It’s been a criminally long time since I’ve felt like painting my toenails.
I promised I’d tell the tale of my red bum. Well, my first red bum. There’s since been more bottom-reddening events, much to my immense pleasure, but this is a fun story that I’ve been meaning to share.
So. Let me preface this by admitting that I have the worst memory on the face of the planet, and, as this is now a couple weekends ago, and it seems like a LOT has happened in these last couple of weeks, I may have some of the details wrong. (I’m pretty sure K will tease me about any errors I have made.) ;-) But as I recall, it was a Saturday night, the weekend after K had gotten back from a weeklong trip. He’d stayed over Friday night, and we had reacquainted ourselves with each other until quite late that night, and then had spent the next day together too. I believe it was the Saturday he agreed to go shopping with me and I got patio furniture and we brought it back in his truck and put it together while Ad napped after getting off work… though I could be confusing it with a different Saturday.
Ad had worked until 2:30 that day, and though I hadn’t planned it originally, I ended up asking them if we could all do dinner together and go see the new Top Gun movie. We wound up at a local bar & grill that Ad and I like, and, as is our habit, Ad and I brought along a bar game to play while we waited for dinner to arrive. We usually play cribbage, but since there were three of us, we brought Pass the Pigs instead.
Pass the Pigs is a simple enough game where you roll two “pigs” to earn points, and the first one to 100 wins. But, to make it more interesting, I suggested we play for whacks – specifically, whacks on my butt – based on how many points I won or lost by.
Either way, I was a winner.
This is where the details get hazy. I think it was decided that whatever amount of points they each won by would be added up, and that was how many whacks I would receive with whichever implement they chose. There was some other magic formula (I believe) if I won, but I don’t recall how exactly that was supposed to work. I think I lost, anyway.
As Ad always does, he decided to have the math-challenged girl keep score – that scrap of paper up there is where I did the “whack totals” after the game. Grand total: 119 whacks. But the math wasn’t over yet. Because there were two of them I had to halve the total, to equal 59 1/2 whacks each. And naturally I had to keep track while they were smacking me – Ad with a wooden spoon, K with a rattan cane.
I thought I was clever and putting one over on them by keeping track in twenties – counting 1-20 and then keeping track on my fingers how many twenties I counted so that I didn’t have to count clear to 119, which can be a challenge when endorphins hit. But apparently even in that I wasn’t clever enough – K said afterward that I had forgotten or missed a whole set, and so ended up with 139. Or so. And then there was also something about counting the half twice…
Or something. I’m still not entirely clear on that.
It was all very confusing and hilarious and great fun. We laughed and I squealed and wriggled and yelped and tried to keep count, and, in the end, ended up with that lovely red bottom.
Viva la pig-passing-counting-games!
I’m waiting for him in the swing on my patio, short dress, no bra or panties. His instructions on the bra, my own initiative on the panties. It’s warm, but I have a sunshade and there is the hint of a breeze tugging at my skirt, flirting with my warm, bared skin. Teasing me.
I fall alseep, anticipating.
Then he’s there, and we chat, and I am waiting, wondering when he will discover that I am bare beneath the dress. I stand next to him where he sits in one of the patio chairs. His hand slides up under my skirt and he looks up at me, grinning. I feel flustered suddenly.
Some temptress am I!
We go inside and Ad is there and we are talking and making salad and doing all the mundane things we do, and the whole time I am thinking about his hand sliding up, stroking the skin of my thigh, my ass, my hip. And I just want to be alone with him for a minute. “Come upstairs,” I say, tugging at his hand.
He follows, and I imagine his hands on me, under my dress, encircling my waist, pulling me close to him. He’s giving me this look he has…intent, focused, promising…something. I’m nervous now, more flustered. “Turn around,” he says, “Bend over the bed.”
I do, unsure what that intent look means. He has used implements on me now, has teased and provoked me sexually with hands and toys and words and mouth – this could be either. Or something new entirely.
He leans over me and flips my skirt up, exposing my bare ass to him. Suddenly exposed, I am absurdly shy and want to pull my skirt back down, and I can feel the heat traveling up my neck into my face. He places one hand on my back, stilling me. I go quiet under his hand, as I always do, settling down into the space between words, between moments. His breath is warm on the nape of my neck as I feel the barest caress of his fingertips tracing over my labia. Barely, barely touching; teasing. My breath comes short and quickens.
I don’t recall now what he says to me – it’s hazy and fluid like the feel of his fingertips brushing me ever so gently, tantalizing, building anticipation until the room is charged with it and I ache to feel his fingers inside of me. When I think I might go mad with it, he finally parts my lips and pushes a finger inside of me. “There,” he says, “right there,” and yes, he has found that spot inside and is rubbing it and I moan and push back against him —
Only to have him draw away, chuckling as he pulls me to my feet and sets my dress aright and says we should go back downstairs.
And I am left to anticipate what might come next for the rest of the evening.
Apparently, a red bum is once again a thing in my life.
Kiss the lips below to see who else is particiating in Sunful Sunday, where It’s all about the image…
“Touch yourself for me,” he said. “Trace your fingers where you wish mine would go, let them linger where you wish mine would be.”
I unzipped my jeans, right there in my office chair, and slid a hand down to the top of my lace-edged panties. Then I stopped. What I wanted was more than his fingers playing with my cunt. He has such long, almost delicate, fingers. They stroke my skin like a whisper, like a promise.
I raised my hands to my waist, to the sides of my ribcage. Stroked them up to the soft swell of my breasts, then across my nipples – yeah, those nipples that were already making themselves known by jutting against the fabric of my tank top. Then up to my face, along my throat and my jawline. My lips…
I want his fingers everywhere.
But I can’t reach everywhere – I can only anticipate his fingers roaming my body, stroking down my shoulders and my back, finding that perfect place and perfect pressure that stills all the noise inside me.
For now, I just send my fingers down, lower, inside the opening in my jeans, under my panties, tickling my clit for a moment before pushing between my labia and into the wet core of me.
I draw the wetness out and lave my lips with it, my clit. I think about another time of anticipation, when he lay between my legs, his mouth a breath away from my cunt, his breath warm, his tongue almost-but-not-quite touching me, until I told him what he wanted to hear.
I feel an almost painful anticipation that stretches on and on…a low hum that occasionally – when he permits – trandscends into a roar as he says “cum for me,” in my ear.
I know, lots more than just boobs, but seriously, check out those nips! I took this pic this morning to send to K to show off the juxtaposition of my pink-laced panties and the tomboy shirt. It was only when I got a good look at it that I saw how very perky my nipples are (should have been wearing my glasses – ha!) I wonder if he noticed!
Anyway, here they are, looking like they are celebating Boobday too.
Nothing sexy today (yeah it’s a bit of a cop-out, but I’ve other things to do!) just me and my office buddy enjoying the sunshine at lunch.
I already almost forgot to post today – that’s how out of practice I am! But I was saved by K, my…I don’t know what to call him, yet…reminding me to do so.
So what is this that K and I are doing? We’re seeing each other, and kind of more than “just” seeing each other; playing and gradually moving into something D/s-shaped; doing a lot of talking and texting and Marco Polos and having lots of sexy rainy mornings and stormy nights in my bed, as well as just hanging out and well, being relationship-y (I think that was his word).
We haven’t made any pronouncements about who we are to each other, either to ourselves or anyone else yet, though I think most in our crowd and families know we’re involved at least in some capacity. I’ve met one of his daughters and he’s met Adam (and Fee) and in fact we – Adam, he and I – have all spent time together, doing dinner and drinks and going to a movie and playing games. (I might tell y’all a bit about the one night the game involved whacky toys and my bum one of these days.) But meanwhile, yeah…there’s someone new and he’s occupying an awful lot of my thoughts.
The D/s that we’re exploring the edges of comes very naturally – at least from where I sit. He said at the outset that it’s not a role he has played for a while, at least not in the way that I am used to, and wasn’t sure he wanted to, but ultimately decided that it is something he is willing to explore with me, to see where it goes. It is going very, very well, as far as I can tell. He is being cautious, and talks about not rushing in, and about doing things in a sustainable way; about managing the NRE that we are both pretty much awash in. Of course I am my usual diving-in-head-first, check-for-rocks-beneath-the-surface later kinda gal where my heart’s concerned. Yeah I could get my head (heart) smashed on the rocks, but damn that dive is glorious, isn’t it? And I can’t help but be me. If I feel a thing…
Well. There we are.
So anyway. Thought I’d share that little bit about this new part of my world, and also this collage I made, mostly to show off how long my hair is, and also because I feel…sexy and sensuous and desirable these days, and these images reflect those feelings. And I simply adore that Ad took the hair picture of me so that I could send it to K.
How sweet, he says.
I am claws and teeth and sharp, aching need
Howls and snarls
Desire, made manifest.
Wet and panting and wanting, wanting, wanting.
No sweet kitten
No purring pet.
Panties in the corner
Legs spread wide
Fingers deep in my wet, wet cunt.
His words on the screen
a voice in my head
Teeth sharp against a bared throat.
A whispered word
A gentling hand
Breath caught and held
Command given and taken.
Guided back to quiesence once more.
I know I’m jumping in late, but I’ve been a little distracted and so didn’t realize that June had started. Er, okay, not exactly that, but that Every Damn Day in June had started. More specifically yet, that Molly of Molly’s Daily Kiss had taken over the meme from the delectable Hyacinth Jones of A Dissolute Life Means…
I’ve done this meme before, and enjoyed it. The goal: to post something every damn day in June. Writings, pictures, whatever. Okay, I have failed already, but that only releases me from striving for perfection, right? So now it’s “Every Damn Day…for the Rest of the Days in June.” Hah.
I actually have lots to say. Stuff about parents and my kids, Adam and work and a new relationship. Life stuff, kink stuff, sexy stuff, travel and play stuff. So stayed tuned, and I will try my damndest to post something. Every damn day. Just like it says.