The Rationing of Orgasms

I discovered something the other night, after He fucked my face and allowed me to use the vibrator while He went upstairs to clean my slobber off His crotch:

Orgasms are like carbonation in a pop.

For me, if I orgasm frequently, they lose their potency and it takes me longer to reach one. Its like opening a bottle of soda: If you open it often, the carbonation escapes and the pop goes flat faster. But if you only open it once in a while, the carbonation builds and doesn’t have a chance to escape. Think about when you open a soda for the first time…that sudden rush to the top, the hard hssht! of the CO2 escaping. As opposed to a pop that has been opened a lot recently…little more than a weak shhhh once allowed out.

For others, I suppose, their orgasms are like typing skills…the more you use it, the better they get!

I have always found the angry rejection and hostility of orgasm control and denial by many s-types to be mildly hilarious. Once I realized that I enjoy my orgasms in a radically different fashion than most, it made a little more sense, but apparently orgasms( to some) are essential to life just like oxygen. I’ll have to tell various nuns and monks across the world that they are on the edge of death.

He gets off on making my sexual release secondary, to making me have to ask and wheedle for an orgasm. I get off on Him off-handedly granting indifferent permission from time to time. Don’t judge my kink and I’ll keep my judgment of your kink to myself.

That isn’t to say he doesn’t give me the occasional mind-destroying knee-bending little death. He is particularly fond of ripping them from me beyond when I think I’ve had enough. They are just at His whim, much like the rest of my life.

Defiance and Science (my evening)

Since we had finished supper, N has been out in the bobcat moving snow off of the driveway and road so I can finally move my van. It hasn’t moved since last Wednesday and I have this intense urge to apologize profusely to her. N comes in every so often to warm His fingers and toes and thaw the snot off of his nose. During one of the earlier pit stops I could smell Him a mile away…He’d gotten ATF and Hydraulic fluid on His coveralls and coat and good gods above, that shit stinks to the highest heavens.

This last warm up He walked over to my seat at the desk and said “How about I warm up my dick in your mouth.” To His absolute shock I vehemently protested. He stunk. The smell of the ATF made my eyes water, and if I had to breathe it in any closer I’d prolly start to heave. He looked at me with this mixture of amusement and displeasure (If the look could speak it would say “Help, these days, can’t kill them, can’t sell them, think they own the damn world!”). And then with a heavy sigh that indicated He was merely indulging in my silly little stupidity, He slid His coveralls off and folded them over. That’s true love, right there.  rolls eyes

I got to sucking, easing Him into it, and He slides His hand behind my head and grabbed my ponytail. I immediately paused and glared up at Him (well, as much as one can glare up when orally stuffed with dick) with a feeling of exasperation that only a long-suffering slave can appreciate. I am busy actively ignoring the stench wafting from the front of His coveralls and He wants to fuck my throat. I can see this ending two ways, and neither is particularly pleasant…

So I unwillingly slid back down and He held me there, firmly but not painfully, and I patiently waited to come back up for air, reminding myself that fighting it makes it hurt more, uses up air, makes me gag more… the pressure releases and I came up for air, drew in a long breath, and pressure again. Lather rinse repeat a few times…I could sense that the last two were not as smooth, I was starting to get agitated at the end. I drew in a deep breath and slowly swallowed Him again…and waited for Him to release the pressure…waited…quashed the anxiety, and He let me up. He asked curiously “How long do you think that was?” —-

Okay, side rant: WTF is up with O-types gagging you with something and then desiring conversation?! Seriously. My mouth is stuffed full of cock.  Your cock. Let’s not start talking politics or something. Not fair. Not fair at all!
—I shrugged and grunted what I hoped sounded like “I dunno” from around His member. He said “10 seconds. Again.” The pressure, no air, calmed myself. Up for air again. “Good” He grunted. Drew a breath. Pressure again. Held the air. I had a fair guess of what 10 seconds is. I could do this. This was not 10 seconds. The edges of panic settle. How long now? I could do 10, what did He want now? Squelched the distress, waited it out, relaxed. Little muscles in my mouth tensed. Fingers curled on His coveralls. Eyes squeezed shut, ears waited for the most minute sounds of release.  Finally the pressure released and I pulled back, gasped and waited for His direction. “Fifteen seconds,” He said.

Fifteen? Just five more? How. Why. What. That makes no sense, the difference between zen and panic is five seconds. The liminal space; life as defined as a time.

Just how long...

A few more of fifteen second panics and I started to adjust. Fifteen was no longer the number of unraveling. I could do fifteen.

He let me go. He still had the bobcat running, after all. I looked around, unable to meet His eyes. I was a science projection, an experiment, a lab animal. I was an object, curiosity acted upon. I liked it, I hated it, I wanted to do it more. I wiped my mouth and calmed my queasy stomach with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be soon before He toyed with me again.

Yeah. A semi-normal evening. We are so fucked. 😀

 

 

Camaraderie and “Ow Fuck!”

First things first, I’d like to give a kudos to the gracious and awesome hosts of the munch last night: Thank you so much, DrHoagie and Hoagie’s nadira, for creating a space for such a wonderful time. You guys rock!

Last night N and I attended the local munch and had an unexpected blast. I mean, we expected to have a good time and get to know people better, but we hadn’t anticipated it being that much fun. So much talking, laughing, owie things, playing with cats and teasing the SAMs, I’m just smiling thinking of it again. The food was wonderful, the camaraderie was comforting, the modeling was gorgeous and the sincerity warm.

I sat by N’s feet in the living room for most of the evening, after the food had been served. Someone who must not like me very much had given Him a crop with a heavy metal-capped handle, so He randomly whapped me wherever it was convenient. Soles of feet, toes, inner thighs, tits, upper arms…with both the stingy crop end and the heavy handle. Whap, whap, thud, CRACK! Another woman who is quite the entertaining SAM (SmartAssed Masochist) was on the floor next to me, trying to avoid her good friend who was armed with a lexane paddle. At one point, trying to be all smooth like, I gave the mistress the crop, but that just inspired N to get out this studded leather strap and beat me with that instead. The SAM said it leaves nice marks, and damn was she right…through my fucking jeans, with N only going maybe half force, I’ve got little stud-shaped bruises on my thigh.

Through my jeans. He is *so* not getting that strap for His birthday.

At one point there were three D/O types in the living room with pain instruments in their grasp and two s-types that needed to get through the gauntlet to the kitchen. She tried to throw me under the bus, but as I have extensive experience with being thrown under the bus by kaya, I managed to skip out on most of the serious pain. The one thing I did stupidly was put my hand across my ass trying to block a shot from a 1/2″ thick quartz paddle. Ow, fuck! I caught the edge of the paddle across my thumb joint and it instantly puffed up and stopped doing the things joints do. Today the swelling is down but the mobility is still a bit reduced. Lesson learned: when someone is coming after you with a paddle made out of fucking rock, your hand will not save you. Any unintended pain received is most likely your fault. 🙂  I loved it. Hopefully next time I have an encounter with that Master and his quartz paddle my hands will stay in their proper places.

After a few people wandered back home the little group left sat until past midnight bullshitting. The topics ranged from atheism to circular arguments common in BDSM to off-color jokes and wedding cakes. I haven’t had a good laugh in ages like I did last night. To a person (or a couple, really) used to being self-reliant loners based on our personal makeup as well as our chosen relationship dynamic, being able to have a group that we can really be ourselves and not feel so ostracized means a lot to us both.

I think I could come to like being a bit more social again. 😀

Change is in the Air (03-16-2010)

It’s spring, folks. The calendar may not agree yet, but the snow is melting rapidly and the rivers are flooding just as fast. It’s muddy and gloomy and wet, the wind dances from side to side, there is the undefinable scent of shifting seasons in the breeze.

i’ve always been a person tied to the seasons. Summer finds me optimistic, energetic, raring to go. Fall charges me to stock and hoard, canning and drying food, digging out blankets and cleaning the house in preparation of cold weather. Winter creates a sluggish me, reluctant to leave the warmth and safety of my cozy hidey-hole, introspective and dark.

Spring, however, has it’s own clutch of fun. i’m excitable and fractious, prone to hi-jinx and sassy misbehavior. A slap on my ass might find me quickly returning in like kind. A command from Up High is often met with teasing compliance. And, just sometimes, i get mired down in mental mud and really don’t know when to shut up. (i know, me, being disobedient? perish the thought!)

i could sense the spring tora rising this weekend. He’s been in an ass grabbing mood lately, sometimes lil pinches, sometimes caresses, sometimes big ol swats that make me yelp and jump. i never know which of those it will be until He’s already done it, so i’m a little twitchy right now when He walks behind me.  Saturday He had been a monster, molesting me whenever the chance presented itself, and i was becoming quite annoyed with the whole deal, especially when trying to get supper on the table while avoiding 6 busy children. So, He cracks me on the ass as i’m pulling dishes out of the dishwasher, and without even realizing it, i shot up and thrust my arm out to hit Him back.

i just about died as i came to my senses.

It must have been funny to see, i shoot straight up with every unthinking intention to hit Him back, and right before the point of impact i come to and flap my hands stupidly, trying to shake the stupid uprising out or something, flashing my smile of appeasement and avoiding eye-contact. He watched the whole thing, laughed and sauntered off.

i don’t know what was worse, the fact that i still have a section of my brain that will try and clobber Him, or that He finds that amusing. Not threatening, not interesting, amusing. Is there anything more infuriating than staging an coup and being brushed off like a pesky fly?

i’ve been trying to lure the slumbering sadist out of Him again. It’s like there’s this tiger sleeping in its den, quietly dozing, and i’m prancing about in front of the entrance wearing a ground beef bikini. While washing my hair with bacon grease. Can i scream “i’m stupid and want You to hurt me a lot!!!” any louder?

Teh dumb. i haz it.

i’ve promised Him that at some point this summer, i will wait until we are outside and He is busy with something. i will come up and haul off and crack Him as hard as possible. Then start running. Again with the infuriating, because He just smiles. There’s a gleam in His eye that tells me He will relish that moment. A bit of a smirk around the edges of His sensual lips that suggests He doubts i have the balls to do so. A whole history’s worth of experiences that promise me any action on my part will be ruthlessly crushed on His.

Change is good, wakes us up and reminds Him why He took me. A certain ground-line of stability is also nice. 😀

A little fun (11/16/2010)

I was stoking the woodstove this morning, cussing under my breath at the log that wouldn’t light on fire, and my mind started wandering. It does that so much I rarely ever expect it home anymore…

There are parallels to slavery and stoking a woodstove. Seriously!

Top Ten Ways Slavery is Like Using the Woodstove:

  1. It takes patience. Lots and lots of patience. Starting a fire from scratch is not something that can be rushed.
  2. Without a good foundation, the fire will never meet its full potential. When you start a fire on top of ash, you can’t just lays logs down and toss a match in…you have to build it cross-wise on the bottom row of kindling, lengthwise on the next. Fire needs to breathe.
  3. I need to re-mention patience.
  4. Remember the raw materials. Some woods burn better at different temperatures, some create a lot of by-products, some are slow to start but burn forever. Knowing your material is half the battle.
  5. Fine-tuning the combustion process takes balance and close observation. It’s an intricate dance between the fresh air intake and the flue damper. Open the air too much with an open flue and the fire will burn out before you ever benefit from it’s creation. Open the air but choke the flue down, you’ll never have an established fire…it will just smolder and smoke you out. If you close down the air but leave the flue wide open, your fire will listlessly scorch the wood and little more.
  6. Working with a woodstove becomes less and less difficult the more you become accustomed to it’s nature.
  7. There is a sense of satisfaction in seeing a good roaring fire in your woodstove, feeling its heat and knowing that you are the one that helped create it.
  8. It takes plenty of dedication and planning to efficiently utilize a woodstove. Many scoff at the old-fashioned nature of this practice, what with the modern age and all, but the experienced woodstove user will know that a little work can do a body good.
  9. A smart woodstove owner will do research and know what the woodstove’s capabilities, requirements and maintenance needs are.
  10. Because it needs to be said again: PATIENCE!

So there you have it. A little old-time wisdom from this tired, soot-smeared slave. 🙂