I’m allowed to masturbate whenever I want. If I am able to come I have to report it to him, but it’s my choice whether to try. I can use whatever toys I want or watch porn if I have the urge. It’s one of the ways that Sir has tried to be understanding with my increased sex drive.
So I had an amazing Doxy ride the other day and filmed it for Sir to watch when get got home. He appreciated my ‘gift’. Then later that night he was giving me a good hard fuck. He hit my ass hard as he came and I moaned and sank down to the bed. He often will let me grab the Doxy and he’ll help finish me off. His fucking always gets me so riled up. However,
“You’ve already had yours. Go get cleaned up and we’ll get to bed.”
I moaned. A loud, pitiful whine I am sure.
And I immediately felt the conclusion rise up as I rolled off the bed. Hurt. It was like I was being punished for masturbating. And every justification of why I didn’t touch myself in my twenties came rushing back.
I would always rather come with Sir. Having that experience with another person is so much more fulfilling and happy than trying to coax it out of myself alone. Even when it feels good, it’s not as nice as when he touches, licks, or fucks me. My moans mean something.
So, he’s supporting my horniness by letting me have sex with myself whenever I want, but then I don’t get to orgasm with him.
So yesterday I didn’t masturbate. The 20mo was home with a teething fever and I was busy being a cuddle buddy anyway. When Sir got home we talked about playing and I was practically giddy of the idea of the stress relief. After the kids went to bed Sir had me give him a long, teasing blow job. I like those as I can use my hands more and there is less of him trying to asphyxiate me with his cock. I leaned back against my pillow, my throat filled with cum and waited patiently for orders to get the Doxy or lay on a towel. My patience was not rewarded. He noticed something was up. I’m not really good at hiding my pouty face.
He said I could beg for my orgasm. And right then, that moment, I didn’t feel like a sub. I didn’t want to come like that. If I just wanted to come, I could do it when he’s at work and tell him about it later. I wanted to come with him, for him. Not just because he was feeling generous and my begging was up to par. So I said ‘no, thanks’ and went to sleep instead.
I know I should play the game. But I want this to be my life, not a game. And all the changing rules are hard to follow. I guess that is what I signed up for. Though, to be honest, I’m starting to realize I have no clue what I signed up for, only what I wanted the end result to be. And I’m not sure that that is realistic anymore; a revamping of those goals may be necessary. With everything that is going on, playing along until I find my feet isn’t realistic. Looks like running along behind, trying to do my best for awhile is the new normal. At least with all the running I’ll be too tired to miss my orgasms. It’s all about the silver linings.