New Orleans Redux
We are in New Orleans for a few days, our first time back for more than two years (the early trip is documented in our blog archives). It’s different this time. We are here with another man.
Our teenage son.
Bwahahahahaha. By the way, I didn’t mean to go all “O. Henry” on you in my last post. I originally planned NOT to say that it was my sister we had dinner with. But I realized that a) it’s just too cool not to mention, and b) the odds of her ever reading this are infinitely small. I will talk more about the Daddy/little girl stuff in another post.
Back to New Orleans. Last time we were here, we were a VERY new couple. We bought a schoolgirl skirt and a corset and nipple clamps on Bourbon Street. Happily we have used the first two items far more than the third.
This time we are an old married couple with a teenager. Nonetheless, we are figuring out ways to make it wonderful. There are, of course, the vanilla things - beignet and chicory coffee at Cafe du Monde, the Algiers Ferry, Rock N Bowl, Acme Oyster House, Brigtsen’s, Bourbon Street (LORD, I am getting so much grief from both my boys about calling it juvenile).
There are also the not-so-vanilla things. Last night Richard and I went out alone to hear some live music and dance a little. At one point he was standing over my chair, rubbing my neck. His hands started wandering enough that I began to get nervous. Which he picked up on. Which of course made him bolder. Bad man. I was trying not to be obvious, because it wasn’t that dark. When I started to pull away he wrapped my hair around his fist and pulled my head back. My neck was straining from the pressure and I looked up at him pleadingly. He just smiled and kept hold of my hair while trailing his fingers over me. Luckily everyone was dancing and watching the stage. I hope so, anyway.
This morning he was petting me awake - my head hurt a bit from drinking (only two drinks all night! no fair!) and I had trouble waking up - and he started playing with my breasts. His hands became more and more insistent until I was writhing, needing to cum. He took my hand and forced it onto my pussy and whispered “Masturbate. Now.” But after just a minute he said “I changed my mind. You aren’t going to cum. I’m going to.” And then he fucked me. Oh God it felt so good and he came and I could tell it was really good for him and then he pulled out and said “maybe later” and got up to make coffee.
So I’ve been desperately wanting to cum all day, which he just loves. Now he’s gone off to take street photos with our son and I am here alone, all squirmy. I’m wondering how much trouble I would get into if I masturbated, and if it’s worth it.
I react worse to hearing ‘nipple clamps’ than I do to ‘nipple piercing’. I’m right this second protecting my chest with one arm and typing with one hand at just the tiny thought of it, LOL.
Squirmy is hot.
Comment by Chantal — November 15, 2009 @ 3:56 pm
Perfectly beautiful!
site
Comment by Trix — November 15, 2009 @ 8:48 pm
I find this post deeply disturbing. I don’t care about the nipple clamps, hair pulling, public humiliation or orgasm denial. No, what bothers me is the chicory coffee. Ick. I’m a Kona coffee farmer so I know a little bit about coffee and that chicory stuff ain’t coffee.
Although I suppose I should be more open minded. Something about consenting adults blah, blah, blah. Screw that, consenting shmenting, chicory coffee isn’t fit for consumption and anybody that believes otherwise is just asking for a spanking.
Comment by Andy — November 16, 2009 @ 10:59 am
Omigosh Andy, you made me laugh so hard. Richard and I actually had a conversation related to this a few days ago. I said that there are things that I enjoy eating and drinking even though they don’t taste good to me, because they bring me back to a time and/or place (Proust, anyone?). For example, retsina. It tastes like licking a ski, right? But it reminds me of the Greek islands, so I would probably order it in a Greek restaurant and I would FOR SURE order it if I were back in Greece. Same with chicory coffee - it reminds me of New Orleans even if it does taste like mud. But I’m so impressed and jealous that you grow Kona coffee!!! What a wonderful life!
Comment by Amy — November 16, 2009 @ 11:45 am
No, chicory stuff isn’t coffee but is IS New Orleans! Just the smell of it takes me back.
I must confess to liking nipple clamps, myself. Altho, I hasten to add, not NEARLY as much as my guy does.
I agree with Chantal - Squirmy is good, even though it sux. But I liked the trailing fingers part better…
Comment by Jz — November 16, 2009 @ 3:20 pm