In an effort to communicate to my husband what I need, we are doing it this way…also ::insert little shrug:: he told me to go toward the feeling. I'm trying to, and every argument, and every non-consensual bit runs through my head. I need him to be strong enough to fuck me anyway. All of my molesters are dead, so there is no possibility of retribution, or apologies; that also means that I have to come up with a way to teach my husband how to accept my sex drive.
We’d fought…I was horny, and he was accusing me of not having a sex drive. This was the day he told me, ‘Either you do, or you don't, and you don't.’ An argument that happens repeatedly, still. This day we argued that I had turned him down for vaginal sex. I had a small tear from the last time we had sex. I needed that to heal. That did not stop the argument, and I found myself defending I had one. I still think he doesn't understand that. I know he likes my exhibitionist side because it means photos, which means sex without a fight for us.
I went to work for a few hours during the dinner rush and came home in the pleated black mini skirt, pressed white button-up, green bowtie, hose over shaved legs, little pom-pom sock, and black tennis shoes. I was dragged out walking to work, at work, and home from work, and we had fought about sex before I went to work. Three guys were removed from the restaurant for reaching up my skirt, and now he was looking at me, still angry. I was torn. I sighed heavily as I entered the apartment and said we needed to talk. I sat on the couch and removed my hose (and yes, I'm specific; these were hose, not stockings. I'm specific. I prefer stockings, but at the time, that skirt would have shown the stocking tops; my size makes most skirts look short on me, whether or not they are. ) and I undo the bowtie and unbutton my shirt, revealing my white sports bra. And sat on the couch in front of our ubiquitous television and waited for his response.
I watched him turn red, and we decided to spar and talk; he’s my Sifu. We had/have rules around that; we never had an issue with it, that we know of…so spar and talk we did. When he finally realized I was saying medical incapacity, he suggested anal sex. :: I smile with dimples and flush:: which is about what I did when he suggested it. Something in me finds it sexy that he finds my dangerousness sexy and cute.
Ok, holy shit. We used to spar before sex. A lot. No wonder my best AI fantasies still include me executing precision martial arts. Neither of us is capable of sparring anymore, not like that… I don't know how to pare that down yet. And yes, my brain always circles. It works like a three-D spider web ball. Yes, all that
I asked him to tie me down for it, and he smiled this smile I don't think I've seen on him since...it was sly and sexual, thoroughly pleased, and he spanked my ass. I smiled like a cross between a little girl and a sire. And started searching the house for any rope. I know we found something black. I think it was the rope we used for washing things by hand. Or the bungee from strapping things to the outside of the backpacks we used to carry out groceries home. No car. I honestly can't remember other than. It was black, and we fed in under the bed and pillowed me to angle my ass better for penetration.
I was giddy. I'd always wanted to try tying me down and had shied because of the way I was abused as a child. I wasn't certain what my reaction would be. And now i knew how to hurt people. The last thing I wanted to do was have a bad reaction and retraumatize myself. So we discussed this; we started with the restraints tied loose enough I could get out, and I asked him to stop me from moving, and he adjusted the ties ::I say, smiling broadly, nipples hard: I couldn't lift but a short lift to be able to rotate my head from side to side.
Much as with every other touch, I flinch before I relax. Yes still. I was brought up fighting a sister 4 and 1/2 years older than I. Grandma used to tell stories of my sister beating me in the stomach as I'd scream and hold onto the side of the crib. That animosity never ceased. We no longer speak.
He walked me through each touch, from the ‘I'm setting my hand on your ass’, to ‘here comes the lube’::I smile just for him::
::I laugh at the giddy memory:: splayed, unable to move on the bed, stretched to the four corners, and I tried to relax and just let the feeling swallow me. My body fought this, so he lubed the outside again, gently pulling my ass apart far enough that I could barely feel his fingers enter until they were already there, and he released the stretch he'd been performing. My whole body went wired, and the bonds stopped the curl my body fought to perform, a delicious denial that made the sensation spread from his fingers diligently applying lube inside me to my fingers and toes. The insatiable tingle spread from the central location.
He breathed he loved me in my ear as the head of his cock stretched me out in the best pain I'd ever been in. Still, I was silenced by the sensation. A common response for me: the more I enjoy it, the more I tend to hold my breath to not make noise. (so much so that my husband recently stopped when I made noise and wanted him to continue; that was an awkward moment) oh! And yes. My sex is always layered like this. The random thoughts…the inability to stop the verbal overlay.
I kept fighting the bonds; I wanted to stay there, and he untied me, had me hold his arm as he chose to fill every hole. Fingers inside me and in my mouth, his cock a quick short beat, careful not to tear me. My legs came together, and I refused to let him remove his fingers. Pressing me into the bed, he warned me he was close and asked how I wanted to handle it. All I could do at the time was nod. Telling him it was his choice whether or not he pulled out to cum. It was one of those successive moments as he pressed hard against me and in me.
There was the second before I came, as he started to cum, the jerk and hold, and I couldn't help but clench lightly as the ripple of the muscles hit me. (ha, pun intended! He, at the time wouldn't spank me that developed over time) I swallowed the moan of pleasure and held my breath as the waves overtook my body, and I relied on the bed to keep me from curling in on myself. After shocks pulsed through me as he trembled and we fed on each other for, I don't know how long, but I was slobbering happily on the sheets.
This post brought to you by the cold the child who sneezed on me in the elevator gave me…