I Just Say the Word

I have deleted so much utter garbage writing over the last few months. Strangely, wondering if financial disaster will hit and end up with us getting evicted hasn’t made me feel very creative, or given the general focus of this blog, like fucking.

Things have sorted themselves out for the better, shockingly so. We’ve actually had some good fortune, which is rather suspicious to a pair of people who aren’t used to it and tend to wait for the other shoe to drop. It’s funny, but being in crisis mode over our whole life possibly being upended left me just numb and trying to focus, but having other non-life destroying stresses coming up over the last few weeks is making up for lost time and KillBoy has spent plenty of time talking me down from unreasonable anxiety attacks.

In the meantime, one might hope that in such a situation of new relief and hope, our sex life has sprung right back into place. Mmmm, not so much. Because of who I am and how I roll, I eventually told him that things seemed a little too strained to expect much from our sex life right now, therefore he wasn’t allowed to get himself off until after the first major stressor had passed. He really would have hated it if it had indeed been put off a month like we almost had to! In the past, I’ve declared periods of complete denial before, usually right before a visit while we were still doing the long distance thing. Otherwise, he was allowed to masturbate whenever. When the subject had come up early in our relationship I knew he was skittish about it for reasons more than just “don’t wanna” and also didn’t want to take on that responsibility. It’s something I can’t quite explain easily, but for me, taking on that would have been running before I could walk. 

Anyway, we had a hilarious misunderstanding where I almost called the denial period off because it clearly wasn’t working as intended, and he informed me that it was working very very well. And by hilarious, I mean annoying that he was making assumptions that kept him from using his words and talking to me about how things were going. He gets a pass this time, because good intentions etc, but next time he gets a longer denial or IDK, tied down and made to listen to Phil Collins. I could have brought it up myself earlier, but I’m the one in charge of an at least partially unfair dynamic, so you know, su-su-sussudio oh oh.

Anyway, we actually talked it out like adults because that’s what we do. And then there was some delightful fucking, intense to the point that I did something I normally wouldn’t – I brought up a rule change while we were still having sex. I’ve been thinking about revisiting total control over his orgasms for a while, and it spilled out while I was teasing him about how long it’s been since I told him he was being denied. In the past, there’s been a certain hesitancy to his demeanor when we’ve discussed it, but this time he agreed to it with a sort of “oh no this bus I am throwing myself under is going to hit me at full speed and it will be amaz… terrible, just awful.” that I’ve seen in more than a few submissives of an emotional and/or physical masochistic bent.

Don’t worry, I fully intend to use this power for good. My own personal amusement is very, very good.


Digging my heart out of the soil in which it lies

I’m a little torn on how to write this post. Do I talk about the snarl of feelings that popped up and had to be talked through? Do I just jump forward to the hot sex and write something more fun to read? If the latter, does that make me one of those people who are clearly editing their actual lives out of the erotica?

It’s not that we have a serious talk every time we have sex, we have had some excellently fun romps that have lacked both a need to communicate feelings or blog post about a post-gym cowgirl session that was 5 minutes of bliss followed by 25 minutes of “oh god, my legs are telling me that was such a bad idea, but you know nothing legs!”

On the other hand, it’s not like the talk was about anything deep or world changing. It was more the realization that we both have weak points at being engaged with certain things and/or at certain times, and I have to get over my fear of being the Ruiner of Fun and letting it keep me from saying no. The Ruiner of Fun isn’t about being mean. I love mean. I love giggling while he whines. What I hate is feeling like I’m putting the brakes on things and punishing him for enthusiasm; I love his enthusiasm when properly applied. I need to get over my feeling that because I said “I want to play with X toy” that I’m somehow locked into it as a Serious Pinky-Swear Promise and can’t be like “whoa, hold the fuck up, Simon didn’t say” when he’s like “SO CAN I GET X TOY OUT NOW” and looking at me all shiny-eyed and shivering with excitement. We also need to work on that transition from things like sitting around eating dinner to play when we agreed on play earlier but one of us is just not in the headspace. And by we, I mean me mostly.

So, ok, that happened, and I guess I just talked about it. Ugh. Why is real life so real?

That aside, the rest of the evening was lovely. We’ve had our plans to break out the harness and bend him over the bed interrupted by biology, exhaustion and worst of all… housework. As my ass enthusiasm in general remains unabated, we agreed to try again.

It did not initially go well, as outlined above.

I’m not a big fan of a lot of femdom tropes. Sometimes the problem is the not the basic idea but the way they’re commonly played out in public and one of the worst in the performance thereof is the use of “worship”. Usually, it seems to break down to a guy wanting to eat pussy or suck toes. There’s not a damn thing wrong with those things inherently, but the word in question seems to be trotted out by doofuses who wouldn’t know reverence if it came down from the heavens and brained them with a holy scroll. Sometimes, though, I can almost feel it when KB touches me. It’s one of those things I don’t know how to ask for. How do you express something that is literally a mystical concept? And that’s even assuming I didn’t feel like a complete horse’s ass asking for it to begin with, without an internal eye roll at the airs I’m putting on. I have a hard time, even four years into this relationship, allowing myself those airs. All the same, from time to time I’ve brushed the edges of something I desperately want, the specific type of electricity between us I yearn for.

Last night it was a breath away as he touched me, trying to get me into the headspace for sex and hopefully more. It’s when I can feel that, the way one can feel in the air a storm coming, that I feel like I’m drawing power. Last night, it was the difference between pegging because we both enjoy it, and me feeling that the most important thing in the moment is what I wanted to do with the toy I own. While different people get different things out of pegging, for me it’s an act that’s more carnal than I ever would have expected. Yes, I love the sounds of his moans, the feeling of control, the back and forth verbal exchange that underscores the give-and-take of the energy. But I also love the feel of his hips in my hands, the way he pushes back against me, pushing the toy against me. I can feel the physical intensity of it to the point that my cunt clenches and I feel a buzzing in the clitoral area, strong enough that it builds and builds, and I find myself pausing to ward off my own orgasm. Sweeter than getting off is the feeling of leaning over his back, putting my weight to him to pound him at another angle, and just going and going and going and getting lost in it.

I usually finish with him riding me, and last night was no different. However, when I stepped away from him, I instead told him to get on his back. I wanted those beautiful wide eyes looking up at me. I don’t think I can go as hard in that angle, but having his legs wrapped around me, being able to see his face are worthy in their own ways. I could feel my legs giving out after some time, but I was getting drunk on his gasps and pleas and couldn’t stop.

The feeling was infectious. When I finally gave out and had him mount me, I felt like I never wanted to tell him to stop. He told me he could just keep going forever if not for the frailties of the flesh.

This is what a good scene feels like for me, not contingent on actions, but on a completed circuit.

When You’re on My Outside, Baby, and You Can’t Get in

It’s really hard to write about the bad times. Does revealing a crack in my armor mean that I expose myself as someone who ultimately shouldn’t be listened to ever? Is it a betrayal to talk about my husband’s flaws? Where does exploring where things go wrong cease to be useful, and simply become about airing one’s dirty laundry for petty reasons?

KillBoy and I are humans, with all the physical and emotional frailties common to most of us and a piquant seasoning of our own individual ones. We have problems, misunderstandings and outright arguments at times. Those things are perfectly normal, but I find myself sometimes shying away from revealing that behind our closed doors it’s not always all spankings and cuddles.

It would be nice if our d/s was always a source of strength, but sometimes it’s just immaterial. I’m a hard person to make a life with. I’m mule-stubborn and sometimes that’s about things that are ultimately detrimental to myself. I know it was many of those frustrations that led to KB saying something that was hurtful to me, but I can understand something, and even be able to dig out the underlying problem and agree with it, but words can’t be unsaid.

I don’t mean to imply that anyone should go through a relationship never expressing anything negative to anyone. The underlying problem was in fact, very problematic for us. Just because I don’t enjoy facing my faults doesn’t make them any less real, and just because they can’t be fixed immediately doesn’t mean they can’t be worked on.

However, certain traits of mine that are not necessarily flaws, I have had multiple people in the past attack until it’s the equivalent of a boss’ weak spot in a video game.  And much like a defeated monster made of pixels, I felt like I had just shattered into pieces. I stayed calm enough to talk about it, and KB admitted to weak reasoning and that said traits were not the (non d/s) problem and apologized. We talked about the actual problems, and he talked himself through to a point where he was able to offer me something towards us working on the difficulties that were holding us back. It was a really good, A+ recovery of the conversation that was probably far past many people’s ability to communicate within a relationship. A real win for the home team.

With that rough conversation behind us, made up and with a plan in place, I looked over at him, told him I was going to shower and then went and cried while I washed my hair. Just because I wasn’t angry with him and forgave him for the verbal misstep doesn’t make the hurt immediately vanish.

There are also aspects of our relationship that mean that we argue differently than any relationship I’ve ever had. Because even when I’m hurting, I know that my words have power, not just as someone that he loves, but as someone who is supposed to have some measure of control over our total relationship. I’m uncomfortable calling it simply an aspect of being in a d/s relationship, but I do see him as my boy, as my pet who I must consciously care for. Not only do I need to take responsibility for those things which are my fault, but I have to make sure that our relationship isn’t harmed even when that means taking a deep breath and not letting my emotions control my tongue. This is something I believe to be true regardless of whether or not the power balance is tipped towards me, but I do think that somehow it seems more important because of it.

I’m still learning to have that power, and I’m still learning to exercise it. I know it’s frequently frustrating to KB when I don’t use it to lead, but I do feel it quite strongly when it comes to caretaking for my partner, even when that means I’m more conscious of the need to acknowledge my feelings but let my actions come from another place.

Just to Watch the Smile Fade Away

I’m constantly amused by the ideas put forth by terrible erotica, particularly when I end up shouting “That’s not how bodies work!” at a particularly erroneous piece. It’s actually interesting that recent reading brought me to a heroine mentioning that sometimes she and her partner have average, workaday maintenance sex. In context of the fact that it was in a novel and not a short story, I would have liked to see someone actually write the “main characters have sex that is just ok but nothing that they’ll remember in a few days” scene, but I can understand why that would not have made it into a work of smut.

Happily, I can claim that the sex I’ve been having over the last week or so has been at least slightly better than “just ok”; however, it’s also been markedly affected by how the last two months have gone. I caught a bad cold right before the end of November and was just recovering when I caught another cold. As I wasn’t entirely recovered from the first, the second one laid me out flat and ended up giving me a minor secondary bacterial respiratory infection. Combine that with the grey winter blahs and the fact that KillBoy caught my second cold and was miserable for the better part of a week, we simply haven’t been having sex. For the most part, if someone had offered me oral or a hot cup of tea with honey, I’d have asked for a very large mug of tea.

I don’t know that I’ve ever heard it said that extended sickness with the abstinence that may enforce can have lasting effects. In our case, it ended up that KB has had two unintentionally ruined orgasms. I don’t really do ruined orgasms for a variety of reasons, but it turns out that with his usual control having taken a serious hit, we’ve gotten to see that KB is so dedicated to my rule that he not come without my permission that his brain cuts off the pleasure of it, and I end up trying to stifle giggles at how deeply annoyed he looks. It may not be what I wanted, but I find it sweet that my control extends that far without us intentionally trying to make it happen. For me, I’m still not feeling physically back to normal, and it’s making a difference in how difficult I’m finding it to have an orgasm that really feels up to standard. The amazing thing is that the feelings of intimacy and of control are what elevates the sex to “pretty good, actually.”

On the other hand, we really need to get back into practice. I’d really like to dust off the toys now that my sex drive hasn’t been locked in a closet by a sore throat. It’s time to get back to the kind of sex that actually makes it into erotica.

Instead of Air, You Are Breathing Melody

While still not a morning person by any means, KillBoy has been developing a morning routine that seems to suit him fairly well. This morning, since he wasn’t rushing around trying to get out the door in a hurry, when he finally started getting his clothes together, I suggested it would be a good day for him to wear panties for me, especially because we’d made erotic plans yesterday that had been axed by him coming home to find me stiff and cranky from hours of physical work in the heat.

One of the pleasures of the new routine is that there was time for him to show me how hard he’d gotten just putting on the panties and presumably being filled with expectation for his arrival home. Time for me to kiss him while he edged for me, standing over him with his work clothes pulled aside so he could quickly dance to that cliff for me. After I flopped back into bed, time enough for him to lean over me, wiggling his butt to invite quick swats before kissing me goodbye.

Now, of course, he’s at work and I don’t know how much thought he’s sparing towards this evening, but I do know he will be when he gets to read this. I adore it when I know he’s worked up and anxious to get home for whatever plans I may have for him. For me, it’s another way of getting to play with my favorite toy, another method of control. He may be a Real Boy, but I’ve got these strings, to tie him down. Come into my web, love.

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

If I remember a dream upon waking, it usually quickly fades, as I’m told it does for most people. Few stay with me, and fewer still come back to me later.

It’s no shock that with the news and recently playing Fallout 4, nuclear war showed up in my dream. It’s the only time it’s been a theme of a dream that I can remember, despite my many many hours of playthrough of the previous Fallout game.

All I can recall is looking out a window and seeing what was basically a cartoon version of a nuclear bomb falling. I ran to Killboy and wrapped him in my arms, telling him what was happening. I knew that we would die, and it was the strangest thing, but in my dream my reaction was just to hold him and say it was ok; we were together. I was just grateful that in the last few minutes of our lives, we’d have each other.

I’m guessing that in reality (some reality where I had time to do anything beyond die still looking out that window, thanks wonky dream time-stretching), I’d be panicking and crying or just screaming in terror. So, I can’t say that the dream was realistic or about my fears. I’ll decline to further psychoanalyze myself in print, but thread of “it’s ok. We’re together.” is very similar to things I’ve been saying to KB recently.

In waking life, it’s been us trying to get through some rough times in regards to our professional and social lives, and it’s been “It’s ok, we can handle this together.” It seems we’ve come to a place where things have significantly leveled out, even if there’s no promise that things will be easy – but I’m not a real believer that many of us ever have that promise. Not everyone has the support that we find in each other. For this, I am grateful.  

Dance to Your Beat, Succumb to Your Treats

I’m looking down at him, as he attempts to hold perfectly still while still panting raggedly.

“How many days has it been?” I already know the answer. I know what date it was when I told him he was denied orgasm until further notice. I also remember full well the teasing, and the fucking session where I rolled off him and cheerfully told him that we were done until later. It wasn’t my intent to have him go a full week at that particular juncture, but injury and scheduling surprises are a more exacting boss than I am.

And so it was that he hissed out the number of days, his trembling effort music to my ears.

He’s much better than your average dude at edging, knowing just where that precipice is and dancing back from it. I use this knowledge to my advantage, bringing him to that place and telling him to go no further, regardless of whether it’s by my cunt, mouth or his hand; sometimes all three in one session. Sometimes I’ll remind him that it’s not out of the question for me to want a perfect blackjack of edged and denied orgasms in one evening.

This time however, as I begin to move my hips, riding both his wonderful cock and my pleasure at having him trying his hardest to obey against his desire to pitch over that edge and fill my cunt with come, it’s too much. He’s been denied for as long before, and teased more harshly, so it’s not beyond his usual capabilities. Whatever the reason, he gives me a wide-eyed panicked  look, moaning out

“I can’t… ahhhh I can’t stop ohgodimsorry….”

I smile down at him. I would accept no less than his full effort, and a refusal to obey would kill the moment dead for me. However, this feeling of being overwhelming, of being all too much for him to maintain his normal fine control? Well, it suits me just fine, and I am no gentle Aphrodite rising from the waves, but a horned Astarte, goddess of pleasure-seekers and soldiers alike.

And so it is that I respond with acceptance, telling him to let go and get swept away. He bucks uncontrollably under me, giving into biological imperative and flooding my cunt. It only takes me a minute to come to my own orgasm, riding him as furiously as a Equite after spolia militaria, simultaneously vanquishing him and taking him as a war prize.

As long as there is no failure in his effort, there is no failure in his obedience.