Battleships

I thought I had better extend a bit on my last post, as I've been thinking about it further.

I think my anger was sort of mis-directed. I don't have a problem with the cuckolding fetish per se. It doesn't float my boat, but then it doesn't sink it either.

What does sink my boat is a combination of factors. First of all, my husband being submissive- that puts a big hole in the bottom of my boat (well, except for a couple of times a year). But what really not just holes it but also removes a large chunk of the planks and generally behaves like the shark did to the Orca, is what really feels like an attempt to take over/control/manipulate what I've always said was my time to be utterly selfish, and to not have to care about anybody but myself and what I want.

Any interference/participation by my husband in this part of my life... well, it takes it, or at least part of it, away from me. No more would it be my very own time- it would be partly somebody else's. And I'd have to pander to his rules/restrictions/whims/letches therein, instead of being able to completely ignore everything outside of the moment and my own nasty little private pleasures.

Even coming home and having to tell him all about it? Well, more than "Yeah, we fucked, it was cool", and even that's more than I want to say, would be a disruption, as I'd have to edit, re-arrange, and organise my head so that it turned him on and didn't hurt his feelings/hole his destroyer.

Can I not just keep this one thing for myself? This one moment where I don't have to take care of anybody else? This last remaining snippet of my life where I don't have to care even for myself? This is my last bit of freedom. I don't want to lose it.

No

I realised something last night, which has come as rather a surprise to me. A somewhat unwelcome surprise, and I'm going to have to think further on this.

I also took note one more time of something else- I can be a very nasty bitch when the opportunity presents itself. And really enjoy being so- even more so when it doesn't actually hurt anybody else.

My husband came home last night from his trip. I'd cooked dinner, which we ate, and he then went upstairs, where I joined him, clad in my black-and-white silk set of lingerie- matching bra, panties, suspender belt, coupled with black nylon seamed stockings, a transparent robe, and high-heeled fluffy mules. We relaxed a while together, him stroking my legs, and then retired to the bedroom.

As we got up to go downstairs, however, he grabbed my neck, and, squeezing firmly, he kissed me, holding me. Mm. I was enjoying that- he was being the strong one for once, and he was squeezing harder. Until he stepped back, told me how beautiful I was... how much did I want? He repeated the question several times, until I told him to stop. I really wasn't in the mood to be paid for it, and he was getting on my nerves.

Downstairs, I stopped off to take the clip out of my hair and swap it for a tie. After I closed the bathroom door, he stood behind me, rubbing against my ass. I did the stripper-move: standing holding the door, legs apart, arching my back and moving my ass against his cock, grinding and squirming, standing just at the right height in my heels... and remembering 54 the night before, how when he was fucking me over the kitchen table, he reached around and held my thighs, and actually lifted me up to fuck me harder. At which point I confirmed to myself that I was now going to do exactly what I'd considered doing earlier...

After the squirming part, we went around the corner to the bedroom. He went to turn the light on, and, as he did, I took the robe off quickly, so he turned to find me standing there in nothing but lingerie, heels and stockings. He made a noise, and stood looking at me, telling me how beautiful I was, how wonderful, how good to him, how much he appreciated me and the effort I'd gone to. Then came and kissed me again, holding my neck (but no strangling, to my disappointment). We sat down on the bed, and he started to slap my ass, hard, then harder, stinging his fingers against me, slapping the same spot several times before moving to another.

I knelt there, not moving, across his lap, thinking that it's so much easier to ignore pain when it's expected and repeated, than it is when you don't expect it and don't have time to get used to it. One of the reasons 54 is making me so horny- he hurts me because he likes hurting me, rather than doing it because it turns him on. And the unexpectedness is delicious.

After a while, however, I knelt up, and pushed him onto his back. Straddled him, rubbed my cunt against him, then moved back down and undid his trousers. Pushed them down below his balls, which I then licked carefully and thoroughly before running my tongue up from between them all the way to the head of his cock. Back down, and up again, before taking the head into my mouth and starting to suckle him gently.

I blew him carefully, sure that I didn't want him to come in my mouth, and knowing that he was damn close. After a few minutes, I leant back, looked up at him... and, without removing the panties, came and straddled him, working his cock into my only semi-wet pussy. I got him all the way in before he came...

I didn't, but my head did. I had just got him to come inside me in almost exactly the same way that 54 had only about 27 hours earlier.

Hence, me noting to myself that I am indeed a very nasty bitch.

My husband went on fucking me, spreading, as he told me later, his come all over inside me, until my wrists started to ache and I lifted off. He rolled over on top of me, spread my legs (54 again!), got into me, and banged me hard. I was so turned on in my head, and so lubed by his come, that for once I wasn't complaining about it hurting. Well, for about 10 minutes anyway, as my husband had by that point got into his "I'm digging a hole to China and it's going through you" mode, and was clearly banging away without ever going to get anywhere.

He rolled off me, and we cuddled up, him stroking his cock and complaining slightly about not having made me come. I told him I was probably too tired to come, which wasn't quite true- I was just feeling incredibly distant from what he was doing to me. Far too far away to get anywhere near coming at all.

We lay there, and chatted about his dinner with his "girlfriend", and his planned trip to see her for a weekend, along with her plans to visit him here (which we'll have to deal with at some point, and it's going to be hard- he hasn't told her he's married!). He went on jerking off, slowly, and eventually asked me if I wanted to be allowed to fuck other people too. Of course I do, I said. From which we went on to me going out in the evening to pick up guys and get fucked (in bar toilets, of course, where else)... and him picking the underwear for me to wear (me thinking- dude, if I did that, the guys wouldn't even fucking notice what I was wearing)... and finally he asked me if I'd want him to drop me off and pick me up afterwards. Which I didn't answer, because I was noticing the other thing.

What got me about this conversation, was that it was a whole lot more serious in tone than usually when we talk about me fucking other people. It sounded a whole lot more like it was a real thing, like he was going to finally let me.

And I realised that... if he does it like that... I'm suddenly going to lose a hell of a lot of respect for him.

Weirdly so.

After all, I've always wanted him to let me fuck other people, but... not like that. Not the "cuckold" thing, with the pussy-whipped husband dropping off the woman to get fucked, and getting turned on from the humiliation/denial. That, I can't deal with. It totally screws with both my perception of my man (as someone who was once dominant, and is still so at work and in other situations than in bed with me, and so possibly could be again some day), and with my own sexuality and libido.

That... would be me fucking other people as part of his fantasy, his turn-on. It wouldn't be me fucking other people because I want to. And as such, it turns me completely off.

OK, I've always thought that it would be great if he knew, because it would obviate both the need for me to lie to him, and to make up stories about going out, who I was with, what we did, and would also mean that I would be properly covered for at home. But the way he was offering... hell, no. Next thing you know he'll be wanting me to pick up black guys and come home and tell him that his little white cock is too damn small to satisfy me, yada yada yada, how boring and predictable and "Letters to Leg Show" can you get? And that's NOT my fantasy, and it does not turn me on at all.

I want him to be able to deal with me fucking other people because he's as secure in the knowledge of my love for him as I am in the knowledge of his for me. I don't want it packaged with some clichéd masochistic inferiority complex.

Why is my man not being a man? What the fuck is this wimpy shit?

Stripe

To the Gods of Fucking: Thank you. Thank you for the going-to-be nasty bruise on my upper arm. Thank you for the bruises on my back where my spine was shoved into the kitchen floor as I lay all folded up under him. Thank you for the scrape marks on the back of my shoulder, even though I don't remember where they come from. Thank you for my sore, swollen, red and bitten mouth. Thank you for the ache in my pussy from him shoving his fist against me.Thank you for reminding me that I also left scratch marks on his shoulder, and it really annoyed him. Thank you for the smile in my mind, and the songs going through my head.

Sadly, my husband didn't get laid last night, although he informs me that there was much grabbing of ass and kissing. However, she would like him to come over for a weekend, so they can have (I quote) fun and games without there being the pressures of work. Would I mind, he asked me? I texted back that no, of course I wouldn't mind, if that's what he wanted, besides, it turned me on. His answer: "If u don't mind yes I would love to actually. She makes me horny and fact you get horny too is great. Chanel No 5, Hermes bracelets, Cartier love rings, leather pants, black shiny patent kitten heels, Burberry shirt. I was denied, I was horny as fuck with big hard on." Me responding that that was fine by me, as long as I got to hear all about it, he answered "U the best!"

Once this bruise comes up properly, I'll post a pic. And send 54 a copy. At one point last night, he said something about being scared of hurting me. I said "You're not scared of hurting me. You're scared of leaving marks on me." He smiled. O Gods, but I could eat him for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and still be hungry right now...

Spiral

Really must stop watching this Marilyn Manson video over and over again and just getting hornier and hornier...

I also must stop prodding the extremely tender bruise (the only one) at the top of my left arm. But I don't really want to stop...

Right now, what I really want, is a man with a heavy heavy leather belt to stand over me and hurt me all over. Every inch of me... mmm.

Yep, still horny. And no regrets.

Trademark

So 54 left a little while ago (and has already called me), which sort of sucks, because I was expecting him to stay much later. But what the hell, he got here at 6:40 p.m., he came for the first time at 6:50, and he left at 11:15 and, trust me, there was absolutely no sperm left in him by that time. I should know, since he came in my mouth the last time, and there was a bare dribble.

{leans back against chair back, smiles, smirks}

Man, do I feel well worked over. I have Fela Kuti on the sound system, my pussy is sore, my mouth is sore and swollen, I've been trying to pick the humungous tangle out of my hair since he left, and... I'm slowly emerging from a small vodka haze.

Oooh yeah.

He walked in the door, and freaked at there being no drapes over any of the windows. I explained that there is nobody overlooking this apartment- the school is opposite, and everybody went home hours ago. Still, he spent a lot of time hiding from the windows. He went to the bathroom first, and I waited for him in the living room. When he came out, I walked over to him, pushed him up against the wall, and we kissed. A minute later, we were in the bedroom, yanking each other's clothes off, and a minute after that, I was sitting on the bed, his cock buried in my mouth... and, less than a minute later, he came. After which, he shoved me over onto the bed, dragged my panties down one leg, got over me, and got into me.

Flashing through my mind was "there's still come on him and oozing out, I bet. Oh, what the hell". He fucked me until he was convinced I'd come (cue me squirming and squealing and bucking and clenching my pussy muscles on him and having a whale of a time, generally, just faking the orgasm part), then pulled out, rolled over. We lay and he held me for a while (he still clings on to me as though he was worried that I might turn into mist and vanish through the keyhole of his mind), chatting, catching up a bit, him asking me what I did on holiday... Then he pulled me over on top of him again. His cock going up my cunt, he started to move me, his hands digging into my hips. I put my hands on his shoulders, then on his chest, grinding against him the way he likes, then thought "ah, fuck this", and started to jerk properly, moving until he was almost out of me, then slamming back down, hard, the squelching noises so clear, banging on him, and he started to thrash under me, his face jerking, until he grabbed my hips and tried to pull me off him. No. That so wasn't happening. "No", I almost screamed, and banged myself down on him again, feeling his cock swell in me as he groaned and tried again to get me off him, digging his fingers into my hips, but I hung on to him, weighing myself down... and he came in me. Hard.

After which I crouched over him, giggling, and he stared at me in disbelief.

I rolled over and reassured him that I'm at the "end of my cycle" (well, yes, in a way, I'm at the end of my fertile cycle), after which I lay there smirking, and he told me off for being... irresponsible.

And then fucked me again a few minutes later, coming inside me again, on top of me, pinning me down, one hand twisted in my hair, his teeth against my neck (not biting, just against me), his other arm holding my leg up (as though I needed it- I was all folded up under him and holding my other leg up myself, so at one point I had my feet on the back of his shoulders), fucking me hard, harder, until I got a bit carried away and started scratching him and clawing at his ass (I stopped once he made me notice what I was doing). He came inside me again- I was so wet that the most I could feel was when his cock swelled before he came again, otherwise... not much except for the pounding on the outside.

We lay and talked some more, and he told me to suck him again... After which, we got up, had a drink in the kitchen, talked some more... fucked on a kitchen chair, me on top and terrified the chair was going to collapse with our combined 350 pounds on it, even more so as he was making me thrash on him to make him come, so eventually I "came", got off him, and got him to do me doggy-style over the kitchen table... talked, me sitting between his feet in order to turn him on... fucked on the floor... talked sitting on the floor... he rolled me over onto my back in the middle of a sentence and fucked me on the floor again... he told me off for talking back to him... twisted my wrists so hard I started to whimper... reached out and pinched me when I wasn't expecting it (and got mad at me when I scratched the back of his hand until he bled- but I did lick it better for him)... yanked and twisted on my flesh... bit my mouth so hard I had teethmarks on the inside of my lip and even on my tongue... slapped me (gently) a few times... and continued to try to persuade me to run off with him for a month to somewhere where nobody knows us, and we can spend all our time fucking.

He's promising me bruises all over and at least one broken rib if I do it.

Not in the remotest bit likely that I would, but it's certainly going to fuel my fantasies.

At one point I asked "Is it just me, or do you have an urge to slap me?" He admitted that he did, but said he'd rather not have me lying insensate on the kitchen floor. His theory is that he wants to take his time, getting to know me, catching up for lost time, that we have time, there's plenty of things to discover and teach each other... Mmm, yeah. From thinking, about 20 minutes into his visit "I think this'll be the last time, I'm bored", I'm back on board (!) with him for the moment. It's the unexpectedness, I think. I never know when he's going to stroke me or hurt me, and it keeps me off balance enough that the pain actually hurts, I don't have the focus mustered in order to blank it out. He keeps on making me yelp and squirm, and it's really turning me on.

At one point, he lifted his glass of vodka and Red Bull (yuck- I was drinking vodka-cranberry- half and half! bad habits coming back...), and said that he'd never known a chick who could just keep on going the way I do. Refraining from pointing out that I don't actually come, which makes it significantly easier to keep on being pounded into the mattress (much more comfortable than my slate kitchen floor! which was seriously screwing up my hip joints), I just grinned at him and quoted a famous advert- which would translate into "When there's none left, there is still enough".

In between, there was more talk, talk about the condoms, about HIV tests, about how he prefers European chicks because there's less hassle, about how he respects me (wtf? Now that I was really bloody not expecting) because I'm honest and clear about stuff...

And then, both of us getting stiff, we retired back to bed, where we lay and talked, and, after I informed him that I was playing with my clit, he tried to take over. I told him however to put his fingers in me... more... more... and ended up with his hand buried up my cunt up to his knuckles, him bent over me, shoving it into me hard enough for me to ask him to wait a moment, and then harder again, but it wouldn't go in any further as I was swollen inside from the booze, to my disappointment, but he asked me over and over if I liked it... After taking his hand out (and giving it to me to suck, after I asked), he got himself hard and fucked me again, although gods know how it must have felt because the combination of his hand and the vodka was drying me up. But he fucked me firmly, then rolled off me, and told me to suck him again. I said "Say it again". Why, he asked. Because I like to hear you say it...

It'd take me a while, but I think I can teach him to talk to me whilst he fucks me. And possibly just slap me when he comes... Oh yes.

So... yeah. Next week, I guess. Am looking forward to it. He's like a great big Arab Energizer Bunny over me, and I like it, as well as his utter unpredictability. And violence.

We talked about that some, and it's very clear that... well, if he wasn't being careful... which I appreciate, but don't like in the slightest... oh, hells, yes. I could break his heart, couldn't I? He'sl already muttering about how I'm like a drug, and he can't get enough of me... Should I break his heart? Whilst he breaks my wrist?

Pumpkin

I have returned from the Land of Up North. Where I had a lovely time, getting to see friends and family, catching up on gossip, offspring and new relationships.

Sex also occurred. The night before we left, which was pretty damn good; a couple of nights after we got there, not so good, as I was just about to come, my eyes tight shut and 54's name and face pounding through my head, when my husband pulled out and went up my ass, causing me to lose the plot and my orgasm, as well as be pretty damn annoyed with him; the night-after-the-next, to "make up" for the other night, which was OK, but could have been improved by me actually managing to get wet at all; and last night, when the sight of my new underwear caused my husband to instantly initiate boob-sex, which was fine by me, and he then came all over my tits and the new bra.

I bought a lot of new underwear whilst we were over there.

To prove it... I took this yesterday morning.



Nice, isn't it? That then got come all over it a few hours later.

In the meantime, my husband is off tomorrow morning early, not back until Friday night... and we both have Plans. He to see his "girlfriend" on Thursday night... during which time, I also intend to be entertaining a certain person who spent the week I was away texting me to say how much he was missing me and wanted to fuck me. And then bitched down the phone at me when I got back for not calling him whilst I was away, and how he was sure I'd forgotten him and hadn't missed him at all, yada yada yada. Dude, that might work on other women, it doesn't work on me, it just gets on my... tits. In a Not Good way.

Nevertheless, I'm still looking forward to the rest of the week. With much antici.... pation.

Lemon

I met him near work for "coffee", therefore. I had the Spawn with me, and I'd told him I would have. I didn't really like having her with me- or, no, not quite. What I mean was that I didn't like meeting him when she was with me. It didn't feel quite right. Like a jagged edge...

The fact that he then spent the next hour and a bit playing with her was weird. Very weird. He tickled her and teased her and made faces at her and played peekaboo and made her laugh, and it was all very cute and... weird.

In between, he informed me about how much he wanted to fuck me right there right now, and, whenever he could touch me (my hands, my arms) discreetly, he dug his fingers into me and twisted hard.

Which would have seriously turned me on, if I weren't so busy keeping a straight (smiling) face and amusing my daughter.

When we got up to leave, he helped me put her in the babycarrier, looked around, leant forward and stuck his tongue into my mouth hard and fast, and then bit my lip so hard that it's still swollen now, four hours later. Which finally did make me rabidly horny. Bastard.

He then headed home, and I headed in the same direction, although on a bus. After I got off the bus, he called me. I'm under instructions (hah!) to call him or text him or email him on Sunday after I get Up North. Which means I might send him a message on the Monday. I'm also to have fun and get plenty of rest, because when I get back...

Yeah, yeah. Promises. But we'll see. He wants to make it a definite at-least-once-a-week thing, and that could suit me fine. For a while. He was also asking me why was I so... well, why couldn't I settle down and be faithful and less flighty? With one person? If I was happy/comfortable with them?

At which point my alarm bells all went off at the same time as though a tsunami was on the way coupled with an earthquake and a nasty big meteorite, possibly also forest fires and flooding, and I calmly explained that I don't see the point or the need to do anything like that, not when there are so many fuckable men on the planet, and it doesn't really interest me to do so. A "story", I said, lasts as long as it lasts- a few hours, days, weeks, maybe even a few months. And when it's over... six months down the line... then it's over, and time to move on.

Which has given him the idea that in five months, I'll be moving on. And he wants to make the most of his five months. Which, as long as it includes banging me senseless, fistfucking me, and hurting me, I can definitely get alongside.

In the meantime, I'm off Up North to see friends and family, and there won't be any updates until I'm back!