Left at Home

This is what I think about when I’m home alone.

“I have to go out tonight” he tells her as sits on the edge of the bed fastening his shoes, “but I will be thinking about you”.

She watches him sceptically. He will be having fun, with no reason to think about her. She knows however, that she will be missing him.

“Get your collar” he commands suddenly.

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Thank You Note

After all, politeness is important, even in fantasy.

It was an important meeting. She carried a briefcase and an overnight bag to the car, and kissed her husband goodbye. His hand trailed over her breasts, and she flushed slightly as she waved him goodbye, remembering the previous evening. He had found the sharpie in her briefcase, and had written on her breasts and pussy, before making love to her. The words were there still, concealed under her smart suit. She shook her head as if to clear it, she had a busy day ahead of her.

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It’s been a while since we had any sort of serious play (did I mention we’re busy with DIY) and I’d got to really wanting some. On Saturday morning I expressed this feeling to Perrin, and he told me I was getting a seriously whipped bottom that evening!

As part of this discussion he picked up a piece of gripper rod (the stuff that holds carpets down, I did mention the DIY right?) and told me to roll over onto my front. He then proceeded to tap my bottom with it, ever so gently, starting my imagination going. I have to admit I’d looked at it before speculatively (it had been lying around for a week), but actually feeling the spikes gently pressing into my bottom left me visualising a little row of red punctures, and wondering how badly it would hurt.

A month ago if he’d done that, I would have been standing, back to the wall, saying “No”. Making holes in me was definitely a limit, and I would have tensed right up and refused to let him near me while I thought he might breach that. How much more pleasurable simply to submit, to let that decision be his, to allow the possibility. In fact, more than accepting, I would have welcomed those pinpricks if it had been his desire to inflict them.

As it turned out, it wasn’t. Curled up that evening we talked, and then he positioned me on my front. Spreading the duvet over me, covering my head, my body, my legs, leaving only my bottom and feet exposed. I lay warm and comfortable, cocooned in softness. He fetched the horsehair flogger, and began to whip me. First the soles of my feet. There’s a word for that, “bastinado” and it echoed through my head, as I breathed in the pain, and the comfort. Then Perrin’s attention moved to my bottom. I was enjoying this immensely, each stroke was thudding into me, but then in the spaces between there was warmth and softness. I pushed my bottom up, offering myself to him, to the pain. As he whipped me then, the strokes fell on my pussy lips, until I flattened out again, frustrated at my own weakness.

Perrin must have alternated between my bottom and my feet for a while, as I drifted in timeless surrender. He paused at one point, and when he returned he had brought a new weapon with him, the saw! It made the most wonderful noise, and was an altogether different sensation, flat and flexible, with the added frisson of knowing it had teeth. As I started to feel the pain might become too much, Perrin’s hands were on me, moving my knees apart and raising my bottom in the air, and I knew what must follow.

To my intense relief, he switched back to the flogger at this point, as he whipped my pussy. I tried to hold position, but found myself writhing with each stroke, until he had to reposition me. He continued to whip me, until I felt myself on the edge of tears. He paused again here, and I allowed my hand to curl over my sore pussy to comfort it briefly. He returned then, ordering my hand out of the way, but this time so he could mount me. He pounded into me then, his hands stroking where he had whipped me. Then finally, he ordered me to turn over, and I could stretch out beneath him, and joy of joys, orgasm with him inside me, before he came too.

I drifted into sleep after this, blissfully happy, and awoke in the morning still glowing with happiness (and still with a very sore bottom). I’m such a lucky girl.

Real Frustration

Fantasy frustration is hot. Being made to wait for gratification for a few minutes or hours can be a lot of fun. The real thing sucks.

Currently we have a lot going on in real life. Perrin has a DIY project, which is really important, and I really want him to get it done, on top of other commitments I know he has. The problem is he’s being very single-minded about it. It’s only been a couple of days (sounds crazy I know), but he’s thinking about the DIY all the time, and that means not thinking or feeling sexy.

I know how my sexual response works. The more I get the more I want. Regular sex keeps me happy, sexy and kinky. I like how that feels. Maybe I’m addicted? Certainly I get a withdrawal response. To start with I get desperate to ‘get my fix’, but it’s a miserable feeling. Then I get increasingly withdrawn. After a week or so my body gives up, I no longer want sex, or more accurately; I actively don’t want it. I don’t want to be pulled back into the wanting stage, don’t want to be made vulnerable again. This reaction doesn’t fit well with submission, and this is usually the part where I rebel against everything, refusing to submit because I feel it’s become a one way deal.

Which brings us back to now. I tried tonight I really did. Perrin went off to take a bath, and after some internal debate I decided to go for the climbing in with him approach. We talked about DIY! He did shave my pussy, which I thought a hopeful sign, but then went off and looked at the web (for stuff we need for our project), and came to bed saying “I’m not thinking sexy thoughts I’m thinking DIY thoughts”. At least that’s honest!

So now I’ve woken up in the middle of the night, and I really want to wake him up and beg for sex. He’s already said though, that my waking him up in the night (and having sex) stops him getting up when the alarm goes off. Since that means he then doesn’t make my packed lunch for work or make me coffee (I’m a lucky girl), he’s not being totally selfish either.

Still my submissiveness means I can’t wake him up (he used that dominant tone when he told me, I wish he hadn’t). I can’t even masturbate, because a) it would disturb him, b) I’d find it impossible with him asleep beside me and c) too many years of being ordered not to (even though that rule no longer applies) has left me almost incapable!

So here I am, frustrated and miserable. Blogging for something to do, and knowing that when the alarm goes off and I have to get up for work I’ll be exhausted.

I keep telling myself I’ll get over it in a week, and praying Perrin doesn’t let me.

Just to add that Perrin didn’t let me. Since then too, he’s managed to do DIY and be sexy!

In the Night

A fantasy from the darkness, a fragment caught on waking.

She nestled in the bed between sleep and waking. Her body curled up tightly. Her Master’s hands reached from behind her, grasping her hip. Without  warning he moved over her and pushed his erect penis inside her. She moaned a wordless sound of protest and sleepily tried to escape his grip. He held her tighter his hips thrusting, driving himself deeply inside her.  Each stroke made her gasp and she curled her arms across her belly as though to prevent his cock forcing it’s way right through her body.

He continued to fuck her, his body over hers, repeatedly filling her with his erection, slamming against her cervix. She moaned with discomfort at each stroke even as her hips pushed back against him, matching his rhythm, inviting his possession. She was lost in the sensation. she heard herself whispering “yes, yes” as he drove his cock deep into her as hard as he could.

The rhythm changed as he neared his release, and she savoured each stroke as his voice cried out inarticulately with pleasure. he collapsed then, his body draped over her, holding her immobile.

She breathed deeply, gathering herself after the onslaught. She was aware of him still inside her pussy, and of her own dampness, her helpless response to his lust. He pulled out then and rolled away and she turned to follow him pressing her breasts against his back, pushing her hips towards him.

“Master, may I cum?”

“No”, his voice was curt, “be silent and go back to sleep slut.”

Frustrated still, she obeyed.

Fighting and Making Up

Yesterday was an ordinary day. It might have been considered a vanilla day, except that I had something on my mind. You see, Perrin has been giving me challenges. Commands that stretch beyond the bedroom door (figuratively that is; he’s not limited to location when it comes to demanding sexual favours) and require courage on my part to complete.

They’re not necessarily hard as such, but they have been chosen carefully to test me and my limits, so they’re things which are hard for me. The previous one was rolling in the snow. I know being expected to roll naked in the snow could be viewed in the bedroom category by some; but I can’t feel erotic and cold at the same time, I HATE being cold.

The next one might be considered easier, but it was something I had to do by myself and I had a time limit of Sunday night. I spent yesterday agonising over it, and started writing a post which tried to explain my difficulty in obeying. By the time I’d reflected on the apprehension I’d felt looking out at the snow, and how I had made a desperate rush through the door and forced myself to lie straight down in the snow without thinking, I knew the same approach was needed here, and I found myself  completing my task.

For me then, I was feeling highly submissive that day. Our originally stated plans for the evening had involved some play, and I was so ready for that, but that evening Perrin was distracted by other matters. They were important too, and I happily sat by while he worked, assuming I would get his attention later. I didn’t get it though, and when he finally suggested that it was bed time in a way that made it quite clear that bed meant ‘sleep’ I was desolate. I went up to bed and curled up miserably.

He came up, and curled up behind me but without his body really touching mine, and then he asked if I was ok.

Light the blue touch-paper and retire…

Was I ok? Well, if he’d made any kind of real contact with me then yes, I might have been. But right then, with him so distant that he COULDN’T TELL if I was ok, I felt the answer was no. So we descended into a very emotionally charged discussion with me trying to explain, without actually saying that I had wanted to be submissive to him, because quite frankly the idea of saying ‘Ok, dominate me now’ is too ridiculous and unrewarding to contemplate.

I hate arguing with Perrin. It’s painful for both of us, and utterly pointless because I love him so much, and even when I’m getting angry with him I’m vividly aware that eventually we will make up, and I will forgive him no matter how unforgivable the hurt feels in that instant.

So fast forward to us lying close together, my head on his chest, making up and discussing the problem constructively.  I swallow my pride and ask how I can express my submissiveness to him when I need him to know how I feel.

He tells me I can come and kneel beside him, eyes down, hands behind my back and wait for his touch on my shoulder to acknowledge me.

His answer is comforting, and arousing. I move my hand across his body and realise that he has an erection. I’m reminded that my submission excites him, and I feel suddenly nervous at my vulnerability to him. He kisses me savagely, a dominant’s kiss, his tongue and teeth claiming my mouth. I am aware of his strength, and my own helplessness to resist him.

He commands me to suck his cock, and I sink gratefully down to take it into my mouth. I endeavour to take all of him in, gagging myself with his length, my tongue seeking to please him. I love the feel of him, the taste of him. I focus on the moment, with no other thought than to give him pleasure.

Suddenly he is pulling me away, and ordering me on to my back. I lie there, legs open and knees up and he plunges into me without hesitation. He is pounding into my cunt, each stroke to its full depth, his body slapping against mine with the force of his thrusts. I am utterly overwhelmed by the rhythm of his body, aware that he is claiming me as his own. His passion is unrelenting, and I am distantly aware of the bed protesting the motion. Suddenly his breathing changes, and I hear and feel his orgasm as he explodes within me.

All is resolved.