Love in an Elevator

Last weekend, N and I got up to no good. This comes as no surprise, I am sure. It is *where* we did deliciously hot things that was quite the change.

I dropped off the kids early Saturday afternoon and drove into town afterwards to shop around a bit before supper with N after He got off of work. It started innocently enough; I called to check in and let Him know where I was. I asked Him if He was busy, who He was working with, and let Him know I was at Home of Economy looking for sweaters and jeans for the kids.I’m curious about His work, just ’cause, I spose. I like to know if He’s having a good day, who He was hanging with, that kind of stuff. I just like to hear about His day, because I like to feel like a part of it.

He was alone. His coworker left early, and His boss left as well. And my brain stopped working, leaving my clit in charge. I found myself asking Him if I could come meet Him early…and He knew exactly what I meant.

When I drove up, there were no cars in the lot, so I texted Him that I had arrived. He met me at the side door and escorted me inside. The minute I stepped onto the man-lift (that’s fancy industry talk for “tiny coffin-sized elevator that feels like it will plunge to your death at any moment”) I pressed myself into His body, fleeing my fear of the lift by sinking deep into us. My mouth sought His, my hands locked behind His neck, and my soft, willing body molded against His lean frame. Hands and mouths roamed hungrily, and the man-lift reached the second floor much quicker than I was ready for.

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Anal, Masochism, and Communication

I’ve discussed my reluctance with masochism previously, but in talking with Intriguing about my most recent brush up with N’s “I don’t care if you don’t want it, you’re getting it” philosophy, I’ve realized that my version of masochism is horribly clear as mud, and I’m damned lucky N’s been around me long enough to understand that when I say no, I’m needing a yes, but asking for the no/yes combo nullifies the no.

I’m not real fond of anal sex, which is why it makes my cunt gush fountains. In the shower last night, N told me to grab the oil bottle. I slumped…there’s only one reason He tells me to grab that bottle, and it’s not a good one. I tried my little girl lost look and said “It’s pretty late…I’m tired. We should go to bed.” He shook His head and pointed at the bottle. “But I’m sore and the water will get cold!” I wheedled. He just pointed again, His face hardening. I huffed a sigh and reluctantly grabbed the bottle, pouring a little into my hand and warming Him up with a hand-job. I tried to use a few of my usual tricks to maybe get Him to want a happy ending with that instead, but He cut me off at the pass and told me to knock it off.

Eventually He’d had enough of my slippery jerking and told me to turn around. The oil was cold as it ran down the crack of my ass, and I complained. He laughed and said that I always say its cold, but He doesn’t quite believe me, and He’ll need more data before He thinks about it.

He pressed Himself into me, and I tried to relax, really. I tried to ignore that I was cold, tired, tense, and wet. It hurt as He forced His way in, and I spent a while working through the pain. Part of it was that the lube wasn’t spreading far enough, but instead of asking for more, I relished the pain. I didn’t want to be the one who needed more lube. I wanted to suffer as long as He was happy; I wanted to hurt as He was feeling pleasure. So He continued to ride my ass as I rode the pain, knowing that my cunt was twitching and dripping, unable to smother my moans and whines as He thrust deeper and deeper.

“Play with your cunt,” He growled in my ear. I whimpered a little, knowing that He loves to feel me getting off with His cock buried deep in my ass. I hate the indignity, the shame, the wanton hussiness it brings out in me. It’s up there in my top ten humiliation activities, which is why He finds it so attractive, I’m sure. Even though I was trying to ignore the heat radiating from my pussy, my hand was sliding down to nestle between my nether-lips, and it wasn’t long before I was begging Him to let me cum. I could feel His breath across the water on my neck, and suddenly the cold of His breath, the pain of His fucking, the knife’s edge of orgasm I was on…it was all too much. I needed the permission, or my clit was just going to explode and fall off…

“Yes!” He growled as He lunged forward, spearing me to the wall and making me cry out as the rush of the orgasm met the sharp sting of His thrust. It was a volatile combination that made my knees melt and my vision blur in the explosion of pleasure and pain.

I stood, head against the wall, breathing heavily as His cum dripped down my leg, mingling with my own juices before washing away in the shower spray. I couldn’t find my breath, or my thoughts, or words to thank Him for ignoring my wants in favor of His own. How could I say thank You for ignoring me? Thank You for not listening to me? Thank You for giving me what I can’t ask for?

I just looked up at Him and smiled weakly. “Thank You,” I muttered.

“Thank you.” He said with a grin.

I know that owning a reluctant masochist has to be hell sometimes, especially if you love them. Sometimes sorting out the “I don’t wanna” from the “I do want to, but can’t say it flat-out” gets to be a bitch. But I’m thankful that not only does N speak my language, He’s willing to put Himself before me. That fulfills me way more than indulging me ever will.

Thank You.

My Dog Ate My…

Let’s play “Mad Limericks”. Did you ever play that as a kid? Fill in the blank in this line:

My dog ate my ___________ while I was __________ with ____________.

Write your entries in the comments section. 🙂

Here’s mine:

My dog ate my glasses while I was being beaten with a rusty pitchfork.

No, I am not making that up. Only my life would hand me such stupid shit and then sit back and laugh at me.

We can buff those right out. 🙂

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I Still Have Fingers, Arms and a Head

Good thing last night wasn’t decapitation or limb-chopping night.

Last night, was, well, it was wow. Wow is a good word for it. And minus the first ‘w’, it still applies.


Like I wrote yesterday, it started with the butt plug. Eventually He skipped it and we went about our merry ways getting the kids to bed. After they were asleep He made me a drink, which had twice the usual amount of alcohol in it. I commented that I felt like I could breathe fire after taking a drink and He just snickered. He was so upbeat and excited, like a kid right before Christmas morning. He kept swatting my ass and pinching my tits, and it was making me jumpy and skittish.

I had to strip naked, bring my collar to Him and put on my buckle heels, and that is when I started to worry. He tied me to one of the floor jacks in the basement, spreader bar/shackle combo on my legs, spreader bar and velcro cuffs on the wrists, pulled out and above me. I struggled to hold that position in 3.5″ heels while He swarmed me, tugging on my nipples, pinching my ass, nibbling my neck, murmuring that I was right not to trust Him, chuckling as I tottered on my heels…then, the sound of the camera zooming in. I hid my face as He snapped away, laughing at me.

He took the heels off my poor feet and switched to a different style of spreader bars for my ankles, ones without manacles. He “warmed me up” with some light swats and a few bites, then started in with the thin rubber flogger. I jumped and hissed and tried to sink into the pain. Then He grabbed the leather flogger and laid in. Lightly at first, nice punchy hits that I grunted and absorbed. Once He had me lulled He started flicking it, using wrap-around on the hips and chest, intentionally wrapping it around my cunt and nailing me on the really soft flesh of my lower belly. I hissed and growled and screamed when he really bit in with the strands. He’d mock me when I yelped, asking if it hurt, assuring me that He wasn’t swinging real hard. Which is a useless fucking assurance when He’s utilizing wraparound. Really. I am not that damn dumb. The first time He snapped my stomach with it I screamed, and He came into my vision and asked so solicitously “Aw, did that hurt? I didn’t hit that hard.” to which I angrily replied “Yeah, it is called wrap-around, Asshole! Ever heard of it?!” He looked at me with the most straightest of faces and said coolly “Yes, yes I have.” before doing it again. And again, and again…

The hitting of me with various stingy instruments was randomly interrupted by moments where He would press me into the beam while finger-fucking my ass or my cunt, biting my neck and mocking me more. I struggled so hard to fight back the orgasm, to deny the pleasure, even as my cunt squelched and I could smell the musky aroma of my own betrayal. He fucked me with the handle of the rubber flogger, then whipped me with it. I cursed Him, His mother, the day He was born..

He let me down after a while and reached for the ring on my collar to drag me into the bedroom. Not knowing why His hand was reaching for me, I flinched back. He grinned before grabbing the ring, and that’s when I started to really feel the tingle in my belly that means the fear-monster is rising. He was letting the inner Asshole come out to play, and that meant it would be a long hard night.

In the bedroom He tells me to drink more of the lemonade mixer He made me. I had to lay my head over the edge of the bed after that (me protesting the whole time that if I puked it would “be on Him”, get it, aren’t I a laugh?) for some facefucking, pictures required. He attacked my clit as I struggled to swallow Him, and I was so confused my the mixed signals of “No Air!” and “Want to Cum!” going on in my brain. I was so damned turned on by this point that any more than 2 minutes of His attention to my clit made me ready to explode, which was always when He would remove said attention. After He’d had enough of the facefucking He got out the rope again and tied me up tight in a tit harness. He sat at the edge of the bed and diddled me as I sat astride His lap, and everytime I went to moan He smothered me with His huge rough hand. Smothering is one thing when you get to take a breath before hand. When it hits you on the exhale, it takes a lot less time till panic sets in. At some point it became too hard for Him to control me while He was sitting, so He shoved me into the wall and kissed me violently, raping my mouth with His tongue as His hands roamed across my body pinching, pulling, scratching, mauling. He hungrily sucked away my screams and pleas. Then He threw me across the bed, and I didn’t have the will to do anything but lay where I landed. I was gasping, trying to catch my breath. First He pulled out the locking bit gag, strapped that on tight. Then it was the blindfold. I balked at that, I know it is cheating, but I like to know what is coming at me, dammit. He commanded me to all fours, and I slowly complied, warily.

I know it is clichéd, but after the first few light hits with the mahogany bastard, I trembled with fear and pain. I hate that fucking paddle. Hate HATE HATE it. It bites, it stings, it quickly reduces me to a shaking sobbing pile of bitch. I stayed on all fours for the beginning, but as the hits started getting nastier I was doing everything I could to minimize the blows. It seemed like everything I tried just made a nice target of something else, and I began to throw myself forward or on my side. He crawled on top of me, pinning me to the bed, and continued to whale on my ass, my thighs, my back. I screamed. I gagged. I cried, I begged…I bucked and heaved and clawed…and then I broke. I sniffled into the sheets and laid limp, unable to fight anymore.

He laughingly asked me if a good fuck sounded good right about then, and I wholly agreed…only the tone of His voice had me worried that my definition of a good fuck wasn’t going to be the same as His. I was right…it wasn’t. He had me get hooked up to the fucking machine and suck on Him as I was fucked by the insistent yet impersonal toolbox buddy. As I gobbled N’s cock He fingered my ass again, teasing me with accusations of being an anal slut, shaming me about my love/hate relationship I have with ass love. After a bit of this the machine dong fell out, so while I went upstairs to clean up a little He made a few changes. When I got back, He gave me two choices: more of the DP with the fucking machine, or N in my ass. Knowing that N was going to end up in my ass at some point or another, I chose to get it over with early. Stupid me.

He had me climb on Him, which is my absolute least favorite position for anal, mainly because He can see my face and can further deride and humiliate me about liking anal. And oh, did He. The stream of mocking, sharp comments was constantly on me, and all I could do was whisper “Shut up, I hate You” over and over as my cunt dripped and my nipples tingled. After a bit of this He pushed me off and told me to get back on all fours and fuck myself with the another dong from the fucking machine. I did so, face flushed with shame and embarrassment, and then He mounted and shoved His cock into my ass. I groaned and moaned and whimpered, tears edging out of my eyes as the pressure built. I struggled to catch my breath against the pain even as the orgasm built inside of me.  I inched forward on the bed, trying to lessen the blows to my abused orifices from His thrusts, and the dong fell out. Now it was just N, slamming into my sore ass, and I was flattened to the bed, His weight pinning me in place as He buried Himself in my ass over and over again. I cried out from the pain as He made His final thrust, filling my ass with His come. Hoping that He was satiated, I asked for a towel to clean up with, and He tossed me a towel to sit on, then suggested that He beat some more sense into me. I begged and wheedled, assuring Him that I was well-informed of my place in the world, tyvm. So instead, I was due for some more fucking, and finally allowed that damned orgasm that had been mocking me all night. When it finally hit, I’m pretty sure my heart stopped and I took ten minutes off of my life.

Aftercare consisted of me helping Him put away the instruments of doom toys and cleaning up myself. I drank a little juice and nibbled on a piece of cheese while He showered, then headed back to the bedroom and collapsed into a pile of well-used girl.

Today He has delighted in all the marks He left on me, and has used every chance available to grope slap and pinch my bruised ass. I have rope burn from the tit harness He wrapped me in, bruises all over my ass, sore spots on my thighs from where He pinned me to the bed, a split lip, and an invisible bruise on my forehead where I kept hitting my head on the floor jack pole as He was flogging me. He thinks it is hilarious and is still on me, poking and prodding to get me to whimper. I’m learning to press my ass against flat surfaces whenever He’s near me.


Dangerous distractions – Erotica (05-26-2010)

It was hot, even though she was topless and wearing only shorts. She armed sweat off her brow, leaving a smudge of dirt in it’s place. She stretched tall and glanced towards the other end of yard, stealing adoring glimpses of her Owner as He tinkered with their ancient, cantankerous tractor.  Suddenly, weeding the garden didn’t hold much importance in the scheme of things, so she sauntered over to where her Owner lay prone under the tractor. She smiled as she heard half-muttered cursing and snarls drifting up from Him, accompanied by clanks and bangs and even the occasional grunt of pain. He sounded frustrated. Angry. Maybe He needed to cool off too…

Quietly slipping her foot free of her flip-flop, she quickly rested it firmly against His crotch, pressing noticeably, stopping short of pain but leaving very little wiggle room. It was a calculated risk, she knew, to not only interrupt Him but to be aggressive against Him. The sounds of frustrated work stopped immediately; a voice grumbled, low like an idling diesel engine.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, girl? He snarled menacingly.

“I’d think it rather obvious, Master.” she retorted. “Stepping on You.”

She smiled, but underneath she was anxious. This could either go really really well, or she severely miscalculated His mood, and this could go horribly bad, for her at least. She braced herself, expecting a sudden change in position. She was prepared then, when He quickly brought the foot nearest her out and up, trying to sweep her off her feet. She dodged it and quickly moved to His other side, pressing a lilttle bit harder on His crotch to giver her a better chance of prolonging the outcome of this fight. He groaned and snarled, a strangled moan rushing towards her, and she had to fight against all of her training to not immediately drop to her knees in supplicant apology. To her surprise, He scooted away from her foot, out the underside of the tractor, and suddenly she was looking into His snapping blue eyes over the engine block of the tractor. His face was dirty, smeared with grease and grit. He had a forbidding look to his handsome angled face, a jut of arrogance in His jaw. The electricity snapping in His piercing eyes made her knees weaken once again, but she gritted her jaw and thrust her face out defiantly.

“Are you looking at a beating beyond no other, girl?” He demanded, cold amusement and dangerous desire playing across His features.

“Surely You wouldn’t be able to do such a thing, You must be too tired after getting nowhere on the tractor” she smirked.

“Oh, I think I can find it in me,” He growled.

Before she could even frame a response, He was lifting Himself up and over the tractor’s engine, meaning to squash any defiance in her to a meaningless pulp. She turned and bolted, feeling the rough callused fingers tips of His left hand skate across her bare shoulder as she launched herself away from His leap. She heard the thud of His feet hitting the ground behind her; then the air was filled with her breathing, light and rapid, and her footfalls, beating a quick staccato on the soft grass. Those sounds were quickly overcome by the sound of His breathing, heavier and somehow more alive, and His steps, solid and sure in pursuit of her. She jagged left, throwing a quick panicked glance over her shoulder as she adjusted her balance. He was right there behind her, His eyes alight with the effort of capturing her. She looked forward and scanned the yard, desperate to avoid the eventuality of her defeat. Spying the lilac bushes, dense and full, she dashed behind them, working herself into the thick foliage and ducking. Waiting for His footsteps to pound past, she was at a loss when He never came by. She rose up a bit on her knees, trying to see through the thicket, when a quiet, iron-clad voice whispered next to her: “Looking for me?” She screamed in surprise, and that scream was choked off short as as He wrapped a strong hand around her throat and pulled her back, the other hand nesting deep in her hair. He dragged her out, and released His grip on her throat once she was forced to her knees in front of Him.

“Explain yourself, slut!” He demanded, alternately amused and infuriated with her playful rebellion. She looked up at Him, that face that could melt her heart or cause her to tremble in fear, and smiled. He looked incredulous at this smile as she whispered, her voice raw from the choking, “You needed something to distract you from the tractor, did You not?”

He stood, jaw agape for a moment, then roared with laughter. When it was down to chuckles, He shook her firmly by her hair. “I’ll show you distraction, you disobedient slut. I will be quite distracted, indeed. And I have a feeling that you will be rather…distracted…for the next week.”

Her smile faded slowly as she tried to imagine the next few hours of her life. Perhaps she should have thought this through a little more? There was no more time to reflect as He dragged her by her hair, headed to the garage. She stumbled and skip-crawled along, trying to bite back the pleas for mercy as they crowded behind her lips…