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
Into everyone’s life some funk must come. Right?
I’ve noticed as I’ve been catching up on my blog reading, there are a few of us out there dealing with some funk or another. It’s part of everyday life, and I know that most of us just grit our teeth and get through it, trying really hard to continue to count our many, many blessings. There are so many.
It’s just so much easier to whine and bitch sometimes, huh? Or as the kids would say, “first world problems.”
I’ve been having a particularly funky couple of weeks. Nothing big, nothing horrible, just minor annoyances that build up until you just feel dreary and down.
Health: Over several thousands of miles, Angel very kindly shared her affliction with me. Just kidding, but within days of each other, we both ended up with Urinary Tract Infections (except hers was much worse, it had gotten to her kidneys). Anyway, UTI’s are quite sucky, but in my case a couple of days of antibiotics usually kick it out. Ironically, mine can start one of two ways: intense, frequent sex (which is why UTI’s are nick-named “honeymoon cystitis”); or bike riding.
BIKE RIDING? That’s ridiculous, someone might say. Look it up. It happens. And this is why I don’t ride bikes, even though I’d very much enjoy being a biker. And this is why I don’t do cycling classes at the club. Apparently I have amnesia, because when my sweet friend was trying to help me with ideas to kick start my workout routine to get my metabolism moving with HIIT/Tabata, I used the cycle for that. Voila. UTI. I didn’t clue into the connection until just yesterday. So Elliptical, here I come.
(Intense, frequent sex is definitely ruled out as a culprit here, the past couple of weeks have been pretty celibate. DH was fighting a cold, we were getting back into our routines after vacation, and well, that just hasn’t happened. Once the UTI hit, I wasn’t really feeling too frisky. Being persistently sore from workouts also squelched the libido).
Sore Muscles/Exercise Fatigue: Our workout routine has ramped up. We are heading off early to the gym together. I do yoga or pilates for an hour, and alternate days between a Les Mills Body Pump class and the Tabata routine (DH joins me for weights and yoga). I am spent after these workouts, a limp noodle and utterly worn out. I feel my heart continuing to beat rapidly, which is a good thing I think, and shows I’m still burning… but for someone who has dealt with tachycardia, it’s a little unsettling sometimes. It’s a little sad that instead of increased energy and testosterone, I feel the opposite effect. I know it takes more than a couple weeks of this, I’ll stick with it… but I’m the gal that needs to see some positive trends pretty quickly to stay motivated.
Weight Woes: I’ve been trying to stay on my diet. I’m not perfect (hey, those caramel apple Oreos at Target were too much of a temptation), but I’m watching what I put in my mouth, trying to stick as closely as I can to Medifast to get my ketone burn going.
Well… Two weeks into this, I’ve not lost. My scale is a yo yo, and each day becomes increasingly depressing as I don’t seem to make any sustained downward progress with weight loss. The first time on Medifast, I was losing 2-4 pounds a week. I also was not working out as hard. So I figure my body is freaked out right now. Maybe it does need more food, so I carefully give it more protein calories (using the My Fitness Pal app, it shows I’m burning most of my caloric intake up until dinner time). And yes, I know the whole “muscle weighs more than fat” argument. Sorry. I simply want to be 20 lbs lighter and I’m just not making any headway.
Monster Zit: The zit from hell has refused to resolve itself and is stubbornly growing uglier by the day in spite of assiduous cleaning and treatment with all sorts of products. You know the kind, simmering under the skin for a few days and you pray it goes away; red, sore, pulsating, prominently on your face so that people actually do stare. Defies any manner of cover up. Even when it’s at its puss-iest worse, popping it does no good. This puts me in a really crappy mood. Especially now that DH is teasing me about it.
Still Healing? This one just boggles my mind. I started to feel like I was in the home stretch of healing from the mommy makeover, 7 months ago for heaven’s sake! I know that I’m pushing myself more on the workouts, but my torso and abs burn and swell, and not in that good kind of burn you get when you exercise a muscle. It took me a while to realize that bench presses with 20lbs were making my boobs ache—the muscle under which the implants were put apparently is still tender. It is a major drag that I’m still feeling the lingering after effects of the surgery recovery this far out.
Church Lady: if anyone is old enough to remember Dana Carvey doing this skit on SNL—well, the church lady I’m currently dealing with is 10 times worse. She’s a bitter, menopausal, negative person who clearly feels it’s her job to make my life difficult. DH says she’s envious of me (lost weight, I get along with most folks, I’m involved in mission work because I love it… but it just happens to get me attention). This is the lady who chastises her husband in front of everyone, who usurps conversations, corrects others, and has to prove she knows everything. Anyway, she’s been riding my ass and throwing up road blocks to a project I’m working on… it’s time for a Come to Jesus Meeting, I’m afraid. And I need to put on my best Christian attitude for it, when I viscerally just want to tell her where to go…
Bored: The jury is still out on how I feel about retirement. This seems so ridiculous to even me, but lately I’ve felt uninspired and unmotivated. Not that there are not plenty of projects around the house I could tackle… I’m just not motivated to do THOSE. Fortunately I’ve had a couple of opportunities for temp jobs here and there filling in. DH on the other hand, manages to stay busy. He has a daily agenda and he treats it sort of like a job. He wants to check things off his list and I know he feels more accomplished than I do at the end of the day. I want to be able to chill and enjoy the retirement lifestyle, and by and large I do. I’m just used to being busier, having deadlines, job responsibilities. It’ll take a while to learn to self-motivate and to give myself permission to chill. I definitely feel most energized when we get to travel, and by next week we’ll be in travel mode for several weeks. I need to just enjoy now and build my energy. However, still lingering in the back of my mind are expectations I had for this season of life—moving on to completely new things, a new town, new home, new pursuits. We’re still here doing a lot of the same old same old. And I do not exactly know when that will change.
Called down: DH got really angry and called me down a couple nights ago. Didn’t like my attitude. And I was absolutely clueless to what he was saying. Really. No clue. I wasn’t doing anything on purpose. I suppose I’ve been quieter because of all the above. There was one instance I know I told him my opinion about how to handle something and he wasn’t pleased. I was called into the bedroom suddenly, and lectured. He told me he didn’t trust himself not to hurt me. What? OK, this is entirely new and frankly I just don’t believe it. I was a good sub. I didn’t argue, I just listened and tried to understand what he was upset about. Even though I felt blameless (nor did I have any rebuttal or excuses), and couldn’t figure out what I’d done to make him feel this way. I did see it as an opportunity, and as much as I know I’d hate to be punished for something I didn’t do, I reassured him: “You know, I’ve given my complete consent. If you feel I need to be punished, then you have the freedom to do that. And for the record, I have such incredible trust in you. I would not have consented, offered this to you, if I hadn’t been absolutely sure you’d never harm me. This can be a cathartic thing for both of us.” There. I offered it up. I’ll be the “sacrificial lamb” if it will encourage his Dom. I’ll accept that he is right, even if I can’t see what I did wrong, he can and that’s what matters. Maybe this can be a breakthrough moment for us? He ended it in a very curious way. “This is what we’re going to do. I’ll give you one hard paddle, and you’ll give me one hard paddle and we’re done.”
Whoa. What? He saw the immediate confusion and conflict on my face.
“What?” he responded defensively.
“I- I-I don’t know if I can go there… that’s not me…” I whispered fearfully. What is he implying/asking for here? That we go into switch mode? He wants me to Domme? My brain is racing trying to wrap around this unusual request.
“Just do it because I’ve told you,” he says. And I did, quickly. I really didn’t want to examine it too closely at that moment because I was very confused. It was over with quickly and we cuddled.
Last night as I was writing all this gunk out, he again called me to the bedroom. This time there had been some forewarning that we were going to enjoy some “relaxation time,” he was going to rub me, that’s all. Quite frankly, I was being obedient more than eager, which alone confused me. I don’t get this funk I have, this low energy, this lack of libido.
Rubs and tickles and teases turned to spanks and panties peeled off (oh geez, if you really want to turn me on, just peel my panties away ever so slowly and deliberately. Pulling my legs apart is another move. Yeah, him in charge, him Dominant…) Which turned into some nice sexy time together. Which reestablished connection.
My lesson—never underestimate the power of sexual reconnection time with DH. No matter how “out of the mood” I feel, this is always a win-win for us. It cements and reaffirms his love and devotion, calms me, puts me at peace, makes me believe that in spite of all the crap above, all is well with our world and we’re going to be fine.
(That and letting me sleep in this morning, put off my work out by a few hours, and getting to lay in bed with my coffee and write to my heart’s content).
Ok, the long awaited day is finally here! That morning you wake up and there’s a brisk chill in the air, the sun is brightly shining, not a trace of sticky humidity in the air. Outside in my pjs and jacket, pumpkin-spiced coffee, inspired to tackle my long list of reading assignments with new fervor.
I’m in heaven.
I live in a sub-tropical climate. I look out my back door and see palms swaying, hibiscus, and citrus trees (all which can go down in the few days we may hit freezing around here). It’s not the first time in my life I’ve done this, but certainly the longest (over 22 years). It definitely has its advantages. I never had to bundle my kids into boots, gloves, scarves, and hats. Saves a boatload of time and money. At best, we do fine with layers of sweatshirts or fleece on our rare colder days. It killed me that our high school sells wool-grade fairly heavy letterman jackets. When my kids got theirs, it wasn’t long before they moved to the back of their closets once the novelty wore off. They went from the back door of our home to the front door of their school and had very little exposure to the elements; thus no need for a heavy jacket. Sigh. We at least got one pretty cute Christmas card picture of them wearing them together. That was an expensive Christmas card pic.
I grew up in the land of very clear seasons. You would get four, and the count would be precisely four, no more, no less.
The harsh, bitter snows and ice in the winter and layers of sweaters, jackets and boots. I happen to LOVE winter clothing, and I miss getting to wear it now. I love the sparkle of snow in the sunlight, and the crunch of it under my feet. Seeing my breath billow out, and sucking that cool into your lungs until it almost burns. Shushing down alpine trails with the wonderful sting of frost on my face, adrenaline pumping.
Just as the slush and chill are wearing on your last nerve, here comes lovely spring. The early daffodils bravely poking their heads up through the last snows; the forsythia bushes a yellow riot of flowers, adorable fuzzy pussy willow buds, and a riot of cherry blossoms. Greener green than you ever thought possible. A pleasant kick in the air that makes you want to skip.
Summer. Enjoyed by me because of the potential for beach weeks, feet in the hot sand, body cooled by the chill waters of the NE Atlantic. Dining al fresco. Juicy melon, barbeques, bare feet. In years past, to show off a little more skin on a tauter, sexier body. A chance to shed the layers of clothing and feel unencumbered. But don’t stay too long summer, your heat oppresses and bores me.
Fall. Probably my favorite–the transformations are amazing in the NE. The colors of the leaves are surreal, it’s as if nature makes up new crayon colors every autumn. Lovely hikes in the woods. The smell of wood fires (and leaf fires in the past). The crunch of leaves under your feet. Cider. Beer. Oktoberfest. Greek festivals. Carnivals. County fairs. A pleasant coolness in the air. Sweaters and jackets and stylish boots.
It’s hard for me to say which is my favorite season, I love them all. But I love them when they are all given equal shrift. Around these parts it’s almost eternal summer (which pleases many people) and there are many Christmases spent in shorts. For the majority of the year we’re dealing with oppressively hot and humid weather, frizzy hair, sweat-inducing temps, and cars that turn into ovens in mere minutes. Burnt my hands on the steering wheel one too many times. Thank God for A/C.
So when a cool day happens, I’m elated. I feel like I’ve been infused with the energy of a 16 year old. My mood brightens. I actually love feeling my fingers and toes chill a little. And other girly parts…
This won’t last for long. We’ll be soaring back into the 80s and 90s by week’s end. However this little nugget of freshness, a feint tease of the end of oppressive heat, is very, very welcome!
Enjoy your weekend! I’ll be reveling in mine.
I found this picture and I loved it. Why?
It shows a couple, a normal couple, perhaps married. There’s nothing necessarily kinky about this scene, nor sexual. He is pure Dom. He’s not angry, perhaps stoic. He is all business here, and she knows it’s futile to fight this. She is submitted, surrendered.
What has she done? She clearly knows she deserves this, and she regrets what brought her this punishment. Yet here she is, allowing her man to pull her pants down in preparation for a serious spanking. And he’s not deterred by her tears or regret. He is her Dom, he knows she needs this.
The sensuality in the husband taking her pants down, the wife on her knees not fighting this. A punishment is going to happen, and they both know it’s needed and for the good of their relationship.
Why do I find this so powerful? Why does it speak to me? I wanted to write a story to go with it, but I am at a loss. It could be any number of things, but strangely enough, I feel the love coming through. His love, that he is willing to take her in hand. Her love, allowing him to take her in hand. Trust.
I still long for this accountability from my DH. I know that his spanking me is “funishment,” and that he gives me what my inner kink loves. It’s part of our sexual play, and he is getting oh so good at it. I am so, so grateful. He can now take it to an intense level where I’m about to use my “Yellow” safe word, yet he knows precisely when to stop (truthfully, there’s a part of me that kinda wants him to take me beyond yellow…). When it’s a real paddling or spanking, he does it with a Dom attitude and voice now. Throughout the day I get many smart smacks to my rear, usually in a teasing way, and I do love that too.
He tells me he doesn’t want to punish physically. I am his adult wife, he doesn’t want to treat me as a child. And maybe I have to accept this is HIS hard limit. A part of my brain does understand.
However there was one brat moment a few months ago when his response was to give me a good, hard spanking and tell me to submit to his decision, even though I clearly didn’t like it. It was one of the most intimate moments I think I’ve ever experienced with him. My admiration for him soared.
And I crave it. His full Dom. Helping me embrace my sub.
Two years ago you would not have convinced me that I’d be this woman. But I’m so much more at peace than ever before. Thank you sir.
The dialogue in my mind
“You know you have this coming…”
“There is no ‘but’ here, sweet wife. You are getting spanked. Hard.”
“I love you, sweet wife, you need to understand your safety and well-being are my greatest priority. You chose to do something to put that in jeopardy. I need to make sure you know this was wrong.”
“Yes, sir… Thank you sir.”
“Over my lap, wife. You are going to be very red and sore.”
“Sir, I’m sorry.”
“And… I love you.”
What would be your dialogue?
(I’ve been doing a lot of “picture shopping” on line, finally got them uploaded to WordPress. If I don’t mention the source and it’s yours, let me know and I’ll be happy to acknowledge).