24.7

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 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.

Amy and I were getting dressed the other day, and she took a little too long to find a top.

She had a skirt and panties on, but seemed to have a little difficulty getting that last little bit of coverage on, and those naked full breasts just seemed to cry out for attention.

Or not. Whatever. Attention is what they got.

I surprised her by coming up behind her as she looked through a drawer, and began to run my hands lightly over her body, touching the outside edges of her breasts. I stayed away from her nipples, just to tease her, but that was challenging enough for me as well. Just love those nipples…

Anyway, I took her by the arms from behind and moved her over to the bed, and slipped her skirt off her hips, and slid her unneeded panties off as well. A quick push had her on the bed, where I joined her, and wrapped her hair around my hand as I directed her mouth to my cock.

All well and good, but not what I wanted for long, so I pulled her up onto the bed, and let my mouth travel down over her protests and breasts down her belly and between her thighs. I nibbled the less dangerous places first, then slowly began to explore her sensitive parts.

I could sense things weren’t working for her; Amy lay quiet and almost immobile, quite different from the moaning and physically reponsive woman I usually find when I do this, but it had been a while, and I knew I was out of practice. No matter. I’m enjoying it, and she always takes much longer to cum from oral than when she is masturbating, so I relax and continue exploring.

I reach up and play roughly with her nipples, and get an immediate response from her. No surprise there - handle her nipples and her eyes glaze over almost immediately - probably the only thing that can stop her in mid sentence,

I have my mouth on her soft fine pussy, and my fingers tweaking her nipples, I begin to settle in, and suddenly Any convulses.

WTF?

Quiet gasps, her thighs clamping together, as she rocks gently on the bed.

I’m so amazed I forget to be aroused.

Amy keeps cumming, hard, her body fully committed now, and I help her ride through it, until she calms a little, then starts to giggle.

I intended to fuck her, but I’m too distracted.

I hold her in my arms as the final, slow aftershocks run their course, and she can talk again,

I think she’s more embarrassed than thrilled. She doesn’t cum this easy, and we have fun teasing about it. A bit of a change, for sure. I think both of us are thinking th word “slut” but we don’t mention it until half a day later, when Amy hazards a guess that she’s becoming one.

She might be right, something I tested out the following day, which I will explore in my next post on this!

Warning: whining and over-simplification ahead.

Why is it that submissives invariably need regular…proof or confirmation that they are in fact in a D/s relationship? Why don’t dominants need this?

I have a working hypothesis. You know how vanilla men tend to want to have sex more than women? An ex told me that men will never turn down an offer of sex, because they never know when they’ll get it again. He contrasted this with women, who generally KNOW they can get sex whenever they want, so they can say “no” more comfortably.

Similarly, Richard knows that he’s The Boss. He knows that he can do whatever he wants with me, whenever he wants. I, on the other hand, have no idea when the next spanking or fucking is coming. (Remember, I said I was going to over-simplify.)

I’ve been having a problem with migraines since Christmas, and we’ve had a bunch of visitors. That means there is less time and privacy for play.  Plus Richard is feeling very protective of me, so he’s (relatively speaking) been gentle with me when we make love.

I have been very focused on:  working a lot whenever I don’t have a headache, and making sure our visitors are happy, amused, well-fed and well-bedded.  This means a whole lot of organizing.  Organizing is something I’m good at, but the downside is that when I’m doing a lot of it I feel like I’m in charge, like I’m in control.

Like I’m The Boss. 

Normally, when we have more time alone and more time to play, Richard keeps my inner Boss in check.  I’m happier when he does, because I don’t WANT to be the one in control.  When I’m in control, I worry a lot and never stop thinking.  I’m anxious.  I spent most of my life that way, like I said I’m good at it, and it’s really really really nice not to be that way anymore.  I am still the main planner and organizer in our relationship, and I’m a Boss-person at work.  But (when we’re playing regularly) even when I’m planning and organizing things, I know it’s for my Daddy, so it doesn’t stress me out as much.  

These days I’m feeling a leetle bit like I’m in a vanilla relationship, with the occasional rough sex. Megan and I have talked about this issue over the last couple of days.  (Gosh, it’s awesome having her here, I will post more about that later, and she may write a guest post.)  She’s dealt with the same issue in the past, and we agreed that there is no way that we would start acting like a brat to get the negative attention that would help us focus again.  We’re both too proud to precipitate a punishment, because that feels manipulative to us. 

I talked to Richard about this too (of course).  It bothers me a lot that I can’t just get my head back into D/s space on my own, like Richard seems to be able to do.  I told him that I don’t know what to do when this happens.  

He said “All you need to do is tell your Daddy.  I can help you.  You think you own your ass?  *I* own that ass, and I can spank it, and fuck it, and play with it any way I want. Let me know if you need me to do that.”

No, we didn’t DO it. We watched “2 Girls 1 Cup”. That is SO not my kink. In fact, I only watched about 20 seconds of it before I started gagging so badly that I was worried I would throw up on my laptop. I turned it off a few seconds later. Richard wouldn’t watch it at all - he said he knew what it was about and he had no interest in seeing it. Hmph. Spoilsport.

Megan is here, which is so unbelievably wonderful I can’t even tell you. She got in late late on Valentine’s Day, and the next day Richard’s kids all got here for the week. We have a HOUSEFUL of kids, dogs, the parrot, and Megan and her cat. What a menagerie! I’m blissed out - we’ve got beds everywhere and I have so many people to cook for and coddle.

I thought before I told you about Megan’s visit (which will be longterm), I would tell you about our early Valentine’s Day on February 13. We watched Secretary. It’s a movie about a lawyer and his secretary, who discover that they are D/s and S/m. I have some issues with the underlying premise that you have to be messed up to want to have this kind of relationship (the movie starts with her leaving a mental institution), but I loved the way they eventually end up in a loving, monogamous, longterm relationship. Yummy.

And just like the clip of it we saw before, the full movie made me very squirmy. (BTW, I just wanted to say that Richard’s post about me asking to masturbate really embarrassed me; I guess because I was obviously wanting it more than him. He also didn’t mention that he told me he was going to play with my breasts rougher and rougher until I came, which scared me into an almost instantaneous orgasm. Bad man.)

After the movie ended, we wandered up to bed. I snuggled up against Richard, expecting that we would just go to sleep. It was late, I had to work in the morning and we had lots of company coming over the next two days.

My head was on his shoulder, and he reached up and began to rub my neck. I purred and stretched a bit. Then his grip tightened, and he pushed me down. I wasn’t sure what was happening - I thought maybe he wanted to rub my back (I get glorious backrubs all the time.) But he kept pushing, until my face was at his cock. His very hard cock. I guess he enjoyed the movie too…

He shoved my mouth down onto his cock and held it there, then he started playing with my breasts. Oh god, that made me squirm and moan, but he didn’t release his grip on my neck.

His cock was getting bigger (that constantly amazes me - it starts out big, then your mouth is on it - and it gets BIGGER) and pushing against the back of my throat. He wouldn’t let go and kept playing with my breasts and nipples. Drool was pooling around the base of his cock, because I couldn’t swallow or control it at all.

Suddenly he released my neck, but just long enough to wrap my hair around his wrist, and then he began to pump my head up and down on his cock. The whole time he kept teasing and tormenting my breasts. I was almost out of my mind from lust and lack of control.

He slowed down for a minute, and I couldn’t take it any more. I pulled up and climbed on top of him and slid onto him. oooOOOooo he felt so good in me. Sososo sweet and he grabbed my hips and began fucking me hard and then lifted his hands to my breasts and began playing with them again and really I was just overwhelmed with the sensations.

I was begging and babbling and moaning, and he was fucking me and biting my breasts and my neck and it went on and on…he flipped me over at one point and made me come and then fucked me until he came and then we fell asleep and didn’t even stir until about six in the morning.

For once, I had more bruises than he did - a couple of bite/hickey marks on my neck and shoulders, and marks from his fingers on my upper arms.

Happy belated Valentine’s Day to everyone!

I think that’s the quote, from the Holy Grail. We had our own take on it, last night.

A quiet day, relatively uneventful. Turned the TV on to see if we could get the Superbowl, but apparently not. Haven’t watched television in a year - only Netflix movies.

So Amy and I checked out some blogs online, and found this video:

It’s about the top ten modern spanking clips, or some such. All pretty tame stuff, although I liked the final clip from “The Secretary.” We’ve added THAT movie to our Netflix queue.

So we are off to bed, and I’m running a slight fever, just enough to make me uncomfortable, but Amy and I settle down quietly.

Then I hear,” I have to ask you something.”

OK.

“May I masturbate?”

What? Working all day, a quiet evening, and now suddenly she wants to masturbate?

This could be fun.

But why?

“I was squirmy all day,” she explains, “and that last video made me real squirmy.”

I tease her about being a slut, and she tries to back out of it, but I make her masturbate anyway. Of course, I can’t just watch - sure sometimes, but not tonght. She’s just too sexy. Halfway through, I get impatient waiting for her and I make her stop so I can fuck her for a while, then I make her masturbate some more. This time I let her cum, then I take her myself and finish in her.

I wasn’t really intersted in sex this evening; too tired and not feeling good.

But making Amy masturbate…

Well, what can I say? It’s hot.

And I had such fun taunting her.

Funny how when you think you aren’t the least bit interested, desire suddenly just charges up out of nowhere and inspires the most marvelous bit of play - so nice of her to ask permission to masturbate - it made the whole evening so much more memorable!

Good girl.

I awoke in the morning, just the two of us at home.

Predawn, the sky still dark, no signs of any light, and the California rain still damp on the windows.

I rolled up against Amy in the dark, wrapped my arms around her, and lay quietly. She shifted.

I told her to lie still, and I gripped her wrists firmly in my hands, hugging her arms to her like an Egyptian mummy, crossed over her breasts.

Obedience came hard to her this morning, and she continued to move, testing her bonds, trying to wriggle her wrists free.

I rolled her onto her belly and pulled back the duvet, and spanked her hard, a half dozen times, with her delicate voice giving a shocked and unhappy cry after each impact.

“Be still,” I told her.

She could not.

I spanked her again, briefly, with the same little protestations of surprise, and held her again, telling her to be quiet and rest.

To no avail.

A third spanking, and then she stopped struggling, and requested a moment to stretch her arms.

Granted.

The she settled in her back against my chest, her wrists held firm by my right hand, as my left roamed over her body. I stayed away from her most sensitive places, just lightly stroking her tummy, her hips, down below her navel, down farther, getting closed until I slip my hand out over her thigh just before I touch a zone certain to keep her from sleeping.

I pull her wrists together up to her face, letting her breasts spill out from under her crossed arms, and run fingertips along the soft undersides of her breasts.

We lie like this together for some time, she in my arms, my hand stroking her. A half hour, an hour, who knows?

Dawn came.

My girl made little noises, half whimpers, still groggy from the night but getting more awake with the shortening shadows.

I found her nipples.

With her wrists locked, she could just beg, as I played with and teased her nipples. Eventually, she begged to masturbate.

Granted.

But no coming. I enjoyed her desire, and toyed with the thought of having her aroused all day. I balance that with my pleasure in having her orgasm. Two pleasures, both wonderful. Which one did I want more today? Too soon to tell.

She continues to beg. She is so cute, so anxious to cum, while I toy with her nipples, and amuse myself with the need of her body. There can be few pleasures as great as being entirely satisfied, lying with someone so desperate for satisfaction.

I tell her I will count to ten, and then she can come.

I count.

At ten, she cums.

Good girl.

I let her body stop shaking, let the convulsions swindle to just and echo, and then I take her myself, fuck her tired and limp body, for my pleasure, this fucking, not hers, though she is welcome to enjoy it any way she chooses. Or not.

I cum in her as I choose, when I am ready, and she lies quiet and gasping under me, the clouded light of the early morning pure and bright in her eyes.

Ah yes.

The part Amy mentioned about the hard fucking in her previous post.

I had forgotten about that. But I had the essential part of the story right, and the hard fucking and kinky sex is really just kind of a peripheral goodness, not that big a deal.

Right?

So I have trouble remembering which bouts of wild sex happened on which day. It’s all a blur to me, one long happy fuckfest, but Amy can keep it sorted out. And as long as she can get it straight, good enough.

Which leads us to todays picture. I’d like to report that Amy has become a hardcore exhibitionist, seeking to flash her breasts at every opportunity. But no, she’s still shy, and and only flashes on command, or when I pull her top up. And not in public. Actually, she’s started flashing me in surprising moments.

And she’ll flash for the camera, if I tell her too.

This is one of those moments.

I like it.

What’d ya think?

This is a morning shot, in the pale light after sunrise. I’ll let Amy tell you if we had been fucking wildly in any kind of kinky fashion, because clearly I won’t be able to remember it.

This is what happens when we don’t post regularly. Last night Richard realized he had a bit of time and decided to write a post.

“Have we done anything? What happened the last time we had sex? I can’t remember.”

“Well, yesterday you were playing with my ass, then you finger-fucked me in my ass and pussy while you teased my nipples. My own squirming woke me up. Then you…”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that. That was fun.”

“And the day before you gave me my first punishment spanking, and then…”

“Riiiiight. Yeah, that was really hot. OK, I know what I want to write about.”

So he wrote the post (below), except he forgot a bunch of stuff. So I thought I’d give MY spin on it.

First of all, the reason I asked for a spanking (a LITTLE spanking) was because I have been getting sassier and sassier over the last couple of weeks, as my work stress levels have ramped up. Richard has been more forgiving than usual because he understands why it’s happening. But that means I haven’t been getting any negative consequences for increasingly saucy behavior.

We were talking about this while snuggled up in bed and I, feeling guilty for being mouthy and rude, suggested that maybe a LITTLE spanking would help me re-focus. At first he said “Maybe later” but then he perked up (not a good sign) and sat up on the side of the bed.

“Come over here. I’m going to give you an over-the-knee spanking.”

I hesitated. He seemed awfully keen.

“Maybe now’s not a good time. Maybe in the morning would be better?”

“NOW. Get over here. Don’t make me wait.”

So I crawled trepidatiously over to him and laid across his knees, with my toes resting on the floor and my face and arms on the bed.

SMACK!

I squealed. Usually Richard warms up my ass by some gentle spanking before he hits harder. This was really hard, right off the bat.

SMACK!

I squealed again. This one was even harder. Then he started raining down swats on my poor little ass.

I managed to gasp “This isn’t a LITTLE spanking.”

And he replied “No, it’s a punishment spanking. You have been too mouthy lately and I don’t want it to happen anymore. Maybe this will help you remember.”

Every.single.smack. hurt like the dickens. It was not stingy or thuddy, it was just plain hurty. After a while I started crying. I’ve never cried when Richard spanked me, because he’s never spanked me hard like this. Part of me was hoping that my crying would make him want to be gentler.

Doh. When will I “get it” about sadists? He didn’t slow down, he didn’t spank me softer. I suddenly noticed that his cock against my belly had become very hard. He stopped about a minute after I began crying and pulled me up and gave me a big hug and wiped my tears. But before my crying had slowed to sniffling and hiccups he pushed me down onto my back.

“Now I’m going to fuck you.”

I moaned out a “please” or “no” or something, but he just kneed my legs apart and shoved into me. I was shocked by how wet I was. My ass was still hot and sore, but that just made the contrast of the sweet, wet fucking even better.

THEN, after he’d fucked me and cum in me and made me orgasm, THEN we cuddled and touched. He forgot to mention that part.

But he was right that I needed that. I haven’t felt much need to be sassy since then. Or when I do, I keep it to myself.

Afterwards, when we were snuggling, he said “Now are you going to remember who owns you?” and I nuzzled into him, into his big chest and strong arms, and said “Yes Daddy, I’ll remember.”

It has been a while since anything Richard has chosen to do to me has shaken me. Some of you will remember that earlier in our relationship, I would regularly experience a crisis of confidence after Richard had ramped things up - by making me sleep at the foot of the bed, or talking about forcing me to have a threesome, or denying me an orgasm.

After each of these things happened for the first time, I would spend a few days processing them. “How can I be a slave, property, a toy, and be loved, too?” was a recurring theme that I would ponder.

I was still learning to accept that I am sexually submissive. The vanilla part of me couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that I was happier and more in love than I have ever been…with a man who is a sadist. A man who wants to control me and hurt me. A man who gets hard when I cry out in pain as he bites me or twists my nipple. Didn’t that make me a pervert?

Richard’s take on this: “So we’re perverts. So what?”

When we visited Megan and her Master a few weeks ago, I experienced a different sort of crisis of confidence when I saw how much more Megan’s Master demanded of her. It made me wonder if I were a pampered princess.

I don’t “top from the bottom”. Richard gets what Richard wants, and he gets it when he wants it. It is not always what I want. But he is a very nurturing and sensitive Master. He is more protective of me than I am. I am not allowed to open my own doors, I can’t open soda cans now that I have acrylic fingernails (and when I did it on my own, boy was I sorry!), he watches that I get enough sleep and don’t work too hard. He monitors how often I orgasm! If I haven’t had an orgasm in a couple of days, he makes it a priority before we go to sleep at night, more of a priority than him having an orgasm.

Doesn’t that sound like more of a princess than a slave?

Megan, as usual, has been wonderfully supportive about this. She could tell that I was feeling insecure and worried about it all, and she took pains to point out the differences in our needs and our dynamics: she is more experienced, she is a pain slut, she is an exhibitionist and loves humiliation play.

Richard simply said that, as he always has, he will continue to demand what he wants from me or simply take it. For him, it’s about control. Giving me pleasure or giving me pain are equivalent, if they lead to him having more control over me. (Not sure I said that right, but I think that’s the gist of it.)

So. Last night. Richard has spent the last three days photographing the southern California fires. He comes home at night dirty, exhausted and aggressive. He has a shower, I feed him dinner and make him a Jack Daniels. Then a second.

We go to bed early, snuggle up and I begin to nod off. But Richard hasn’t been able to settle, and he begins to play with my breasts. Instant squirminess for me. Then he grabs me by the hair and shoves my face down onto his cock. I begin sucking him and playing with his balls. Oh, he tastes so good. Finally I can’t take it anymore and I crawl up his body and slide onto his cock.

…It’s as if I unleashed a beast…

He growls and grabs my hips and starts fucking deep into me. (OK, when I used to fuck “Female Superior” in my vanilla days, I felt very in charge. How can the same position feel so very different with him?)

Then he starts talking about what a slut I am, how he’s never been with anyone even half as slutty as I am, how I need to fuck all the time and he loves it, and how he needs to share me with other men because I need to fuck so much. And he starts handling my breasts as he says all this, and tells me that when he plays with my breasts I turn into such a slut that I would fuck anyone or do anything he said.

Which maybe is true, because I completely lose control when he is playing with my breasts. I can’t see straight, I can’t stop my hips from grinding against him, I can’t stop from moaning and begging.

After he fucks me for a while, I reallyreally need a drink of water. The dry, smoky air here right now isn’t helping. I ask if I can get a drink.

“You want a drink? Right now? Wow, that’s a bit of a mood killer, isn’t it, little girl?”

“Please Daddy. I really need a drink.”

He’s silent for a minute. I wait, perched on top of him.

“Fine. Go get some water. But you have to crawl to the bathroom to get it.”

My mind whirls. He’s never made me crawl before. How humiliating. Maybe I don’t need water so much. I hesitate.

“You’re going to go get the water. Do it now.”

I climb off of him and slowly crawl into the bathroom. He watches me the whole way.

As I fill the water bottle, I realize that he didn’t tell me to crawl BACK. For a moment, I play with the idea of walking back. But then I think that maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea. So I crawl back, holding onto the bottle with one hand.

He grabs me by the hair and pulls me back into the bed, where he fucks me for hours, taunting me with how wet I am and making me cum so hard that every touch of his sends jolts through me for over an hour afterward.

Today I don’t feel like a princess. Today I’m back to thinking that I am a big-time pervert. But I’m a very turned-on pervert. This will take some processing.