Anticipation 1

“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.

Already slick.

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.

#sinfulsunday – sucking (in a good way)

The Canadian told me he had read an old blog post of mine, The Joy of Sucking Cock (which is, possibly not surprisingly, one of my most-read blog posts.)

Based on that, “Your task today,” he said, “is to demonstrate yourself sucking 6 different cocks – bio or not.” Now, I don’t have one bio cock I can demo on at the moment, but I have plenty of pretend ones. And look! My lipstick lessons came in good stead as well.

This also goes along well with this month’s theme: “I am…”

“I am a happy little cocksucker!”

My favorite is the bottom right. What’s yours?

Go checked out all the other Sunday Sinners, telling us about who they are!

a to z challenge: w is for wants & needs

During this hiatus that my kink partner and I are on, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about wants and needs. What do I want in a kink relationship? What do I need? Do I need kink in my life? Do I need sex? I’m getting long-distance kink right now, and it’s lovely, but I miss hands-on kink. And sex. And feeling someone’s desire, at close range. I miss kissing and being held and being desired physically.

I asked Adam why we stopped playing. I had just read a post from this very blog (Mouth) in which I talked about going to a kink event with Ad – just he and I – and we played. A lot! And it was fun. But it’s been years since he took an active role in our kink life. Yes, he’s played with me with other kink partners, and he’s even played with me alone when I have asked him a couple times. But while he was never toppy or dominant before, now we don’t play at all.

The thing is, I thought it was me, not wanting to play with him because he’s not dominant enough But what he said was, “I’m just not in that headspace.” And that gave me pause. It’s not me (I’ve been feeling guilty.) He isn’t interested in kink. So my feeling that I just don’t have that connection with him is actually correct – and it’s no one’s fault, I knew all along that he wasn’t kinky for himself. He did it for me, because he dug the fact that it affected me so much. Not because he wanted/needed it. And that’s okay. We have other things we share. But…I do want those things. I think…maybe…that I need them. I mean, I’m pretty sure I need kink to get off. I’m just programmed that way.

Part of my issue right now is that I’ve just started a new anti-depressant. And I feel…a little dulled. The sharper edges of my libido, which had been ragged and snarly since I haven’t played with anyone or had sex in weeks with anyone, have been smoothed down. Is that just a result of getting used to not being with someone? Or is it the medication affecting me? I don’t know.

I’ve thought about playing with others. Dating others. In fact I have a few irons in the fire – an old flame; a girlfriend I’ve played with before; a new boy from OK Cupid. And I can honestly say that none of those situations are just me looking to (selfishly) scratch an itch. I genuinely care about the first two, the last is a flirtation that yes, I might not have entered into if my kink partner and I were seeing each other right now, but it’s fun and sexy and gives me a little spark. And then there’s my Canadian – topping me and tormenting me from afar.

But do I need any of this? For that matter, do I need it from my kink partner? If, when things settle down with him and we see each other again, if he was to say, “nope, don’t want that anymore,” what would I do?

I don’t know. Does a thing have to be a need? Can’t I just want it in my life? Can’t I just say, I want this in my life, and have that be enough.

I don’t know anymore.

I got to this topic by way of Marie’s post, Life happens, love binds, on the topic “When Life Gets in the Way,” from the “Tell Me About…” meme. That topic is over, but it still resonated with me. A lot of what I am going through is because life got in the way – of my kink, of my kink relationships. The pandemic, life going sideways, lockdowns and border closings, depression and anxiety, it’s all taken a heavy toll. I get that when the dust settles everything may – probably will – look different. But right now, life is standing there being a bully to us all. And so I sit here and wonder: What do I want? What do I need?

Playing with Toys

I don’t do official sex toy reviews, mostly because I don’t feel qualified to discuss issues about product safety, etc., and if you get those things wrong, well, bad things can happen. So I leave that to the pros. But I do use sex toys, both with partners and alone, and sometimes I write about those experiences. You know, because sex and sex toys are fun. :-)

A friend of mine posted an image of her orgasm tabulation for the year (hashtags that equaled approximately 10x the number of orgasms I have had this year so far) and I felt, well, a little embarrassed by my lack. NOT the correct response, and not what she intended, I am sure. I love her sexual energy and wish, sometimes, that I could capture it, could breathe it in and let it fill me up. Instead, so often, what’s going on in my environment, and in my relationships, inhibits me from enjoying my sexuality. And there’s a lot going on in my environment that I allow to affect me adversely, both globally and personally.

Sexual energy is good energy, healthy energy. It buoys one up, even if one isn’t having intercourse, in fact it oftentimes has nothing to do with intercourse. A lot, if not most, of my sexual energy comes from interactions with my kink partner(s), and attempts by me to establish some sort of daily sexual ritual have always failed, mostly because I don’t interact with them in that way on a daily basis. There used to be a lot more of that energy, but the pandemic has tamped that down a lot, and oftentimes I don’t even think of myself as a sexual person. I am a (sometime) submissive, I am a (sometime) lover, I am a girlfriend and a life-partner, a mother, a coworker, a friend. Those roles don’t often make room for a “sexual being.”

I’d like that to change. I’d like sexual energy and joy to be as much a part of my existence as any other. I believe our society shames women who insist on exploring and celebrating our sexuality after a certain age and I want to combat that in my own life. I can’t force sexual feelings, but I can be open to giving myself opportunities to experience it, and take those opportunities when they arise. I settled down with a new sex toy the other evening after work with exactly that thought in mind.

I love the idea of having my clit sucked deeply by a machine or toy, or even, when I fantasize about having a clit-cock, by a human. I’ve played with the Womanizer, a pricey clit-sucking toy, before, hoping the reality matched my fantasies, but it didn’t work out that way for me. The pressure on my clit was too pinpointed and uncomfortable. Eventually, with a lot of work trying to find the right spot, I could come, but it was an almost painful sensation. It became a toy that my kink partner used as an occasional torture device rather than one about sexual pleasure, and after a couple times, never saw the outside of my sex toy box again.

Then the other day I saw a review for this toy. It’s called the Sohimi Clitoral-Sucking Vibrator (a brand I’ve never heard of.) There were a number of things that convinced me to give it a try: it has a curved g-spot insertable with vibrations, a wider “mouth” for my clit, and it was really affordable. The big mouth on it was the real selling point. Many times I have thought, if the sucking area could just suck all of my clit in, like a wide, grasping mouth – well, that’s part of the fantasy in my head. It could work. And at that price, how could I resist?

I’m glad I didn’t resist. The first time with the toy was not great, and I was sure it was going to be another Womanizer fiasco. I did have an orgasm, but it was…strange. It built up and up, never really finding the right place but using the g-spot stim to push me to the edge…but when I got there… Poof. It was over. I like a lot of clit stimulation, and it just didn’t deliver.

But then I tried it again. I didn’t want to give up without really giving it a chance. I used lube this time, unlike before, and rather than just focusing on the sensations, I let myself drift into fantasy, imagining I was strapped down to a table and this sucking machine was being strapped to me, forced upon me. Suddenly it was a wide-mouthed sucking machine, and I was helpless against it. I spread my labia wide and experimented with the various speeds, and, since the body of the toy is somewhat pliable, I was able to maneuver it against my g-spot better, rocking it in micro-pulses so the suction actually pulled on my clit while the vibrator stroked my g-spot. And that did it! It wasn’t a screaming orgasm, and it was far more pin-pointed and focused than other orgasms, but it was pleasurable, and I liked that I took the time to coax it out of my body. That it wasn’t the slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am of my Hitachi.


Okay, had to take a break to give it another go, after writing about it turned me on.

Yep! It worked, just like before. It takes a lot more patience than I usually have when I want to orgasm. And it doesn’t have the power of my Baldy (Hitachi) orgasms. But it was a fun way to re-introduce myself to my own sexuality here in the new year, a fun way to play, and a nice bit of self-care here on a morning when I needed it.

And now, I’m off to yoga and maybe run, because it’s my day for it, and – even if I resist doing it – I always feel better after. Oh, and then packing and grocery shopping and I had had vague plans to hike this afternoon, but the cold weather is impacting that decision, so we’ll see.

Oh, and guess what? I finally finished the 12 Tasks of Christmas! I’ll write a post about it soon.

Wicked Wednesday – Social Butterfly

I recently saw a tattoo that’s been going around Pinterest: “Accept nothing less than butterflies.” I love that saying, and not just because I vacillate so often between being a butterfly and having butterflies, either. It really does epitomize how I feel about life, and how it should be lived: full on, baby.  I enjoy that feeling of contentment and comfort that home and my steadfast loves bring me, but I always want to know that there are butterflies still to experience, whether they are from a new adventure, an exhilarating challenge, a crazy, wonderful new idea, or simply thinking about my men and the joys and intimacies and depth of the connections that we share.

Oh, and the butterflies that come from flirting with a new lover aren’t bad either.

I got to experience all of those things this past weekend, as well as be a (social) butterfly.

The weekend started Friday night when someone I have dated a couple times, and with whom I have begun to negotiate a play relationship,  came over to hang out with W and I.  I had had to cancel our previous date, and when he asked me if I was available Friday I talked to W and then made a suggestion: why didn’t he come over and watch (and possibly join in) while W and I played?  I didn’t think we’d ever played around him before, and although I talk about what we do here, and have tons of pictures on Fet of us playing, there’s nothing like getting a feel for how someone plays than by actually watching them do it. I am always a little anxious when I start to negotiate a play date with someone who’s only seen my pictures or read my accounts of what we do, because that is such an incomplete picture. I’m nowhere near the painslut/crazy maso that it might appear – W just knows how to get the most out of me. ;-) So this date would serve a couple uses: W and I would get to play; I’d get to spend some time – out of the public eye and ear – with my friend; W would get to talk to and know him a little better and he W; and he’d get to observe our dynamic firsthand.

It was a blast, all the way around. They both beat me up a bit, I had a couple explosive orgasms, we talked and laughed and drank and had chocolate martinis at the Chocolate Bar afterward. And I got the sweetest follow-up text later, indicating that there is a distinct possibility that we may actually move this into the “play-partners” realm!  So I am quite thrilled.

Saturday morning I had an appointment with my hair lady. I’ve been playing with colors for the past few months, and she had done some “corrective” work last time, because I had decided I wanted to go back to reds as opposed to the fun blonde forelock I had been sporting.  But as the time came to go back and get my hair redone, I started missing my sassy blonde, and I knew I was going to have her redo it all over again. But she is a better hairdresser than anyone I’ve been to previous: she wouldn’t just do what I wanted, the condition of my hair be damned. She is willing to get there, but she wants to do it in a way that will cause the least damage to my hair.  So we worked out a compromise, and in doing so settled on some really vibrant red highlights that I ended up LOVING.

And that also gave me an idea for the party that we were going to that night.

Here’s the thing: in all our planning and talking about and anticipation of the swinger party, I had forgotten one tiny detail: it was billed as a themed party, with the theme being “Gods of the Arena.” Costumes were not required, but were encouraged.

So, maybe I hadn’t exactly “forgotten” that part.  I just sort of…ignored it. At most of the swinger events we’ve attended, very few people actually dress to the themes of the parties. ~shrug~ And besides which…togas? Seriously? So…I decided I’d wear something sexy and slutty and sultry and we probably wouldn’t be the only ones not dressed in costume.

Boy, was I wrong! Of the 20 or so couples there, a mere handful were not costumed.

But, in an odd bit of serendipity and last-minute ingenuity and inspiration, I wasn’t one of them.

It was all my hairdresser’s fault. That gorgeous red that she put in my hair reminded me of a length of shimmery, sheer red cloth that I had sitting in a drawer.  I started thinking about what it would look like wrapped around my body, with nothing on underneath…and a costume idea was born.  I’ll have to find some way to thank her, without having to show her the picture of my “toga.”

Because honey, this wasn’t your mama’s (or Caesar’s) toga!  (Maybe Caligula’s, though.)

This is me doing my “Goddess” wave.

And this is me showing off my “Temple of Love!” ;-)

The party was a huge success (for us at least. I haven’t heard/read any other accounts of it yet.) The venue was amazing and the size of the party absolutely perfect. We met several new couples, I practiced handing out our “swinger calling cards,” W was amazingly adept at introducing us to new people and not letting me sit on the sidelines and watch, we had a little bit of fun in a sex swing (no, I didn’t get the public fisting I had hoped for from my Kinky Bucket List, but we were no slouches, lol) and had some yummy sex (with each other) in the “play” room. I think I might have gotten flirted with by some lovely ladies (a couple that actually read this blog, a joy and a surprise in and of itself – hello there!!) ;-) and maybe a boy or two as well!  And with W “opening up” conversation with people (my least favorite part of any party) I swung (pun intended!) into full social butterfly mode and made W proud of me (I think) by flitting about and talking to lots and lots of people.  And best of all (to me)? He knew exactly when I was peopled out.  No, he didn’t give in and let me go home right then (he is MUCH more the cocktail party animal than I am!) but that was good. I need to be pushed a little beyond my comfort level at these sort of things, and he knows it. That’s how well he knows me, and how well we work together.  We really were a smashing team.

And my costume was a huge success!

And then there was Sunday. Hard to believe I had scheduled myself so heavily over the weekend. I know myself well enough to know that I need time and quiet to recharge. But really, it couldn’t be helped. I didn’t want to miss my Friday date, the party on Sat was something W was totally looking forward to, and the NaNoWriMo Pre-Kick-Off party was something I had never attended and didn’t want to miss.

Except I almost did.

First I tried to weasel out of it by just deciding I was too tired, but Ad was having none of that. And truthfully, I know he would have been disappointed in me if I’d bailed on the writing thing because of a swinger party.  W was also insistent that I go, and furthermore, he knows me well enough to know that I was feeling anti-social enough that I might go and not speak a word to anyone except the one friend I was meeting, which would have been a shame. So he gave me the imperative that I was required to meet and talk to two other people besides my friend T that I was meeting there. So, I got ready to go…but realized as I was getting out of the tub that I was running behind. I arrived 15 minutes late…and, for a moment, almost let myself use that as an excuse not to go in.


Really what made me go in was the fact that an old friend, whom I hadn’t seen in more than five years, but who had recently moved back to town, had said she was going to be there.  I couldn’t just not show up! So in I went, and was surprised and delighted to finally meet Malflic after having chatted back and forth on Twitter and our blogs for some time. And it’s a good thing I did, because my friend never showed up herself! I was bitterly disappointed, but…such is life. I ended up having a great time (even when the subject of 50 Shades of Grey came up because I said I was writing erotica.)

But oh yeah I was ready for something different when I got done! And that different turned out to be meeting the Guys at the Zoo to play with the Letter Z. We had a great time (and I am so sad to see the Alphabet Challenge going away!) We continued on our merry way to supper at a favorite pizza dive here, and a pitcher of beer later, we were at W’s, playing with rope. There was something I wanted to do, and I talked the Guys into giving it a try. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, it didn’t come together the way we had hoped…but never fear, the next night it did (more about that in another post!)

And that, my friends, was my weekend playing Social Butterfly!  How was your weekend?

Check out the rest of the Wicked Wednesday players by clicking below!

Pussy Pride Redux – Sex with Rings

Awhile back I wrote a post for the Pussy Pride Project on Molly’s Daily Kiss. I had a lot of fun with that post, and I have enjoyed reading other contributions to the meme. Recently I got a couple of replies to that post, and since I enjoy talking about my pussy (shocking, I know) I thought I’d do a follow-on post to it to answer those questions. This time, I got to elicit the Guys assistance as well, so (for perhaps the first time?) you’ll get to hear from each of them as well!

H.H. of MySexLifeWithLola said, “Can you or W write about what it’s like to have sex with all those piercings?”

Although I’ve actually written about what sex with my rings is like several times, especially when they were new, it’s usually in the context of the rest of a scene that we are in the middle of, not just about the sensations specific to fucking with rings. And I don’t think I’ve ever asked the Guys to write about it, although we’ve talked about it many times.

Here’s what W had to say:

Fucking Jade with Rings

If fucking a girl with rings isn’t on your bucket list, it should be. I’d like to say it takes a real man with cast iron balls to manage it, but that isn’t really the truth.  Sure, you can’t be a wimp, but the primary effect for me is mental. As soon as I see them or feel them on Jade I get hard as a rock, not so much from the physical sensation, but from the mental effect that they have on me. There’s just something deliciously wrong about a girl with metal rings implanted in her cunt, and to fuck such a feisty, unconventional girl is a huge turn on and conquest.

The feel of the rings depends upon the position and your technique. In some cases you can barely feel them, but with others you can feel a hardness along your cock as you forcefully push her open and you can feel friction around your shaft as you pump back and forth and manipulate her parts.  I imagine them to be guide rails placed there for the convenience of myself and that of other males that have the (power) to use her.

Most of all I like knowing that I’m fucking an industrial girl. A highly skilled, efficient, fucking machine that you can pick out of the crowd. Someone special that guys dream about and most girls can’t match.

I swear I didn’t pay him to write all that stuff. ;-)

Ad’s perspective is a little different, as might be expected.  He says:

Impressions of Sex with Rings

You wanted my impressions of sex with the rings. The first impressions that strike me are visual and tactile. The sight of the rings is eye catching and impressive. After seeing them you then want to touch them and play with them. Seeing how they can be pulled and what sensations they create. They do focus your attention to the sensations in that area. When touching them they are hard and smooth. Once you plunge inside you feel the rings sliding along your length. That can be distracting, in a good way, tho. The only small negative effect is while using a vibrator near the rings. The rings can be a little buzzy and pinchy when vibrated heavily, thus spoiling the mood. Overall the rings are fun for both partners!

So there you have impressions from both my partners about fucking me with the rings.

As for me…well, although the Guys sometimes can’t tell much of a physical difference, I always can. Getting fucked now that I am so heavily pierced is always “getting fucked with rings” for me, and they are an essential and integral part of the experience. I can’t be fucked and not be acutely aware of them, the entire time, even if I have adjusted and moved them around to minimize discomfort.

In some ways, this is good, and hot. As W says, it is definitely a mental trigger for us both. I know how much they turn him on, and, especially when he is fucking me brutally, shoving his way through them and hurting me, it’s extremely arousing. It is also very arousing to always be aware of these piercings in terms of my connection to – and ownership by – W. This, to me, is the essence of my submission to him, in a very tangible, almost irreversible way. It’s not some pretty little hood decoration that can be overlooked or ignored. There they are, hard, cold, infringing and in-my-face (so-to-speak) all the time. Always there, always a reminder of W, of being owned, of who owns me, of his possession of me. This awareness extends beyond fucking, too. I am aware of them this way every day, nearly all the time. Walking, running, sitting, doing yoga, riding a bike, turning over in bed, going pee, taking a bath, getting a massage, curling up on the couch or out and about, there isn’t more than a few minutes, maybe a half hour here and there, that I am not aware of them or having a random thought about them – and thus, by extension, W. This is true even more so, of course, when I am being fucked. And when it is someone else fucking me? The knowledge that I am marked that way – marked in such a visceral, physical way as W’s property – is a huge turn-on.

There is also a lot of imagery and physical sensations related to the rings themselves that turn me on, such as pulling my cunt lips open by the rings and spreading them wide. The image and the actuality of that – and how that makes me feel on a very base, emotional level – is very powerful.  Having them slicked with come, again, both visually in my fantasies and in reality. The image of a cock pushing through the barrier they form, and then being surrounded by and encased by metal. Sometimes I am able to hitch my hips up in just such a way as to feel the fourchette sliding along the ridge of W’s cock (I avoid doing this to Ad because he doesn’t get off on the sensation like W does.) That image alone can send me over the edge. Another image, that of one man spilling his seed inside me and my rings dripping with his semen, only to have another man push into me, sliding his cock over my cum-slickened rings, is an especially powerful and erotic one to me. Perhaps this is because I no longer get soaked on the outside of my pussy very often anymore (an unusual and unintended side-effect of having my inner labia constantly exposed, I think.) But whatever reason, having them stroked with lube or spit or semen is very, very erotic, and heightens the ultra-sensitivity that I already experience in my labia.

On the other hand, sometimes the physical sensation while I am having sex – always always always being aware and having to think about and adjust for them – can get tiresome.  And the aforementioned issue with wetness. Sometimes I just want to get fucked, you know? To feel a hard, thick cock slide into me without having to worry about/compensate for/adjust to the rings.  To not have the primary sensation be the rings, rather than the fingers, hand, cock or toy.  And yet…that very sensation…feeling the metal, the pinch, the slide when they get wet…feeling them as an obstruction and as a tool used to cause me distress or pain…feeling them being pulled or twisted or tugging on them or pulling them open myself…is all very erotic and physically pleasurable in a way I hadn’t expected when I first got them installed.

Question number two was asked by a reader that calls himself Chaos.” He asked, “Your pussy piercings are so beautiful. Do you plan to get more? And what do you think about pierced cocks?”

First of all, thank you very much for the compliment. I love my rings too and find them beautiful as well, though sometimes I look at them and am amazed at what I have done to my body. My pussy is no longer anything like what it was before them – it’s been a true body modification, and one I just didn’t expect, to be honest. As W said once, “We’ve created something entirely different from what it was.” I told him yeah, and that means since he created it (or it was created) in large part for him, I guess that means he’s stuck with me. ;-)

To answer your questions, I don’t think I am going to get any more genital piercings. I may get a few more in my ears, but I don’t really have a desire for other places to be pierced either (never my nipples.) The only other genital piercing that I have considered is a triangle, but to be honest, the potential for nerve damage is high enough in that one that I don’t think I ever will take the chance. And I love the way my hood piercing looks, but it is so distracting and annoying, and makes it hard to orgasm in a normal way, that I don’t think I will put it back in.

As for cock piercings…um…I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person! And certainly never fucked one. W has a fantasy of getting me fucked by a heavily pierced cock, but it’s never come about.

Yet. ;-)

Of Sex with Strangers, Triggers & Doing the Right Thing

There’s something to be said for playing with partners that know you, know your body and your triggers, know how to push you in just the right way and what buttons to push; that know how to please you (even when that pleasing involves some not-so-pleasing things.)

A lot of somethings, in fact.

And as I have noted before, in discussing the pleasure W takes in playing with new partners, in exploring the unknown and walking the edge of uncertainty that that kind of play engenders, I much prefer the depth and connection I find in playing with someone I know well and that knows me well.

That said…there is also something to be said for sex with strangers. With going back to the hotel room of a man I only met that night, with being fucked in a completely unfamiliar way by a man that knows nothing of me and my desires (except, perhaps, what he’s been able to glean from my Fetlife profile and the bit of conversation we’ve shared as we flirted over glasses of draft beer.) I’m not going to lie, it was hot, that first “get to know you” date (that turned into an all-night fuckfest) with the Wedding Guy.

Unfortunately the rest of what was supposed to have been a three-day event didn’t pan out quite as well.

I can’t recall if I mentioned the set-up for all this, so I’ll lay it out. Skip and forgive if this is a repeat.

I met Wedding Guy online via an ad that he had placed looking for someone to attend a wedding here in the Lou with him. He is from out-of-town, doesn’t know anyone but the groom here, and wanted someone to hang with, to show up and look cute with, possibly to play with. I raised my (virtual) hand, we perved each other’s profiles on Fet, emailed back and forth, and soon a plan was hatched.

The wedding was a two-day affair, with activities planned for guests both Friday and Saturday nights, as well as Saturday day. He was scheduled to arrive Thursday night before it all began.

The plan:

Part 1: Meet each other for drinks Thursday night to get to know each other a bit, see what kind of chemistry there was, if any.

Part 2: Go to the Friday night festivities together (I had to work Friday day.)

Part 3: Attend Saturday daytime activities and then the wedding and reception Saturday night.

Part 1 went off swimmingly. Although I hadn’t planned to stay over with him that night, the combination of me discovering I had a headlight out on my car at the last minute and him being pretty cute compelled me to confess to him, at the end of the evening, that I had my overnight bag with me. You know, “just in case.” He seemed to be on board with that (well, he had actually brought up me going back to his hotel room first, so of course he was good with it) and we had a rollicking good time the rest of that night. I didn’t get much sleep, but when the options are 1) get my beauty sleep or 2) have ferocious, aggressive sex, well, there’s no competition. His primary kink is rough sex and yes, there was something about the danger of being manhandled and roughed-up by a stranger that excited me.

And scared me, just a little.

I have often talked about needing my lovers to always have complete control over themselves when we are engaged in any kind of D/s play. I need to know that, even if they push themselves to the edge, I am always completely safe.  I have chosen playpartners carefully for this reason – and left ones that didn’t meet that criteria. With Wedding Guy I had no idea where he would fall in that continuum, and that was part of the thrill.

It turned out he walked that line quite well. I felt sufficiently “roughed-up” without ever feeling real fear that he would damage me. Hurt me, yes, because we both liked that (and he slapped me a few times hard enough to make my ears ring and bring tears to my eyes) but I never felt in actual danger. It was exactly what I had been looking for in such an encounter.

It helped that he was also solicitous and caring, and a damn good kisser –  when he wasn’t fucking the shit out of me. ;-)

So Friday morning came and I left feeling a good buzz from the night before – and more than a bit sore between my legs and in other places. When I got off work, I visited with W for a while at his house, recapping the evening before’s activities, and making sure that he was still comfortable with everything while I got ready to go to Part 2. I was looking forward to it, but was also a bit nervous to be meeting some friends of his that had come in for the wedding, as well as all the wedding guests.

At first all went well. His friends were interesting and pleasant to me (they knew that we had met via the internet just for this wedding, but I think were inclined to give me the benefit of the doubt when I turned out to be fairly normal.) We had drinks on the terrace of a wonderful rooftop bar and chatted in a desultory fashion for a time, he was sweet and charming and funny, and I was beginning to relax and enjoy myself. Finally we headed over to that evening’s activity, which was being held at a local bar.

The first part of the evening was enjoyable. Even without knowing any of the guests, I enjoyed their stories and people-watching is always a good time.  It was only when we started back to the hotel that I realized we had a problem. Specifically, I hadn’t realized how drunk he had gotten at the party. I don’t think he did either, but as we left the bar for the 10 block walk back to the hotel, he staggered against me, knocking me into the side of the building, and I had to grab hold of him to keep him standing up.  I realized he was beyond just buzzed and well into unable-to-stand-or-walk-on-his-own obliteration.  I should have called a taxi right then, but it didn’t occur to me, and so I walked him, as best I could, back to the hotel.

It was a horrific walk.  Downtown St. Louis can be a scary place at night for a single woman. For a single woman trying to hold up a staggering, obviously very inebriated, man, twice her size, it was even more so. At one point we walked by three men who were throwing trash at someone in a car. When the person stopped the car, they ran around it, pounding on the windows and shouting. I have no idea what was going on, but as we approached on the other side of the street, they all stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at us. I don’t know what they might have done, because at that moment another couple turned the corner ahead of us and I took the excuse to engage them by asking if they knew the time. They glanced askance at my companion, but told me the time, and by the time we continued on, the men had moved away.

After what seemed an eternity, we arrived back at the hotel. With one of the porter’s assistance when my date staggered against the wall and I couldn’t seem to right him, we got into the elevator and up to his room. There I undressed him and put him to bed, where he promptly passed out.

And as I stood there looking down at him, I realized how little I knew of him. Perhaps this was typical behavior. Maybe tomorrow would be more of the same.  Or perhaps the “amiable” drunk that he appeared to be now would fall away in the middle of the night, and he would awaken with that red gleam in his eye that I knew so well from my (first) ex.  My date liked rough sex, who’s to say that wouldn’t translate to being truly abusive with enough alcohol in him?  And even if he wasn’t abusive, he was obviously not in control of himself. He’d grabbed, choked and slapped me the night before, but never had I felt a lack on control on his part.  Never had I felt unsafe.  That would not be the case if he woke in the middle of the night and wanted sex.  I couldn’t feel safe with him being so drunk.

I had no way of knowing if any of these things would happen – because I just didn’t know him well enough.  And I made the decision right then, even if my fears were not warranted, not to stick around and find out – the hard way – that they were.  I got my things and left, and then called W to come and get me. My headlamp was still out and I had had a couple beers myself, and frankly I was a little shaken by the way things had turned out. The frightening walk back, the worry and concern about him, and, of course, my own issues.

People get drunk at wedding parties all the time. It’s almost expected. But…I was pretty disappointed that he had not had more respect for me, a stranger and his date and a woman that he had brought to a party where I knew no one, than to let himself get that drunk, even if it was unintentional.  And…I’ve had my share of drunk men. I’ve had my share of out-of-control men. And I have put myself in those situations and stayed in those situations because I didn’t want to “make waves,” to “make a scene,” and most of all didn’t want to disappoint anyone – even when that anyone was the person I should have been getting away from. I was not going to put myself in that position again.

And so what was supposed to be a three-day extravaganza of fun turned into one fun night and one not-so-fun night. W was wonderful, as always, being his calm, logical and supportive self, never making me feel that my fears or actions were unwarranted or that I had disappointed him, and, as he said, we got a “bonus weekend” in the bargain.

The next day I texted Wedding Guy and told him why I had left and that I thought it best to just call it quits. To his credit he was very apologetic, took full responsibility for having fucked up, and asked if I wouldn’t reconsider attending the wedding with him. He even offered not to have anything to drink. But the night before had completely soured me on the idea, and I knew that I wouldn’t make a very good companion. Nor did I want to be the reason he “couldn’t drink” and have a good time.

Admittedly, the majority of the issues were my own. Though I didn’t like the feeling of being left high and dry and having to take care of someone I barely knew, he was an amiable drunk, and I think his intoxication – or at least the level of intoxication – was unintentional.  Regardless of that, though, it is me that has had to face the demon in another drunk man’s eyes, and when I walked away from that situation I earned the right to make the choice to never place myself in that situation again.  Friday night I exercised that choice, and though I felt bad about bailing out of the actual wedding, I didn’t feel bad about my choice.  It was  the right one for me, even if it was a hard thing to do and disappointed my would-be wedding date.

And hey, one-and-a-half good times and a night of some rocking sex is better than none, right?

The Long-Anticipated Gangbang Post

(Continued from this post.)

We’d talked about parameters, limits, desires, fears, boundaries & hopes, and then I put it all in W’s hands to arrange: a “kidnapping,” or “abduction” scene at Fusion. The year before he had set it up, but I had injured my shoulder just before we went, and we were both leery of allowing others to manhandle me, even with prior knowledge of the injury.

And we both wanted me manhandled.

Actually, thinking about what I wanted to happen in the scene, I don’t think I used that exact word. I had a hard time verbalizing what exactly I wanted, to be honest. Not quite a “take-down,” but not a gentle leading-by-the-hand, either. I wasn’t ready for an all-out battle, emotionally or physically. But I didn’t want to go down without a fight.

W and I often engage in resistance play, usually during sex, with me struggling against him, resisting but not actually fighting, and him pinning or holding me down with his hands, rope, or the weight of his body. It always manages to get my motor running, my body reacting and responding instinctively, even if I wasn’t all that revved up to begin with. If we wanted to get all psychological about it, I could talk about it being a “safe” place and way to fight back – and it is. I’ve been in a position where fighting back wasn’t an option, because it would mean being seriously hurt; so yes, this is cathartic and hot.

But I wasn’t thinking about that on that afternoon. What I was thinking was that I wasn’t all that bothered by watching W with this chick as he played his part in (what I thought was) her abduction scene. I wasn’t sure how exactly I fit in to this game, but since W had told me he wanted me there to be a fluffer, I assumed he would let me know when he needed me.

I was also checking out the 8 or 10 or 12 other men there, thinking about how I had told W once that I’d like to be the mouth in a glory hole, and wondering if maybe I’d be required to fluff more than him, and how would that work, and how would I react to that?  Little did I know that in moments I would get to find out – but not as a fluffer.

As I stood on the sidelines, kind of keeping an eye on W but also making sure to do self-care by not making myself pay too close attention, as that might trigger some of my more negative, knee-jerk responses, Jr approached me.

“How does it make you feel when you watch W play with someone else?” he asked, apropos of nothing except what was in my head (which I assumed he couldn’t hear, so it was kind of odd to hear him ask me about it.)

I paused, thinking. If people haven’t read my thoughts and the processing I do here on the topic, to say outright that it makes me uncomfortable – especially in a situation and place where being uncomfortable with this kind of thing could cause issues for W later if he did want to play with others, would be unfair to him. I was still castigating myself over my earlier failure to deal with things in a non-destructive way when I had set up the situation with K, and I wanted to be very careful not to give any hint of a poor reaction again. But JR was (on the way) to becoming something of a friend, and I wanted to be honest. Also, perhaps getting to talk it through with someone “outside,” someone who I understood was familiar with sharing dynamics, would bring clarity to my own mixed emotions.

“Honestly, kind of uncomfortable,” I said. I paused again, then opened my mouth to expound a bit on it, especially on my burgeoning realization that I wasn’t as bothered by what he was doing now–

I never got the opportunity, because suddenly JR grabbed me by the shoulder and a handful of hair and pulled me around to face him.  “You won’t need to worry about it,” he said. “You’re going to be too busy to worry about what he is doing.”

I stared at him, stunned speechless. I am sure I must have had the “deer-the-headlights” look, because I had no idea what was going on. Had W arranged for JR to play with me while he did the abduction scene? If not, would he be okay with me playing with JR? I couldn’t even remember seeing JR play before, so I had no idea what he might be interested in.  But this didn’t feel like a “negotiation” anyway, this didn’t feel like getting “asked” to play.  And, knowing what I did about this group that we had fallen in with at DO, it seemed really odd that he would be handling me like this if he didn’t have prior consent.  A moment later he cleared everything up:  I wasn’t going to be watching because they had other plans in mind. The other woman/abduction was a decoy, and this was actually my abduction.

At that moment, thinking about getting dressed and rushing W down to the barn, I almost laughed out loud.  I had dressed up and hurried W along to my own abduction! He must be getting a good laugh. But then I looked around, and saw all the men that had been standing around converging on JR and I. And I realized that every one of those men was going to use me, either vaginally or orally, or both. I knew that they weren’t there to watch.  My stomach clenched at that thought, but not in lust or excitement – not yet, anyway.

I looked around wildly for W. Was he sure he wanted this? I didn’t see him, and suddenly I was afraid. What if part of it for him was leaving me there? We had talked about parameters, sure, and I thought we had agreed that him being there, watching, was part of the hotness for us both, and something I needed to feel safe. But maybe he’d decided to make it scary for me.  Maybe he had changed the set-up.  Even while I was rejecting that thought, fairly certain that he would be there, somewhere, I couldn’t see him. I needed to see him, to know it was okay.

By this time they were dragging me to a bench, where they started to tie my arms and legs down. I struggled and grew more frantic.  I didn’t want to be pinned, I didn’t want to be unable to protect myself (and my rings) if W wasn’t there. There were hands everywhere, and men’s faces looking down at me – so many of them. I started to feel real panic then. What if they actually hurt me? What if W didn’t know they were hurting me? What if he wanted them to hurt me? Again, I didn’t know what he’d told them was okay and what wasn’t.

And there were so many of them. Looming over me, crowding me, staring down at me.  My breath started to come harder, in frantic little pants.

Later, I would realize that that uncertainty – the not knowing what was going to happen, what specifically he had told them – was what made the scene hot.  But at that moment, I really needed W there to tell me what to do, so that all I had to do was to obey, and whatever happened after that would be all right.

And suddenly he was there, grabbing me roughly by the chin, holding my face still so he could lean down and look into my eyes and speak very quietly to me. “You’re a slut, and these men are going to use you exactly as I want them to. I’m going to let them fuck your cunt and your mouth, do you understand?”

I gulped air and stared up at him. Yes. This was what he wanted, this scene, this way.  This was what I had agreed to. I nodded; breathed in his calm.  It was okay. This was the game we were playing.

So okay, I know I said I wasn’t going to get all psychobabbly, but I do have to take a moment to parse out what was going on in my head, before W came over with his calm, controlled presence. How, as sometimes happens, even when we know it’s a game, that it’s all in fun, that it’s what we want, sometimes our lizard brain takes over, and all that logic flies out the window.

I alluded to, and have talked in other posts about, having been in situations where I couldn’t fight back, and that is why being able to do so, safely, is something that I often seek out. That it also trips a sexual trigger is another interesting aspect. The person that this happened with was my first husband, someone I have talked about here occasionally (this is not “the Ex.”) I believe that I subconsciously sought out someone to fulfill my sexual and kink inclinations, that were even then – without me knowing it – deeply rooted in a desire for rough sex, for being overwhelmed, overtaken, manhandled, coerced. Unfortunately I didn’t know the difference between what we do and abuse, or rather I knew what he did was abusive, but I was still excited by it (and deeply ashamed of my excitement), and so for a while (almost two years) I lived on that roller coaster that is an abusive relationship.

Now I don’t pretend or intend BDSM play to be therapeutic. I don’t use it to chase away or conquer any demons. But if those demons happen to be in my way – and if I am able to use those demons to fuel my own and my partners’ heat – I am more than willing to use them. For some people, fear and anxiety can be a powerful aphrodisiac, and I’ve long since passed the stage where I am ashamed of those feelings/associations. They are as much mine as any other emotions and feelings, and when I can use them for something positive, well, that only increases my own power.  One of those left-over demons involves an image: my first husband, so much larger than me (6’3″ to my 5’3″ and twice as heavy) looming over me, pinning me down with his gaze as I cowered before him, waiting for – whatever was to come.  I never knew if this time he would lose control, or turn away and leave me alone. He used his size to intimidate me, and, I think, he enjoyed that power over me.

That was the image that crowded out reality when those men were crowding around me, looming over me. And in that moment of panic, that was where I went.  Until W was there, who is always in control, is always calm, even in the deepest heat of the moment.

In thinking about it, I realize what a heavy burden that is for him to carry, and I am grateful all the more for his wide shoulders and bravery in being willing to accept that burden. And even more grateful to have found someone that likes to play on those same edges, because in him I found someone that allows me to play there as well, and return safely after doing so.

And so to continue on…

For the next hour or two they all took their turns with me, one after the other. Most times I had a cock in my mouth and in at least one hand while another was shoved into my cunt; sometimes I even managed a cock in each hand, in my mouth and in my cunt. That was a little frustrating, to be honest, because I have been trained to be a good fuck – and I like to fuck – but I couldn’t concentrate on any one cock, on giving any of them “good service.” But that is exactly what W wanted: I wasn’t there to fuck, I wasn’t there to pleasure them, I was there to have my holes used and be used in the most base way by these men. Any time I could get my head into that space, I got excited, and was able to come several times that way.

The afternoon, and all that happened is a little hazy. I lost count of the men, the cocks, the different times they used me. Occasionally I would get overwhelmed by it all, all those men, and JR or W would have to talk me into calmness again, into acquiescence, into remembering that that is why I was there: I was just a fuckhole, there to be used. Once it started to feel almost vanilla (except for the fact that there was a line of them waiting), and JR turned up the heat by manhandling me, by slapping my thighs open and then by putting me on my hands and knees on a mattress on the floor. This little bit of degradation, it turned out, was good for my twisted mind, because I was soon back to panting and grunting like an animal while they fucked me from behind. W even fucked me at some point, his fist in my hair and his nasty words in my ear. And, surprisingly, a girl with a strap-on joined in (the same one who had been the decoy) and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

And then, finally, it was over, and I was handed back to W, a little (or a lot) used, but not broken.

I had succeeded at my first gangbang.

Wicked Wednesday: Floggings, Singletails, Clothespins & Fisting – Oh My!

Whew, what a crazy weekend. Sooo much fun, starting with this, and continuing on to fun and games and play Saturday, and still more fun and games and play (of a different sort) Sunday.

This was the kind of fun we had Saturday:

And this:

And this:

And then, after we got home from a lovely dinner with our new-found play-friends Saturday night, Ad, W and I had our own fun, pics of which I’ll share at some future time.

As for Saturday, I don’t even know where to start. I guess from where I left off on Saturday morning, huh?

So there we were, waiting for the couple, Lyn & Carl – longdistancesub and her Master – to arrive. They were people we’d met through blogging. I had followed longdistancesub’s blog for some time (submission & shoes -what could be better?) when we met in person at Kinky Kollege about two years ago.  She had mentioned, either in her blog or on Fetlife, that she was wanting to get a few women together to do a “shoe photo shoot” in their hotel room while there.  Well THAT was a no-brainer! This post of hers (and several after) is from that afternoon.  We became friends after that, and kept in touch off and on through our blogs, email and IM.  We often talked about getting together again, but it didn’t happen, for one reason or another, until this past Saturday.

As I’ve mentioned before, W isn’t a big planner, and prefers to just go with the flow of things, but after some discussion with Carl, he had a few things specifically in mind for this play date.  The first was that I would be tied and gagged upstairs when they arrived (safety measures in place.) At the last minute, in spite of the fact that I could release myself from the bondage if needed, he decided not to gag me. It was the right decision, as we were playing with people we didn’t know well and who might not realize how very meticulous and careful of safety that he is, but I was disappointed: being denied the ability to “chat” with them would have put a whole different, more objectifying, spin on things, and would have started me out in an entirely different headspace, a headspace I have been craving, and had been especially looking for in this scene. I wanted to be an object, a plaything, with no voice or volition – not his girlfriend or the hostess.

But I was determined not to make this about me. I had cost W a good deal of pleasure when I had reacted poorly before, and I wanted this to be as perfect for him – and for them – as I could make it. So, I relaxed into the situation, even if it wasn’t exactly as I had fantasized.

And it turned out that even with the ability to converse, it was still hot. W brought her up in handcuffs and a gag and proceeded to “inspect” her, while inviting Carl to do the same to me. I think my inspection was a bit more cursory, as both he and I were focused on the two of them, but he found and explored my rings a bit, and ran his hands over me, and we talked quietly as W continued his exploration of Lyn. I did not feel the slightest twinge of jealousy, tho I do recall at one time wishing he would at least notice me standing, tied up, over in the corner. You know, come over & pull my hair, slap me, growl at me about what a little slut I was, and was watching him fuck her with his hands making me hot? (It was.) But one thing I so love about playing with W is his intense, single-minded focus. How could I deny her that? So I was (mostly) quiet and patient, knowing that eventually his attention would turn to me.

And it did. And oh my, when it did…we had the most incredibly hot flogging and singletailing scene. I was revved up and turned on by watching him with her – and ecstatic to once again be the focus of his attention. Every stroke of the whip was a caress, a kiss, that drove me higher and higher. I can’t think of a time that I have wanted to be fucked so badly after a severe whipping. Alas, that was not to be…but I was okay with that, as we moved onto other play, play that allowed me to attack her with my mouth while W and Carl worked on her with floggers and the singletail.

And by attack, I mean exactly that. She had on fishnet hose that were entirely too much in the way – so I bit through them with my teeth. (Hey, ya work with what ya got! I’d have pulled them down with my hands, but they were tied. So…teeth it was.) Things really got hot when W grabbed a fistful of my hair and shoved my face into her, grinding my mouth into her pussy as he smacked me over and over with a belt, telling me not to stop licking her.

At some point they stopped things and we took a breather, but then it was back to playtime. Carl likes clothespins, so W tied Lyn up again and Carl used them on her breasts. I know I was supposed to be just watching and waiting patiently, but we all know patience has never been my strong suit when it comes to play.

This is me, being a good, patient girl.

“Please, W, a zipper?” I begged.

He obliged.

After that, while we were resting and W was noodling on what he wanted to do next, Lyn mentioned that she had never been fisted, but that my hands looked small enough to give it a try. So we did.

I love fisting a woman. I love the feel of her body opening up to me – and then clamping down. All the delicious hidden spaces to explore! I had forgotten how hot and sexy – and deeply, deeply intimate – it is.

But there was still more. Lyn said that she would like W to flog her. I was so glad that she said so. I did not know what kind of play she liked, in terms of impact play, etc., but I was hoping that she would want W to do an impact scene with her. I was so comfortable with the play so far that I was curious about how I would feel to watch him play – really play – with someone else.

So Carl and I settled onto the floor pillow to watch.

Truth is, I didn’t get to “watch” much, because Carl occupied a lot of my attention, which was a lovely, delicious, surprise. It was the first time that I have been fucked while W works another girl over – and it was freakin’ HOT. Being fucked by her partner, while catching glimpses of W’s intensely focused face as he whipped her and hearing her whimpers and cries and moans, was intensely erotic. Later W said he had much the same reaction, knowing Carl was fucking me while he whipped Lyn (so I guess he was aware of me.) Somehow it bound us all together in the scene and made it one scene that we were all in together. And when I came, it was in tandem to her cries, my own echoing hers. Apparently, just as the sounds of sex are such a turn-on, in the right circumstances the sounds of pain are too.

And this was the right circumstance.

I still don’t know why this time, as opposed to others, worked so well. I have a few ideas that I am still noodling on. But the bottom line was that I had no angst, no twinges of jealousy, no anxiety. It was wonderful, and such a relief (I’m sure to us both.) And watching him do what he does so well – to her – made me hot and made me proud to be his.

Also, in a weird way, making the scene about him and them, working so hard to make it good for him and making her the center of attention, was deeply satisfying to my lil subbie soul, in spite of being such an attention slut. It felt a little bit like…service. No, I wasn’t the mindless fucktoy to be used and abused as I had fantasized about, and the scene really wasn’t even about me, but I still got a good deal of pleasure from it.

There really is a submissive lurking in there somewhere.

The Weekend, continued

So there is lots more to tell about the weekend. It was our first weekend home in a quite awhile, in which we could just hang out and be as kinky or vanilla or a mixture of the two as we wanted. It was soooo nice to just…be. Be us. Relax. Talk. Work on the computers.

Get ass-fucked about 10 or 12 times.

Oh, was that my outside voice? Ooops.

I did have my ass used hard though. It was all because Little Sister, that bitch, decided to start her monthly bitch-session Saturday morning. I had a hint Friday night, and since I knew that W had something cooking – tho at that time I thought it had fallen through – I felt it was only fair to give him a heads-up. I fully expected him to let me out of the scene with his friend.

“I might be on my period tomorrow.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “You have two other useable holes.”

It was…in spite of my squeamishness and anxiety…kind of hot.  That he didn’t back down. That he was framing it that way: my holes were to be used. I was a collection of holes to be used as he saw fit. It’s a huge turn-on to me when he treats me thus.

And that was to be the tenor of Saturday night. I was to be a hole for his friend – and possibly his friend’s friends – to use. As before, he was offering me up as fuckmeat, because he wanted to see me fucked in every hole possible by his friend’s huge cock.  And that was exactly what he got.

I looked over at W several times that night to see that…look…he gets on his face when he is especially pleased with me, and I knew that in spite of my nervousness before the event, I was glad that I had done as he wanted and not backed out. Though we talk a lot about consensual non-consent, I do have the actual ability to say no, and he will honor it.  But…I have begun to wonder if I have the emotional ability. Perhaps…not anymore. I get too much out of pleasing him to risk disappointing him, to risk letting him down.

This wasn’t exactly easy for me, though. I’ve talked about my difficulty with bodily functions, my period in particular. It took me almost three years to be okay with having sex with W while I was bleeding, and even so it is still difficult for me when it happens.  (But hot. Fuck it’s hot. ~sigh~ I’m just so twisted. LOL) So just the possibility of spotting with a stranger freaked me out a bit.

He knows this, but he was firm that he was going to make me do it. I could call off use of my cunt, if I chose – he allowed me that choice – but I would go and let T use my mouth and my ass.  My ass! With that huge cock!

It turned out I was only spotting a bit by Saturday night though. I took a deep breath, popped a Xanax, and said, “Okay.”

I know, I know…I shouldn’t deal with this shit with pharmaceuticals! But I figured hey, if the doc thinks it’s a good idea to take one when I am nervous about flying (they were prescribed for a specific situation) then I am sure she would agree that “having sex with a stranger when I was bleeding” would also be deemed proper use.  Whatever. It took the sharpest edge of my anxiety off, leaving only the good kind, the kind that comes from W using me this way, from obeying his orders even when I don’t want to, from being made to be a “dirty girl.”  (And then being told what a good girl I am, how pleased he is with me, how proud of me he is.)

Fuck I love this shit that he does to me.

So we went, and I was his fuckdoll all night. Mostly, it was fun, even the ass-sex. Though W hadn’t been able to “prep” me (he’d planned on ass-fucking me before we went over and sending me over with a plug in, but I guess we ran out of time) I was still able to accommodate T quite well. Lubrication makes all the difference! LOL  There was only one tricky moment, when T decided he wanted to piss on me. Okay, I can deal with that. I somehow knew that it wouldn’t have the same emotional impact that it does when W does it, so I barely hesitated. But in the middle T told me to “open my mouth.”

Way back when, when all this started, W had told me that his would be the only piss I would ever have to drink. Now I know it is a fantasy of his to have me be some kind of piss-and-cum girl for a Superbowl party.  A nasty, dirty fantasy that I know is just that: fantasy. So I don’t mind him talking about it, and I can even get turned on by it, too. But in reality, when he told me that I would only drink his piss, I took it to heart. As much as I hate drinking it, somehow that has become something “special.” I know, fucked-up. But there it is. So when T said, “open your mouth,” I immediately turned to look at W, who was watching and taking pics. I expected an immediate, “No, she doesn’t do that.” What I heard was, “Do it.”

I am sure my shock registered clearly on my face, and he realized what he had done, because he retracted it almost immediately. T didn’t push it, and the moment was smoothed over. But I was hurt for just a moment. Logically I knew even as it happened that it had nothing to do with what he had told me before. He was excited in the moment, and maybe even had visions of his own fantasy in his mind. We are all human, and sometimes we let our little heads rule us in the heat of the moment. It even kind of turns me on that he could be ruled by lust, by simply wanting me to do it.

But there’s more to it even than that. In the moment between him saying “do it” and retracting it, in that endless moment, I had already made up my mind to do it, if he told me to. I took a breath and was about to obey, in fact, when I heard him say no. I wanted to obey him, with every part of me, even though it was absolutely something I did not want to do. I would have been unhappy with him after, I know that. But I would have obeyed.

It is moments like that that later make me cock my head and contemplate what this thing is that we do. What I have become, who I am, what I am.

I do not want to be anything else. I do not want it to be one bit different.

As we drove home that night I turned to W. “Will you come inside me, please? And…a cupcake. Will you buy me a cupcake?”

He did both.

And used my ass all day Sunday, over and over, and my mouth, and tied me in rope and made me crawl up the stairs and wear heels all day and he put Hello Kitty clamps all over my back and tits and ears as he ass-fucked me.

Oh, and made me wear them under my dress to retrieve my car that night.

Oh, you don’t know what Hello Kitty clamps are? Well, some time ago, just prior to going to Tryst, this happened. After hearing about it, Ad decided it would be most hilarious if I was to put Hello Kitty stickers on W’s toys for when he opened his toybag at either Tryst or Fusion. The only place I was able to get one stuck on was at Fusion, on a plastic bag of clothespins that he had brought.

He never saw the sticker.

Of course we had all kinds of fun at Tryst playing on the theme, but it wasn’t exactly what Ad had envisioned. Sunday morning the bag of clothespins lay out on the floor, a remnant of our trip to NOLA. He still hadn’t seen the damn sticker on the front of the bag. It’s kind of hard to throw oneself under the bus when the bus driver has such poor vision. lol  So…I pointed it out. What the hell. I kind of had this attitude Sunday: You got what you wanted (me fucked), now I want to get what I want (me beat up.) So I tried to…you know, “facilitate” it.

It actually led to a lot of fun play, in fact so much so that by the time we got home from picking up my car and W offered to beat me up, I was too worn out.


But it was a good worn out, so I can’t complain too much.

But now…it’s Tuesday, he has family in town until they leave for a family thing over the weekend, I am going out of town with the Boychild Friday, and I have plans until next Wednesday when I get back.  So I will have to wait again!

But maybe – just maybe – I’ll get a good beating then.

Especially if Hello Kitty shows up in his toybag again. :-D