18 November 2009

White


On occasion, I can wander around on a cloud of virtuousness. Virtue. You know, like in "having been a good girl". With good behaviour and shit.

A couple of mornings ago, I put on a white set of bra and panties. I don't usually wear white underwear (read: never ever ever in your fucking dreams ever), but when I was Up North a while back, I bought this set because it came matched with a very nice black set. Buying one gave me the other, so, certainly not about to turn down free quite-nice-despite-the-colour underwear, I brought it home. And I actually put it on.

At which point I had a look in the mirror, and remembered something. Ah yes. My husband's mesh fetish is even worse when it comes to white mesh. I may find it indescribably vulgar myself, it sends him into unutterable transports of delight and horniness. And these panties... well, they were white mesh. With embroidered flowers on the sides, but essentially white mesh.

Not really my cup of hot liquid, but whatever, it gave me an idea and a Plan.

Which, that evening, I put into action once we had finished dinner and were about to clear the table.

"Guess what panties I'm wearing?" quickly led to me undoing my belt, slowwwwwlyyyyy... and pushing my pants down far enough for him to be able to see. Which even quicker led to me kneeling on a kitchen chair (not the one I fucked 54 on the other week, unfortunately. Amusingly, he's requested that I never move that chair again, and it be "his" chair. Amusing...), and watching in the reflection on the kitchen window whilst my husband jerked off on my ass.

I was backing up against him and squirming, and he kept on moaning about the feeling of the mesh brushing his balls, how good it felt... I couldn't fart for him, could I? It seemed like I couldn't, which was a shame (hey, this was one for his fetishes, ok? My entire fun was enjoying watching it in the reflection. And I really must get 54 to jerk off for me, the idea seemed to turn him on hugely when I mentioned it the other time), so he got on with it, yanking on it so hard you'd have thought it would pop off in his hand, telling me how horny my panties were making him, how much he wanted to fuck my panties... until he came all over them. At which point, straining, I did manage to fart, causing him to moan and keep on coming, so much come that he covered my entire ass, before he even started to rub it into the mesh.

After which I grinned, kissed him, told him it was his turn to clear the table, and went to bed. Although by the time I was under the comforter, my ass was frozen with all the cold come, and it took me forever for it to warm up enough for me to get to sleep!

Still... I was a Virtuous Wife.

Moving on from which horrendous image, no 54 until next week, godsdammit. And I so want him to fuck me right now. I have a nasty nasty urge to get really hurt right now, and the concomitant urge to be a bitch at him just to see how far I can push him is... quite strong.

If I'm playing with fire, then I want to get my fingers burnt. At least a little bit... well, ideally a hell of a lot, but I'll take what I can get.

16 November 2009

Drivetime


Yesterday, we were over at my parents' for lunch, after which I popped the Spawn on my back, and my Mam and I went for a walk. I had texted 54 earlier to see if he was around, as my mother wasn't originally going to come with me, and I wouldn't have minded having his company during the walk. Even more so as I knew the Spawn would fall asleep very fast!

He called me whilst we were out, saying he was in the centre of town. I told him I was with my mother (so obviously couldn't meet him), and could he do next Wednesday, as it's the only time I can go out this week.

(Fortunately, should you be wondering, my mother doesn't understand much of the language I was speaking to him.)

He said he'd call me later.

About half an hour later, we were heading back, when a car pulls up by the kerb, and a very familiar voice calls out. I look over, grin, he says something to me about how's the kid, he says Hi to my mother, she says Hi back, he tells us to have a good evening, and drives off.

"I know him, says my mother. Who is he?" "He's the security guard who was hitting on you and the Spawn", I say, then changing the subject to how many people who work where I do live in this little neighbouring town.

I text him later.

Me: Did you drive around just to find us?
Him: Yes.
Me: Aww. That's cute.

Which is it is. Because he must have driven around for at least twenty minutes trying to find us. Although it's also fucking creepy, because he drove around at least twenty minutes trying to find us. But it's also really cute. And really creepily obsessive.

At least, a definite point in his favour, he didn't stick around and try to chat- the whole thing took about a minute.

I hope he can make it on Wednesday, because otherwise, it won't be until next week... and I've already booked myself on Thursday evening with 48. Because I so want to cheat on 54... just the thought of it makes me horny as hell, even though I'm not that into 48 any more.

11 November 2009

Bongos


I was a busy, busy, busy woman yesterday.

Very busy.

I did... oh, mother and child stuff you don't want to hear about in the morning, then took the Spawn up to my mother's in the next-door town. After staying there for a while, I headed down into the centre of that little town, where, keeping my eyes on the time, I waited. And waited. Eurgh, but I hate waiting. I'd just about decided that he had two more minutes before I crossed the road and caught a bus back to my town, having waited 13 minutes, when 54 drove around the square, slowed, stopped.

I got in. "Isn't this a bit dangerous for you?" I said. I know he lives along one of the streets leading to the square. "This, I can get away with, he said. However, I called two hotels. One is full, and the other one, I knew the receptionist. Shit. What do we do?" "Let's go to mine." "But where's your husband?" "The other side of the {state-equivalent}" I said, lying, as he was actually downtown. "What if he comes back?" "He won't." "But what if he does?" "OK, I'll call him and check."

I take out my phone, call my husband, ask him what time he thinks he's going to finish tonight- we're supposed to meet when he's done and go to a gig. He confirms that he's working, won't be done until 5 p.m. at the earliest (it turns out to be 6). I close my phone, smile at 54. We drive to my village, him telling me a story about his wife and a gay friend of his. He occasionally surprises me with this sort of tale- he really does come across as being a stereotypical bigoted sexist bully, and then suddenly he'll be all sensitive and accepting.

Not that it's going to make any difference when I do dump him.

I interrupted him at one point, telling him that he had better drop me off just before my village, and I'll go home, he can park outside and then come up. Going up together would be... well, abso-fucking-lutely foolish, obviously. He pulls over and drops me off a bit further out than I'd like, but that's OK, his problem if he has to drive around long enough for me to walk home! And he does have to go past me twice.

I get home, and, duh, pick up the mail, which I have to put back in the mailbox later because I Wasn't Home Today. I drop my coat and bag, keeping an eye out of the window for when he pulls into the parking lot, and go and open the door for him. He comes in, grins at me, grabs me and kisses me. He takes his coat off, kisses me. Holds me against him, holds me tenderly against him, and kisses me, nuzzling me, cuddling me.

I start thinking "This isn't going to last much longer, is it?", and then get distracted by him asking to see my bruise. I strip my shirt off, and he grins, saying that it really shows up from far off (it does, it's bright green!), and did my husband say anything? I say No, which isn't quite true, of course he noticed it, but he just commented on me having yet another bruise, and left it at that.

He strokes me, pulls me to the bed, kisses me, undoing my belt and pants, and then pushes me over onto the bed. At which point he realises that my pants are still in the way, so he tries to take them off, really clumsily. I laugh, push him away, take them off myself (taking off my socks). He steps back, strips. I still have my panties on (I have a gorgeous grey satin with purple edging and cream lace set on today, not that he takes the slightest bit of notice), and after he's leant over me and kissed me some more, I take them off whilst he lies down on the bed. I lie next to him, we kiss, we squirm against each other, he pulls me tight against him, wrapping arms and legs about me and saying something about how he could stay like this for ever (whatever), I go down on him briefly then come up for air, he kisses me... and pulls me over on top of him.

Straddling him, I look straight at him, take his cock, and slide it up me. No questions asked this time!

We're close to the edge of the bed, so I have one foot on the floor for extra purchase, the other leg folded by his side, and... I ride. I ride, and grind, and squirm, and moan, and lean back to squeeze my tits, and move, loving it. He comes, squeezing my hips, but keeps me on him, keeping hard inside me whilst I squirm and move some more. He finally wraps his arms around my ribs and squeezes hard- for some reason, this causes his cock to pop out of me, as my muscles contract insiide. How odd...

I lie down next to him- and notice that he has his socks on! What a passion-killer. But I don't say anything (don't really care). He keeps them on right up to the end. We talk a bit, he fondles me distractedly, pinching my back and my hips, until he rolls me onto my back, holds the base of his cock tight to make it hard, and goes up me. He fucks... and I tell him Yes, just there, put it in me deep, right at the end (he's nowhere near the end, he's not that long), knowing that the words turn him on as they do me... As he fucks me, I feel, to my surprise, that little release inside me that says "You know, if you play with yourself, you're could come". Unexpected, and rather nice, as I wasn't expecting to get that close with him. I don't do anything about it, however- I just lie back, my legs wrapped around his ribcage and my feet resting almost on the backs of his shoulders, my hands clenched on his shoulders as he kisses me, smothering my moans, me feeling my cunt so slippery with come that I wonder how much friction he's actually getting or if he's just battering his way through, until he comes again.

After which again he keeps going, until again he squeezes me tight, and it pops out. I think he quite likes that maneuver, that way he can claim I'm the one who stopped.

We lie chatting again, and end up wrestling a bit. He hates it when I fight back- I've always thought the expression "his eyes flashed" total nonsense, but when I answer him back or fight back, his eyes go wide and sort of glow, and his mouth changes and goes hard, until I stop and let him do what he wanted to do in the first place. He likes it a lot better than if I just let him do anything to me- it gives him a sense of being able to overpower me, and he likes that.

What he hasn't noticed, is that I have only used my arms to fight him back, and, other than hauling a 23-pound toddler around in my arms on and off all day, my arms aren't that strong.

I could do some serious damage to him with my legs, though. They're solid muscle. I walk miles almost every day, with said toddler on my back, and there's a lot of uphill going on. I kick like a mule... and, to quote a favourite author (points for those who don't know me in RL guessing the author without Googling!), have thigh muscles that could crack coconuts. My legs are my last, best line of defense (no points in guessing that reference!).

After the wrestling match, ended by me letting him pinch my mound- and twist- but not by showing him that it hurts because I have enough time to cut my mind away from it and it doesn't too much, he says he's cold, and asks me what I can do to warm him up, then telling me I have one minute to do so, starting "Now", as he slaps my side. I ignore this deliberately, and say there are several options, what does he have in mind. He lies back and thinks, saying that he has lots in his mind, what am I offering? I say Well, there's always my mouth, that works. He grins, and tells me to get to it. I grin, go down. He's soft, and semi-hardens with a bit of effort, me holding the base tight, working him.

After a couple of minutes, however, I come up, and explain what the problem is. Other than grabbing my hair and yanking (not very subtle), I have no idea if he likes anything I do to him, because he doesn't make a sound. How the hell am I supposed to know if he likes the head licked, his balls licked, or just wants to batter it down my throat, if there's no applause? He thinks about this a second, nods, and pushes my head back down.

He's still not hugely helpful (his "applause" seems to be confined to "That's gooooood"), but it's better. We can work on this. And so I blow him nice and hard, until he pulls me up and over him again, holds himself hard, and gets into me.

This time we're on the other edge of the bed, my other foot on the floor, so I move on him some more. He gets his thumb down where he thinks it's resting against my clit (better aim than previous times, but still not quite). I rock back, letting him see where we join (if I lift up too much, he pops out, as we discover, so I can't quite do the Crab and let him watch me move up and down on him), and he watches me move on him, making that peaceful face he gets when fucking, unlike my own Bride of Dracula expression. I ride on, changing positions so that I lean forward, at which point he grabs my hips... and, this is odd, he pulls me slightly sideways on him, his fingers digging into my ass, and it really feels like... is that a finger hovering near my ass? It is, isn't it. Is that going to go anywhere, or is he just keeping it there? He's just keeping it there... until again he comes,

After which he showers, dresses, I dress without showering because I'm a filthy slut and love the idea of having his come and smell on me for the rest of the day, he kisses me, cuddles me, adjusts my clothing tenderly (wtf?), reminds me to tell him when my period starts... and heads off. We've been an hour. I think he's come three times, it may have been more, but definitely three.

He's worried about my period. If it does turn up (next week some time), I'll tell him. If it doesn't... I'll tell him it did. He's already made it clear that he won't tolerate not knowing if anything growing inside me is his or not, and would obviously make things difficult for me, so I'll just fudge the issue.

I check the time, grab the mail, grab my coat, drop the mail back in the box, and head back down the hill to the train station. A few minutes later, I'm on the train into town, when he calls me. He says he's forgotten his wedding ring (which I don't believe, he doesn't take it off), and his {other country} mobile phone, and he's heading back to mine. I play along, but I'm seething inside- I hate that he thinks it's funny to jerk me around like this. So eventually he confesses that it's a joke, teases me about being in a hurry and having to stop it when he could have fucked me some more (he had to go pick up his kid and take her to the swimming-pool- I had scheduled another half hour, not that I had told him), so it's just more macho posturing from him trying to annoy me (and succeeding, but not the way I think he means).

I get into town, do some things to cover my ass re the time I've been in town, and then spend ninety minutes in a bookshop, without, amazingly, buying anything, waiting for my husband's work meeting to end and him to meet me. He finally does, we go for a very very nice dinner, and then go to a both very enjoyable and very disappointing concert (the headliner was not so good, her backing band was extremely good- nothing like a tightly-melded jazz band jamming away in harmony- but the sound system seemed to be designed to spoil everything, fortunately we were close enough for it not to make too much of a difference in the case of the band), after which we come home.

The Spawn is spending the night at my mother's.

We get ready for bed, and go to bed. I've been asked to keep my underwear on, which I do, thinking that I'll let him jerk off on me, and then can go to sleep, as I'm pretty wasted. I've been awake for 18 hours at this point (the Spawn howled briefly early in the morning, enough to wake me up before going back to sleep herself, and I've been awake ever since), and I'm really not that interested. However, I get into bed, and lie there reading for a bit, whilst my husband does the same. I ask him if he's going to notice me at all (teasing him), and he comes over and starts to stroke my ass.

Now, the front of these panties is quite thick grey satin, with purple ruched satin at the sides, and cream lace to the sides of that. The back is grey mesh, fortunately, as the satin doesn't stretch. Consequently, the whole thing is quite tight. He lies next to me, me lying on my stomach reading, and strokes the mesh, fondling my ass... then bends down and sniffs at me. I... still haven't showered, or washed. He tells me I smell really good. I mention how tight the panties are, how I've been wearing them all day, hoping to cover myself. I needn't bother, he's carried away, in fact, he's well gone. He keeps on sniffing my ass, burying his face in my panties, first up high, then getting down to my crotch, sniffing, kissing.

I get to the end of a section in my book, put it down, roll onto my side, squirm my ass against him. He slides his cock under my panties from the side, but that doesn't last long, they're too tight! So he rolls me onto my back, and says, disappointedly, that I'm going to have to take them off. I do so, as he lies next to me. He says "Are they all dirty?"... and I lift them up, show him the stained crotch, and... he sticks his tongue out, and I hold the crotch against his face. He licks and sucks it, moaning, and I play with my clit, watching him, thinking of what he's eating.

Part of me notes the utterly unjustified nature of what I'm doing to him. The rest of me tells her to go fuck herself and shut up, we're busy here! Fucking distracting moral bitch...

I take it away from him after a while. Look at him, and tell him to go down on me. He disappears on down, and, for once, I don't hold him off, but yank his face into me. He licks my clit... and I shove his face down to my hole, telling him to lick me. His tongue laps against my hole. I have the comforter up over him, my hands holding his head against me, my head up above the sheets, and... oh, there's only me up here, and I can smile to myself and admit that doing this is really turning me on.

I don't want him to know that I fuck other people. I wouldn't get half the enjoyment out of it that I do as things are. It's not the cheating part that turns me on- it's this aftermath, this particular bit, him fucking me and (oh, just go ahead and say it!) eating the come out of me without knowing, this shameless and cruel betrayal... Oh yeah, the cruelty of this is really making me wet.

My name is Violet, and I am a heartless, cruel bitch when my pussy is wet, and I really don't care.

My pussy is really wet- I shove his head down further, lifting my legs up so he can lick my ass where 54's come must also be dried, then pull his head back up to lick my cunt and my clit, back down... for once, I'm really getting into this, and not lying there hating it. I like that 54 doesn't bother trying to eat me. (And I asked him, and he loved trying to fistfuck me last time- which is good, I want him to do it properly!) I take my huband's right hand, slide it under my ass. He cups my ass with both hands for a bit (not what I want, although I do like the feeling of being on a platter for him), then slides a finger up my ass, slowly, too slowly for me, so I buck and jerk myself up and down on it so that it goes deeper.

Finally, knowing that he must be suffocating under the comforter, I pull him up to me. He stops to put his finger back up my ass- although instead of doing it as usual, reaching around the side, he does it straight down, meaning that when he gets his cock into me, his hand is in the way, and thus he doesn't get into me as far as I'd like. He tells me he can feel his cock the other side, he's playing with his cock through me, and I can feel his finger moving.

Feeling... oh, so dirty, such a bad girl, I want his come in me too... I come, twice, very close together, hard, my fingers on my clit. To my surprise, he pulls out without giving me time to go on, goes down on me, licks my cunt again. I wonder fleetingly whether the spasms have pushed any of 54's come out or whether I've soaked it all up by now. His tongue is good, but I keep my fingers over my clit, protecting it, as I know it's too sensitive right now for his tongue on it. He tries to push my hand away with his tongue, but I don't let him. He licks my cunt, licks my ass... comes back up, and sinks his cock into me. I tell him that I want his come in me. He tells me You're a dirty little slut, aren't you? I agree. He reaches back down, shoves one finger against me- then the second comes in, and he shoves both of them together up my ass, hurting me infinitesimally but surprising me quite a bit, saying "You want them both up you, don't you, you bitch? Now I'm going to come in you", and he does.

Feeling his come making me all slippery again as he continues to move, just the way it was earlier with 54... and, to my immense surprise, as normally after I've come once (or several times, but sequentially), I don't come again, I start to spasm around him, gasping, biting his shoulder, slapping at his back, my legs wrapped around him so hard that he can barely move, my feet against the backs of his thighs, pulling him into me and keeping him just... there... as I keep on coming, maybe four-five times more, hard, I can't remember coming this hard for so long, gods, the release, thinking about this afternoon, thinking about the hour's fucking where I didn't come and then this... this so-good fucking by my husband, he's just so much better in me than 54, but then 54 primes me for him, doesn't he just, oh, yesssss...

When my husband pulls out, I feel broken. My hips ache, my knees ache. He's battered me flat into the mattress, and if I don't stand up and go to the bathroom now, I won't move until tomorrow, and I need to move or I'll be in agony in the morning. I grunt and moan as I roll over and try to stand up. Gods, but it hurts. My hips are stiff, my knees are stiffer. I've bent myself out of shape squeezing him into me as hard as I could, and my arthritis is reminding me that I'm genetically predisposed to be limping around anyway this damp time of year, let alone having my joints handed a serious beating like this.

I stagger to the bathroom, stagger back. My husband is smirking, very pleased with himself. He teases me about getting old, and I grunt at him, get into the bed, roll over for a kiss, roll over again... and go dead asleep.

08 November 2009

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.

07 November 2009

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?

06 November 2009

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.