Hurdles

What a weekend. We experienced so much together, it’s been difficult to put into words. The sex was unbelievable, but our time together was so much more than that.

I mentioned not long ago that M and I had taken a break from all of our toys and implements. Something was ‘off’ and we needed to figure it out. At first he thought it was because he had some reservations, going against what his brain was telling him was right and good. But, the more we talked it through, he realized that wasn’t it. That was a hurdle in the very beginning, but it was not the most current one. We think it was me – the more I pushed (which communicated distrust), the more he pushed back and resisted engaging in those activities. We took a break from it all and I let go, no more pushing. It was so difficult, yet so freeing – I finally felt like I could come up for air.

When I stopped pushing, he began to truly flourish. His confidence soared to new heights, both in and out of the bedroom. When he was ready, he began to reintroduce our stuff, at his own pace, beginning with a spanking – a loving, thoughtful, thorough, pain-pleasure spanking experience. It was amazing. Since then, I think he’s used all of our stuff at some point or another. There is no doubt he is over whatever hurdle was holding him back in the bedroom, especially with the impact stuff. He has asked me to call him, “Sir”. There are a few more rules for the bedroom, ones which further assert his dominance. A little at a time, he has explored some of his own interests. I am in awe, and I continue to consciously work to never push.

Using, then taking a break from all those implements made us both realize that we don’t need a one of them. What we truly need is very simple – his dominance and my submission. His control and my surrender – that’s it. While we have no overwhelming need to use that stuff, we choose to continue to use it. It isn’t necessary, but it is profoundly connecting and deepens our trust. It further builds our closeness and asserts, in the most carnal manner, his dominance and my submission. It is raw reassurance. It is an intimate, primal expression of love and care and desire. And, it’s just wildly thrilling and fun.

This past weekend, we tried some new things. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. We pushed some boundaries. We talked and talked. We learned so much more about one another. I am constantly amazed at how we keep growing and evolving. I can’t believe it’s only been six months since this officially began.

I love M with every ounce of my being and he knows it. I know he loves me. There’s no one-sidedness or fogginess in our relationship anymore, it’s honest and reciprocal and transparent. It’s not a fairy tale, but it feels very fairy tale-like sometimes, because I’ve never been this happy. I’ve never even been content – I didn’t know what that felt like and it was very scary to begin with. It’s not so scary anymore.

I look forward to the rest of our lives together, one blissful day at a a time.