24.7

 

Amy wore this last night.  She worked on her laptop, but had the first sexy nightie I ever saw her in tucked underneath her robe.  Absentmindedly, or perhaps for practical reasons, she kept the marker that she was using tucked into he cleavage, as you can see here.

 

Tantalizing.

 

We went to bed without incident, but later in the dark of the night, I awoke, and she was, as always, naked beside me in bed, facing away from me.  Soft, warm, feminine; and very easy to touch.  I stroked her back a little, then reached around and found her breasts.  I’d been playing with her breasts the night before, both before and after we went to bed, and now I found them deliciously soft, and cupped one in my hand, its nipple a firm bulge pressed against my palm.

 

I’ve mentioned before how her nipples are always at least partially erect.  On rare occasions they have laid low and smooth on her breasts, but almost always I find them perky and ready.  If she goes without a bra, her nipples always make themselves known.

 

I played with her nipple, gently squeezing it in my palm, between the lines of my hand.  The lifeline, the heartline, I forget which is which but I used that crevasse to fold around her nipple and press it, making it firmer.

 

Only when Amy is asleep do I get uncomplaining initial access to her breasts.  Awake, the moment I touch them she flinches, or says “No,” and tries to get away.  It’s an instinct with her, with her nipples so sensitive, that she recoils from invasion.  Even in the middle of intense sexual play, she objects every time I move my focus to her breasts.

 

Naturally, I therefore touch her breasts at every opportunity.

 

Dropping my mouth to her nipple brings out a long litany of “no no no no no no no no,” like a Greek chorus of disapproving Gregorian monks; the words rising and falling in a beautiful, sensual  rhythm controlled by the pressure of my lips.  A simple bite elicits a delightful shriek, and often humor, as she twists away with her nipple clamped between my teeth.  “Don’t hurt yourself,”  I’ll say, but it rarely works.  I’ll do the same with her nipple gripped firmly between my thumb and forefinger, telling her not to hurt herself, and yet, invariably, she writhes and squirms and wrenches her nipple cruelly.  My hand, of course, is unmoving.  Unrelenting, if you like, but still, it is her own movements that bring her the discomfort I enjoy.

 

Asleep, I have perhaps twenty seconds to lightly play with her breasts before she semi-wakes and tried to get away, or at the very least complain.  On this night, she is sleeping more soundly, or my touch is lighter, and I have several minutes of handling her soft breasts, her nipples fully firm in my hands as she sleeps.

 

When at last she does begin to stir, I slide my hand quickly down her back and between her legs, gripping her pussy.  She gives a little cry as I yank her ass up beside me in the bed, her body bent at the waist, and press my cock into her.

 

I hold her thigh with one hand, and with the other I press on her back, between her shoulder blades, keeping her bent.  I find my rhythm inside her body, as she makes little noises of dismay.  Amy likes her sleep, and doesn’t yield willingly in the night, but of course yield she does.  She moans something about being asleep, like it was relevant, and I continue to enjoy her body.

 

I am not gentle.

 

I let go of her thigh, and cup a breast, then massage both breasts roughly, first with one hand, then the other.  Lying on our sides, her facing away, I take her hips in my hands and drill myself into her.

 

She feels good.

 

There are times when I plan to make Amy cum, there are plans when I intend to cum and not let her, and then there are times when I have no plans at all.  I’m just fucking her.  And here I had no plan, except that I knew I was fucking her for my sake, and any enjoyment she could find from the whole experience was for her to glean herself.  I had other concerns.

 

At one point, I have to pin her hands away from her body to stop her from trying to protect her breasts.  I have free reign then, to explore her nipples as gently or cruelly as I like.  On this occasion, I do both. 

 

I rise to my knees, and reach between her legs, hoisting her ass into the air, and with her suddenly on all fours, I enter her from behind.  I grip her hips, grab her breasts, and at times her shoulders, as I penetrate her repeatedly.

 

I grab her hips, pull out of her and then twist her to the left, flipping her onto her back. I grab an ankle, and yank her towards me, then move between her thighs and continue.  She begs for a drink of water from the nightstand, but I refuse to let her have any.  I like the idea of her suffering from thirst as I fuck her, and continue.

 

Eventually, I roll off her, to rest a moment, and Amy, who has not been silent through this, begins to beg for permission to cum. 

 

I grant her permission, and play with her nipples and whisper in her ear what a little slut she is while she cums.

 

After she cums, I re-enter her, and fuck her while she moans something about being too tired.  Her body is delicious; wonderful to be inside, and I feel her sweat slicked skin damp against mine as I fuck her.  She makes sounds now, inadvertently, with each thrust into her.  She is clearly exhausted, and just being fucked, waiting for it to end.

 

Eventually, it does.

We bought an RV and we’ve been going away weekends to frolic. I was in bed and noticed how gorgeous Richard looked while making our coffee. So I put my new iPhone 4 to good use!

PS I don’t think I’m much of a slave - he won’t ever let me make the coffee. When I suggest (respectfully) that I should do it, he says “You aren’t allowed” or “You don’t have permission” just to bug me.

I make Amy ask for permission when she wants to use the bathroom.  She used to glare at me, and mutter and scowl, but she did it.  Now it’s ingrained, pretty much a reflex.

So now I’ve started making her raise her hand, when she wants permission to go to the bathroom.  No hand raised, she doesn’t get acknowledged.

I like it.  It’s like she’s back in grade school.

Amy says we already covered this topic in some other post, but I don’t remember so…..double post!

Amy and I were talking about her sexual talents.  Well, I was talking about them.  I started by commenting that she was a freak in bed.

Oh my.

You’d think I’d slandered the Queen.  She insisted that she was “NOT A FREAK IN BED.”  I pointed out the matter of biting, etc., and the conversation switched around a little and she pouted as she maintained that some of her best sexual talents are never used.

“You just face fuck me,” she grumbled.   “I never get to give a nuanced blowjob.”

True enough.  I’m not one to sit back passively while she does stuff - I like to do stuff.  To her.

I get bored even thinking about the traditional blowjob.  What am I gonna do, lay back and think about what color to paint the roof?  I much prefer to have her choking and gagging while I drive myself deeper into her throat.

Still, there are indeed other pleasures in life beyond the obvious, and I’m thinking about giving this nuanced blowjob a try.  Amy’s always been pretty confident of her oral skills, and I might learn to like it her way, who knows?   But it’s unlikely to be number one on the menu.

“And another thing,” said Amy.  “I’m really good at seduction, I can really seduce a guy when I want to.  But I don’t get to with you.  You’re always fucking me.”

Now, there are things I’m willing to explore, like forced masturbation, or orgasm denial for her, but fucking her less often just so she can seduce me?

I draw the line there.

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.

We had dinner a couple of weeks ago with another Daddy/little girl couple.  Which was cool, because I’d never met another before.  In fact, I’ve spoken/written with other Daddies and little girls only briefly.  We were at a restaurant and it was really cute to watch them together.  They are still finding their way around a D/s relationship, so I think it was nice for them to see how another Daddy/little girl couple behaves in public.  (Answer: discreetly, but not vanilla.  Let me know if you need more detail. : ))

The Daddy got kind of crabby with his girl, and she responded in a very submissive and concerned way that I recognized right away.  Most of the vanilla women I know, including my previous self and this girl’s previous self, would snap back if her husband snapped at her in public.  I have often seen one unpleasant exchange like this turn into an evening of irritation and hurt feelings on both sides.  It’s amazing how much more quickly bad moods and feelings dissipate if you don’t feel a need to defend yourself.

After he’d snapped at her, and she’d been conciliatory, I could see him processing it.  I know that they both have some concerns about this kind of relationship – he is especially worried about hurting her if he needs to discipline her, and she is worried about letting go of control.  She also has one of the sharpest tongues of anyone I know, so I was impressed with her response, and I got the sense that it made him very happy.  Richard recently mentioned how proud and happy I made him a couple of times early in our relationship and how that made him feel more confident as my Dom/Daddy.  (For those of you who have been reading our blog for a while, one of those times was when I was told to put Megan’s giant buttplug in my mouth ewwwwwwwww.)

I think their kind of Daddy/little girl is pretty much just like our kind of Daddy/little girl.  A lot of Daddy/little girls are into age play, which we are not.  I’ve practiced my Richard “if it’s consensual it’s okay” attitude with that, because my initial response was to be…hmm, I’m not sure what it was.  I guess part of it, as the mother of a young girl, was wanting to be sure that Daddy/little girl not about pedophilia or incest.  My impression is that it is not; the D/lg’s that I have spoken to are very happy being part of an adult and unrelated couple.  Richard would say here (I think; I guess he’ll let us know if I’m wrong) that it wouldn’t even matter if they were, as long as it was still two consenting adults doing it.  But is it pedophilia and incest if it’s only pretend?  *ponders*

The other thing that I had a leetle trouble with at first is being invited to pajama parties or asked what “age” I am (as in: am I 6 years old, or 10 years old, or…?), or talking about crayon colors.  But again, that’s cool if that is what they are into.  It’s just not what I’m into.

So what is Daddy/little girl if it’s not age play?  I can only speak for us.  Obviously.  If you read our very early posts (from when we were at blogspot *spit curse*, but it’s also archived on this site), we were trying out Master/slave.  But we both felt a little uncomfortable with the terms.  It made me feel very disposable and replaceable (why do I keep hearing Richard in my ear today?  “Ooo disposable – hot!”).  It also felt very one-sided, and our relationship didn’t feel at all one-sided to me.  I had never felt so nurtured and cherished and valued.

Why do we need names for what we are to each other?  What about simply Husband and Wife?  Or say that we are in a 24/7 D/s lifestyle relationship, which is probably the most accurate description of what we are?

I dunno.  Richard has always called me “little girl” and “baby girl”, both of which I LOVE.  After a few months together he told me I was to call him “Daddy”.  At first it freaked me out, but now I can’t imagine calling him anything else.  Here’s the weirdest thing of all.  My little sister met and married a wonderful man at the same time that I met and married Richard, and we found out later that we both started calling our husbands “Daddy” at exactly the same time.  And that’s whom we were having dinner with.

I couldn’t find a collar for Amy that I liked, so I decided we didn’t need to put a lot of energy into it, since the collar was only a symbol.

But Amy found one that worked perfectly for us, and the other day I mentioned to her that I was very aware of when she had it on, and that I liked putting it on her, etc.

“Oh,” she responded.  “I thought you said you didn’t care about those things.”

I considered a moment, and then said “I guess I was wrong.”

“Oh” said Amy, tragically NOT considering for a moment.  “Which time?”

I woke up early, and Amy snuggled in close under the duvet; the morning sharp and cold.  She slipped both hands around my cock, murmured something, and drifted back to sleep.

We lay like this for a half hour, maybe an hour.  I enjoyed the feeling of my erection between her cool palms, and did not sleep.

I planned to cum in her.  No hurry, plenty of time.

I flipped her off me onto her side, facing away from me.  I placed one hand between her shoulder blades, and pushed, and with the other reached between her thighs to seize her pussy, and pulled her hips toward me.  A moment’s effort had her bent double, vulnerable.  I opened her ass checks, and reached in to divide her pussy lips, just enough to wedge my cock’s head at her opening.

Then I started to thrust.

I won’t call it pain, but I felt discomfort.  The guys will know what I’m talking about, that delicious twinge as  you batter at her unprepared cunt, your cock buckling ever so slightly in the middle with each thrust, a quick radiation of pain.  It passes as you keep thrusting between her still awakening labia, and you force your way into her pussy with brute strength.

She isn’t very moist, not yet.  Barely even protesting, as she still struggles with sleep.  But a steady rhythmn will loosen her, and moisten her thoroughly.

I usualy love playing with her body, making her squirm, fucking her.

But I’m not interested in fucking Amy.  Not this time.

I just want to cum.

I hold her hips and fuck her, thrusting.  I know her tits are bouncing with each thrust, and I ignore them briefly, a luxurious decadence to neglect such fine tits.

I ignore them because Amy isn’t going to cum.  I don’t want her too.  If I don’t play with her nipples, she doesn’t cum.

For a moment, I do amuse myself by grabbing one breast, feeling the delicious softness in my hand, with the ever present hardness of her nipple against my palm.  I become distracted by the thought of leaving her frustrated, and slip my hand down to tease her clit, but I abandon that idea after a few thrusts.

Truly, this was a distraction.  I didn’t give a fuck if she was frustrated or not.  I wanted to cum in her.

I fucked her swiftly, forcing her shoulders away from me.  At one point I covered her mouth, or so Amy told me after.

I ignored her perfect tits, shivering neglected as I held her hips again, driving deep.

A perfect sensation, a sharp cascade at the very point of me,  and I shuddered cum into her.

I don’t think I’ve ever posted the uncropped version of this picture here, so I figured I’d add it.

Having fun with some amy pictures.