Inciting Outside

“I don’t feel good.” I look at you as if you said a vile thing, as if you were crazy. You said it for a purpose; it was too random to just bring up.

“Is that code for you having a headache?” I question, referencing the olden but golden reason why wives wouldn’t sleep with their husbands.  

You pause and smile. “Yes, yes, I believe that is.”

Again, my eyes pierce you with that preposterous statement. But I say nothing and wait. By the time we are ready for bed, I state casually, “you know you want to have sex with me. I’m awfully pretty and downright adorable.” I get undressed, not meeting eyes for fear of making it easier to reject me with a shake of the head.

You laugh. You knew this was coming. I don’t accept the “headache/not feeling good”. “Oh I suppose I can sex with you. You are very pretty.” Well, at least you aren’t blind. We slide under the covers, and meet in the middle of our enormous bed. We face each other, and just hold each other for a moment, enjoy the quiet stillness of the night. I scratch your back, knowing you like it, not wanting to just immediately jump you. I know I need to show you affection first; we’ve had this talk.

I smile, because I’m done and planning my attack. You’ve obviously seen this smile before, because before my hand can dip lower, your hand is wrapped around my wrist. You move my immobile hand to the arm beneath me, and press heavily into the bed where my other arm was under you, effectively trapping both.

“But babe,” I whine. “I haven’t touched you in days.”

“It’s been three, and you aren’t winning this one. We’ll see how long it is until I allow you to touch me.” You tug on my wrist and your foot pushes on my leg, rotating me to on my back. The same foot stays on my leg, nudging apart and securing it in place. Your free hand moves lower. Fingers freely penetrate or caress at your whim. I try to distract you with kisses, and move my arm and hand trying to work free. You are having none of it. When you rubbed against my clit, my intake of breath must’ve clued you. You look at me, “you must be sensitive,” and search my eyes as again you massaged my bud. I make a noise, half groan and half moan. “You aren’t often sensitive there,” your voice tells of delight, like a child receiving a new toy.

It’s true I am not often sensitive there. I’d much rather penetration than clitoral stimulation, but tonight it feels so good, and your fingers brush and knead and torture and delight before you let go of my wrist and move so quickly I’ve no time to think, and now your mouth is there. “Oh, no,” I breathe, unsure I am able to handle this much stimulation so early on. But you have a purpose and skill that I rarely call upon. I whimper, plead, buck, press. I have no idea what to do besides beg for you to be inside of me.

“You want this?” you question, moving up and between my legs as suddenly as you went down.

“Yes,” my legs wrap around your hips.

You lean forward and rub against me. “I don’t think I’m hard enough.”

I smile, “you need me to touch you is all.” I go to move my hands, but you’ve claimed them again, pinning them the bed at the wrists with your strong hands.

Again, that smile. “No,” you kiss my forehead, and I feel you at my entrance, “we’ll make do”. A tease then, because you thrust inside of me while maintaining eye contact and there is no doubt that you are hard, throbbing and stretching me. You don’t release my wrist, but still manage to rotate up to a higher position, where the tip of you slides up precariously to my entrance; the shaft pressed against my clit, and then thrusts straight down. A slight ache from the pressure and force, but I am flooded with so many sensations. And you know it, as the calculated move is repeated until I tighten and squeeze around you in my orgasm. Immediately you release my wrists and lower yourself, still resting inside of me, lovingly embracing me and giving me gentle kisses. You rub your body along my clit and murmur, “still sensitive?” I can only nod. “Good.” You pull out of me and reach to your nightstand, pulling out a black case.

“Oh hell no, I can’t,” I voice. I watch you stretch the cock ring around you. You turn on just the vibrating part and put it against my already oversensitive bud, holding it there and watching my reaction. I writhe and moan and impel. You pull back and begin to put it in the ring. I take this opportunity to reach down and stroke your straining and eager cock. It’s a small victory, but it’s mine.

And its short lived, as my hands are pulled off of you, again pinned to the bed, and you are driving yourself deeply into me. The vibrator is prominently inciting outside, and you are filling and devastating inside, and I cannot breathe or see or think. I just feel. And clench so tightly around you that you’ve no choice but to join me on this journey, your groans mixing with my screams.

Read Something for the Weekend

Pondering Positions

My lover broke his wrist over the weekend. Of course my concern was for him, but selfishly it went to our sex life. He broke his dominant side, but he's pretty handy at touching and fingering me with both. I was more concerned with what positions we were still going to do, and if he'd even be in the mood.

Oddly enough, he's demanding it every night (of course it's only been less than a week). It's almost like he has to prove he still can have sex with me (I shared my concern).

And as for the positions, we can't do missionary (or some form of). While I can rock his world on top, I can't do much for myself. Sadly, when I am on top I rely on him to grab my hips and move me once I come close to climax - when it starts to feel good I simply lose the rhythm and cannot finish without him keeping the pace I've set. A lot of other positions require him bracing himself on either forearms or hands.

The solution? Doggy style is definitely a winner, but we've also spooned, and he's been on his knees upright with me sideways as well. I love these positions, and glad we have more reason to use them. I am quite sure we'll continue experimenting and finding others that work just as well, and maybe discover some new positions we've never done or thought of before. Can't wait! Any suggestions? He cannot apply pressure on one arm at all at this point, keep in mind.

My lead

"Come here."

I move to place myself in front of him. Proud and naked, ready to obey his will. He places the rope around my neck and tells me it looks lovely, I wear it well.

This isn't the first time he has tied me up. But it is it is the first time he's laid me out and composed my body in such a way that I cannot move myself. Helpless.

He teases me, caresses me. Brings his beautiful cock within inches of my eager mouth just to tsk me for moving towards it, then he moves it away. Admonishing me for being greedy.

"The thing about you is, you like to touch. I think it is a far greater deprivation to take that away from you then to withhold caressing you."

He's right. He knows me. I'm strong and proud and independent. However, one of my biggest weaknesses is my love of tactile sensory input. To feel his smooth skin under my finger tips, to kiss and caress him. These are the things I crave.

Today I find it hard to find zen. To obtain that place of bliss and quiet in my head. My subspace. I feel each strike, I jump nervously at small caresses. I'm not being very good.

"You don't want my gifts? Why aren't you receiving my gifts?"

I try but no words are forthcoming. I don't know what has thrown me off. Everything is so intense, so deep. I love every part of everything this man does to me, but today I'm making him think that I doubt.

With a sigh he gives me fulfillment, he slides into my depth and it's like fireworks going off in my body. The position of my head and my shoulders is such that my position feels precarious. There's a massive dresser just beyond my bed and with my wrists tied to my ankles, severe injury would occur if I went over.

I ask if we can scoot up, I can feel myself sliding closer with each powerful thrust of his hips. He drives on, harder now, knowing of my fear.

"Trust me," he says.

I swallow, I try.

"Trust me."

My eyes sting with the burn of tears and one delicate stream runs out of each eye.

He looms close to my face with a stare so intense it bores into my soul.

"I will always keep you safe, I will NEVER let you get hurt. Trust me."

The tears are coursing down my cheeks now, but I do. I trust him with everything that I am and I know that he will do as he says. He knows about my horrible anxieties and that this is the ultimate surrender to him.

He is merciful. After I acquiesce, he moves me from the edge. He kisses my tears, salty on his lips. He cuddles me and caresses me and lets me know I am safe.

I've learned a lesson I already knew in the back of my head. He will always keep me safe. To him I am precious and something of great value to be cared for and loved. All that is required of me is to let go, to trust, to allow him to lead. I found my space that day, my subspace. The warm pleasant glow after play stayed with me, warming my soul. All because I was willing to follow, over the edge even if need be, safe in my lovers embrace.

Find out who is being wicked with me this Wednesday.
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TMI: I love my bed

1. When you bought your bed frame, did you evaluate it in terms of ropes, handcuffs, etc?
Oh yes, my bed is a solid wood California King, with huge bed posts, headboard, and even a steel frame going across the top, connecting the top of the bed posts. It's a delightful play ground.

2. Aside from beds, was sex ever a major consideration in choosing a piece of furniture?
Besides the couch being easy to clean? Not really. To be perfectly honest, after having a bed like mine, I don't wish to have sex anywhere else at home.

3. Have you ever had anyone else (friend, mom) say a piece of your furniture was inappropriate because it was clearly for sexual purposes?
Yep, anyone who's ever seen my bed, and knows my personality, know exactly why I purchased it.

4. Do you have a piece of furniture that has a stain caused by bodily fluids (baby vomit not included)?
No, not furniture. Clothes on the other hand...

5. Do you have anything in your beside table you wouldn’t want your father or mother to know about?
A ton, but not necessarily away from parents. More like kids shouldn't know what's in the black satin case (Lelo), hiding the naughty titles of some steamy bedside reading. And on his side is a whole collection of toys and books (his side isn't closest to the door, and almost never visited, even by kids, oddly enough. Downside, or upside, to being close to a wall.

6. Do you own any exercise equipment that is useful for sex?
Not really, yoga bands might be handy for holding sexual poses, but I haven't considered it. My yoga belt is awesome for tying if we aren't in the bedroom where the other ties are.

7. Aside from your bedroom, what room do you have sex in most often?
Room with the large couch. Or, honestly, it may be a tie or in the kitchen. I can't help but pounce on him when he's doing dishes.

8. Do you have any electronics (TV, stereo) etc in your bedroom that are on during sex?
Stereo, always, due to noise pollution. Even if kids aren't around, we're so used to it by now, that we use it.

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 tmituesdayblog from your website!

Video killed the radio star

Men have always sent me penis pictures. I don't know why. I've recently started receiving video however, and that is FAR more interesting to me.
I NEVER request the penis pictures in the first place, they just send them. It's like:
"good morning"
"good morning"
"How are you? Here is my penis."
The first time a man sent me a video of him masturbating, I was shocked. That lasted all of about half of a second before I was incredibly turned on.
I love watching a man masturbate. There's something so erotic and here it was, in my hands! A man I (kind of) knew in all his delicious glory, right there on my phone. It made my mouth water.
I never thought to request something like that! Why had all these men in my life previously been slacking off!? The possibilities now were almost endless.
The next man to send me a fully nude photo got the request put to him. Imagine my surprise when he said no...
Dude, you just sent me a picture of your hard penis, WITH YOUR FACE IN IT. I just want a POV masturbation clip. They only last like 15 seconds, and your face isn't in it.
Where is there any logic in that? So, I figured man A wasn't very bright, let's move on to the next one. However, I encountered the same problem. Now, I have a LOT of options of men to ask this of. It's the digital age and I live in a very densely populated military town. There are tons of men lining up to send me their penis. Is it too much to ask for that penis to be in action?
I've decided I'm going to start telling them I either get an action sequence or I don't want it at all. I might never have to go root out porn again! I'm definitely going to have to get a bigger memory card, and these men better start warming up their forearms, because momma wants to see some jacking off!

Satin and lace

A delicious combination.

 

Sinful Sunday 

For Our Sake Touch Me

I am cold, a distant land, beyond your reach.
You know that to touch me is to melt me
But you asked...And I am not in the mood to acquiesce

You know that to touch me

My simmering red hot anger will cool
And yet you hesitate...And I am not in the mood to welcome

You know the solution is you.

Why do you not touch me?
Your fingers, mouth, skin, cock, make misery a memory.

I want you to fuck me senseless.

You know and yet don't touch me.
Bite my breasts, caress my clit, pummel my pussy.

Even in anger, I always want you.

Grab my hair, pull me towards you,
Take me roughly, for our sake touch me.

You've only touched me

Once, when we feel this way
All was instantly forgotten, hostilities halted

Why do you accept my denial?
Take my words, drown my mouth
With tongue and cock, both need to touch me

This time words of love are not enough
Reserved, courteous, gentleman
...And I am in the mood to be taken, fucking touch me

And yet you asked, accepted, agitated,

I want nothing more than to forget
In pleasure, in pain, inside you need to touch me.