I got my wish. Or at least a taste of it. Which was enough to make me reconsider said wish.
But not enough to take it back. ;-)
The weekend was a good one, in spite of a change in plans and Little Sister deciding to be a bitch Saturday morning. (Who is Little Sister, you ask? Why that’s my sweet little cunt. No idea when/why I started calling her that, but it’s stuck.) Anyway.
As I may have mentioned, Ad got back from a week away Friday night. I had thought that I would want to spend every night he was gone with W, and if I hadn’t had the Boy and pup at home I probably would have, but the few nights I did stay at home alone were actually…not bad. I kind of like not having anyone to answer to, anyone else’s schedule to work around, my time my own. And surprisingly, I sleep alone just fine. It’s the time between 9pm and midnight that can be a challenge, but even that wasn’t bad at all.
The week was kind of odd, actually. When Ad had told me about his trip, I’d had this vision of going to W’s each night, playing, and then coming home afterward. Sort of backwards of what I usually want, which is to stay over at W’s, whether or not we play. So I don’t know where that idea came from. Maybe from his and my talk about him using and abusing me and then shoving me out the door? Kind of like an extended, week-long scene, wherein I am compelled to go there, get abused, and then sent away–only to be made to return for more the next night. But it didn’t work out that way, due to unforeseen circumstances, and I never even shared my fantasy with W. Instead, the nights I spent with him were special in other ways…we got to be a couple, supporting and helping each other, talking, sharing, commiserating, planning. It was nice. And then, Thursday night, we finally got to play a bit. And W made me remember that although he is my lover, my friend and my partner, he’s also The Mean Guy. And I best not forget it. ;-)
So yeah, I had a very tender pussy by the time Ad got home! Although I wanted to drag him back to the bedroom the moment I got home from work, the kids were there, and I sensed he wanted some family time, some time to decompress, some time just to “hang out” with his girlfriend. We spent a very relaxing night together, making dinner, taking a walk and being domestic.
THEN I drug him into the bedroom and we had some lovely, sore-pussy-pounding, deep-throating-enough-to-make-me-gag sex.
It was delightful.
Saturday day was a bit of a jumble as W dealt with stuff that had come up unexpectedly, but by Saturday night all was righted, and he was available when I asked him to join Ad and I for dinner. We had a lovely dinner, sitting outside (at night, in March!) and then went to my favorite wine bar for drinks after. Good talk, good food, good drinks and good company. All is beginning to feel balanced again in my world.
And let me tell you, there is no better way to wake up on a warm, sunny Sunday morning than to wake up naked between my two men.
But before that, there was pussy whipping.
So yeah. Here’s me, envisioning some gentle slapping, some light spanking, maybe a little careful cropping of the cooch to kind of, you know, soften me up to the inevitability of getting my pussy whipped. Eventually it would get intense, but he’d work me up to it, yanno?
What happened was that he tied me down in a chair, with my legs strapped open, my arms immobile and my cunt exposed, and then he got out this lovely little toy that I got him in Mexico. Why oh why do I buy him toys? A nasty little quirt with two thin, leather strips on one end (I am drawing a complete blank on what the other end looks like.) But it doesn’t matter, because he didn’t use the other end. The end he did use is brutal. My mind ricocheted between relief that he had that toy in his hand, because I knew he couldn’t possibly whip my cunt with that, to terror that he actually would, to disbelief that he actually was. And believe me, he wasn’t gentle in any way. Thank god he only actually snapped my cunt a handful of times with the fucking thing. That pain was enough to make the pain of whipping my inner thighs insignificant. And I’d yelped and squealed and thought that was awful, when he was doing it.
And yet…even the next morning when I bitched and moaned to Ad…I loved it that he had done it. And that he had done it in such a quintessentially W way, the bastard. I loved it that he did it to me, knowing damn well that it was probably not what I’d imagined or fantasized about. And I loved that it made him hard to do it to me.
Do I want more? Well, maybe not like that. I’d still like to experience something that builds from mild to intense, rather than just running headlong into screaming agony. And you know, maybe even something that could make me come, even though it hurt. But of course…those things are not mine to choose.
And apparently, according to Ad the next morning, “Well, pussy whipping sure didn’t break it.”
But that’s another story for another day.