In his groin. In his right ball, to be exact.
He also knocked his head on the airport shuttle bus.
We also tussled a little on an issue with the rent car. I was right, but I did ultimately submit to his decision. I kept my mouth shut. But he knows I was right and we could have saved $45.
Our accommodations are 2 queen beds. He wasn’t making moves to cozy up to me. I did a sultry strip tease for him, and then climbed in between the sheets of “his” bed naked. I was kinda ignored.
I get it. Tonight’s not the night. I ask him about his injuries without trying to sound so disappointed. I mention how much I need to feel his hands on my bare skin. He tells me to spoon him and we drift off to sleep super early that way.
And we are on separate beds again tonight.
Hoping things pick up…
Here goes another strip-tease…
“Vacation” needs to get better…
Oh crap… he’s fallen asleep.
I am about to enter life in the fast lane for the upcoming month. Many things to accomplish, lots of work, lots of travel and possibly less time to indulge in my favorite pastime of writing on my blog.
It’s all fairly good stuff, I feel blessed (if not a little overwhelmed) by every busy day that is coming my way in the next weeks. Getting my parent settled into a retirement facility; DH and I having a lovely tropical mini-break after the inevitable stress of dealing with said parental unit; and then off to the third world for me, another mission trip. Sweaty construction work, dirty/polluted environs, cold showers, spotty electricity, malaria suppressants, rice and beans and plantains at every meal–and the smiles of precious children, the good tired achiness after a day of labor knowing that perhaps in some small way you made another’s life somewhat better. We may not save all the starfish, but we can make a difference for the ones we throw back in the sea.
Many miles to cover, new stamps in the passport, perhaps some new adventures in old places. This is my elixir, my renewal.
Not much kink… Lots of vanilla (sigh)… but quality time with my best friend, my sir, my husband. Blessed he’ll be by my side for all but the mission.
There are likely to be some gaps in my blogging frequency, but don’t give up on me! Lots to read if you want to drop back to where this all started! I’ll miss keeping up with all of you too!
I’ve written on the topic of strong-willed women before. And as I’ve “met” and gotten to know more subs here in blog land, I come away with one striking commonality:
We subs are, in most cases, strong women. Stronger than strong. And strong-willed.
We are smart, educated, well-read, traveled, and some of us handle or have handled pretty high-powered positions in the working world. We can “bring home the bacon and cook it up in a pan…” We don’t suffer fools easily, but can soothe a baby, a toddler, or a teen, with amazing tenderness, kissing away the tears as our own tender hearts break. Some of us have come from backgrounds where we learned some tough lessons at early ages that not all men are to be trusted, therefore we developed a “tough hide” and we told ourselves that we could only depend on ourselves. Everyone else had the potential to disappoint us, to fall short of expectations. Inside some of us were frightened and hurt little girls who felt we always had to have our dukes up, ready for a fight. When a man could seem “overpower” us it was like a sigh of relief… sometimes just temporarily.
By some miracle, many of us subs have also been blessed with a partner who IS trustworthy, who made a choice to love us the way they found us, and to patiently hang in there through the lowest moments of our inability to trust and let go, remaining loyal (if not quite frustrated) caretakers we could always depend on, whether we knew it or not. Somehow, they saw something in us we didn’t see in ourselves, and had the amazing patience to wait until we opened our eyes and CHOOSE to submit. These were incredibly strong men who weren’t out to prove they were stronger than us. They already knew this. They waited patiently until we realized and appreciated this trait. We had to CHOOSE, they wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
These are some commonalities I’ve come away with. Not all will fit these descriptions. Your story may be very different. But I am that strong woman who desires to be taken in hand, led, relinquishing control to my husband… without being required to lose my strength.
The last two years of my marriage and my life have been phenomenal, beyond anything I could have dreamed of. This is not to say they’ve been easy years, but the result of lots of hard work has been rewarding. It started with me asking DH to take me in hand, to be the Head of Household (HOH), my Dom, my Sir. I wanted to submit, I wanted to surrender (and I had lots of thoughts about what it would look like… and also a lot of confusion). It seemed like my life-long struggles to be loved and cared for were finally coming to an end. I wanted to give over to my husband of 20 years the control, and to serve him in a significant way. He’d always been in control of our family, trustworthy, hardworking. But I’d never acknowledged it appropriately. I had spent most of our first 20 years trying to “prove” that I didn’t really “need” him, but that I was willing to have him as a fixture in my life that I could manipulate at will—and that resulted in misery. It was no wonder that he had suspicions about my “new” change of heart.
For us, some of this Dominance or D/s looks like traditional marriage—a wife supporting, serving and respecting her husband. A husband taking care of his wife. I was hoping some of it would also have a BDSM edge to it, feed my inner sexual masochist, the need to be dominated sexually too. These latter have been the tougher road for him to negotiate, but he’s done an amazing job of learning my turn-ons and trying to accommodate them as a display of his willingness to speak my love language.
I’m still trying to prove to him that I want his Dominance (and his discipline), and that I can submit and surrender, and that I want to serve him. Some days I do a better job than others. There are times that the old me rears up and the poisonous, treacherous thoughts of “control” rise to the surface. DH has yet to consistently take me to task on bad attitudes in a significant way. I truly believe by doing this, he’d set up a very healthy sense of his Dominance and control in this marriage. However, I know I’m a handful. I’m not easy to direct. I can be exhausting and frustrating at times. And he won’t force.
Lately, I’ve had some subversive thoughts. It is partly the “brat” in me, but also the control freak and the carpe diem girl. Tied up in all of that, there’s a little of me that fears the aging process. I don’t like the aging process, I don’t look forward to being “old.” I feel/see the subtle changes in my body, my mind, my energy (and my hair color!). I fight them daily by trying to remain fit, healthy, and maintaining a reasonable weight. At this time, I realize that I’ve lived my best years from a physical perspective, and I know the days to come are all gifts that I want to embrace. I don’t want to miss out on anything. I don’t want to become sedentary or complacent. I want to engage in things that energize me, and that usually involves helping others using my experience and background, and travel. The things I want to do and live can’t be done where we live. They can be done where I USED to live, where I believed DH had agreed we’d return once he retired. New horizons, new opportunities to reinvent ourselves in this new chapter of our lives. I was so ready… I thought he was ready…
But he’s not. He chooses to believe that he must stay “here,” in his hometown, for the undefined foreseeable future. When I try to communicate to him about this, I feel like there’s a vague promise that “someday” we’ll move on… he just can’t tell me when. Predictions on the timeframe of all this seem to slip constantly. I can only see dead ends and complacency staying in this status quo. And I am willing to compromise. He seems to want to maintain some sort of domicile here. If we can swing a modest and economical residence here while pursuing adventures afar, I believe we can both be happy. Perhaps we will need to spend some times apart to accommodate both of us?
Truly and honestly, I want to spend these next decades together with my wonderful man, TOGETHER pursuing new adventures, staying vital, and engaged in world quests… I want DH as the HOH, strong enough to allow me to follow dreams I’ve placed on the back burner, allowing me to be a strong woman because he’s a stronger man.
Can this strong woman and this submissive woman exist within the same skin? Apart from him I know I would feel incomplete. Yet remaining in a place where my dreams and adventures can’t be played out also makes me feel incomplete.
I don’t know the answers. I sometimes do not know how to reconcile these two parts of me.
And I don’t know if it needs to be an either-or choice.
It started with instructions to meet him in the bedroom, robe only, on THAT chair.
A blind fold.
Sighs and gasps and moans of pleasure.
Taken hard, my favorite way…
Exquisite pleasure, punctuated and drawn out with sharp spanks.
A quivering mess.
His hot pleasure.
Entwined in his arms, floating, dozing, safe, comfortable.
LOVE THIS MAN.
Sir knows how to please his Kitten.
I think it’s hard for Doms to manage a sense of humor. When I hear the word “Dom” I think of a serious man, with a stoic (albeit sexy) look on his face. No-nonsense. A little scary maybe.
DH’s stern face is– well, funny. Because he rarely has the stern face. Usually it’s a joke or a tease. DH’s way out of most difficult moments is to make a joke about it, lighten the mood. Do Doms want to lighten the mood ever? I know that sexual teasing can be very potent, but that’s a different type of teasing than the humorous kind.
I know that some of the Doms I’ve read here in blog land seem to have a good sense of humor. How do you transition from funny guy to Dom? I know it’s hard for DH. Humor is his hallmark, and he is very good at it. “Playing” the Dom just seems to put him in the silliest of all moods.
He’s really worked on it, I know he has. He can sustain Dom mode a lot longer than he used to (without laughing). He can make me shiver a little with a look or an action. I also know that levity is just the way he can process new things or uncomfortable things. Like D/s.
The alternative would be a humorless man, I suppose. So I’m very grateful that DH is who he is. It’s nice that he can make me, and others laugh.
Like at Bible Study the other night. We’re doing one that is soooooo deadly boring at the outset. We are uninspired. We’re in historical books of the OT, and basically God is really mad, and everyone is really bad. God is punishing the Israelites and Judah big time. Lots of smiting and warnings and chastisements and dire threats. We both realize this is just setting the stage for other scriptural truths, lessons of obedience and submission (ha!), plenty of prophesy. It’ll all be a good backdrop as we move along in this year-long class. But you can only read so much about how bad the Kings and the people were. I have learned that it sucked to be Isaiah. That poor guy was told from the get-go that he would prophesy and warn the people… but that they would not listen to him. Yuck. How’d you like that for a job description (hmmmm. sounds a little like parenting!).?
I’ve always been a multi-tasker. In this class, I’ve been naughtier than DH (duh, big surprise there) to stave off the deadly boredom. I doodle, practice the Greek alphabet, review my foreign language conjugations, and even glance at my phone quite a bit–my emails, my Facebook, even a text here and there. I’m a very naughty student.
This week in class, my jokester apparently was as bored as I, and he kept leaning over and pointing out verses from… you guessed it, Song of Solomon:
“Your breasts are like two fawns, like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies.
“You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”
“Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride…”
“Blow on my gaden that its fragrance may spread everywhere. Let my beloved come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.”
“I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey…”
“My hands dripped with myrrh, my fingers with flowing myrrh…”
Although he had that joking glint in his eyes as he pointed to each verse, I knew that more than the naughty boy passing notes in class, he was first and foremost my lover and my beloved.
My funny, clever, sexy lover.
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.
Your fingers trace the line of lace
And over the sheer delicate material
That covers my derriere.
These panties, so sexy,
Picked just for you
Are destined to be off of me soon.
Yet ever so slowly
Ever so seductively
Your fingers skim beneath the elastic
Causing me to shiver
Flesh rises in goose bumps
You take your time
Unhurriedly your fingers explore
The soft curves of my buttocks
Beneath my silky drawers.
The tickle of the tips of your fingers
Make me squirm
The sudden slap of your palm
Makes me jump in surprise.
You peel them down
Just a few inches
Tickle, squeeze, slap.
I’m coming undone.
You tease me some more
My partly exposed rear
Rises towards your hand
Tease, tickle, squeeze, spank.
You hook your fingers into the sides
And peel them with excruciating slowness
Over the curve of my now pinked flesh
Over my thighs,
Beyond my knees
Past my ankles.
Your hands grasp my ankles