Ah-mazing Sex

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Papa Bear and I have been having amazing sex. It has been off the charts. Every time is different and sexy and hot.

A few weeks ago we finally engaged in consensual non-consent (rape play). It is something I have been wanting forever, but it takes a lot of trust and a deep understanding of the other person in order for it to feel and be safe for both parties. We have talked about it enough that finally, one night, we just did it.

I started by teasing him. Doing a little strip tease, then dropping my dress back into place over my legs and pushing my thighs together.

I’d open my legs and play with myself a bit, then close them and wink. He’d kiss me and grope me and I’d reciprocate for a minute or two…and then scamper off.

Eventually, knowing exactly what I was up to and what I wanted, he pushed my legs open and used his mouth on me. I was clearly enjoying it, but I struggled, because that made it hotter.

He grabbed my wrist and pushed me towards the bedroom and threw me on the bed. I went back and forth between fighting him off and coming so hard I could barely stand it.

He choked me and spanked me and held my wrists against the bed, and I loved every second.

It was beyond hot, but of course, TOTALLY consensual. After two years of talking about it, we were comfortable and intimate enough to go there.

That is the difference between rape, and rape play. Rape play is fun for both of you.


What Woke the Beast

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Saturday night I had a foursome with Gentleman Friend, the Wifey, and her Dom. We started in the kitchen, sharing drinks and dirty stories, then moved to the living room with its enormous leather sectional and wood-burning fireplace. We sat in front of the fire, surrounded by furry blankets, and then the touching started. I wanted to see the wifey’s undergarments, so I pulled her dress right up and admired their sheer, lacy pinkness. I ran my hand up the seam in her stockings, and before I knew it my dress was in a pile on the floor and I was left in my thigh highs and red bra.

Gentleman Friend fingered me and made me come, and the Dom put his cock in my mouth, calling me “good girl.” We all went upstairs.

His bedroom. My god. It was a circle and reminded me of a turret. The bathroom is separated from the main room by a glass half-wall and has a soaker tub with jets, and the bedroom itself is heated by yet another wood-burning fireplace. A leather couch faces the fireplace, and there is a giant bed in the middle of the room.

But its most impressive feature is the spiral staircase that leads to a look-out –a circular catwalk with 360 degree windows, a telescope, and railings all around–perfect for tying someone up. Which we did.

The Wifey has been needing a beating, so I helped the Dom tie her up, and he handed me different implements to torture her with. Yummy.

After we untied her, we crawled onto the bed, and they pulled out an 18 inch double sided dildo. I lubed it up, and slid it inside the Wifey’s pussy. She gasped as she took it, and then I slid my end inside me. It was very thick, and I had to take more and more of it gradually. But we were both moaning, panting and gushing. Fucking each other.

“Lady!!!,” she screamed on the edge of an orgasm. “You are better than Sugar Daddy!!!” [random editorial aside: she is not seeing him anymore either. same reasons.]

I laughed. “Thanks, I’ll tell him you said so.”

We screwed, and the men watched until they decided they wanted a piece of that action. Then I got on my back, and Gentleman Friend fucked me, while the Dom fucked wifey, who was straddling my face. I alternated between licking her pussy and fingering her, though it was a little hard to concentrate while getting the hell fucked out of me!

I gushed. I gushed so hard that Gentleman Friend cupped it in his hands and spilled it down The Wifey’s back. No idea how he managed that, but she was absolutely dripping. I screamed, gripping the sheets and writhing.

The Wifey needed a break so Gentleman Friend cuddled with her, while I fucked the Dom. He put his hands around my throat and Gentleman Friend told him I like being choked hard, so he tightened his grip. Perfect. 

I came again, and then we all went and sat by the fireplace. I noticed that there were big windows looking out into the street and went and stood in one, naked. They teased me for being such an exhibitionist, then The Dom started to finger me and I came again. I almost slid down against his cock, which was hard again, until he said “Are you okay without protection?”

Shit. “No, no I am not. Nor am I sober,” I laughed.

Gentleman Friend went and grabbed us a condom cause he’s helpful like that, and I tried to get him in me again but no cigar. “I think I’m swollen shut,” I apologized.

“We’ll see about that,” he replied, taking me over to the bed. And he fucked me. He fucked me hard until I was a screaming, sobbing mess.

“How is she not dead?,” asked Wifey from across the room. I guess this was the first time that either of them had seen how long and hard I can go.

“You’re gonna sit on my face,” said the Dom. “And I’m gonna make you squirt.”

He ate me out and fingered me, and ordered the Wifey to come over and take care of his cock while I rode his face. I knew he wanted me to squirt but was honestly pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to again. . .and then he hit my g-spot, and I drowned him, just like he wanted.

Then I took a cold beer bottle and held it against my pussy, because I was so thoroughly fucked I couldn’t take anymore.

I made too much noise and I caused too many tremors. I woke the beast, and I can’t get it to go back to sleep.

 


Disconnected

I feel shitty and confused and weird and broken.

I don’t know what’s going on.

I met Dark Daddy. The lights were off when I got to his hotel room. He asked me to strip down to my undies and kneel in front of him on a pillow. I did as I was asked.

He told me what a good girl I’ve been, and how proud he is of the changes he’s seen in me–the development of self-control and patience. My newfound sense of self-discipline. The fact that I am beginning to see myself as more than just a sex object. He stroked my hair and my face and asked me to suck his cock.

It was really freaking big. I could only get about half of it in my mouth. He coached me a bit on deep-throating, until tears ran down my face. I love it when I get tears from giving head. It is so cathartic.

He told me to lay on the bed on my back, and then he gave me oral. He started by licking me all over, and then sucking my clit. I got loud and he told me to grab the pillow, which I used to cover my face as I screamed. When he added fingering me to the mix, I bucked and writhed. And then he put a finger in my ass and I came, really fucking hard.

He had told me he wanted to take my ass first, but when he felt how tight it was he changed his mind and decided he should fuck me first to help me open up a bit.

He fucked me doggy style, and I started coming after only a few thrusts. My pussy gripped him really, really hard, and I kept coming. He told me to do my kegels around his cock, and guided me through it.

“Grip…release. . .keep gripping…release.”

“I’m gonna come,” I whimpered.

“Not yet, you aren’t.”

I tried holding off by breathing evenly and relaxing my body, and soon he said I was allowed to come. It was a really intense orgasm…so hard it actually hurt. I sobbed and he stroked my back and told me to let it out.

Then he told me to move from where I was at the foot of the bed, and get on all fours with a pillow under me.

He lubed my asshole and his cock, and then slowly started to push into me. I groaned. He started fucking me faster and I moaned and told him it felt really fucking good.

“That’s just a few inches,” he said. “I’m giving you a chance to get used to me until I give you the whole thing.”

“God!”

“Are you ready?” he asked a few moments later.

“Yes, Sir.”

He rammed into me as far as he could go in one smooth motion, and I had another orgasm as he fucked my ass. He reminded me to use the pillow when he felt I was about to come, and I muffled my screams as best I could, even though I was pretty sure the entire floor could hear me.

We took a break and snuggled so I could catch my breath, and he asked me what I wanted more of.

“Whatever you want, Sir,” I answered.

“Okay, but I’m asking what you want,” he said.

“Everything.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’ll give you everything.”

And he did…until I gushed so hard he sent me to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

I begged for more and he gave me more, and then we cuddled and listened to music. I have to be honest and say that I kind of hate old school R&B. It is not for me. It made me cringe a bit.

Then he mentioned that he had to go to an event at a club he’d done the wiring for. I got a little frowny at this.

I know he’s here to work, and he needs to do what he needs to do, but I wasn’t thrilled that he hadn’t told me about this ahead of time. He’s a very flexible, non-stressing, go with the flow kind of person. . .which frankly scares me a bit. I don’t like it.

I need structure. I need to know what is happening and when. I need notice, and I need to know what to expect. When it comes to certain things I can play it by ear…but only if I am told in advance that I need to play it by ear, ha ha. Anyway, he gave me cab money, which I appreciated, and then said he needed to grab something to eat, and I was like “Seriously!? You’re not going to share your wings with me!?” But I didn’t say it out loud. Instead I gave him a huge bear hug. . .and he is as good at hugging as he is at sex. . .and then I got in my cab and left.

I thought sex would make me feel better, but I don’t feel better. WTF. I felt kind of disconnected and “off”. . .and the next day I felt pissy. . .and by yesterday I felt so bad that I decided I needed to talk to him about it.

I told him I need more time. I have no problem whatsoever with visits that are strictly for sex, but since it was our first meeting I felt like I needed more. We have talked about relationship stuff a lot, and I know he likes to go out on dates and do things that do not involve just being in the bedroom. But I’d told him I wanted to fuck him as soon as humanly possible, so he didn’t want to make me wait until the weekend when he was all moved in and didn’t have work stuff going on.

I understood. But I still felt shitty. An “I want to spend more time with you, I wish I could take you to dinner,” would have gone a long way.

And then I started to miss Sugar Daddy. And then I looked in my blocked messages folder and saw that he had texted me 7 times. And then I desperately wished he hadn’t been so awful to me so I could go back to him. Because he is a lying sack of shit, but when I was with him I felt like I was floating (although that could have been the alcohol), and I shared his taste in music, and he always let me know what to expect: Dinner, drinks, going out, staying in, what time I was to be there, what time I had to leave, etc. Of course, he also changed his mind about incredibly important things like not taking on other submissives, or my having priority in threesome situations, but hey, no one’s perfect.

I feel shitty. Shitty and weird and confused and lost and broken.  Perhaps I am overreacting, but I am allowed to be like this. This is how baby girls are. We need security. We need to feel safe. I am allowed to want it and I am allowed to ask for it. I am allowed to withdraw if I don’t get it.


A Riddle Wrapped in a Mystery, Wrapped in a Slut

I am not sure how to navigate the beginning of a relationship. Bewildered, I find myself tempted to follow someone else’s model. I’m in a place where I am not even remotely certain of the best course of action–of what is best for me.

Someone says they are taking it slow. That their dom asked them hundreds of questions before they decided to take the plunge and I think yes–that is what I want.

I want someone to explore me thoroughly before they take me.

Suicide Girl and The Switch started from friendship. They knew each other for years before deciding to have a relationship. He was her first ever dom, despite her years of interest in the lifestyle. She had been approached by–and turned down–several other doms, because she didn’t know them well enough. She needed to be able to trust the person she was handing power over to.

How I admire her restraint.

Others talk about instant connection–being read like a book–everything just feeling right from the get go.

That sounds just about perfect to me. Fireworks. Knowing. Every fiber in your being screaming that they are the one (or one of the ones).

 

I want to take my time.

I want to dive in head-first.

 

I want to walk slowly and deliberately into something genuine. I want to let it build–let it breathe. Not ruin it.

I want to be swept off my feet and into a whirl-wind. Carpe Diem.

 

I want to spill my guts, tell my life story, catalog my faults and lay everything bare.

I want to be intriguing and mysterious. I want every day with me to be a surprise.

 

I want to know everything up front.

I want to revel in and savour the amazing experience of discovery over time.

 

I want to gain insight from others who are walking this path.

I want to make my decisions uninfluenced by the opinions of anyone else.

 

I want to know that I am choosing someone I could have a real future with.

I want to enjoy the journey and not focus so hard on the destination.

 

I am a walking contradiction–confusing to even myself. I’m a riddle wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a slut.

 

 


My Version of Perfection

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You can’t always get what you want. Life has a way of turning out however it turns out. Sometimes, though you get the next best thing. You alter your expectations based on the limitations of reality. You realize that things might not be perfect, but they can be a version of perfection.

I have been thinking a lot about dreams and reality lately. I am a dreamer. I dream big. There is so much that I want to do with my life, so much that I want to experience and explore.

I used to have this crazy bucket list. When I wrote it, I’m sure most of what was on it was completely possible.

Adopt a child.

Spend a summer in Greece.

Learn to ride a motorcycle.

Start my own not for profit.

Touch a rainbow (okay, maybe not so possible).

Have sex all night (possible, yet still yet to happen!)

Get a tattoo.

Fall in love.

Write a book.

Go parasailing.

Audition for a broadway show.

And on, and on, and on. There were lots. Some of them I have already done, some I am still waiting for, and some will clearly never happen.

That is okay.

I don’t even remember all my bucket list items, but of the things I would still like to do, I have been thinking about how to make them possible, even if it is different from what I had originally envisioned.

For instance–adopt a child. Well, this was written in my late teens, before I knew that I would end up having multiple unplanned pregnancies, and biological children. I had always wanted–and my husband had agreed–to adopt children instead of giving birth to any. But life happens, wouldn’t change it, and now we won’t be raising any kids besides the two that we already have.

However–there is more than one way to be family. Maybe we’ll be honorary parents to a kid who doesn’t have a good relationship with theirs. Maybe one day we’ll “adopt” a foreign university student whose family is overseas and needs a place to hide out when dorms get to be too much, or it’s Thanksgiving or Easter or Christmas and they don’t want to be alone. Maybe decades from now, we’ll have a struggling single mom living next door, and we’ll step in and become Grandma and Grandpa to her little ones. You never know. But I’m sure our adopted child will come to us as long as our hearts are open.

Maybe instead of spending a summer in Greece–which is expensive as hell–I’ll go someplace that is not on the Euro (Poland, perhaps?) and make base camp there. . .and travel by train to Greece where I’ll spend a few days.

Instead of falling in love once and for all, and living happily ever after, I have discovered that my heart has the capacity to love an infinite number of people romantically. And one doesn’t get bumped out just because another enters the stage. I just make room for more. Perfection has many faces.

I have been thinking, too, about my perfect family. I’ve mentioned before that I would love to have a big, happy, poly family someday. Kids running in and out of each other’s houses, growing up like pseudo-siblings. Multiple adults who are romantically and sexually involved with each other. Shared vacations and camping trips and Christmas mornings. This would be my ideal.

However, The Husband likes his space. The poly community where I live is small–what are the chances of finding just the right combination of people who all love each other and all want to be so closely knit? Then there’s the blood family to consider–their reactions (aka, freak out). And the community at large, from which we would likely have to hide the nature of our connections in order to avoid the children becoming pariahs. My dream does not include ridiculous amounts of complicated, but I live in the real world, and so complicated it would be.

So I’ve been thinking alternatively. . .considering the idea of a kink family. It is largely appealing to me. A circle of couples, triads, Dominants, submissives, kinksters, hedonists and fetishists, Daddies, baby girls, Masters, slaves, Owners and pets, who love each other like family. Experienced Doms share their wisdom with the newer ones. Submissive sisters and brothers talk each other through this journey. Baby girls have slumber parties and chick flick marathons, while their Daddies and Doms are out of town at a kink convention shopping for new ways to bring them to their knees. We’d surround each other through break-ups. We’d baby sit when a mama is sick. We’d book a huge camp site for Kinky Camping, and go skinny dipping late at night. There’s more than one way to be a family.

Now, I am still dreaming…I know that. But Leather Families, Houses (whether everyone lives together or not), Packs, and kink brothers and sisters do exist. It’s a thing.

And it’s a thing that could be mine.


God Shaped Hole

Lately I have been exploring my motivations for becoming involved with BDSM. It is no coincidence, that I recognized myself as a submissive almost immediately after leaving religion. I spent my life being told that I am inherently bad. That humans all walk around with a sense of shame. That there is nothing we can do about our fallen nature–we are born this way. I spent my life being told that a man–Jesus–was the only one who could save me from myself. The only one who could purify and cleanse me. The only one who could make me whole.

There were to be no boundaries between me and this god-man. He knew all of my thoughts. He was privy to all of my feelings. He knew when I messed up. He saw me all the time, but he still loved me. Granted, I would be punished harshly–with my life falling apart, and eventually eternal hellfire–if I resisted his authority in my life. But this was also somehow love. As were the challenges he brought, and the hoops I had to jump through in order to prove myself worthy–in order to be refined into something pure.

Sometime last year, I declared this all hogwash. And yet, here I am. On my knees. Begging to be remade into something beautiful. Taking words straight out of my prayers and throwing them at the feet of a Dom.

“Take everything I am.
Do what you have to do to transform me into YOUR idea of who I should be.
Leave no stone unturned, no crevice unexplored.
Know me, and love me anyway.
Whip me if I step out of line.
Hurt me just because you are the powerful one, and that is your right.
Give me what I need, because I am not capable of doing that for myself.
Make the decisions. Make it easy for me.
Set out the rules, and no matter how painful, I will follow them.
See my weakness, and make me strong.
Own me, and make me free.”

This may sound extreme. Like I was taking religion to the max. But it was all there–all of it. Here are some words from my former fellow-believers:

“He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree…
And all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory
When I realize just how beautiful you are, and how great your affections are for me
Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss, and my heart turns violently inside of my chest.
I don’t know how to maintain these regrets when I think about the way that he loves us”-Kim Walker, How He Loves Us

“The pathway is broken and the signs are unclear
And I don’t know the reason why You brought me here
But just because You love me the way that You do
I’m gonna walk through the fire if You want me to” -Ginny Owens, If You Want Me To

“Like waking up from the longest dream
How real it seemed
Until Your love broke through
And I was lost in a fantasy
That blinded me
Until Your love broke through” Rebecca St James, Your Love Broke Through

“To love you – take my world apart
To need you – I am on my knees
To love you – take my world apart
To need you – broken on my knees” Jars of Clay, Worlds Apart

These are all lines from popular Christian songs. There are tons more like this–scores. Christianity–my brand at least–was all about God as the ultimate Lover. The ultimate Sugar Daddy. The ultimate Dom.

And then there I find myself, rudderless. No one telling me what to do, how to act, who to be.

At first I love it. I go fucking wild. I explore. I give and I take and I don’t care if it’s right or wrong. But there is a fantasy, a need, in the dark corners of my mind. Like a vignette at the edges of an old photograph, slowly creeping in. The surface strips itself away, and I find, that while I am done feeling like I am dirty, bad, wrong, merely for being human…I crave someone who will take the reigns. Take control. Have authority in my life and tell me that, not only is it okay to be a dirty little slut, but it’s what he wants.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Yes, I will do that, Daddy. I will suck your cock. I will give you unlimited access to all of my holes. I will be a dirty girl for you–and you will see what you have created, and say that it is good. I am a good girl.

You will not make me hide my body. Your chains will give me pleasure instead of pain. If you make me fight myself, it will only be so that I can become myself. The quintessential submissive–fragile, yet strong. Dauntless and unafraid, yet unable to take even a harsh look from your eye, a harsh word from your mouth. You will teach me to walk with my head high, to be proud to be me and proud to be yours, so that I feel nothing less when I am crawling to you across the floor.

I am on my knees.
In your arms.
Safe.
Yes.
Yes, Daddy.
I will do that for you.


One Day (but not today)

In my last conversation with Sugar Daddy, after telling him multiple times, on no uncertain terms, that I was no longer his to use and abuse, he said “I will wait for you to miss the sex and apologize.”

“Keep waiting,” I replied.

“Okay. And while I’m waiting, Jailbait is coming up next weekend–and she got her tongue pierced!”

He ripped a scab off a wound that was just starting to heal. It was then that I decided, that in addition to blocking him on my phone, I was going to have to block him everywhere.

Things have been peaceful since–at least in relation to that.

And I have been doing better.

But tomorrow is the beginning of “next weekend”…the weekend where he will, once again, be giving her all the things he could never manage to give me. At least physically. I know she isn’t going to be getting the love that he withheld from me. I know she won’t be getting commitment or respect, either. I know he isn’t going to give her the truth–that in that regard, we are the same…and we’ll be the same in the end when he tosses her aside.

Knowing all of this doesn’t make me feel any less alone, though. Truth be told, I miss him. I miss the person that I thought he was. I miss his sense of humour and his cuddles and the way he made the world disappear. But it’s like waking from a dream–delusions aren’t meant to last. I am grateful that I found out when I did instead of much later. I loved him hard. I loved him in a reckless, self-destructive way. I will always care for him, and I know that, and it doesn’t mean that it has to hurt. It is just the way I am wired–when I love someone, I love them forever. He is now on the list.

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Despite the fact that I know I am better off without him, this weekend will be hard for me. Ordinarily I’d drink, and then go out and get fucked every night. But I am trying to be different–to do what is best for me regardless of what anyone else is doing. I will admit that part of my instinct to go wild is based on my desire to compete with him. I want to prove that I am hot and desirable–I want to override the memories of me sitting at home alone, burning with jealousy, while he fucked someone else for 72 hours straight and pretended it didn’t mean anything.

I don’t need to do that. It is not a contest. He can continue to lie and cheat and break hearts, and that has nothing to do with me anymore. Still, I feel like I need a plan–to avoid dwelling. I don’t want to distract myself from what’s missing in my life, I want to focus on what I do have. I have a family who loves me, that I will spend quality time with this weekend. I will chase my children with water guns, hunt for shapes in the clouds, and watch Disney movies.

I have a young(ish) body that deserves my care and attention. I will run. I will do yoga. I will play Just Dance with the husband, and I will curl my body against him in bed. He is the one who has been there for me since before I was really even an adult. He is the one who has stayed, through all the ups and downs. He is the one who knows his limitations and is willing to let me explore my own needs and possibilities outside of him.

One day, I will have sex for 24 hours straight. One day, I will find a Daddy who is committed to investing in me, not just dumping his cum inside me. One day I will fall in love again and the hole in my heart that needs to be protected, challenged and adored will be filled.

That day is not today. And that’s okay.