I remember reading all sorts of BDSM novels and short stories when I first found kink. They, or a great number of them, all had scenes where a sub would have to remove their underwear in some public place. Or possibly go commando with ben-wa balls or some other insert-able toy. It was either a struggle as the sub felt embarrassed or was immediately wet; sometimes both. I’ll admit, I was a little incredulous.
Maybe it’s my stage in life, or the fact that I’ve had two kids, but my self body image doesn’t allow for too much commando possibility. I don’t blame my kids entirely, my self-esteem was not super high before I became a mom. However, since then, the idea of not having underwear seems more a safety hazard than a sexy time. Which, if you were going for the embarrassment factor could work. I guess I feel like I would just feel uncomfortable and miserable too. Though I guess that could change with the rest of the outfit too. If I was in a billowy skirt or something that could be a different story. However, for me personally, I would need to lose quite a bit of weight to really feel as sexy as I would want to.
Don’t get me wrong, I think going commando can be really sexy. I think it’s underrated on men as well. And it often feels like going commando is a common D/s theme. With the right person, I can see how it could very goo inducing. I think it’s a perfect date night or dinner party activity.
I think I just spend all my time either at work or with my kids. Neither of these activities would be made better by not having my underwear. And, unless I’m sleeping, don’t even get me started on not wearing a bra. I haven’t been able to go without support in public since I was ten.
The idea of 69ing is hot and magical. A way to take oral sex to the next level of giving pleasure while working toward your own climax. There is almost something more intimate to me than standard intercourse. Something about having your mouth on someone’s genitals that takes things to a different level. That’s always the approach that I start with anyway.
Somehow the experience gets lost in translation for me. It always sounds hot. Naked bodies intertwined with tongues. Fluids and moans in a race for orgasmic bliss. See, doesn’t that sound amazing? It never works out this way for me though. I think that may be because it’s hard for me to focus on the multiple sensations. I am so engrossed in making my partner cum, that it’s nearly impossible for me for relax enough to orgasm myself. So I intently throw everything at getting an orgasm out of them. It’s not like I don’t enjoy myself. It certainly feels good. And it’s an activity that I rarely turn down. I mean, it lets me suck on a cock and get my clit licked, what’s wrong with that?
Maybe I just need to change my approach. Do more people use 69ing for foreplay? If an orgasm isn’t the goal then maybe the focus could be more evenly spread. I just need to back up and enjoy the experience. That could be a parent thing too. Generally we feel rushed to orgasm as quickly as possible as the knock of the door can happen at any time. Though that seems like a cop-out for a feeling I’ve had regarding this activity since college.
Perhaps more practice would offer a solution to this problem. Maybe a 696 or 969 would help me figure out the exact issue. Several rounds of experiments will need to be undertaken. Anyone interested in helping me with this math?
See how everyone else feels about the art of 69ing and meeting of the bodies and minds this week.
As Molly was nice enough to use one of my Sinful Sunday photos for this topic, I feel terrible that I am waiting until the last day to get my piece posted. But I was excited that I could use it to discuss a fun, romantic experience that I hope to have again for Wicked Wednesday. Maybe next Valentine’s day. 🙂
I think threesomes are wonderful things. I’ve only had one threesome experience so far, though two nights in a row. Jack and Jill are a wonderful couple and I couldn’t have fantasized a better first encounter. At the time though, I was a nervous mess. Here was a couple that a) had had several previous threesomes, b) had an amazing physical connection on their own, and c) already knew all the right moves and tricks to please the other. So I was this third wheel coming in trying to play catch up and learn as quickly as possible.
Admittedly, there is something exciting about that third wheel experience. It’s new and I think adds to the pleasure of the evening. That doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t love to try a threesome with my husband or Jack and a third unknown person. I imagine there is a comfort in knowing and completely trusting one person going into that adventure. Personally, I think it would make me more confident in my actions. Knowing that I had the support and could be certain of pleasuring at least one of us would make me more likely to take charge. I would act on that urge to tell him to fuck me while I sucked on her clit, rather than just wishing one of them would mention it.
I think that is the general third wheel fear, at least for me. This couple knows each other’s buttons and tells to ensure the pleasure of the other. The third is just spit-balling. If one could relax and go with the flow, I’m sure that would help. I’m just sort of an anxious person when it comes to sex, so I was lucky to have an amazing couple who was patient with me.
In all my readings, both fiction and non-fiction, that is what a threesome is for someone though. A third wheel type experience. More often than not there are two people who know each other intimately inviting a third into their fun. I’m not sure I’ve ever read a story where three strangers meet at a bar or social gathering and end up in a hotel room together. Though, now that I say that, I may have to write it, just so I can say it’s out there.
I just love the smell and the sounds of a good fire. I’m far enough away that I don’t have to shield my naked body, but close enough to feel the warmth radiating from it. The low flickering flames throw a cascade of shadows across the grass and mix in with the muted lighting set up to highlight the whipping frame.
Whilst I was passed out from my orgasm ordeal, Josh, Stephen, and Sir had assembled the frame that Stephen had bought with him. It resembled an old style jail ‘A’ shaped whipping frame. The wood was solid, smooth and polished. The frame had various locations for the attachment of ropes and chains. My legs were already tied to the frame and Sir was busy with securing my arms to the top. I couldn’t see what Stephen was doing but I suspect he was readying the whip, whatever that entails.
I was feeling a lot more relaxed since waking from my nap. Bianca was kind enough to give me an all over massage to work the stiffness from my body. She may have also strayed a bit, but who am I to complain. I’m actually hopeful that Josh will allow Sir to play with Bianca and me tomorrow after everyone else has left. We are staying on another night as our flight couldn’t be arranged until Monday morning. It’s been a while since Sir and I have gotten to play with someone else together, and Bianca seems like a sub we could both enjoy.
After dinner all of the men organized their seating where they could get a good view of the whipping frame and a ringside view of the show I was about to be part of. Stephen, being the ultimate showman, decided he would conduct a small pre-show demonstration using an assortment of whips and floggers. With all of us subs sitting at the feet of our respective Doms, Stephen demonstrated various techniques using an assortment of whips, floggers and few canes. You could see why he had brought Jessica along. She took everything Stephen gave her. Only on two occasions did you hear any sound. I’d heard that she was an extreme masochist, something that I had no trouble believing after witnessing the display.
I hope Stephen was not expecting me to be silent. I don’t think I have any chance of not crying out.
The rope around my wrist was pulled tight, bringing me back to the present. Preparations were nearly complete for the demonstration with the bullwhip. I am surprised as a hood is pulled down over my head. I had hoped to be more present to experience the ordeal. Oh well, I assume that they are expecting my cries to be quite loud and they want to mute them. Just as the hood covers my face I hear Stephen say to Sir that the hood was a safety provision. Whilst he is confident he won’t miss he said that he would hate to pull out some of my gorgeous hair, let alone any consideration as to how much that would hurt.
The hood is them rotated on my head with the opening zipper in front of my face, leaving me free to express myself in full voice. Stephen leaves my field of view, I assume getting into position. Sir leans in and reminds me that this was a punishment and that he expects me to try and take what Stephen throws at me. He also reminds me that I can use my safe word with him and he will stop the demonstration. I am grateful that he alone would hear me say it if I couldn’t endure any more, so that I don’t feel like a failure and try and push myself too far.
It was like I was super charged. I felt even the slightest sensations as I waited for the first blow. My nerves were just hanging on. Whilst I’ve had some wonderfully challenging beatings in the past, I’ve never experienced a bullwhip, and never been whipped by an expert. Oh dear, what have I gotten my self into.
“Shit”, I hear coming from my lips, followed by laughter from the assembled crowd. The crack of the whip was so loud it startled me. My body struggled against the frame with futility. The whip wasn’t even being aimed at me, but merely Stephen getting in a warm up swing. Okay, so this is happening.
A soft one to start me off. At least, I hope it’s a soft one. Snap. And another. Hmmm, I think, this isn’t so bad. It’s almost a caress. I could get to like this. Like an static shock across my back.
The sound is out of my mouth before I register the crack of the whip or the burning sensation across my right ass cheek. The next stroke leaves a corresponding stinging to my left ass cheek. The next four strokes alternate between my ass cheeks. It feels like a deliberate placement in the shape of a cross. I hope they stay around for a bit, they will look really good.
Right, I better start focusing on what’s going on. I don’t for a minute believe that this is the level of intensity Stephen is going to be happy with. In my floaty space I can hear him talking to everyone but I can’t make out what he is saying.
“Fuck”, escapes my lips before I can help myself. That hurt. From my right shoulder blade across my back in a diagonal line of pain. Before I can recover if feel the next blow, in a crossing pattern once more but this time lower on my back. My breathing has become a bit labored and I’m have a little difficulty balancing my weight. I hear Sir check in with me and I just give him a small nod of the head. He retreats a short distance so that he doesn’t inadvertently become part of the demonstration.
The next four strokes are even more intense and I can fell my resolve slipping away. This is as hard as I thought it would be. I can’t tell where the whip is falling now as my whole back is alive with pain. I hear the next crack of the whip, followed by a small gasp from the crowd. I soon realize why, as I feel a wetness on my shoulder blade. He’s drawn blood. Sir leans in again and I again try and reassure him that I’m okay and want to continue. He looks a little worried but steps back.
Another blow lands on my back and I can feel another small trickle of blood. I think I’m done, but before I can safeword to Sir I see him step around the frame and announce to everyone that the demonstration is over and that they should show some appreciation to Stephen and to me. As the applause dies down, Sir unties me, wraps me in my blanket and picks me up. Just before he carries me away Stephen comes over to check how I am. I manage half a smile and reassure him I enjoyed the experience.
Sir had anticipated how I would be feeling after the whipping and had brought a soft pillow down from the house. He sat me down in front of his chair. The bleeding marks on my back weren’t too deep, as he cleaned and bandaged them quickly. Then he lay me down on the pillow. He gave me a KitKat (my favorite candy bar) and with a “Good girl” covered me with my blanket. As I came back from subspace I stared at the fire and he rubbed my back. The chocolate tasted almost as good as knowing that I had pleased him.
**This is another installment in the Twitter Boyfriend’s and my Tale of Rye. Check out the previous chapters, Prey on Me and Cum-uppance. This is also my contribution to the Kink of the Week topic of ‘Safewords’. I believe they are important, but as they story illustrates, a Dominant can sometimes know your limits too.
Christmas for me is about stress. Ever since I reached the age where I began purchasing gifts for friends and family. I always want to find that perfect present. I really look for personal gifts. Finding something that I know a person would enjoy is always a goal. Often there will be something that is a joke or memory attached, or something they really need.
One year I found a rare Care Bear on Ebay that my Aunt collects. Another year I did and Etsy Christmas were all my gifts were handmade and I made my own cards and wrapping paper. That was obviously before we had kids and I still had time and money to burn.
For the last few years Christmas has been a mad scramble. I am usually optimistic when I start the shopping list and budget in early November. But by the first week in December I am a mess. I am almost always over budge (four years and counting) and can never find time to get caught up with everything that needs done.
The wrapping piles up until the last hours before Christmas. This year everything is down in the basement as that’s the only place we can regulate the kids’ access. And every night I plan to go down and get a little bit done, but some other immediate need comes up and it continues to be pushed off.
Then there are the last minute, “oh shit” people that I forget to buy for. This year it was the boys’ teachers. Last year it was the husband’s boss. So some last minute shopping trip(s) is inevitable. Again sucking up time and ruining my carefully planned budget even more.
I know, my whining has nothing to do with kink. But it has a lot to do with sex. As in, we don’t have any. I haven’t done a factual study, but I’d wager that December is easily my sexless month. Jack’s recent visit aside, obviously (that is not, though hopefully will be standard). I am just too stressed out. I hardly sleep. Getting to bed late and up early doesn’t give us many sexy opportunities.
There is also the influx of extended family time. This year they are coming to our house. Which, while it does mean we get to sleep in our own bed, does mean that quietness is paramount. When we travel I always feel a little weird having sex in someone else’s house. A hotel is fine, but I never know how squeaky someone’s guest bed is, or, how thin the walls are.
So we usually spend the weekend drinking, getting horny, and then going to bed frustrated. Or we’ll stay up chatting with family or fighting with the kids to stay in bed until we pass out. Either way, I guess I should only speak for me, but I’m a grumpy mess by the time everyone leaves. Making sure that everyone else is having a good time and getting everything they need is exhausting. And as I only get Monday off this year since Christmas falls on a Sunday, I’ll be heading back to work on Tuesday. My poor co-workers.
**To spite this post I grabbed the Doxy and had a marvelous orgasm last night. To spite me right back, as soon as I put the Doxy away I remembered I don’t have a dinner planned for tonight.**
A year ago I would have said that the very idea of a chastity belt was off the table. Hard limit, full stop.
Oh the difference a year makes.
In thinking about this topic and why I always shied away from chastity it always came back to the comfort. I just didn’t feel like I would be able to wear any sort of metal device under my clothes at the office or around family. It would be too obvious to me and therefore would be obvious to everyone else. Then there was also the physical comfort of being able to use the bathroom. It just didn’t seem hygienic to me. And coming from a person who regularly refuses to use public bathrooms, hygiene is a thing.
The last several months have brought about a change of heart, however. I’m not shopping online for custom designs just yet, but I am certainly more open to the idea. The issues with work may still exist, but I have seen a lot more styles and options that could be concealed with some regularity. I don’t wear skin-tight clothes that often anyway. And I’m sure the daily wear of any chastity device would come with time. I’ve also talked to people who wear chastity daily and they do not have any health issues that I was concerned about.
I think I’m just starting to look at the possible benefits of being locked up. With Sir struggling with his sex drive, I am wondering if it could be a good idea. If I’m in chastity then he wouldn’t feel any pressure to preform. I’m sure I would struggle for the first few weeks. Is there such a thing as horny/sex withdrawal? But if I could get through that, then I think maybe we could end up in a good place. I could feel my submission and he could process his stress without feeling guilty about my sexual satisfaction.
Obviously when Jack would come to visit, or I would visit him, we could take it off. Maybe I could even give him his own key. I could be sex crazed for a few days and then Sir could lock me up again. We haven’t really talked about playing with other aside from Jack at this point, but it’s not like chastity would prohibit that conversation.
This isn’t a complete thought, and I’m sure I’m forgetting a ton of things which make this a bad idea. Probably the fact that I think it will help with my horniness problem should be a red flag. It does seem like it could be a viable option though. Sir could use me when he wanted, but other than that I would be locked up. Right now if I go more than a few days without an orgasm I’m a cranky mess. With the option of even masturbating taken out of my hands (hehe, see what I did there) maybe I could push through.
So 2017 may see me looking into more chastity options. I haven’t talked to Sir about it, so I’ll be curious to know his opinion when he reads this. As someone who loves sex and craves it often, I didn’t think I would ever warm to the idea of chastity. But restricting sex may be an solution to a problem I didn’t know I had.
Sir and I decided to role play. I love bondage play and have always had an interest in consensual non-consent. So Sir broke out our pretty metal cuffs and some rope. He tied my ankles and cuffed my wrists. He also blindfolded me with one of our many handkerchiefs. I was then lifted on the bed and given my orders.
You are my hostage. I am going to leave and when I come back I may not be alone. I may be gone for awhile. You will sit there and think about all the dirty things I am going to do to when I get back. You are my prisoner now.
As soon as I heard the door click I was in the mindset of a hostage. I used my arm to push my blindfold off. Once I could see (though he had removed my glasses, so ‘see’ is all relative) I took in my surroundings. I was on the second floor of a house in what looked like a standard bedroom. There were lots of random items around, but first I had to address my bonds. I struggled against the ropes at my ankles, but they were tied well. I wouldn’t be able to shake them free without first getting out of my wrist cuffs. My captor had tied my ankles and put shackles on my wrists, but he had clasped them in the front of my body.
The shackle cuffs had locking pins which held them in place. I immediately began using my teeth to try and remove the pins. If I could get one off, then I could easily free myself from the other and get my legs untied. He said he would be back at any moment, so I couldn’t spend too much time focusing on how to get out of the room until I could conceivably also run. After a few minutes I got the pin to move, but trying to get it out and turned with my teeth while I couldn’t see what I was doing was proving difficult. Finally I felt the click as the pin released.
I rolled the pin around in my mouth for a moment as I thought through my next steps. I couldn’t decide whether to focus on my other wrist or untie my ankles next. I landed on the other wrist. Since I had my hand free it was a lot easier to pop the pin. The urge to throw the cuffs against the door was tempered by need to stay stealthy. Instead I set them on the bed next to me and attacked the knot at my feet. I thought I heard a noise outside the door, but my feet weren’t completely free.
Even though I was hurrying, he opened the door to find me unblindfolded, uncuffed, and nearly free of my rope. Part of him was impressed, I could see it on his face. Most of him looked angry though. He tried not to break character though and I enjoyed some rough use. From now on when he puts on the cuffs he clasps them behind my back.
When Sir and I started dating I had long hair. I started growing my hair out and donating it to Locks for Love every few years. I had donated before I started college, so when I wandered onto campus in the fall of 2003 it was only about 2 inches long. When we started dating four years later my hair had grown significantly. I hadn’t cut it (aside from an occasional trim) during my college career, so it was well down my back by the fall of my senior year.
Sir always liked the androgyny of short hair. He says that that is what attracted me to him all those years ago. But with BDSM we both enjoyed the benefits of keeping it long. When he decided to stop our 24/7 dynamic last fall and walk back our D/s I took the opportunity for change. Off came 13″ for charity. Looking back, I think I was trying to remind him that he used to think I was sexy. And possibly also as a defiant act against the traditional submissive with long hair in a braid. But I forgot how much work short hair is. I got it trimmed a few times, but was soon itching for hair to play with. Right now my hair is at that awkward length where it’s too short to pull back, but too long for comfort. Meaning it hangs in my face all the time.
So I have started regrowing it. My work wants tattoos covered, so I need to get/keep it long enough to cover the calla lilies on my neck. Plus, as we continue to try and add more D/s elements back to our daily routine, having the long hair back would nice.
I love to play with my hair. I run my fingers through it and twirl it (yeah, like a four year old) when I try to think. And I find myself doing it at stop lights when I drive. I also love when others play with it. Brush it, stroke it, style it, I don’t care. Just touching it gives me all sorts of gooey loved feelings.
Oddly enough though, I wouldn’t call it a kink. When it’s stroked, I feel like a pet, so it may work with that definition. But I hate to have my hair pulled. I’m not sure why. I don’t like idea of it as a sexual activity. It does seem sexy to me though. Long flowing locks wrapped around his fist sounds so arousing. However, actually having the hair yanked, even during sex, does not provide the positive results the fantasy promises. Even in a punishment context, I just get defensive and bitchy. That particular pain reminds me too much of my little brother being a pest rather than a hot sexual experience.
In any case, I’m growing my hair out. Right now I would say it’s about 50/50 between doing it for me and doing it for D/s. Both are viable reasons, in my opinion. And next time I donate it I’m not sure I’ll cut it quite so short. Then I could skip this ‘not quite long enough’ phase. And whether he pulls on it or not, being able to braid it always helps me keep from playing with it when we scene.
I hate being bored. Okay, no one probably enjoys boredom. I hate not having anything to do.
I have a list for everything. Lists of chores, of work tasks. And, I include everything on a list. I will include relaxation time and/or activities if I can.
Because of my anal retentive nature I think Sir finds it difficult to give me tasks and chores. At least in a domestic sense. Part of that, I think is that with small children, and both of us working full-time it’s all hands on deck. Occasionally he’ll give me a specific chore that needs done, but that is usually because he is doing something else already. The other part may be because he knows I already know. I have a cleaning list that I made myself. I don’t need to be told that the bathrooms need cleaned.
We tried domestic control with tasks last fall. I had daily, weekly, and monthly tasks on a schedule. I had an application on my phone that was connected to his, so when I checked something off he was notified immediately. It worked for awhile, but we both just lost interest. I would forget to update until the end of the day and he would forget to ask. Tasks wouldn’t get done and there wasn’t follow-through on either of our parts. Motivation crumbled. And considering I often struggle to motivate myself just to get the cleaning done, this did not help.
Sexual or D/s tasks are very different. Tasks or challenges within a scene are generally very hot for both of us. Sir is a big fan of position challenges. Setting me up with all my weight on my clit smashed on a bar. Or holding his towel while he’s in the shower on my tip toes. Some have been successful; some have left me frustrated and upset. Obviously I want to please him, so I take my failures very seriously.
However, it is important for me to remember that often his tasks are set to fail. He wants to see how long I can last or how much I can take. There isn’t a set finish time; it’s just how long I can go. Him watching my struggle is 90% of his enjoyment (I am assuming the 10% is because I’m usually naked).
I get my Doxy back today! It has been a rough month. I’m sure our electric bill will be at least five dollars cheaper, but trips to fast food have probably gone up to ‘balance’ it. I don’t need my favorite vibrator friend to come, but it does help me come consistently. PIV rough sex makes me all gooey, but when I don’t beg to come before Sir does, he usually lets me finish up with an intense vibrating orgasm. So the last few weeks without that release after sex has been kind of mood killer. And not using it during our scenes and part of our general play has made a noticeable difference as well.
I can’t even remember what I did to lose it (I just went back and reread the old post). I will certainly monitor my comments more closely in the future. Honesty first, but I’ll have to do a better job not to put my foot in mouth quite so badly.
I think I might spend the evening hugging it, if I’m honest. And a screaming squiring orgasm is definitely in order. Since starting my job I haven’t had a chance to enjoy afternoon delights, with or without my favorite toy. So I guess it didn’t affect me as much as it would have if I was still working from home. I miss my twitter masturbation buddy. He still sends me sexy nudes as he takes care of himself from time to time. But I miss our banter as we push each other to the edge (and back again, repeatedly). Whenever I have thought of missing my Doxy this last month I have thought of him. Dirty talk and vibrations are my weakness I suppose.
I’m sure I will take a break to write again tomorrow. I’ll need to let the poor thing cool off and give my pussy a break. Work is going to seem extra long today though.