I had Amy masturbate this morning, before getting out of bed.

She had a challenging day ahead, and I wanted to clear her mind, keep her ready for what would come later. After she cums, she begs me to fuck her, but I refuse. I want to photograph her tonight, I have a shot planned, and I don't want to lose my edge. I want to lust all day for her, so I am ready when the moment comes, so that my eye is keen.

"I will fuck you tonight," I tell her.

Alas, the day did not go as planned for her.

A bit of stress over a small disagreement the two of us shared the night before, a mix up at work, and tears before breakfast were not the best of omens.

And yet, slowly, the day righted itself.

We went grocery shopping together, Amy and I. I had her hold on to my shirt as I pushed the cart, like a little girl, and kept a watchful eye on her to make sure she didn't wander off. We selected wines for the evening, red for me, white for her, as she felt the startings of a migraine. Well, mostly Amy chose. I am a newcomer to the world of wine, a Visigoth banging at the gate, while Amy speaks with knowledge of bouquet, breathing, tannin, and all the other mysterious incantations used to summon up the beneficent Bacchus.

The sun faded quickly as we started the charcoal in the grille, the final golden moments mellowing into stars as we set bare feet to warm saltillo. Amy wore just a sarong, her garment of choice when given the chance, and we opened the wine. I lit two candles that flickered in the warm gloaming breeze, and Amy checked the salmon.

Dinner dwindles on into the night.

We talk instead, quiet with each other. The moment, the light I wanted for my shot is past. I am not prepared. I have held on to my lust for no purpose, it seems.

And yet, Amy moves in the candlelight. The warm breeze touches her hair, the edges of her sarong seem to melt, to glow in the warmth of this California evening.

She stands to clear things away, and I see a moment in this light. The camera is near.

I ask her to open her sarong, and she does, quiet and obedient.

Amy at Dinner Tonight

She reties her sarong, but all I can see is her.

A train rolls past.

Amy heads upstairs to sleep, and I follow shortly thereafter. She lies awake yet, and together we move close.

"I love your body," she says quietly, and I can feel how she closes her eyes and enjoys the moment.

Lying beside her, I have an arm cradling her neck, and with the other I caress the top of her breasts.

"i like my body when it is with your body..." I whisper to her.

"ee cummings," she breathes quietly. "I love his poems." Her voice is soft, quiet. A little girl's voice. "When I was young I typed out for myself a poem of his I found. I had no idea who he was"

She thinks for a moment, then quotes as best she can as sleep approaches:

"the boys i mean are not refined...
they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite."

She has maybe two minutes more, all in silence. I move my wandering hand from the top of her breasts and rest it on her shoulder. Her breathing deepens, set free from her mind.

I wrap my arms around her now, rolling her onto her side, enveloping her body. One hand holds her wrist, the other cradles her breast. She lies on her side, how she so often loves to sleep, one nipple pressed into the sheets, the other nestled between the thumb and forefinger of my hand with her breast spilling over.

I can awaken Amy and her need by simply pressing my fingers together. I can make her wriggle, arouse her, fuck her, and start it all just with a little finger play on her nipple.

I let my lips kiss gently along her neck, and sample her ear. She smells wonderful, and a breath takes her in deep.

I close my eyes.

There is a time to fuck, and a time to hold.

And together we go gently into that best of nights.


"i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new"

- ee cummings

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #95? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

Fisted, first.

“And it was lovely, because the movements made by his fist inside me were so different to a cock.”

The Razor, the Tape and the Man

“He’s never known this lack of control, this unstoppable surge of orgasm, this wave of ecstasy soldiers crossing his territory.”

Sex Work And Religion: Monotone Man


“Religion comes up during calls more than I anticipated when I started doing sex work.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

Masterlock Street Cuffs

Editor’s Choice

Watching my girl’s caning

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Butch/Femme, Spanking and Team Gina, Oh My!

“If you jump into bed on a first date, it’s already over” and other Myths

Normal.

Or, When Fantasy Ruins Your Love Life

Sex in the possibly public square


The Storm Cone

When trust faltered…

Sex News & Reviews

Sex Blogger Cocktail Party In Toronto

Sex Toy Review: njoy Butt Plug

Wet vs. dry rub

BDSM & Fetish


The Blindfold

Dinner Party

Happy HNT - Subspace bondage

I’m Not Ready To Play Nice….

Manless

New Store!!! New Videos!!! New Look!!!

Posting tipsy

Social Kink Interviews Steve Diet Goedde

Trashy kisses


Weekend With CD Part I (Figging LFM)

Sex Poetry

Beauty mark

Mischief

NSFW Pics & Videos

Catalina loves To Take Pictures

Gabriella (Gallery Carre)

Jessica Beil Topless


A Reflective Half-Nekkid Thursday

Sandra Shine Nude

Valentina is a goldpiece

WebMistress Feature Gallery: Sultry Striptease

Sex & Politics

We Support the Human Rights Campaign

Erotic Writing and Experiences


Bubble Bath

Cadillac Confessions Vol. 1

Caught Between A Rock And A Hard On! - Part 1

Chatting

Every Six Seconds…#2

No reservations, part 2

Our holiday - part one

Party


Sexytime

Siesta

Sex from the Rooftops

Speaking of Porn Stars….

Sunshine On Naked Skin

That Makes Two

Wanking this weekend?

Warm Wet Velvet


We sleeping wake, and waking sleep

Half-naked Melissa courtesy of Watching My Wife.

Amy needs to be used more.

We had a brief discussion of tit fucking back when we first got together. I think it's very sexy; Amy less so, because it reduces her to the role of pretty much a bystander, with little to do except hold her tits together, and very little sensation to excite her.

But sh'd never really been titfucked, just a few strokes on different occasions, before her partner moved on to other things that interested them more. Which is difficult to fathom - what could be better than Amy's breasts? It's not like they ever fucked her ass or anything...

I straddled Amy, and lubed her cleavage, and had her press her breasts together, making an exquisite valley, and slid my cock into it.

Amy holding her tits and ready for titfucking
I started slowly fucking her tits, slipping my cock along the full softness of them, and at times pressing down firmly, feeling my cock slid along the firm ridge of her breast bone. Very delicious, exquisite sensation flowing up into me, and the decadent pleasure of knowing she did not share the same sensations, that her pussy, her nipples and her mouth, all key for Amy's excitement, were not stimulated.

I've used Amy before, but never so one sidedly. I've taken her asleep in the night and fucked her while she struggles to awaken, I've not given her permission to cum, I've fucked her with a pillow over her face, but in all of these she's had sensation flooding over her, clouding her mind, and I wanted her to feel me using her body for my own needs, without giving her anything back.

I fucked her breasts in silence, not guiding her through any fantasy or reassurance of possession, just fucking those lovely tits for the sheer sensation of using her body, using her for my pleasure, and giving her as little as possible.

I came, spilling out over her breasts, cum pooling on her throat, spattered in her hair, everywhere in the darkness.

Enough reflective, self-referential navel gazing posts! I recently got my breasts fucked for the first time and I need to talk about it.

Richard is gobsmacked that I've never had my breasts fucked before. I have told him more than once what a vanilla love life I had before us, but I think he can't quite wrap his brain around *how* vanilla it was. In fact, I am probably doing a disservice to the term "vanilla" by using it to refer to my (previous) love life. Probably "flavorless" would be a better word.

So anyway. I am still not prepared to write about my first experience with a buttplug, but I am now ready to write about being titfucked, several days later.

It began, as it often does, very early in the morning. Half awake, I became increasingly aroused as Richard played with my breasts and nibbled on my neck.

"GOD. I love your breasts. You have gorgeous breasts. I love them. Mine. MY breasts."

I could feel his cock hardening against me.

"Look at those nipples," pinching and tugging, "I love your nipples."

When he plays with my nipples I can't help it, my hips start to move of their own accord. Richard threw a leg over mine to stop me from thrashing away from him.

I could feel myself getting wet and I wanted him inside me. Or at least his fingers inside me. But he was focused on my breasts.

Finally I said "Pleeeease. Please, c'mon. Fuck me. C'mon."

He sat up, still holding a nipple between his thumb and index finger.

"Nope. Sorry little girl. You're not getting fucked this morning."

He threw a leg over me so that he was straddling my belly.

"Push your tits together with your hands."

"What??" I was completely confused.

He reached down and grabbed my hands, placed them on the sides of my breasts and shoved them together. "Like this. Do it. I'm going to fuck your tits."

He pulled out the lube (poor little bottle, it hardly ever gets used, this must have been a high moment in its life) and poured some in the crack of my now-impressive cleavage.

Then he slid his cock between my breasts. "God that feels good."

He began fucking my breasts. They were slippery from the lube, but there was still friction from the sides. I was surprised that it felt so good to me. It clearly felt good to him as well; he was breathing hard and fucking me with the rhythm that I recognize when he is close to cumming.

It was still dark out, just a bit of light coming from the east. I looked up and he was so gorgeous there above me in the shadows. Just the embodiment of male, with his broad chest and big arms, his strong thighs pressed against my sides, his beautiful hips thrusting against me again and again. I moaned from the sheer beauty of him.

He held out for a while, I could tell he was having to stop himself from cumming, but then he came. He came hard. His cum splashed across my throat and neck and the tops of my breasts. He held there for a moment and I didn't release my breasts because I hadn't been told to, and he finally reached down and pulled my hands from my breasts and leaned down and kissed me and murmured "I love you baby." Then he laid down next to me and rolled me into his arms and held me there, all sticky and warm with his cum.

I'm ready to do that again.

In the spirit of Sir John A. MacDonald, I will look at last night's topic with sober second thought.

Amy and I built a relationship online, slowly, after an initial rush of attraction. We talked on the phone, we emailed, we IM'd each other, and got to know each other in bits and pieces of fascination and excitement. One thing we were both clear on - we didn't want a 24.7 D/s relationship.

So here we are in a 24.7 D/s relationship.

Looking back, it seems inevitable. But step by step? Just feeling our way along, making our own path.

That's the key to making it work. Not following someone else's guidelines, or rules, but simply looking at everything in the light of "Does this work for me, and does it work for my partner?"

Neither Amy nor I are hardcore bdsm players. I have a sexually sadistic streak, enough that Amy calls me "Bad Daddy," or "The Bad Man," but not enough that I need to do needle play and nipple clamps with her every weekend. So we don't do it. We also don't wear leather gear, not at the moment anyway - maybe in the future we will try that out too!

We tried Master/slave, but it didn't fit exactly for us. We didn't bother with protocols in general, because they felt put on. We have found one or two that seem natural to us, and we have incorporated those almost automatically into our lives.

So how did we get to 24.7?

I think we are both hardwired for it. It's our natural selves.

When Amy and I first met, in real life, we spent a weekend alone together without distractions, just the two of us one on one for several days. We quickly developed a way of being with each other that felt natural and relaxed. I didn't feel I had to "do" anything to her to show my dominance. No posturing, no chest beating, nothing. I just made the adjustment to owning her, and doing what I wanted to her, very simply, very naturally.

And it's not something that turns off.

I am aggressive. It never stops. Life is just one encounter with Amy melding into the next one, and I never step out of who I am. I'm always hunting her, pursuing her, catching her, and then turning her loose to be hunted and caught again. I have enough hunter in me to be excited by the squeals she makes, the little startled sounds when I ambush her, the trapped look in her eye when I focus in solely on her.

Last week I came down the hallway toward her with a look in my eye that she recognized. She gave a little stutter step, and half moved in three different directions, realizing neither of them gave her any way of escape, and essentially froze in place, whimpering, as I swept in upon her.

Amy complains that her plaintive pleading sounds that are supposed to elicit sympathy, bring out the killer instinct in me. Which they do. Like a dog with a squeaky toy, the sounds she makes when I do terrible to her just heighten the pleasure.

Another key aspect is putting your partner first. But if you put your partner first, the trust you both need for 24.7 D/s builds rather quickly.

Amy and I grew to trust each other's judgments and emotional stability (another key component) even before we met, and we never really made a decision to "do" 24.7, it just evolved naturally out of who we are. And now I can't imagine ever doing anything else. I behave as naturally, and unforced, unrestrained as I've ever wanted to be - experimenting and trying out what I feel like exploring, while Amy trusts me to lead her to places both new and exciting for both of us.

So we got to this place because it's naturally who we are, and we chose as a partner a person who has the complementary characteristics to our personalities. Like a dance. I lead, she follows.

Simple.

god.

I hate this kind of shit.

Amy and I have been toying with the idea of both of us writing about the same topic, at the same time. Then we publish it, without reading what the other wrote. Gives you a raw look at how we feel on a topic.

And I've had one of our killer margaritas and some wine, so I'm only marginally literate. And aggressive.

I've been very aggressive for several days, I'm told. Whatever. Shut up bitch and get your ass in the air.

Hmmm...

I like telling stories, but I hate over-thinking stuff...

I like a partner who doesn't crumple.

I've tinkered with D/s and 24.7 before. I came away convinced that 24.7 relationships couldn't work, because they were all game playing, and that no woman could always be submissive.

For example.

I had one woman tell me that I was supposed to whip her and make her beg the first night, then punish her and give her tasks to do and test her on stuff I made her memorize, and make her kneel in different ways, and force her to respect me.

Fuck that shit.

I've seen that too much, submissive women with a code of behaviors and rules they expect their partner to follow. How they want to be fucked, and what kind of contract they ant to draw up for each other, what responsibilities they each have.

god. Some even have "safe words," they can use to pull the plug on a "scene" if it gets too - I dunno. Intense? Demanding? Whatever? Safewords. I kid you not. Kind of like a veto power over what is happening that pretty much cancels any illusion some dumb soul has about being dominant.

I don't play at D/s. I don't use "safewords." And fuck the bdsm mantra, "Safe, sane and consensual." It's just a simpering, forelock tugging attempt to convince the vanilla folk that bdsm players are really just like them - it's just a game, see, and we aren't really serious, we're just playing dress up.

Fuck that shit too.

Now, I'm a simple man.

It took me a while, but I came to the conclusion that I'd rather live alone being me, than with any woman that compelled me to change for her.

I like me. I like the way I fuck. I like the way I behave. I like pretty much everything about me.

So I'm not interested in a woman who doesn't like what I am.

And it seemed every woman wanted to, at the very least, tweak what I was into a different form.

No.

Women are great, but they aren't worth changing for.

So I decided I didn't want a woman in my life, but instead began to enjoy women in a different fashion; as pleasant people to be around, but not as potential life partners.

I've already described on this blog how Amy and I got together. If you want to know, go read it.

Oh fuck.

I went looking for that description, but I can't find it. Maybe Amy is describing it in her post. I hope so. Hey, if she isn't describing it, then it isn't important, and if she is, then I don't need too.

Awesome.

OK. To sum up, Amy and I both figured we didn't want a 24.7 D/s relationship. As she mentioned to me tonight, she just wanted someone who would manhandle her in the bedroom, and not ask her what she wanted. Or something like that.

I have no idea how we ended up 24.7.

Richard and I thought it would be fun to write posts at the same time about the same subject. We decided to write about "how we got to 24/7" because so we've been asked often how we do it *and* because we've seen so many posts saying that it can't be done.

Which made me feel like a unicorn or something. I mean, come on. We're doing it. Saying that it can't be done by someone who isn't doing it (and of course someone who *is* doing it wouldn't say that) is kind of like saying "I've never seen a shark, and I can't breathe underwater, so sharks don't exist." It's an argument based on lack of imagination. Just because you can't imagine it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. (This is also true for evolution, the size of the universe, viruses, and lots of other hard-to-imagine but true phenomena.)

Saying that you can't imagine doing it yourself is legit however. LOTS of people say "There is no way I could be submissive all the time. No way. Maybe in the bedroom, but not 24/7."

That was me. I said that.

But think about it. If you have a job in which you have a boss, you manage to always be respectful to that person, yes? Or if you don't, you expect consequences, right?

In our relationship, Richard is the boss. I am (almost) always respectful to him. I always (always) do what he tells me to do. If I didn't do what he told me to do, it would be a big deal and we would have a long and serious talk about what happened and how we would make it not happen again. Like you'd have with your boss, if that happened at work.

If you don't want that in your relationship, then you don't want 24/7 D/s.

I do.

Ironically, I do NOT want that in my job. I have spent my lifetime making sure that noone will tell me what to do. I HATE someone telling me what to do.

Because I'm smarter than anyone else. I think. So they shouldn't be the boss of me.

I have known a lot of men; a lot of men that I could dominate, and a few men that I would have been happy to have "top" me in the bedroom. Richard is the only man that I have known that I could submit to. That all makes me think that 24/7 D/s is a rare possibility even for those who are interested in it. You have to have a partner that you want to submit to or (if you are dominant) a partner that you want to submit to you.

It's easy to submit to Richard when I know that he always puts me first and when I can count on him to make better decisions for me and for us than I would on my own.

But this brings me to another myth: "the submissive is in control of the relationship."

Uh, no.

You could argue that the "bottom" is control in a top/bottom bedroom situation, because the bottom is the one who sets limits on what can or cannot happen.

But no way am I the one in control of this relationship. Much to my chagrin, on some days.

When Richard wants to fuck, we fuck. When he doesn't, we don't. I can beg, I can plead, and he may say yes. But if he says no, we don't.

If I say no...hahahahaha. Nevermind.

When Richard wants to spank me, he spanks me. When he wants to pinch me or bite me or take my air away, he does. I don't like it when he spanks or pinches or bites me, or takes away my air (well, okay, sometimes I like spanking), but I like it that he does what he wants to me and with me. That is super hot and makes the owies worth it, even to a non-masochist like myself. But don't tell me that I control that. Nopenopenope.

Two years ago, I was only vaguely aware that people played around with bondage and discipline and sadism in the bedroom. I didn't know about things as basic and common as voyeurism and exhibitionism. I would have told you that 24/7 D/s can't be done.

Now I wear a collar, I call my husband "Daddy", and over a thousand people a day look at naked pictures of me and read about my sex life on the internet. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

We were at the pool today, as we have been for an hour or so every afternoon for the last few weeks. Boy I'm gonna miss summer.

Richard was holding me by the hips and swinging me slowly through the water as we talked about movies we'd seen and we want to see and we want to have the other see.

Somehow we wandered over to the topic of going blind. Oh, I know, Richard was saying that if light comes into the room when he is sleeping, if he sleeps too late in the morning or if he naps with the shades open, he dreams that he is going blind. He said that the dream is very disturbing - to him it would be far worse to go blind than to lose his hearing or speech, for example.

I reminded Richard that there is a good chance, because of the tyranny of genetics, that I may go blind in my 70s or 80s. Not something I look forward to. It makes me sad and a little scared to think about it.

He smiled and continued to swing me through the water and said: "That's okay. I'll put bumpers on all the furniture so that when I chase you you won't get hurt.

"I'll still chase you though."

I laughed; I thought that was the sweetest possible thing he could have said.

"And I'll put bumpers on the cactus too. You know I want to plant cactus in the yard. But I'll put bumpers on them.

"And we'll sit on the porch together and feel the sunset. You'll still be able to feel it, even if you can't see it. That will be nice.

"It will be okay. I'll take care of you. We'll still be so happy."

And I just laid back and smiled and let myself be swung around, feeling the warm water curl around me as the late afternoon sun beat down on my skin. Life has become so much better now that I've learned to submit to the experience.

I'm preparing a website to showcase my photography and it's probable that some of the pics that make the final cut will include an ex girlfriend who modeled semi-professionally. It's not about the relationship, it's about the quality of the pictures, and my overall drive for excellence in what I want to do.

Now, about face shots and Amy.

I take lots of pictures of Amy's face. You just don't get to see them. And that is most assuredly a loss for the readers of this blog.

I'm still shooting erotica that shows Amy's face; we are just archiving them until the time comes that we can release them. Five years, twenty years, who knows? But my favorite shot of Amy so far is one of her in a bathrobe and micro blue bikini at sunrise on a balcony in Santa Monica with blue sky and palms in the background. It's an iconic "California blond" image. But it's nothing without her face in it.

And that's where the problem comes in. I've shot some great shots of Amy with her face, and then I'll have her turn her head to hide her face, and shoot another for the blog.

That bothers me.

I'm not striving for excellence, I'm deliberately shooting an inferior picture, and that is demeaning to the picture itself.

So the problem has been with me compromising my own integrity. That's made me cranky when I'm shooting, and I've complained to Amy when I've taken a great pose, and then altered it to hide her face, just so I can show it here. And she takes it personally, my reaction to my own issue, as if it were her fault.

No more.

If hiding her face doesn't also make for a great image and pose, I'm not shooting the picture.

I will henceforth produce only images of Amy that meet my own standard of excellence.

This has been an extremely challenging work week for me, filled with major deadlines and big meetings. It is sometimes still hard for me to shift gears from being The Big Boss at work to being the little girl at home.

Today I came home exhausted and cranky.

Richard was "awarded" a Pro account at Flickr.com by a viewer who loves his photography and wanted to support him in doing more. He has been trying out all the different functions that are now available to him at Flickr, and he uploaded a bunch of old photos using a "gang upload" function that is only available to those with a Pro account.

(I need to preface what I'm about to say by saying that it's only later that I realized this is what happened. At the time I just thought I was cranky and irritable from work.)

Richard showed me the new account set-up. The old photos were a bunch of close-up face shots of his ex-girlfriend wearing a gag.

First of all, I'd never seen her face before. She's pretty.

Second, and more important, Richard has been frustrated lately by not being able to photograph my face. I just can't do it. I cannot take the risk of being identified here. My career is too important to me, both for supporting my children and because...I love my job. It's a big part of my self-identity.

So I'm looking at these photographs of his old girlfriend, who was able to give him something I can't.

I'm having trouble moving through the Flickr account on Safari and Richard makes a (joking) disparaging remark about using Safari rather than Firefox. To which I make a snotty comeback and then stomp off to the bathroom (after asking permission, I'm not THAT stupid) and slam the door.

When I come back, I say that I want to take a nap. Richard says he's going to come up and I'm going to get a spanking for being sassy.

So I run up the stairs and LOCK THE BEDROOM DOOR.

!!!!!!! What on EARTH was I thinking?

Especially given that there is a key to said door on the sill, in case of accidental lock-ins. Doh.

So he was inside the room before I'd even gotten all my clothes off (I sleep nude, even for naps).

He pulled me onto his lap and started spanking me. Hard.

Usually when he spanks me, he builds up to it. It feels nice (I've written about it before) in a sting-y, thuddy kinda way. But this time I wasn't ready for it and I was still cranky.

I tried to pull off him but he had a tight grip on me. He swatted me hard a couple of times and I yelled. That didn't dissuade him. He kept right on spanking.

I managed to wiggle off a couple of times but he somehow twisted around and I was back on his lap and being spanked again before I knew what happened.

I was yelling "Hey! That hurts!" and trying to block him with my hands but nothing worked. Finally I stopped fighting it and was crying quietly. He stopped after a few more swats and laid me down on the bed.

He held me for a few minutes while I cried. After a while, I slowed down crying and snuggled up against him. He lifted my chin up and looked at me.

"Why were you being so sassy, baby? What's wrong?"

I didn't know. We talked about it for a while. I thought that probably the week had been harder on me than either of us had realized (although Richard has been AWESOME supportive - doing all the cooking and cleaning and coddling me like crazy). I still don't know how to transition between Outside Boss Lady to At Home Little Girl. Suggestions are welcome.

He asked if the pictures of his ex had upset me and I was really surprised. I didn't think so. It was only after I went and looked at them again, in preparation for writing this post, that I understood why it upset me.

Sigh. In Richard's previous relationships, he has not received the support he needed for his photography (in my opinion). I do NOT want to be like that. I think probably I'm not going to have trouble when he starts working with other models. Or not too much trouble anyway (wow, some of those women are gorgeous). But it is really hard for me to see pictures of an ex-girlfriend that emphasize to me what I cannot give him.

Well, I gotta go. Richard has just grilled steaks and poured a lovely red wine. I feel like such a twit for having any insecurities at all. I hope everybody has a wonderful, sexy, kinky weekend.

xoxoAmy

Before Richard, my life was very cerebral and above-the-neck. Not just in my work; also in the things I did in my off-hours and in my relationships with men. The only thing that felt full and complete in my life - body and mind and soul - was my relationship with my children.

I knew what my life was missing. I was raised in a tropical paradise by lazy, live in the moment, sensual parents. I grew up mostly naked and brown and happy. I spent my non-school time with a big group of family and extended family and friends, beaching and drinking and not doing much of anything at all.

Somehow when I went off to college I lost touch with that side of myself. It was as if, to grow my mind, I had to shut off my body. In graduate school, I even stopped reading poetry. Poetry had always been important to me, both reading it and writing it, but I was suddenly unable to appreciate it anymore - it felt silly and affected to me. Only recently have I begun to enjoy it again, and I've discoverd Rumi and Pablo Neruda, among others.

No complaints about my brain. It's made a lot of money for me, created a nice life for me and my kids. I'm proud of it. But I'm more than a big brain, and the rest of me had been neglected for a long time.

Last year, I went looking for what was missing. It was a little more complicated than just re-inviting the sensual into my life. For one thing, I'd never known the grown-up side of sensual. For another, I was coming to terms with the reality that I was a sexually submissive woman. How did those things fit together? How could I find what I wanted and needed, when I wasn't even sure what it was?

What I found was Richard. Richard is smart and analytical and intellectual and emotionally intelligent. He keeps pace with what he calls my "monkey brain", he can match me in debate, he can parry when I tease or challenge, he can talk me through emotional minefields and sensitive social scenarios.

But he's so much more than that.

He's my man. He's my mate. He's my master.

Sometimes I wake at night to feel an arm snaking over my hip. It wraps around my belly and pulls me hard against him. I feel his chest on my back, thigh against thigh. I feel him nuzzle my neck, I hear him growl "mine" quietly. I know he means it. This isn't a sexy game. I am his.

When I come back from the office in the early afternoon, we slip on our swimsuits and head for the pool. We slide into the water, leaving our arms propped on the deck, and bake in the sun like lizards. We talk desultorily - what he did, what I did, what the real estate market is doing, politics, philosophy, what photoshoot we'd like to do next, how great our last fuck was. I'll turn my head, eyes half open, and see that Richard has disappeared underwater. He'll surface with a big grin on his face - either to tell me about some silly pool game he played as a kid, or that he was looking at my breasts underwater and liked how they bounced around.

Sometimes he'll swim underwater the length of the pool and then turn toward me. Suddenly his face will light up, and I know he's going to "hunt" me. Nothing is as gleeful as Richard on the hunt. He'll begin moving toward me, not taking his eyes off my face, watching for the sign that I'm about to bolt. I'll try to stay put, try to tell myself that he's just being goofy. But I always spook eventually.

I'm a strong swimmer, but there's nowhere to go. It's a small pool and before I can get far enough away to pull myself out, he's on me. He'll grab my leg and pull me toward him, chuckling under his breath, then pull me close and slip a hand under my suit, cupping a breast or an ass cheek or my pussy. I have to remind him that people can see us, and he always releases me reluctantly.

I don't know how to explain it. I don't know if I'm doing a good job. I may have to try again another time.

Here's how it is: Richard is my mate in a way that I didn't know about before. I love him like an animal. I need him in a primal way. I physically ache for him when we are separate.

He is mine. Mine.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #93? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

Do one thing every day that scares you…

“What I didn’t know-that it would turn me on as much as it hurt me.”

Interview With Deborah Jeane Palfrey, AKA The DC Madam

“I wanted to see coverage treating sex workers as just that-workers.”

Rough Sex - with pictures

“She bites, she writhes, she moans, she claws- none of which she can remember after.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself


Keep Britain Tidy, Gimp

Editor’s Choice

In Her Mind, the Pigeons Were Always Fucking

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Bear

Homosexual myths

Sexual powerlessness

That Thorny Bisexual Thing….

Weird things happen every day

BDSM & Fetish


Asking For A Caning

Bully (working title)

The Challenge, part 1

Command

Every blog should have a slave…

Half-Nekkid Tattoo 2

Happy HNT - Tit flash in a boat

Heel!

Overpower, part 2


Request, granted

Sex Poetry

Heaven is a place

Tonight I’m going to

Vodka Confessions

Sex Audio & Podcasts

Musical Intro #2: sexual nostalgia (Mixed Media.)


Nobilis Erotica 29 — Someone New

Erotic Writing and Experiences

Catalina loves Penelope and Odysseus

Devil’s Last Dance (PJ story)

The Dream

Film

I’m A Woman Man: Episode 5 - Hands


The Most Famous Cock in the World

My slum goddess

Vignette: 3 #2

Sex News

The Birth of The Eye of Venus

Errotica archives

Which One of My subs Is This???

Sex Humor

Kink In The Mainstream - Family Guy In Texas

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio

Black

Britney Caught topless with a Stranger in Hotel Pool

Half-Nekkid and Proud to Be Me

Half-Nekkid Thursday: Begging to Be Spanked

Red Handed Porn

Zurich (nsfw)

Sexy Mandy courtesy of How About Now?

The responses to Amy’s post about getting acrylic nail for the first time have been both varied and interesting. I shot a pic of her fingers the next morning, so you could get an idea of what exactly she'd had done, and now I’ve finally got around to putting it up.

Amy's new nails, set against her pink lace panties

I wouldn’t really consider them a body modification, but more along the line of cosmetic grooming. I decided to have Amy get them because she wants to be more heavily involved in modeling for me than I originally anticipated, and modeling for the kind of glamor and fetish pictures I have in mind comes with a certain level of expectations. One of those is having elegant fingernails.

Acrylic nails are simple to maintain, and take less time than natural nails, so this was an easy call, over having Amy constantly be concerned with maintaining her own. Plus, having your nails done, pedicure, etc. is a great way to make many women feel pampered, and just isn’t something Amy would do for herself. Amy does many things for other people, but she has to be compelled to do anything luxurious for herself.

So I had no problem urging her to try this.

She chose the length and style herself, and we knew that if she didn’t like them they are simple to remove. If she doesn’t like them we won’t get them again. We’ll see how it goes. It’s an experiment; something new, and exploration of unknown territories, for Amy at least.

But I wouldn’t call it a body modification. No more than wearing false eyelashes, getting your hair colored or permed, etc. All quite transitory. Not like a tattoo, for example.

You may remember the following pic, which I created as a joke to tease her about her hating being called a “cunt.”



But seriously, this is not a tattoo I would put on Amy. Amy is not a tattoo/piercing kind of girl, which is certainly fine. She's beautiful the way she is, and that is what suits her best. My daughter, for example, has a half dozen or so, highly visible tattoos, and as many piercings. They give her another kind of beauty, and it suits her perfectly.

I'd like a couple of tattoos myself, one of a spirit animal that I chose for myself when I was about twelve, and another of a spiritual touchstone that has symbolic meaning for me. My daughter has been designing some possibilities for me.

For my daughter, many tattoos make sense. For me, just a couple would be nice. For Amy, none is the perfect number.

I don't see Amy ever getting any tattoos or piercings, except maybe a belly/navel piercing, which she says she wants. That's up to her. I like to think of our bodies as visual expressions of who we are inside, and not to get too over excited about little things like hair color, make up, etc. It's all just fun stuff to explore, but it isn't what makes us who we are.

While Amy and I accept each other for who we are, we understand that both of us are going to continue to grow and explore many aspects of life. I don't like to limit myself by prejudging any possible course of action, but prefer to evaluate it in the context of the moment. Everyone is on a separate spiritual journey, and you alone can make the right decisions for you about how you need to express yourself.

Even supposedly irreversible body mod decisions are not as truly immutable as I had thought. Twenty years ago I decided I had as many offspring as was wise, and had a vasectomy. After much discussion with Amy, we decided to reactivate my long slumbering fertility, and I traveled half way across the country, walked into a stranger's clinic, tossed my testicles up on the table and let him take a knife to do some serious body modification on my more sensitive tissues.

A body mod that beautifully shows how Amy and I feel about each other, and our future together

Now we're into the hard core stuff. Now we're really getting into D/s. No more of this wimpy spanking and flinging me around the bed kinda thing. This is the real stuff.

Richard spoke in an earlier post about wanting to brand me. I have pleaded that being the mother of young children and a professional makes it inappropriate. (And my children see me naked a lot. I am not a fan of clothing.) Plus I have this ugly vision of me as a 95-year-old (I come from a long-lived line), my kids changing my diaper and seeing "Fucktoy" or some such on my private bits. Ew. Plus it sounds very owie and scary and I am *not* a masochist.

Richard took branding "off the table", as well as threesomes and public play, because he saw that discussing them caused a lot of anxiety for me in the early days. Not so much now but (as far as I know anyway) they are still off the table.

I think his doing this allowed me to move into being in a full-time D/s relationship more easily than I might otherwise have. Richard has demanded a lot of me at times, but I have never felt incapable of obeying and I have never worried that he would ask more than I was capable of obeying. Because he'd taken those things off the table.

However, a couple of weeks ago Richard told me that he wanted me to have something done to my body. Something extreme, from my perspective. More extreme, in some ways, than a small, privately placed branding or tattoo. Extreme (to me) because everyone can see it and it is very different from my (previous) public persona.

Richard wanted me to get fake fingernails.

I've never even painted my fingernails. They stay pretty short by themselves and occasionally I trim them but more often I just nip off an edge with my teeth if I notice.

I really, really didn't want to get them. For one thing, I figured I'd break them within a few minutes, so they'd be a waste of money.

Richard and I had a long talk about it this morning and I realized that the *main* reason it felt so uncomfortable to me is that I've always had a sort of "nature girl" approach to my looks. I rarely wear makeup, I rarely blowdry or curl my hair, I rarely wear heels...I'm pretty much as God made me, you know?

I think maybe I had a little bit of arrogance around that - "Other women fix their nails and their hair and wear lots of makeup, but *I* have more important things to do". And honestly, I do have a lot of other things to do. A demanding career, my kids, house, garden, pets, cooking (I love cooking).

But Richard is important too. And being attractive to Richard is important. And he is so, so visual (male AND a photographer - a double whammy).

So today I walked into a salon and I got acrylic fingernails.

They're short and they're natural looking (ish). I think they're called a French manicure, or pink-and-whites.

When she started working on my fingernails my hands were shaking.

By the time I left I was calmer, but they looked weird to me.

Tonight - I love them. I feel sexy and very feminine.

Richard thinks they're sexy and he's very pleased with me, because this was hard for me to do and I did it without whining (well, not *much* whining). This afternoon when we made love I grabbed his shoulders with my nails, and scratched his back. They didn't break! I felt like a wanton! This is great!

I said maybe next we could talk about a tattoo, but Richard said he thinks a tattoo isn't right for me and he's thinking maybe we'll dye my hair platinum instead. My eyes about bugged out of my head when he said that. I wish I had a safe word...

You turn your back on a drink for ten seconds, and some little cunt thinks she has control of it.

Soooooo not happening.

I announced with pride to Amy a few minutes ago that I could actually stand. Not only stand, but even grille a steak. And I'm beyond tipsy.

So.

Obviousoly I'm in a perfect condition to post. And Amy's post demands a response. I'd make a comment on it, but I've too much to say.

Good god.

The naughty girl is opening this up in her computer and reading it as I type it. She just read my opening line to me. This may call for discipline, but I'll labour through this post first.

Oh, and I've had no trouble wielding the barbecue tongs. Standing is an acheivememnt to boast about, but the barbecue tongs? Kid's stuff.

You learn stuff when your partner's tipsy. I had no idea Amy was a size queen. Now she's telling me she's always been with enormously hung guys.

Poor girl.

I'm entirely average, cock wise, except I'm fucking gorgeous. Talk about perfect proprotions. That was my claim to fame, back when I used to model. It's the one body part I could always rely to get compliments on, although I did wonder why Amy never commented on it. But as a size queen, well that makes sense.

She'll have to make do now. At least I know what to look for in a threesome partner. A guy with an enormous cock.

Or maybe a guy with a tiny one.

Either way, I'm sure he can take his pleasure from her as efficiently as I do.

Heh heh heh...

Anyway, Amy was the heat in last night's fuck. Every angle I probed in her felt good. Every rhythm, every inch of penetration, the sensation thrilled out of her sexy cunt. I even tried a few things I hadn't before.

She made them all unreal fucking incredible awesome hot.

God what a fuck she is. Like nothing I've known before.

And let me amend her quote. Basically, it's "You want foreplay AND an orgasm? What, like I've got nothing else to do with my time?" Seriously. I've got tile to lay. Take your pick, foreplay or an orgasm. Sheesh.

Like I'm fucking her for her pleasure right now anyway.

If she can get some, well bully for her. All I can say is,, she's been a very good girl for me, and a great fuck.

Right now,, she's tits and cunt for me.

Oh.

Ass too.

We did a little anal play withh a butt plug.

I thinl AMy coukld handle double penetration.

I notice my little cunt isn;t twalking about THAT yet.

God.

The second Maragarita is getting to me.

We make them three parts tequila, twoo parts that orange stuff, and one part fresh squeezed lime.

Grreat stuff.

Probablyu makes me aggressive. Kicks the fuck out of my ability to spell.

Oh, we make them in tyhat Martini shaker you see in her avatar. I'll have her make me one nude.

Tomorrow.

For now, I'm gonna strip Amy nude and enjoy the rest of the evening. See ya then.


ps. I thought AMy handled her quoytationn marks well in her post. The girl knows her stuff, especially when it comes to starting a second paragraph in a dialogue, without changing speakers.

She's good.

"Good idea." says Richard "Post tipsy. You're bound to say something profound."

He's sitting next to me on our patio, watching the Weber, which has a head of garlic, baked potatoes, thick slices of aubergine and two eensy weensy steaks a-grilling on it.

I've taken control of a truly artisanal margarita, the second of the evening. We've been making margaritas from scratch almost nightly for the last week, since the kids have been with their father. It's not often that I can take control of something in the Richard/Amy D/s relationship, me being the /s and all. But Richard is a cheap drunk, and he's having trouble wielding the barbecue tongs, and so I have co-opted the margarita.

I was planning on my next post being a very deep, thoughtful, evocative thing aka Z or droplet or sulpicia or jdslove, if she would ever begin blogging ffs. But no. You get drunken ramblings instead.

We always share a glass. Water, lemonade, soda, wine, JD...we share. Boundaries issues? Mebbe. But it feels very romantic and wonderful from here.

Oops! He just snagged a gulp of it while I was writing.

Then he asked what I was writing about and I said "You. You and your enormous cock."

"I don't have an enormous cock!

"I have a perfect cock. The perfect size."

OK boss. Perfect cock. Yup.

Well he does actually.

I used to scoff at the saying "It's not the meat, it's the motion."

I figured that was something that small guys said. Call me a size queen. I was wrong. (He's got lots o meat, but it's the motion, omigod the motion)

This morning, no in the middle of the night actually, I woke up to Richard wrestling my breasts. Not fondling. Manhandling. Before I could surface to consciousness he had flipped me onto my tummy, grabbed my hips and hauled my ass into the air.

I was suprised (in a vague, half-awake kind of way) that he was able to slip into me so easily, without really any foreplay at all. Today when we were driving to a Greek restaurant for lunch and talking about this he said "Look, I'm feeling really aggressive right now. You want foreplay AND an orgasm? I don't *think* so!"

He fucked me so hard, so long, so sweetly...he was an artist. He is a fucking PhD in fucking. He deserves a Nobel for fucking, with a specialty in doggie style or hands-n-knees or from-behind or whatever-you-call-it.

After hours (well, not really, it just felt that way), he flipped me onto my back and really started fucking me hard.

The whole time he is growling like an animal. I can tell he doesn't know he's making any noise at all. He's just hammering my pussy and *owning* me by fucking me, I can't think of another way to say it.

As he gets close to cumming, he moves differently. It's more...random, less linear, less predictable. And it feels so, so sweet. I just arch my back and hold my breath and try to feel every inch of him. When he cums in me, I understand why the French call it "la petite mort" - "the little death". He dies in me, I die with him, we die...I struggle completely awake and he pushes himself off me.

He grabs my hand and pulls it down to my pussy.

"Masturbate for me. Do it."

I start to touch myself, but he's not convinced. "Do it now. Be a good girl. I want you to cum."

I keep going. He can feel it, and he starts to play with my breasts, with my nipples. "You're full of my cum. You're mine. I want you to cum."

Usually cumming makes him less aggressive, but not today. Today he knows and he feels it that I am his and his alone, all day long, all night long. His aggression, his dominance - I'm going to feel it throughout the day, no matter how often he cums. This is what life is like when we are alone for several days. I am completely his - his girl, his slut, his toy. So much less and so much more than I ever was for anyone before in my life.

""Cum for me now."

And I do. I do. Because I am his, because he wants me to, because he takes me there.

PS Richard decided that he HAD to respond to my impertinent post immediately. You can see the results at Response to "Posting Typsy".

Just revisiting this picture for a moment.

Amy wants to use it as her avatar from now on, she feels it is a more accurate representation of who she is, than the previous avatar. I would have to agree.

Dissenting opinions are, of course, welcome.

Sex with Amy is a continuum; I'm not always sure when one episode starts and another ends.

Maybe the aggression wipes out short term memory.

As much as I like the Daddy/little girl dynamic, I don't necessarily think of Amy as a little girl.

I think you can see why.

Amy and I were lying in bed yesterday around 6:30, just talking and waking
up, when I noticed how beautiful the light on the wall was.

I had her stand against the wall, and shot a few dozen pictures.

This is one.

I think of Amy as "Mine." I expect her to submit, to obey, to be a good girl. I expect to use her and force her to do what I want.

A few days ago I wanted to fuck her, but I wanted her all tits and cunt. I turned her head to one side, and pressed a pillow over her face. I had her masturbate and cum like that, then I fucked her with the pillow over her face; all wriggling cunt and bouncing breasts. Lovely.

At some point, a day later, maybe more, it's kinda blurry, I played with her, fucked her, made her masturbate and cum, but didn't cum myself. I warned her that I'd use her later in the night, after I'd rested.

Didn't happen.

I slept too soundly, and awoke early in the morning.

Amy lay beside me in a thin t-shirt, (probably this one, or her Fruit Loops T-shirt) because she had felt chilled when she went to bed the night before.



We talked briefly, I don't remember about what, but I do remember something about torturing her. I remember wanting to, anyway. Then I told her to open her legs, because I wanted to fuck her. As I moved onto her, I remember very clearly her nipples jiggling with her breasts under her shirt, and feeling offended that she had the t-shirt on st all, but also thinking "Fuck it, I don't want your tits today anyway. This is for me, not you."

Amy likes breast play, but no way I was giving her anything to work with. I wanted to use her, not make love to her. This was a fuck for me.

I entered her, and I remember being proud that she was wet enough to force my way into her pussy easily, and feeling proud that she was enough of a slut to always be ready to fuck, without foreplay, without warning.

Good girl.

I fucked her in silence, or so I thought. Amy told me the next day, when she dared bring up the previous day's fuck, that I had been growling deep in my throat from time to time. The kinda growl she pays close attention too.

Could be. I was focused on other things.

I pulled her legs up, and held her thighs open with my biceps, while I had her put her arms down along her sides, where I grasped her wrists, essentially pinning her to the bed, unable to move her legs nor her arms.

Then I fucked her.

Often fucking is a below the waist thing, all hips and pelvic thrusts.

Not now. I full body fucked her, my weight unsupported by my arms, which were busy holding her legs apart and immobilizing her wrists. I drove into her with the force and weight of my full body, forgoing any pretense of making this pleasurable, or even comfortable for her.

This was my fuck.

I fucked her in a few different ways, always pinning her, immobilizing her, not letting her free.

Until I wanted her wetter.

Two ways work for making Amy even wetter. Have her suck my cock, and making her masturbate. I like making her suck my cock, especially when she chocks and almost vomits. I love hearing her gag when I thrust deep down her throat.

But I wanted to rest a moment, let her get wet, and then cum in her. So I told her to masturbate.

I'm not a cruel man. She'd been a good enough girl, compliant, obedient, if a little scared, so I told her "I'll give you two minutes. If you can cum in two minutes, fine. Otherwise, you aren't getting to cum."

Amy begged to have longer, to be allowed to cum, but as I said before, this wasn't her fuck. I'm giving her two minutes, then I'm finishing her off.

She started to masturbate.

I may have played with her tits through the t-shirt, I don't remember. I remember reaching down to check her wetness, and deciding her little cunt was close to what I wanted, and that I was going to fuck her shortly.

I think she whimpered.

I didn't feel very patient. I wanted to fuck the little slut NOW.

But.

I had promised two minutes.

I gave her two minutes.

I went to open her legs and climb between them, and she resisted. Or maybe she didn't resist. Her legs were just stiff. Usually her legs open easily for me, especially when she's scared of me, but this time she felt unusually rigid.

No problem. I forced her legs open firmly, and a part of my brain suddenly thought that she might be cumming at that instant, which would explain the rigidity of her body. I figured I might be wrecking her orgasm, interrupting it, but what the fuck. I gave the little cunt two minutes, and now I want her.

She told me the next day that she was indeed cumming, and that she was making little cumming noises. Whatever. I didn't notice them. I wanted her cunt.

I thrust back into her again.

I fucked her, pinning her in some fashion, I'm not sure what now. But I remember her biting me, biting my shoulder repeatedly, maybe my arms and chest too, it's hard to be clear. Amy fucks like a wild animal. A scared wild animal, but a wild animal nonetheless. She bites, she writhes, she moans, she claws- none of which she can remember after. I've been carrying bite marks and bruises since we met. I counted eleven distinct bruises one day, all in varying degrees of visibility.

She can bite all she wants. I'm all cock and violence, fucking her pinned pussy. It occurs to me, dimly, that she might already at this moment be pregnant.

I like the thought.

In another moment, in all the struggling and chaos of fucking her, forcing her, I empty into her.

I flood her with cum; with my sperm.

I feel primal. I want to see the cunt pregnant.

I want to make her belly swell.

A couple of days ago I laid Amy down on the bed to pluck her pubic hair. I've been keeping her smooth by having her epilate, but it's rough on her, and she has mentioned being afraid of her epilator, so I decided to make her smooth myself.

Stretch the skin tight, grab the hair with tweezers, and pull it firmly in the direction it is growing. Over and over.

For me, it's a wonderful way to explore a part of her without the heat of sexual arousal. I can examine and notice details that I would overlook, otherwise.

For Amy, the effect is more mixed. As my hands move and reposition over her obedient pussy, she begins to bliss out. She's dealing with the discomfort of hair plucking, combined with the pleasure of having her pussy touched, and the underlying knowledge that I am doing this to her, and she is to simply lie there and have me do it to her.

I have no idea how long it takes. I pluck, tease out an occasional ingrown with a pin and a jewelers loupe, while Amy gives little moans and whimpers from time to time, pressing her damp self against my hands...

I've gotten a few emails from people asking if we're real, if the things we write about are real and, if so, how THEY could go about having such a relationship. I've always replied, but I thought it might be worth a post too.

1. Are you and Richard real people? Yes we are real. We met on an online community last September. I saw his avatar (the little picture that shows up with your posts) and felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. He felt the same when he saw mine. We flirted outrageously on the boards for a month or so before taking the flirtation to email, then to instant messaging (IM) and webcam (I hate webcam. I am not an exhibitionist. Hate it.) I remember thinking, after our first few email exchanges, "Gee he's not just a pretty face with a great sense of humor. There's some real substance to this guy!"

At the time, I thought I was a bedroom submissive (see my early posts) and Richard was determined not to get involved with anything more than that. We realized pretty quickly that this was different and we were not going to be satisfied with less than a 24/7 D/s relationship.

In February, we met in person for the first time and it was magic. I knocked on the hotel room door and the most gorgeous man I've ever seen answered. The magnetism...unbelievable. (We talked about it later; both of us thought the other was attractive from IM, but were startled by HOW attractive the other was in real life.) He wasn't expecting me for another half hour, so when I leaned across to kiss him he pulled away. Then when he realized it was me, he pulled me into the room and wrapped his arms around me and began to kiss me. We'd gotten a room with an incredible view but I didn't see it for almost 15 minutes because he wouldn't stop kissing me and holding me. When I finally pointed this out, he laughed and turned me to the window, then wrapped his arms around me again. It was another 15 minutes before I saw the room. We had four days, trapped in the hotel room because of bad weather, me experiencing D/s for the first time and both of us falling head over heels in love.

We had planned on waiting six to 12 months to be together, to get to know each other better and deal with the complexities of Richard moving across county. (Richard is a photographer and so much more flexible than I am. I am tied here both by my career and my children (shared custody).) But after the four days together, we decided that there was no point in waiting. We knew that we were going to be together, and each day apart was agony. It was hard for me to focus on my work; we would have marathon IM sessions, sometimes eight hours or more.

So Richard moved out two long weeks later, and we have been together since then. We've only been apart two nights, when I had to make a quick business trip to the east coast. I missed him. This blog chronicles our time together since near the beginning, so I don't need to say any more. But, yes, we're real.

2. Are the things you write about real? Yes, they are real. In fact, we only write about maybe a tenth of what we do. We are both too busy to write more than that, and we're also both well aware that writing about sex can get repetitive and boring if you aren't careful. So we have things that we do pretty regularly, but we only write about them once. For example, I've cum twice today in very similar ways, much like I cum almost every day - Richard began playing with my breasts, I begged him to fuck me, he did while telling me what a little slut I've become, needing sex so much, and how much he likes it, then he pulled out of me and made me masturbate until I was close to cumming, while pinching and sucking and biting my breasts, then when I begged to cum he teased me about not letting me then finally said yes, I had an earth-shattering orgasm and then he entered me again and fucked me until he came (omigod that fucking right after orgasm??!!! heaven on earth! can I get an "amen"?)

See, boring. I can't write that over and over. Well, to be honest, it was a little different the first time today because in the middle of fucking me he put a pillow over my face and fucked me and made me cum that way. Still, you see my point: how many times can you write about that?

3. How can I have a relationship like yours? Gosh. I feel like I won the lottery, and how can you give someone tips about how to win the lottery? It's luck, right? But I'll try to say a few things that might help. First, if you're looking for a partner, online makes a LOT of sense, since you can meet so many more people that way. Places to meet kinky people online: alt.com, adultfriendfinder, bondage.com, off the top of my head. I know there are others.

Second, be open and honest but cautious. There are crazies out there and sane people who lie about everything from their age to their marital status. But if you are overly suspicious and play your cards too close to the chest you aren't going to be able to get close to someone. Even though Richard and I were very honest with each other, we still had several misunderstandings in our first interactions. Cyber is a hard medium to communicate in. But both of us kept coming back to the table to work it out. Which brings me to my third point.

Communicate. Talk about everything. Talk about things you don't want to talk about. Talk about things you're embarrassed to talk about. And just as important, listen. Listen to everything, listen to things you don't want to hear, listen to things that embarrass you. If you already have a partner, and are not sure that they have the same interests, talk to them. You might be surprised. Or you might find something that works for both of you, different from what you originally expected (like what happened with us!)

I would wish for everyone what I have with Richard. Not necessarily D/s, because that is certainly not for everyone. But a partner who you trust your life with, who you would take a bullet for, who makes every day fun and exciting and also safe and warm. I wake up every morning smiling, and Richard wakes up every morning being smiled at. I hope you have that or are on the way to getting it.

xoxoAmy

Before we headed east to visit family, I said I was unsure of "how to deal with the inevitable distance that will develop with less time alone, more responsibilities and less ability to focus exclusively on each other."

The short answer is that we survived.

We had a lot of Quiet Sex. Well, not a LOT of Quiet Sex. But all the sex we had was Quiet Sex.

Quiet Sex can be fun for a change. Hushing each other, biting hard on the pillow, giggling when the bed slams against the wall or the boxsprings squeak just a bit too rhythmically.

Quiet Sex as a regular diet is frustrating. No time or privacy for simply snuggling and pillow talk is also frustrating.

We had one great photo shoot, from whence came the AirStream photo and some other pics yet to be posted. I really enjoy doing a shoot with Richard; I've mentioned before that it makes me feel very submissive and close to him. That was nice.

We might have been able to do more D/s, but I think that Richard was focused on keeping me propped up until we got out of there. I felt like I was curled up into a mental fetal position, just trying to survive my mother's nastiness until we could go home . (She's not always this bad; things are tough right now and it brings out the worst in her. I've spoken to a lot of women my age who have mothers of HER age who seem to have become bitter and twisted with age, I guess from not living their lives the way they wanted to. I am determined not to end up that way.)

But as we headed west...things changed. Richard began to be more demanding. Fewer requests, more commands. That instantly caused a mental shift in me, bringing my focus back to him, and to us. The kids were with us, but they were happily playing with each other and the dogs in the back of the minivan, which gave us the freedom to talk for hours as we drove.

I didn't make the mistake of renting a "suite" again. We got adjoining hotel rooms, and when the door closed on the kids and dogs, I was alone with a very aroused, very aggressive man. We still had to be quiet, but we had a long, wonderful night together, with little sleep. We reconnected as a D/s couple, as owner and owned, Master and slave, Daddy and little girl.

Now we're at home, and the kids are with us for another five days. It will be three long weeks without a single spanking for me. During the day, when I'm not at work, I'm focusing on serving and caring for Richard - cooking nice meals, making sure he takes his vitamins, last night I made from-scratch margaritas! At night, when we climb into bed, I am his.

As I write this, I am tired, but very happy and peaceful. We survived the challenge of two weeks with relatives. Our young marriage and D/s relationship is stronger than ever. Life is good.

There.

The shed is done.

Next project.

Personally, I think it's time for some more pics. I want to go get new chains for the porch swing. Maybe some extra chains, Amy, and the new shed could make an interesting combo.

I'm off to imagine...