Kiss

I was drowning in a sea of hate and self-loathing. My eyes pooled and spilled over with tears of anguish. I wanted to scream "I don't want to DO this anymore! I just want to get AWAY!".  I wanted to pound on the walls and express my rage. I wanted to be someone else at the moment, anyone, as long as it was not me,  as long as I didn't have to feel this way, to be this person.

 I needed something from him that he cannot quite understand but I cannot live without. The jumble of feelings and emotions, I needed pain to overcome it all. Pain felt that was wholly my choice, not forced on me by another. To drown out the screaming in my head.

The strike of his hand and the grasp of his strong fingers was what I craved. I wanted the power stripped from me and unleashed through him. It was more than dominance I craved, it was consumption, ownership, to be absorbed into him. I quaked with my need and pleaded with a tear stained voice, trying to express that which was locked inside of me, trapped like I was in the place in my head.

"No."

I was being denied. This was MY life so I shouldn't be surprised, that sad pathetic thing I lived every day. I felt unworthy, wilted more than before, broken. Didn't he know? Couldn't he see I was in pieces on the floor, lying at his feet, at his mercy of which he was giving me none? How could he deny me the thing I needed most? 

Those fingers caressed my cheek and suddenly the dam within me burst. I had been pushed past the limits of my endurance and I couldn't contain it anymore. His cruel denial was the last straw and my anger bloomed in furious color in the staining of my cheeks and the sudden cessation of my tears. My hand came crashing into his cheek with a fury born of everything I was feeling and everything he was denying me. The sound was deafening and the feelings vibrating up through my fingers gave me a vicious satisfaction.

One way or another, someone was feeling the sting.

I turned as quickly as my hand had delivered the blow and tried to dam the hated tears that were brimming and threatening to spill and weaken me again; fully intent on leaving, on seeking solace in privacy from the Hell I was in. Strong fingers in a grasp that demanded my attention, but yet did not claw, suddenly gripped my arm and spinning me about quickly had me crashing into his arms on unsturdy legs.

Those beloved, hated fingers gripped my chin as he stared into my eyes. His lips brushed mine in a whisper. "No". One arm encircled my waist and the other held firm my chin as those same soft lips grazed mine. Once. Twice. Finally the lips took mine in a kiss that held all of the emotion I felt, and the deliverance from it. 

The tears I had so valiant a struggle against came now in torrents and rivers and flooded the earth and our cheeks. The salty taste of them intermingled and caressed our lips as they caressed each other in healing. He moved both arms around me in a tight embrace that told me I was home. The anger and the hurt had no room to be, for there wasn't even an inch between our bodies for them to gain space. He caressed my cheeks, kissed my tears, and stared into my eyes.

He knew me, better than I knew myself right then. I had lost myself, given myself over to things that are dark and seek to destroy but my lover was still there. He was my anchor and saw me when I could not see myself. I needed to see love, not power. The submission of myself and the power of his dominance was shown now not through force, but through an understanding that he would care for and protect me through  and from everything, even myself.

My clothing slipped to the floor in a pool as he slid his hands softly against my skin, caressing and worshiping every fevered inch as he went along. There were no restraints but I could not have broken free from the sensations now humming along my nerves. I loved the feel of his breath, the sigh lightly playing along my skin as his cheek rubbed against the side of my breast while he lowered himself to remove my panties. His head came to rest on my stomach and his arms encircled me for yet another embrace. There are no word I could use to express what the embrace of this man conveyed. As the last of my garments joined those on the floor, the last vestiges of my fury abated. I was soothed, I was loved, I was aroused.

He laid me gently on the bed and parted my thighs with kisses and caresses. He knelt down before me in worship and showed me the submission of his heart to my needs. His tongue was strong as it flicked across the very center of me; unlocking the secrets of me and causing my legs to quake.

The aftereffects of all of the heated emotions that had me so keyed up earlier were still coursing through my blood, making my nerves more sensitive and ready to explode. I could not contain my hands and needed as much as air to caress him, to touch every part I could. Within moments caresses turned into insistent tugging as I needed him to hold me again, to kiss me , to fill me.

No longer being denied, he rubbed his body over mine as the heat of him seared a memory onto my skin that would last an eternity. He was mine as I was his. He caressed my cheek, still damp with my emotion, and stared into my searching eyes.

As he slid into me, with one strong, fluid stroke, those lips, that had saved me from the precipice minutes before, formed the words I needed so badly to hear to heal my soul.

"I love you."

As my muscles melted with my relief they started gathering new tension in preparation for my release. My back arched and my hips rose up to meet his with increasing demand, my body expressing all of the love and need that my heart felt, to drive us forward to completion. As so rarely happens, the world fell into place and we reached our pinnacle together, my body tightening and wringing every drop of his orgasm at the same time, demanding it and claiming it as mine.

I had wanted his violence, but what I needed was his kiss.

TMI: Proposal

1. Do you believe in marriage?

I hope so, considering that I am. If he weren't in the military, however, I'd feel no urge to marry him. But moving, and being allowed base access, requires a piece of paper. 

2. Have you ever proposed marriage or been proposed to marry? What happened?

My husband took me out to cliffs overlooking the ocean. It was perfect place to either kill someone easily by pushing them off, or proposing. He chose the right option. 

3. What would be your dream way of proposing marriage?

Disneyworld. With some sort of show, with elaborate dancing and singing, including the characters, on Main Street. And of course, a list of reasons why marriage would kick ass with each other. 

4. What would be your nightmarish way of proposing marriage?

Throwing a ring box at someone and saying, "I already know your answer," while not even looking up from a video game or TV screen would suck. 

Also, a parent with a shotgun proposing marriage between two people wouldn't be my cup of tea.

5. Mainstream society has engagement rings; in your opinion, what token should be given to signify engagement?

I didn't really receive an engagement ring, more like my wedding ring when he proposed. So I don't have two rings. This worked for me. 

A contract promising sex at minimum twice a day would be a fantastic token of undying devotion and love. Also, alleviate any concerns that the intimate relationship would end when the marriage begins.

6. What do you think would have happened to cause someone to have “Will you marry me?” on the back of their caravan?

A pregnancy and parental shotgun promise occurred, so they're proposing and showing the promise of where they'll raise their family. 

Bonus: Tell us about someone you would have proposed to but never had the chance/opportunity.

There hasn't been anyone that I've missed an opportunity to propose to. I've proposed to "my wife", but considering that we're both married, I didn't do it with a symbolic token like a ring. Also, we're not allowed to marry. Additionally, we both have husbands. But still, I proposed. 

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblogfrom your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

The Darkness

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled, feeling a contrasting shudder and affection for her lover.  Her mind briefly went to a moment where she found herself panicked, standing alone momentarily in a dark room, but she shook the memory away, the only remnants the faint scent of sweat and cologne from that night.

She never thought that she would be obliging this resolution. It didn’t feel like an option, but the choice was this or to leave. That was it then: she could forsake her lover or give up all her free will. Today, at last, she decided upon her lover, content to give up her independence and never felt so free until this pivotal moment.

She walked into her lover’s home. The front door was unlocked, as it was the majority of the time. Silence greeted her, and for a moment she felt herself losing her nerves, the joy in the feeling of being free slipping tenaciously. She gulped for air, determined, and searched the rooms, coming into his bedroom.

The sound of a bathroom door opened, and there was her lover, steam rising in the background, skin glistening, covered in only a towel, and for a moment she thought he was a god come to deliver her. His cold grey eyes widened slightly, the only indication he was surprised by her unexpected visit, before narrowing. But no god, this man coming out of a shower. This was the man who knew every dark secret in her heart, who made fantasies come true without her ever realizing that she had them. I love this man, she thought, and smiled.

Remembering her place, she kneeled down on the floor. Fumbling, her trembling hand reached in her pocket and pulled out the small box – her gift of freedom in slavery. Lifting her head up and looking up at him, she extended her hand, palm up, with the box in it. He smiled, briefly, at her, and it was as if the sun beamed down upon her, so radiant and warm did she feel.

He gazed intently at her eyes, not moving, as if judging if she were even worthy, and she felt nervous. He always seemed to have an air of aloofness, distance. A woman used to making men crazy to be with her, she was incredibly turned on by his detachment.

He loved her; she knew that, but she had denied him sharing her in that black room, changing her agreement of acceptance. And then instantly regretted it, especially when she enviously watched another woman being shared with the men, the screams of orgasms making a hot pool between her own legs. And then he penetrated the woman, and she was equally turned on and insanely jealous that it was not she that was being used so.

He circled around her leisurely, and she moved her eyes to the floor, too nervous to follow his movements. She wished he wasn’t always so self-possessed, and craved to touch her as frequently as she desired his touch. Suddenly he grasped her throat, his other hand tilting her chin up, as he bent down to kiss her from behind. Tongue met tongue and she melted, clinged to him like life, gasping for breath by the end of the kiss.

She realized he hadn’t said a word yet. She also realized that he accepted her gift, though he hadn’t even touched it yet.

He moved to the front of her and removed his towel, already so hard. Grabbing the back of her head, he dove into her mouth and she frantically tried to open wide for him, to make her mouth as inviting as possible for his possession. He didn’t seek the softness of her lips or tongue, he delved to the back of her throat, and she tried to focus on breathing, knowing that this was part of her penance. She dropped the box from his movement, and let her hands drop to her sides. Her eyes watered and she felt the urge to gag with his inflexible sex touching the back of her throat.

She felt herself become wet, and hoped, so badly, that he would also thrust himself between different lips. He understood that about her, whereas no one had. She became free of burdens with him, and wondered why it had taken her this long to finally, fully submit to her own desires in him.

He pulled out of her mouth in the same manner that he had moved in, and either she lost sense of balance or his hand on the back of her neck guided to her fall forward so she was now hands and knees.

“As tempting a sight as that is, get naked and lay on the bed,” he commanded, and she felt herself tightening in anticipation. She scurried to get up, in such a rush to discard her clothing that she cast them upon the little box.

The box that would be opened hours later, when they had spent their passion out on each other, bound more firmly in love and trust and understanding. 

Want to discover what other people uncovered in that box? Click on this wicked one...

FFF: A dream shattered

FFF Prompt - July 12 - Phone Lines

Required Phrase =
"Answer it"

Forbidden Words = Orgasm

Word Length = 661

Extra Credit = Tell us who's calling

Bonus Words = 50 if you tell us a phone sex confession

“Are you going to answer it?” The voice sounded wrong, really wrong. She felt drawn out of passion’s dream-like quality more from his voice than the phone ringing beside her head.

She didn’t open her eyes, just groped around for the phone. He stopped moving in and out of her, withdrawing, rolling onto the side of her. She could feel his weight beside her, and missed that feeling so much.

Her voice cracked with unexpected emotion. “Hello?”

“That guy you brought home isn’t Matt, honey. I saw you walking out of the bar with him. You can’t bring Matt back.”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, frustrated at her best friend. She went to hang up, hit the phone receiver, but if fell down. Refusing to her open her eyes, she grabbed at the cord and swung it up above her head. “Where were we?” she asked.

“Who was that?" A brief chuckle at her ridiculousness, "Why are your eyes shut? What’s wrong?” God, why did his voice grate on her nerves so badly?

“My eyes get very sensitive after I’ve been pleased.” She lied, rubbing his muscular thigh, feeling her way up to his balls, massaging them, feeling him shift and smiling a little.

His body covered hers again. He went to kiss her but she turned her head to the side, and instead his warm mouth molded itself against her neck, sucking and nibbling in the most delicious ways. He moved inside of her, parting her lips, and she relished the feeling of fullness. He began the rhythmical movements in and out of her again, and the ridge of his head felt so amazing when it slid in just the right spot. She moaned, moving one hand around him to stroke up and down, encouraging him to continue. He continued to feast upon the susceptible side of her neck, such an inviting mouth and tongue, and yet she shivered. His hand reached to capture her other hand, and he began increasing the movement.

For the briefest of moments, she believed that he was Matt. It was the right build, the pace was now similar to his favorite. A warm male body covering her own, filling her, loving her. He was here, now. She hadn’t answered the door to the men in stiff, formal uniforms, offering their immediate condolences about her husband. It didn’t happen…that was a dream.

A dream, she thought desperately, as the pleasure began building, and she felt herself drifting off with the indulgence, losing coherent thoughts for the briefest, most needed, escape.   

**Phone sex confession:
I suck at phone sex. I am okay in the beginning, though it feels awkward to me. But then I start touching myself, and listening to the voice on the other side, and lose myself to the pleasure. Eventually I abandon speaking to my lover, instead moaning or gasping at my own pleasurable sensations. Fortunately, they don't seem to mind this verbal communication on my end.  
Sadly, right now I am having far more phone sex than actual sex. 

Unknown Leads to Desire: Mating in Captivity

Esther Perel's book Mating in Captivity: Unlocking Erotic Intelligence was suggested by My Dissolute Life.

I cannot read a book without writing in it (I never borrow books for this reason). I had an English Professor tell me that "books talk to us, talk back", and that seemed like as good as motivation to explain to people as ever. And yes, because most of my reading is done in the bath, I still read actual paperbound books (shocking, I know, but imagine how expensive an electronic book would suddenly become if I dropped it).

As I've been reading this book, I've been reflecting. This seems like a good place to share. I'm strictly going to speak from a military spouse, and generalize that most spouses are females to a military man.

Perel states that unknown factors increase excitement and desire, hence the giddy love-rush feelings at first. But unknown isn't synonymous with security, so we seek to make each other more known in a commitment: "to control the risks of passion, you have tamed it out of existence." (Perel, 10)

She suggests looking at your partner with a new perspective (ever seen someone appreciate something about your partner, and realize that you've been taking that very thing for granted in them?). For example, I go to the same local family business to buy my ball gowns. The seamstress met my husband, and commented on his slow mannerisms, his thoughtful consideration, his absolute respect, and his gorgeous body. By that point, I had taken some of these things for granted, and no longer saw them until she pointed them out. He does have a slower mannerism than say a person from California (who always seems rushed); I’d forgotten how I used to think that too.

Gorgeous, well I can’t forget that. For some reason, even after years, he still takes my breath away. When I told her one year that we were done having babies, she declared, “no baby, no. He is gorgeous and he needs to make gorgeous babies.” She’s right: he is gorgeous, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was not having any more babies. Now, we were all for practicing.

Now in the military, the odds for taking someone for granted aren’t as high as perhaps some other couples. For one: there’s deployments. Depending on what branch depends on how long they are gone. The fear of them being in harm’s way makes them that much more precious. And you are away from them – aware of the emptiness of the bed beside you, the lack of tripping over their boots, their interactions with the children. Communication is often short and random, words become that more important, preciseness to convey a message is hard but so importantly necessary. Their voice inflections travel from the ear and burrow deeply into the heart, to nourish until the next time. And when you finally see each other again, it is falling in love all over again. Often spouses have lost weight, change a hairstyle, become more independent, developed a new routine; kids have grown. Military personnel are often more muscular and defined, tired, perhaps have even changed emotionally and mentally from what they’ve experienced.

Trainings/schooling tend not to be as long, but it is still a breaking apart and coming together again. Also, spouses will often travel and visit family if they’ve moved far away for extended periods of time. There always seems to be a reason for parting and coming back together in the military lifestyle.

It is getting to know each other again; they are unknown to each other again depending on the length of time; and their unique and completely individual experiences. The fact that they are married changes nothing of the newness of each other, that is more based on the love and commitment to each other, not in the actual wanting of each other. "Love is about having; desire is about wanting. An expression of longing, desire requires ongoing elusiveness." (Perel, 37) These couples are often elusive, and want to recommit to each other, to discover and delve into each other again, and desire tends to be very high at homecomings. A new lover delivered safely, an "oh yeah, I forgot how that feels" touch or caress, a new trick heard and now tried. Even old tried and try methods are made new and appreciated.

The up and down rollercoaster of the relationship in a military lifestyle isn’t all grand; it is downright challenging. At a recent marriage retreat that my husband and I went to, we heard from the chaplain that the divorce rate was currently 75%. There have a lot of studies debating if it is higher than the average national norm or not, I’ve read a lot of it and it seems pretty undecided as a whole. But it is challenging. Some couples become addicted to the partings and homecomings, and cannot handle their spouses for long periods of time - they've become stagnant and lose that desire. Some have lived apart for so long that when they finally come together, they discovered they didn’t want to be married anymore, the desire simply wasn't there at all and was perhaps more of an illusion sustained by distance.

I am going to suggest her book to many of my friends, especially if they are ready to transition to civilian life where separateness may be more challenging. Perel in no way suggests living separately to gain individuality, those are my own thoughts based on a military lifestyle. She discusses reawakening the newness when there has been no new element in a long time (which the military provides); of desiring each other again. When not forced apart, I can only hope that my spouse and I retain our individual selves and continue to view each other with desire from different perspectives.

*As a side note: even reading other bloggers really helps my own sex life. It has made me curious to try new things, to get out of my comfort zones, to point towards someone else’s words who have more effectively communicated wants that I’ve been trying to tell my husband. There are even some great videos that bloggers provide to offer how-to for so many numerous kinks.

With bringing in new ideas, or often being reminded of old favorites, I believe that we will keep our sex life and desire fresh just because we are so fluid with it.   

Fulfilling Bruises

When I first got together with my husband, I had bruises on my knees. We both had no idea why, but it had been a very long night of all foreplay, and no sex. Literally, all night long. So I shrugged my shoulders at the unknown source of the bruises, but he worried that I bruised easily.

A year later…As a professional, he marked me on the neck: a small hickey, but one that I had to cover in makeup and hair, and I was extremely upset over it. I cannot have a visible mark on me for my career, especially a teenage-ridden one. He remembered to be more careful from then on.

And later…With our more passionate lovemaking, I would often have finger bruises on my thighs. I loved these marks, small little marks that often I was only aware of, a secret reminder of our time together. The marks became more numerous if we saw each other for any length of time, and I marveled how dark they could get, how lovely they looked against my milky thighs.

When we would wrestle, I would sometimes bruise, mostly it was me bruising myself trying to get the upper advantage, occasionally on my wrist from him managing to pin me down. I loved these playful moments; he always worried about me getting hurt.

I am so much shorter than him (over a foot), and he outweighs me almost double. I am grateful for his concern, but….

I wanted him to spank me. We had already learned I liked my nipples played with rough, orgasm harder from rougher sex, and my hair tugged. But when I asked him to spank me, it was lightly. It didn’t do the job that I wanted, that I was curious about. He was scared to mark me, to hurt me, to bruise.

Just like the finger bruising, or the sore nipples, I wanted to both see and feel our time together, even after the fact. I wanted to be reminded of it. I wanted to savor it.

It took a lot of talking, reassuring, instructing, demanding to get where he finally smacked my ass to sting. We both marveled over how red, how we could see his hand and finger imprints. It felt so deliciously warm to the touch; I smiled and even giggled when I kept looking back to see it. Sadly, it didn’t last throughout the night, but he was so worried about spanking me that hard, I worried not only what it would take to get it to bruise (and if I would even like it), but more how I was going to convince him to go even harder. I was working against his own preconceived notions, and society's, of never to intentionally hurt a woman. But it was kink/pleasure, and at my consent; he needed to see it differently.

My loving husband, who protected me and sheltered me, who thought I bruised so easily, so was cautious about marks (my point was visible marks, but he was still cautious), was now being asked to bruise me – someone much smaller than him.

It went against his protective nature, but fortunately for me, his nature is ultimately to please me. He is truly a lover that is flexible, adaptable, and open-minded. And we did finally accomplish a bruised and marked ass (which I was thrilled about, but that experience also taught us limits and timing on spanking). Since then, I’ve asked for much more from him.

I am such a lucky wife, that I married a man who is changing and evolving with me to keep our sex life interesting and new. That if I become curious, I feel comfortable enough to discuss it with him; or vice versa. And if we are ever uncomfortable with a suggestion, we simply don’t do it or discuss our way to comfortable at a much later date.  

Many married couples do not share their fantasies with each other; we not only share ours, but do our best to fulfill them. Even if that means bruising.

Not all marks are visible; he has left so many invisible, deeply imbedded traces throughout the years, and those are certainly savored, cherished, felt, and loved.

How you know I'm ready

The buildup, it takes me higher and higher until I can't think. Tied up, immobile. Unable to move and at his mercy.  He knows my limits and he pushes them always.

I haven't seen him in so long and he is determined to make up for lost time. New pleasures, new tortures, all await me. I brought toys of the delightful kind, he brought toys of the torturous.

I'm bound from head to foot in a delightful design with the ropes that were cut just for me. He fits a ball gag in my mouth, a new toy for us. He'd had me wear my plug out all afternoon while we running errands and now, he was making me enjoy its presence.

My heart rate spikes as he tells me it's best not to have the plug in for what comes next, it might be too intense. That's when I hear something click, and a whoosh; just before something small has a sharp impact on the tender flesh of my inner thigh...

Gloves have spanked and smoothed skin, a leather belt has lashed welts into tender flesh, and now this new tantalizing curiosity. I've no idea what it is. Another click, another sharp sting of impact. A few more and he asks if I know what it is.

I'm forced to answer in the negative. I've no clue as to what the object is, and frankly, it's hard to think clearly with the exquisite torture I'm being put through as is. That's when he raises my blindfold and it takes me a moment to identify the bright orange and blue object in my lovers sadistically clever hands...

It's a nerf gun. I'm currently being shot in the pussy with a nerf gun. He switches now to the gloves again, my tender flesh brightly red from its abuse. Suddenly my lover uses yet another new implement he's bought: an industrial abrasive scrub brush. It's rubbed on my raw skin and my eyes begin to water... I moan into my gag and stretch against my binds...

The exquisite torture he is putting me through has come to a crescendo and I'm crying. The gag is new to me and the saliva pooling from my mouth, coupled with the ache in my jaw from the size of it, are adding to the intense sensations I'm experiencing throughout the rest of my body. Mascara is running down my face and I'm moaning for all that I'm worth when my lover stops and comes to my head to remove my gag. He's petting my tear stained cheeks and kissing my forehead and asking if I'm ok.

I'm confused and befuddled. I don't know why he stopped. He suddenly wipes a tear from my cheek and examines it shining on his finger. He looks past to me to say something I was definitely not expecting.

"I hate to see you cry, I can't stand it."

My heart melts just a little bit more as I point out I almost always cry when we play rough, it's honestly just one of the steps to subspace. He assures me he knows, but that this time of play was particularly intense and he never wants to hurt me beyond that which I enjoy.

I love this man and his care of me. We are far from perfect, but we are perfect for each other. As he soothes me and I sooth him of his worries, the heat of desire returns to our eyes. We use the smaller ball for the gag to ease my aching jaw and he kisses me and returns the blindfold to my eyes.

I know he has gotten over the heartbreak of my tears as he makes me pick a number between 1-40... I low ball it, instinctively knowing I won't like it and less is better. 4 is the number of thumb tacks I chose to sit on with my abused posterior. I've no idea of this prior to him assisting me down (of course, I am still tied and blindfolded) onto the sharp needle points. Those hateful tears sporting back up instantly and I'm furiously shaking my head no. No no no! I can't, I won't, it's too much.

He instantly picks me back up and soothes me again. I'm in for more intense treatment throughout the night, more tears, deep subspace, then finally that heightened crescendo of being filled with him, the thing I've been longing for all day.

Although my tears had moved him that night, despite being tears from the incredibly sweet pain I craved and which he gave me to heighten my pleasure, it is the true tears I must hide. For come morning we must part and my love will no longer be mine again for quite some time to come.

The tears from pain are how you know my body is ready, the tears from parting are how you know my heart is ready.
 

Love's proper hue

 

How my Love Looks

The fit was snug as his hands finished securing the clap, arranging my hair just so, then taking a step back to view what he had done.

This is how my love looks. A tangible thing. I belonged to him wholly and the collar was just the expression of that love in the physical.

He looked at me with longing and hunger in his eyes, and I could see how moved he was,
"you look beautiful".

My throat constricted, but not from the mark of his ownership around my delicate throat. Lips brushing forehead, fingers grazing along my breast. Then came the faint click of the leash being attached.

My pupils dilated and my heart beat in a deeper, louder rhythm than before. My arousal spiked from the sure knowledge that I would be firmly guided and directed. This is how my love looks.

Tonight was about him. The show of his power and strength. The true testament of his control. He would make me taunt with tension, then melt with relief.

His strong hand and graceful fingers tightened suddenly around the tether to my collar. As he brought my face to his and grasped my chin, my knees knocked as his lips devoured mine.

With a mere moving of his arm my body was directed to the place where he desired it. My head pulled back, the collar keeping me in tight position as he whispered "I want you to feel. I want you to focus. I want you to be my good girl like I know you are."

Fingers brush, bringing tension to my nerves, my body alive and humming its pleasure. Soft sighing air brushing gently past sensitive skin.

This is how my love looks. The complete submission of my will into his hands with the beauty of my enslavement. The freedom, brought to me once so ultimately bound, profound in its beauty.

Open

"Poly-what?"
Sigh. This wasn't going as well as I'd hoped. I was making a muck of things and it wasn't only hurting my cause, it was hurting him. I had so carefully rehearsed the way things would go, but as soon as I sat him down, it went out of the window.

"I love you."

I knew that these words confused him. I knew they too, almost hurt. It didn't make them any less true; and it also didn't alter the path I had set myself on.

When I first started seeing K it was uncanny almost, the similarities to my Ex. I thought I had done it, finally done it. Ex was everything I had wanted in the care and love department with me, but sexually we were a nightmare. I spent over 5 years in a very loving, committed, nunnery. I wasn't about to do that again. K is a big strapping man and from the first he handled me with care, and cherished me... He also threw me over his shoulder and then on the bed. He'd pull my hair and leaving glowing prints on my ass... I finally had everything. So I thought.

I had been ready to settle down into monogamy again after enjoying the single life for awhile. To achieve this goal I started taking my time getting to know someone. K and I were great together and he respected me for waiting before intimacy. I spent every night cradled in his arms. We'd kiss and touch, sigh and breathe, and reach heights of desire that were hard to come down from.

Finally, though, I was done with waiting. I spent every moment with this man and I knew I had him. We took a weekend trip; I took my lingerie. We had a lovely night out and once we got back to the hotel we were both giddy with anticipation. I lit candles around the room and after a steamy bath I came out in my corset and silk stockings, my garter lace and delicate. My cheeks flushed with excitement...

We came together on the bed and there was a driving urgency, a need that had to be fulfilled. What felt like hours of teasing passed until I was urgent to have him inside of me. This is where it gets tricky.

I had already had a discussion with K about medical problems he had as a child that rendered him unable to feel sensation in more than a very small area on his penis, and the surgery at a young age that meant it never grew up with the rest of him body. He was this BIG strapping man with an extremely disproportionate body. I didn't care then and I still didn't care now.

It didn't work. I am so extremely short and he is so very very tall that the only position we can manage is missionary, and that hurts. My hips can't span him, there was no leverage for me on top. Our height differential made from behind tedious and frustrating as we couldn't even thrust, no matter what we raised me up on. When we were done, it was more an air of defeat and discontent instead of completion.

I got a twinge of apprehension but didn't express it. I offered reassurances, joked about my tiny legs, and said we had so many more opportunities for exploration. We continued on with out weekend and everything was just the same as it had always been.

We had problems with the condom. It wouldn't stay on and what sensation he did have the ability to feel was stripped away. We had a frank conversation about safety and responsibility and decided we would both head out to our doctors and get testing. I was committing to this relationship and monogamy henceforth.

After more blissful time together our results finally came back, and we finally got the green light. I have to say, I expected completely different results from our previous attempt. The foreplay was still amazing. The things this man can do with his hands gives me the shivers just to think of.

45 minutes later and I am covered in sweat. My hips are screaming and my poor body is dried out and tired. K still hadn't come. We waved the flag of defeat and told ourselves tomorrow we'd do better. Weeks go by, our relationship is perfect but the sex is becoming something we are both avoiding now. Sexually, physically, we aren't compatible. I cannot bring my partner to orgasm and it's killing me. I'm a sex goddess in my own right and I do not know what to do with his body. He doesn't feel head, wrapping my hand around him hurts, and other than shallow thrust in missionary, we can't even have sex.

By now though, there's a problem: I love him. I love him enough to be searching desperately for a solution. My self esteem has tanked and I don't make any effort to be sexy... I am losing a very huge piece of me, drowning in loving someone I am not compatible with. His Ex left him for another man, the first woman he had ever been with. Now suddenly, the second might be leaving because of sexual problems. I couldn't do that to him.

I did a lot of soul searching. I felt selfish, confused, and apprehensive. I was thinking about shifting my views on everything I had ever thought was sacred in a relationship. I wanted us to open our relationship.

I couldn't think of losing K, but I couldn't lose ME to US.

I had discussed with my sister the idea and she linked me to some great things on how to approach it. I read everything I could find and formulated a game plan. I had previously been withdrawing from K and now I redoubled my efforts to give him affection and show him I loved him.

So here we were, sitting down for this talk I had planned for ages it seems like and I was making a muck of it. His instant reaction was one of inadequacy. I told him repeatedly that it had nothing to do with my love for him or that he was inadequate at all. I was the problem. I was kink and fetish and insatiable. It was just how I was made. The things that made him love me, that made me vivacious and irresistible were now too leading us down this unexplored path.

I wanted to be open. Not just our relationship, but our communications, our feelings. I would never cheat and so I needed to make this an acceptable part of our relationship. K had many of the problems I knew he would, they'd be the same potential problems I'd be opening myself up to if we opened our relationship. Jealousy, possessiveness, fear. What if the unknown "she" could get him to climax when I had proven so woefully incapable of it myself. I explained that we would have to have very clear boundaries. I was ok with coming home every night rules, of letting the other know what was going on while sparing them the unnecessary details. Of taking it slowly over months before any actual relationships with others were formed.

No matter what I said, though, K always looked - always said the same. He was unable to see himself being okay with it; he was inadequate. It broke my heart. This was our last option. We'd spoken with doctor's, we'd done counseling, tried new toys, wedges, everything. This had to work.... Or I had to leave. I told K that I didn't expect him to be ok with the idea at first, and to just consider it for a bit.

A week went by and K was redoubling his efforts to please me and I was doing the same to him. It wasn't enough for me though. This was my path, this was my choice, and either we could journey into it together, or I would need to do so on my own. I was beginning to withdraw again and knew I needed to bring up my resolve. Now I just needed the right time to do it.

One day, K suddenly comes over to me, rubs my leg and says "Hey, I just wanted you to know, that blog you asked me to read? I read it. I also ordered a book on polyarmorous relationships and I've been reading it along with things I've looked up. I want you to know, that I'm thinking about it. I'm trying to see if I can be okay with it. I love you."

My heart melted and I knew I loved him more. Even if it didn't end up being my perfect fairytale ending, even if he decided he would never be okay with it, I knew I made a right decision in loving him and wanting to stay.

Some things remained to be seen, but regardless, at least I knew that the man I loved, loved me enough to try to be open.

Multiples Count Here...

Twitter found my sister and I engaged in a humorous competition.  Heard of the Orgasm Count? Probably if you follow us on twitter. My sister, when I announced I had 25 orgasms in one day alone, decided that multiples shouldn't count, check with the contestants, and they agreed. JohnDStories created the most hilarious rule page based on our twitter-ings, not to mention sadly only one orgasm per session allowed.
Truly, I am just curious. I've never kept track of my orgasms. I am married with someone who knows every button to press, and tries to fulfill every fantasy I have. So orgasms are not elusive in the slightest to my body. Still, how many do I really have...?

Week One:
Competition Count:     10                                                     Multiple Reality: 30

Interestingly enough, on day one almost set the alarm at midnight to get started. Husband decided to set it for early morning. We thought we were done with three sessions, but once I saw two other bloggers hit three, I pushed him for one more. I did, however, patiently wait until he was done vacuuming.
I panicked that we needed to get ahead on a Sunday, because once the work week started, and kids returned, we were going to drastically slow down.
Day four only reflects our typical average of 2.

Running Interference: day two (and three), my husband woke up and fingered me to orgasm, but said he wasn't feeling well enough for sex (but he stated that after a blow job). As soon as he stood up, he had to rush to the bathroom. Either stomach flu or food poisoning - not sexy. He was incredibly ill all day, not even going into work (a situation I've never seen).
I went to work, and returned with a fever.
Next day we both too exhausted, and he still wasn't feeling well. End result: I went from being tied in the lead to under 12 orgasms :(
Day five and six immediately following work, my son starts vomiting, with a fever following. It was a long night, and I called into work the next day.

Story of the week: Going with the apparent conflicting theme of the week:

It's late when my husband gets home, as always. I had just started brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed. "What are you doing up so late?" he questions, surprised.

"I just now put our son to bed," I reply heading for the bed where he follows me. I slip on a tshirt of his, the length hitting just above my knees; I sleep naked almost exclusively. "Please sleep with boxers on in case our son needs us in the middle of the night." He also sleeps naked.

It is a statement to how sick our son is just as clear as if I had gone into detail about it. "Okay," he agrees. "I'll keep our door cracked then too, because he can't open it." This new place, the door to our room doesn't fit the frame well; luckily it's a tight fit, but it is a pain to open and close.

Ah, the unspoken language of parents: we're wearing clothes to sleep in, the door will be cracked, literal translation, "we aren't having any sex tonight."

He kisses me on my forehead and pulls the covers up over me, tucking me primly. "I love you. I'm going to get something to eat," (I had not brought him dinner, unable to travel with a sick kid) "I'm starving. I'll probably play some games too."

Sure, why not? It's not like we were having sex, and I was exhausted and really not caring what he did, just grateful that he was home. "Please check on him before you come to bed, and make sure he's okay," I requested, and he nodded, then left me.

I slept that night fitfully and awoken three different times. The punctuations of awakening made me recall the different dreams I had.

In one, I was having sex with a creature - not human - but having human physical characteristics. The details have mostly escaped me already.

In the second dream, I was having sex with multiple vampires. Again, and especially because of my boy's little voice waking me, the details are hazy. I had to put my son on the couch, and set him up with cartoons; he couldn't sleep anymore, and he had a high fever. Once he was settled, and I felt comfortable, I went back to bed, snuggling for warmth against my husband's sleeping form.

The third dream I awoken from I could lay in bed and think back. Most of the sex bloggers were there, and we lived on this new island in space. Marie Rebelle had the largest house, and most of us around her were very poor, and barely able to scrape by. But she was gracious, and giving, and often we would gather at her house for parties or just to socialize. For some reason, my lover went missing, and was assumed dead after awhile. I was taken and raped repeatedly by several men. Finally, I threw myself upon a man who was sweet, and I could manipulate because he wasn't very smart. I convinced him to marry me, and I toiled at our land just as hard and for as many hours as he did. He occasionally wanted sex as part of the bargain, and while I didn't want to have sex with him, I did agree from time to time more as a sense of obligation.
*This dream is clearly influenced by a book that I had just read, recommended from a fellow blogger.

Such a juxtaposition of desire and family responsibility that night. I often will remember erotic dreams - my husband swears I have them every night, as every time he touches me after I've been sleeping, I am wet. But the creature and vampire sex is a new one. Dreaming about bloggers is probably because this community is such a big part of my life already. As for Rebel, well, she's far and away leading this competition, definitely in the "biggest house" as it were.

Three Word Meme

I found this three word meme from Sir Q and Me
The idea is to use exactly three words to answer each of the questions, so here goes.

1. Where is your cell phone?  Usually near me.
2. Boyfriend/girlfriend?  I wish girlfriend
3. Hair?  Always pulled back
4. Your mother?  Disney, PTSD, Christmas
5. Your father?  30 second call
6. Your favorite item(s)?  Ring, lelo, car
7. Your dream last night?  Twitter, orgasms, hashtag
8. Your favorite drink? Water or tea
9. Your dream guy/girl? Already found him
10. The room you are in? Main middle floor
11. Your fear?  Unhappy lonely family-less
12. What do you want to be in 10 years?  Happy, whole, strong
13. Who did you hang out with last night?  S, C, Me
14. What are you not?  Patient, unmotivated, frigid
15. What's outside your window?  so many trees
16. One of your wish list items?  to be dominated
17. What time is it?  dinner time, yum
18. The last thing you did?  erase person's answers
19. What are you wearing? bra, pants, shirt
20. Your favorite book? Clan Cave Bear
21. The last thing you ate? Yogurt, banana, grapes
22. Your life?  Interesting, moving, blessed
23. Your mood? Consistently all over
24. Your car?  Amazingly trustworthy awesomeness
25. What are you doing at this moment? Typing these words
26. Your summer? Hot, relaxed, traveling
27. Travel plans? Always, impulsive, needed
28. What is on your TV screen?  forever video games
29. Last time you cried?  I can't remember
30. School?  apparently like it

TMI Chapters

An Open Book

If your life were a book, what would the parts or chapters be titled?

Your book should have at least 5 parts or chapters.

Chapter One: The General

I am born, and given the gift of two little sisters to boss around, in which I do to a great extent. Play and chaos ensues.

Chapter Two: Mute Nun

I am in Catholic School for nine years, growing up with the same 36 kids, in which I say not one word the entire time I am there. Painfully shy, my classmates just assume I am mute. I envision myself a nun when I grow up, working at school. When I am get home, I am a sharp contrast of a loud drill instructor.

Chapter Three: Disturbed Runaway

Thrusted from the shelter of Catholic School into public high school, I am above the learning. The teachers decide that I am better off tutoring the bad kids in the back of the classrooms; they become my new friends. I discover that I am allergic to pot through unconsciousness - still pretend to smoke it, lose my virginity, run away several times (for months on end and all the way across the country), learn to knife fight, become pregnant numerous times, get my sisters drunk as young as ten, and eventually settle into my own home at fifteen.

Chapter Four: Swashbuckling Times

I work Renaissance Faires. I learn sword fighting from the German Camp. I begin my college education, become bilingual. I am a parent to an angel, anti-marriage, and daughter to a dying woman. Sisters are scattered. 

Chapter Five: Quiet

I oddly settle. Learn to clean and cook, though never well. Decide marriage is acceptable, and more children follow. I begin a career and excel at it. 

Chapter Six: And Then...

Embark upon sex blogging with a sister, push my husband's sexual limits, and question what adventures I want to have next...

Check out others who TMI

The absence of

Sex. My muse, my will, my motivation.

He was gone and there was nothing I could do. I'd never have him, I don't know that he was ever mine to begin with. At the same time as this rent in my heart was split wide I finally bit the bullet and admitted I was in a funk I couldn't get out of. Cue Lexapro.

It was wonderful to be at a continual even keel. Truly. My friends and family all remarked on how calm I seemed, less harried, able to slow down and enjoy and not stress over everything all the time.

Suddenly though, my motto of "An orgasm a day" was forgotten. I didn't even think about sex.

Uh, I'm a sex blogger, I read beautiful, stirring, erotic things all day from others in the community and that's not even mentioning the images. I love sex, it's a integral part of my day. Suddenly though, the desire had flown swiftly from me.

I couldn't give you an honest evaluation of what percentage each event had in the disappearance of my libido. The most heart-achingly painful thing to see in me though was the drying up of the wellspring of creativity. I knew losing my lover had a great deal to do with that, but a lot of my writing came from being simply turned on... I was suddenly rendered in a perpetual state of OFF.
Something had to be done. Boundaries explored, a solution to be had. Masturbation suddenly took 30 minutes, a previously unheard of length of time, and I might as well forget involving a partner, I couldn't even get wet. It wasn't like other medications, where I might as well have been Barbie for all of the sensation created in my erogenous zone, this was more like a dull echo. I felt it, I could vaguely tell it was pleasant, but eh... I could be playing Minecraft.

I approached my Dr about my concerns. After all, a woman at her peak doesn't go from positively exuding sex to being a diminished light overnight. Creams were prescribed to increase sensation, and assurances of normalcy issued. The problem is, even with the possibility of sensation being increased, I didn't have the desire. In fact, when the compound wasn't ready when it was supposed to be at the pharmacy I merely shrugged my shoulders and didn't go back. Lack of desire.

So, I flirt and I flit, and try to go through the motions. I try falling back in love with me and focus what creativity I have on pictures, on revealing myself to myself. My sister carries the brunt of the force of our blog and due to luck and a previously raging muse, I have pieces in draft from back when I was that goddess of smoldering sexuality. The things I do produce are lackluster, I can see the drop in interest...

Sometimes the dam breaks. Sometimes the tears fall, the indifference is lifted, and sometimes I feel the spark. There are so many beautiful and provocative people in my blogesphere, it's impossible not to be moved. I get wet at the thought of someone's hands caressing me, the sight of someone's body captured in ecstasy. A flirt and banter exchange with someone will move me to get naked, grab my camera and be the embodiment of sex I so recently was and always had been. I owe so many thanks to so many people who have unwittingly jump started my drive.

It is a heavy weight in my heart, the decision of continuing on a medication that I see making improvements in my somewhat crumpled world right now, or gaining back my passion, my zeal, and my lust for life and all the sexy things in it...

I'm still not entirely sure what path to take, but right now I feel as though I'm in a holding pattern, in the absence of... anything.

Finale

For this week I decided to post a piece I've been holding onto. I guess I took this week's prompt of "peace" and decided to find mine by letting it go....

He's here, in my arms, sitting so close to me. I have him. All of him. All night he is mine and I instantly find comfort and the ability to relax as soon as he is in my presence. The stare and longing in his eyes create heat that's spreading through my veins.
I love that; his ability to drive me to heights without touch. I hate his ease of it. After this though, those abilities will be irrelevant. I will no longer quake at the thought or touch of him.
This is goodbye.
I want it to hurt. I want it to leave an impression on my skin as it has left an impression on my heart, my soul. I want it to last, to remain, long after he is gone. I want to be bound tightly in rope as my heart is bound to him.
He brushes the hair back from my neck, fingers grazing the sensitive skin on my collarbone. Chills run down through to my fingertips and the heat is spreading faster.
To touch him, to taste him, is a compulsion. I need this like air. I curl into his side and my lips find his as my hands reach searchingly for some purchase that will keep him here.
I want this to be the best, consuming, unforgettable. My pride demands that I make him remember this for all time. I want it to hurt him too but not in the physical. I want to be a brand in his mind and on his heart.
Soft sheets caressing fevered skin. My mouth explores the recesses of his body, I know all of his secrets, and I use them to increase the ache. His mouth finds my heat and I am a puddle of desire.
I struggle to push him onto his back, I need to drink him in, I want to taste him in my mouth. My nails rake down his sides as my tongue strokes his hard shaft, coming to firmly hold him while my mouth devours him.
The need has driven him to the brink and suddenly the hand in my hair tightens. I'm flipped over and driven into swiftly. His shaft fills me and drives a moan from my lips. This is everything. Love, heat, lust, need.
Ever moving, never still. Gliding together to heights where its hard to breath and the world is miles away. He flips me over, upside down, turning me inside out. We have the passionate fight for control that has me grinding on top of him one moment then screaming my pleasure into the pillow as he pulls my hair from behind.
It isn't enough, it never is. The fulfillment leaves me speechless and wilted, floating and sated, but I always want him. Always. This then is it. A last memory, a last time in his arms. My body was made for him, for his pleasure. I hold him through the night but my bed is already cooling from that fevered pitch and I know not when it will witness such ecstasy again.
Until such time, I will wait, and whisper softly as he falls asleep in my embrace: "Goodbye my love".

See who else is being wicked this week

The tearing of my heart in confusion

A splaying open if you will of my heart. I read "confusion" and this instantly came to mind. The following is an emailed response to a story I wrote from my lover, used with permission, if not a great deal of trepidation. The key to this story is that my lover was bound and drawn by duty and honor to a place I could not reach. My heart left with him. "It hurts! I hate that it all starts off letting me know that it "is the last..." Whether it's title is Fiction or Finale, both are aptly applied and it hurts! Life, recently, has lost damn near all flavor. While I hoped that the story only has some similarities to me, with us, that was pounded to oblivion like surf on a rocky shoreline with our texting yonder-eve. I had wondered if I would receive any more writings; now, though, I'm quite confident that this will be the last of'em. It's not the way I wish it...but it seems the writing is on the wall... I think the thing that hurts the most was the use of the term "goodbye". I remember having that conversation with you. Absolute! Granted, the more I read it again and again and again...well, I go back and forth. One reading of it will point out my being "irrelevant" now, while another reading through drives, like a skewer, home the resounding "goodbye." Loud in my ears and full of... I don't want it to be true; I want to still be the one to drive you to heights un-reached with a mere touch; a thought...to be irrelevant...it hurts. Had we not been in the particular circumstances of that evening, the events described might have actually come to fruition. It's certainly a pleasant fiction to think upon and certainly would have been a much better way to have parted...probably...most like. I didn't...I don't want this story to be about me; about us, but..............well, we can't always get what we want. I chuckle, a bit uncontrollably; that is to say that it's an automatic chuckle that I've not been able to really stop; at a thought regarding Valentines Day. "I guess I didn't knock it out of the park!" So much for Steak and Blow Job day?. I was so looking forward to such a wonderful treat! There's that surf, again; can you hear it crashing against the rocky shoals? I can, and it causes my heart to ache; to long; the sting in my eyes are not that of surf spray though I pray it were so simple. Will they fall... You got want you wanted, it hurts; unfortunately it hurts physically, too. For that I'm sorry, but sometimes it is what it is. My heart aches; a breaking if you will. Only truly been felt twice in my life. Once, you know about. The other, we hadn't gotten around to having that discussion. I'm sure that we would have, in time; you were destined to know more than any one person was ever meant to know of me. The compartments so carefully created seemed to have ethereal walls when it came to you -- we never got to that discussion. I can't count the number of times I pick up the phone looking for a text or email from you. I don't know how you managed to work yourself into my heart so fast...no one ever has. And we didn't even get to all of the "secrets". You never found out how dark my fantasies go; in what direction they lie. There were so many things I was hoping for...looking forward to exploring...I still want to experience you! I WANT YOU! I LOVE YOU! Much like a venomous bite, though, your words resound in my head from our phone conversation..."what's the point? What's the point." ... I had a dream about you some nights ago; a dream where I was needing a room to rent and had asked you if I might could. Very reluctant you were; though you weren't exactly opposed to it. You had a very specific condition that I needed to meet and if I did, then it was on. I awoke then... I thought I saw your car, the other day; made a U-turn to check it out. It wasn't you. It was a red _, but not your car. I was sad. I don't know that I'll ever send this message. Hours and hours it has taken me to respond, as I told you that I would. I'm sure you read the severe editing process that was involved in sending the one message in response to your email. I guess I want to know if I have left a brand on you? Is there something that is wholly you and I? Aside from the We Vibe III. Maybe one day I'll send this to you -- I think that it will spark pain and possibly create some anguish. Foresight would suggest I'm doing it intentionally, but that is simply not true. Hard to dispute, but absolutely not true. I never have wanted; I do not want to hurt you. (Well, obviously in the good ways that we both crave; but then that's not really hurtin' you is it?) I'm sorry! Random thought...do I still retain "AWESOME" with approved hand gesture? Silly stupid stuff to think about, huh? I don't want "goodbye!" Does it have to be goodbye? Is that what you want...goodbye? I've promised I would send it...not exactly what you were expecting, I'm sure; nevertheless here it is. The other night you texted that you didn't want to know if was hurtful or cutting; yet you've asked for this message; my initial response; the dread confirmed...I'm sorry! I'm truly sorry. Forgive me? Love me? I LOVE You! I want you! p l e a s e . . . . . . . . . . . . ."
Wicked Wednesday