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.

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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.

Don’t Try to Hide the Perfect Mess

Going on new brain meds is like walking into a darkened room and hoping you remember where the furniture is. In this particular go round, someone moved the damn sofa.

It’s killed my appetite to the point where I forget to eat until I’m shaky, or KillBoy asks me about it and then proceeds to make sure I do eat. It has also been having negative effects on my libido, where for the first week I pretty much forgot sex was a thing. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested, I just wasn’t thinking about it, until I realized I hadn’t been thinking about it. So, of course, I brooded over it for a day or so before talking to KB. It’s completely in character for him that he gently responded that not only had he been prepared for that particular side effect, but also that he had noticed both a lack of certain affections and that my wand vibrator hadn’t been lying on the bed when he came home since I had started on them.

However, he was surprised when I told him that his tactic of giving me space by not even mentioning it to me was not the correct course of action. I don’t do well with feeling like my partner has either not noticed disinterest, or worse, that they don’t care. I also don’t like him deciding on a course of action regarding changes in my libido without asking me if it’s appropriate. I need disclosure in order to advise or to make my own choices.

I also told him though I wasn’t feeling anything in the realm of spontaneous desire, I wasn’t feeling sex averse. I was worried that if I tested, responsive desire would also be a no-go, but it was valuable information either way. Without his acknowledgement that he was avoiding seeming to pressure me for sex, I would have assumed that the various stresses coming to bear on him recently meant he was not up for it. Especially because lately, there’s been a grain of truth in that for us both.

Unfortunately, while having that conversation put us on the same page, it didn’t fix the libido issue. While my responsive desire does indeed respond, the sex we’ve had since has been intimate and enjoyable, but a bit like trying to trying to type out this post with numb hands. Masturbation was… almost pointless. It’s not completely broken, but unless it starts to go away within the next couple of weeks, I’m going to have to switch. In the meantime, I intend to keep having sex with my KB. Physical responses may be lacking but it’s not a complete loss on that level and I still love the feeling of intimacy, of ownership and control.

Last night, I gave him a short but intense spanking. My scenes with him are nearly always overtly sexual; having his body at my disposal is a source of great lust. Stroking his reddened skin, looking at him sprawled across the bed, I felt hints of it, embers that could have been stoked into a fire. It was late, so I chose to merely satisfy the parts of me that enjoy hearing him yelp and seeing him tense. To fulfill my need to play with my favorite toy and remind both of us who holds the power.

I would prefer to get my libido back in full working order, but while I’m working on that, I’m both surprised and relieved to find that my desire for d/s and kink are still unchanged.

There Are No Incurable Ills, There Are No Unkillable Thrills

I recently picked up a copy of Neuromancer, which has what is regarded to be a particularly fine, if dated, opening sentence. “The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.”

I read it aloud to KillBoy, who immediately agreed that he could see why people love that particular opener, and mused that it reminds me of another opening sentence I favor. “The great grey beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive”

While it’s perhaps not the fault of that traditionally dreary month that I have had more than a few weeks that tip the scales at more bad than good, I can agree I feel eaten alive. Work has been a clusterfuck, my anxiety has pretty much got me locked down and is affecting my relationship with KB, and I’m just now getting over a nasty cold I’ve had for over a week. So I’m going to blame February. It’s Feb 38th, right?

At least my darling husband is here to deliver me a little warmth.Upon hearing that I had a particularly bad day at work, he sprang into action to grab a bottle of wine and suggested that he take me out for sushi for dinner. It was exactly what I needed. The fish was so good tonight that I shushed him while I closed my eyes and chewed a particularly fantastic piece of salmon.

Back at home, evil pants shucked, I’m drinking the wine while listening to the Final Fantasy 8 OST, farting around on the internet and trying to decide on a fashion upper-body harness for when we make an amazon order later tonight. I’ve got a more utilitarian one picked out for him, but from an etsy seller. With any luck I’ll be able to order it before the summer kink con we’ll be attending.

Sometimes February and my state of mind are both grey, but his service and love are there to keep me running.

 

We’re Pulling in on Every Rope We’ve Thrown.

It is sometimes incredibly awful to be an adult with responsibilities. Like a few days ago when KillBoy came home from a half day at work just as I was leaving for work. Knowing I’m leaving my sweetheart behind for the treadmill timesuck that is my job is never an easy thing, but this particular time was especially difficult.

After greeting me with a kiss and letting me know there were tater tots in the lunch he’d brought home, he flopped down in the recliner. I went to the kitchen and ate half the tots while we talked about dinner that night. When I came back to the living room, he was all sprawled out over the chair with his shirt mostly unbuttoned. I know he had to have felt me giving him the once over and the look that said I’d strip and take him… if only I had time.

However, since neither of us is rich and there are bills to pay, I had to put my shoes on and head out the door. The image of him indolently enjoying his surprise shortened day kept me somewhat warmer of disposition throughout my workday, though with a touch of annoyance over how I was there resisting strangling my least favorite coworker instead of putting my hands on KillBoy’s body.

And of course, by the time I got home I was annoyed and dog tired, so that sex or play were off the table. A lot of days are like that. We plan to break out the toys and dress him up in fishnet and cuffs, but by the time our responsibilities are done with, we’re out of time or energy.

Still, I know myself to be incredibly lucky, to have the partner who is interested in building the domestic life that brings us comfort, who gets into my brain and swims around, who makes me feel loved and comfortable when I am weary.

Lucky too to have him when I’m feeling more energetic. Next time I’ll remember to put the toys away before opening the door to the maintenance guy. Chain makes way too much noise when you try to discreetly kick it under furniture.

Wonderful Electric

The difference, sometimes is in a decision that I could make.

He’s not one for mornings. Occasionally, some of the mornings are better and we stay in bed, talk, cuddle. I’ll let my hands wander and find him hard.

Rarely in those occasions, apologetic sounding, he’ll tell me that my normally appreciated touch is doing nothing for him, as he’s mostly numb.

I can withdraw. Cuddle. Talk about breakfast.

Or I can throw a leg over. Ride him hard until I see stars, dismount and go shower. No looking back.