This is the reason I keep fooling around with Boss Man: to try to recapture our first time. It is such an insanely good memory. Like candy, so sweet.
I keep wanting that again, but I don’t know if I can ever have it again. I want the teasing. The playfulness. The passion. The curiosity and the banter. The completely inconceived and unfounded hope that just maybe, this could be something.
That hope has been dashed. Stomped on. Thoroughly decimated. But I keep holding on. I want him to hold me all night. Kiss me like he’s drowning and I’m his last hope. Fuck me like he’s been wanting this for a year and is desperate to have me.
But we have no future, and we know that now. I know that. I know he can be cruel. That he can hurt me like very few can. That he can turn his emotions on and off like a light switch, while I flounder and flail, trying to keep up, to understand, to hold on, to let go. I know all of this.
And yet, when he says he wants me again, I can’t help but want to say “Yes.” Because I hope that this time he will hold me. That he will mumble sweet things into my neck. That he will love me again, and erase the times between the first time and now, where I just felt like a used, dirty whore.
That I will somehow be able to justify what we’ve done, because again I’ll feel like it’s love. And love is messy and complicated and doesn’t follow rules like “do not cheat on your girlfriend.”
I don’t think I’ll ever have that again. The beautiful, passionate, true story of our affection, our lust, our discovery of one another, finally, after months and months of longing.
But I want it so badly. To bookend what we had/have with something that is not dirty, but is messy and painful and lovely and sweet.
He told me he needs to stop. It’s a relief, but 💔.
It’s not the sex, or the secret touching, or the intrigue that I’ll miss.
I just wish I could be skin to skin with him one last time, him just holding me.
I had my first real date with Sir, last night.
It was fun. He picked me up and made me use a vibrator on myself in the car, and then pulled off the highway halfway to the poly event. He told me to go into Starbucks, head to the bathroom, and wait for him. A few minutes later he joined me, bent me over against the wall, and fucked me from behind. Rawr. I had to be quiet, which is nearly impossible for me, and he wound up covering my mouth. Then he handed me a ten and sent me to go order him a coffee. Ha. I got sex, AND a free caramel apple spice. A pretty good start to the night in my books!
We got back into the car and drove the rest of the way to the pub in the city, where we ordered drinks and then asked the bartender where our group was located. She started us a tab and pointed us towards the back, where we were welcomed warmly and introduced to everyone.
It was comfortable and casual. We talked about relationships and sex and poly and swinging and kink, with complete openness. It was such a relief to be around people who think like me, who are not afraid to be totally out there, who do not gasp and clutch their pearls at the mere hint of deviance. So refreshing.
We hung out for a few hours, and when we could no longer keep our hands off each other (at one point Sir positioned his hand on my seat perfectly when I returned from the bar, so as to discreetly slide his finger inside me as I sat down), we hugged everyone good-bye and walked towards the car. When we got to the not-completely-empty parking lot, he opened my door for me and fingered me behind it. It was dark, and we were in no one’s direct line of vision, but I am loud. It was hot.
On the drive back I was instructed to use the vibrator on myself, and I came so hard that when I got out to enter his house, I noticed my skirt was soaked through at the back. We fucked on the bench at the foot of the bed. We fucked standing up with him behind, and me bent over at the waist, bracing myself against the floor. We fucked in his enormous, four-poster bed. I screamed and cursed as he rammed into me, filling me with his hugeness.
We both could have fallen asleep after all that, totally exhausted from the build-up and then release, but I do not live there, so he took me home.
I miss him. This bothered me, and when I tried to figure out why I miss someone I do not know that well and don’t spend that much time with, I came to the conclusion that I miss what he does for me.
I miss being able to be who I am, without apology. I miss just being out and having kinky, dirty fun. Being irresponsible and brazen and wild. Having nothing I am responsible for. Not caring.
I am a hedonist at heart. I want to soak as much pleasure out of life as I possibly can. Heaven, for me, would be cavorting on a nude beach, cooking over a fire, partying, fucking, just being, without any of the crap that comes with real life. But of course, unless one is independently wealthy and has zero meaningful relationships, it is impossible to live this way. People, by very nature of being people, will complicate things. They will cause pain. I know that so well. I have even suffered at Sir’s hands, haven’t I?
So, I will continue to do what I need to do and be who I am depended upon to be–with my family and in the professional sphere. But there is no way I am giving up my little slice of heaven.
I met D.F. today. I don’t think I’m going to recount the details, because frankly, I just did not get off on it that much. By that I don’t mean that I didn’t come–I did, a lot.
What I mean is, it didn’t do the thing it usually does, which is get me so high I basically escape consciousness. I was thinking. I did not want to be present–that is why I do this. But it didn’t shut off my brain.
Maybe I knew it would be this way today. Maybe that is why, after him fingering me on the drive over for a good twenty minutes, I squeezed my legs shut. When he told me to spread them, I said “No.”
He pried my legs open, and shoved his fingers deep inside me, making me moan.
“Say ‘Thank you, Sir,” he commanded.
“No,” I said again.
“Am I going to have to punish you?” he asked. “Is that what you’re after?”
“No,” I said again, but this time, “No” meant “Yes.” I think I knew I needed something extreme. I wanted to be punished. I have been told that for a submissive, S&M helps manage “the burn.” It’s hard to crave your next encounter when your pussy’s still swollen and your ass is covered in welts. I wanted him to hurt me.
But he didn’t. We fucked in our usual manner, and instead of whipping me, he forced me to get on top. He knows I hate that. I am self-conscious about my body, and despite being an exhibitionist when it comes to some things, I just don’t like being on top like that. I feel like I’m on display, and not in a good way. I’m sure my extraordinarily lame attempt at topping from the bottom was recognized by him, and that he was trying to teach me that I cannot manipulate him into giving me what I want.
When he came on my chest, I had another orgasm, just from the erotic nature of being covered with hot cum.
But, the entire time we were screwing, I just had this sense that. . .I didn’t want to be there.
I wanted to be home watching TV with my husband. I wanted to draw the blinds and join my daughter in our bed for her afternoon nap. I had the strongest desire to devour a plate of hot-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies. I wanted to be comforted.
I do not know what is up with me. Maybe I am just tired–I’ve had a lot of early mornings lately. Maybe I am getting my period. Maybe, despite being horny, I wasn’t really in the mood. Or maybe, I’m done with distractions, and I want something real.
I’m not going to say that I am finished feeding my sexual hunger with meaningless hook-ups. Obviously, you’ve heard that one before. I am just going to say, that for the moment, I am enjoying yoga pants, hot apple cider, and the laughter of my children–real comfort.
P.S., He is my *Dominant now. Think whatever you want about that one.
*Edited to replace the word “Master” with “Dominant.”
He was hot. Indian, with a handsome face and a rock hard body.
His condo was gorgeous. Fountains in the lobby, wood and marble everywhere, and a lot of amenities. Oh, how we enjoyed the amenities.
When I arrived, he had trouble buzzing me up, so he came down and got me. We took the elevator to his unit, which was filled with leather, dark wood, boxing gloves, and kick boxing belts.
He offered me a beer, and I accepted, even though I don’t drink beer. It was actually pretty good–I made note of the brand so I could get it again in the future.
We sat on the comfortable leather couch and talked, while Ghostbusters played on TV in the background. We chatted about travel, movies, books, work, real estate, and politics. We laughed and touched. At one point he asked me if I wanted to play a board game, which I thought was adorable. I declined, citing the fact that I can pretty much only play Scrabble, Taboo, and Uno. Apparently this was a real date, and not just a hook-up. It was different. It was nice.
When Ghostbusters was over, we went to separate bathrooms and changed for the pool. I exchanged my blue pencil skirt, red blouse and thigh-highs for a string bikini in electric blue, with ruffles. When I came out, he treated me to a spectacular view of his muscular body, featuring a very sexy side tattoo.
“You look great,” he told me, pulling me close. “You do not disappoint.” I smiled, and he kissed me. He was a good kisser–soft, but urgent. We stayed locked together like that for a minute or two, before we decided to head to the pool. I had neglected to bring sandals (perhaps on purpose!), so I put on my red heels and off we went.
“God, now you’re even sexier–heels and a bikini!”
I smiled. “Guess you don’t see that every day.”
The Kick Boxer jumped in the pool and told me it wasn’t too cold. I’m a wimp, so I opted to slowly walk in, one step at a time, cringing at the temperature. After about a minute of this, he grabbed me, carried me to the middle of the pool, and plunged us both to the bottom.
I gasped and kicked my way back to the top. “God, you’re terrible!” I shrieked, laughing. “It’s freezing!”
He laughed and wrapped his arms around me. “Now I get to warm you up.”
“Ahh, so that was your plan.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. He carried me to the side of the pool and kissed me. With my legs wrapped around his waist, we tongued and gasped and groped, weightless. He pushed my bikini bottoms to the side as he devoured my mouth, rubbing me. Sliding my hands down his shorts, I gripped his cock and began to jack him off. He lifted me, so I was half-in the pool with my upper body laying on the deck, and slid his fingers inside my pussy. I screamed as an orgasm overtook my body. As I lay shaking on the cold tile, gasping, my eyes stinging from the chlorine, he said “That was hot.”
I laughed. Yes, it was.
He lifted me effortlessly over to the hot tub, set me down, and turned on the jets. As soon as he sat beside me, we gravitated towards each other like magnets–pawing and sucking, moaning and grinding. The Kick Boxer pulled down the top of my bikini, and took a nipple into his mouth, squeezing the other one. I ran my hands over his god-like body, toying with his dick and biting his neck. After I came, screaming and writhing, he asked if I wanted to hit the steam room.
Once inside, it was more of the same. We grabbed each other urgently, hands and fingers and lips and tongues everywhere. He pressed me down against the bench, pulled down my bottoms, and used his mouth on my already sensitive pussy. He licked and sucked me until I climaxed again, while the room slowly filled with steam so thick it was like mating in a cloud. I pulled him down onto me and we grinded at a fevered pace, dizzy on lust and heat, blind from both of the same.
Eventually we decided to take things upstairs. We showered in his apartment, letting the hot water wash over us. I sank to the floor, taking his cock in my mouth and rubbing my tongue up and down his shaft. He pushed into me, making me gag, but he was so delicious that I kept at it. He pulled me up and dried me off, and then we made our way to his bed.
The sex is a blur. The Kick Boxer impaled me, twisting me into different positions and hitting every spot that could set me off. I screamed and moaned and whimpered; he growled and talked dirty. He pulled out when he was about to come, saying “You almost got me there, but I’m not done with you yet.” Then he fingered me from behind while I rubbed my clit.
When we resumed fucking, it was even harder and more frantic than before. He choked me a couple times, which intensified my pleasure by about 1000%, and I wrapped my legs around his hard, sweaty body, digging my nails into his back and biting his ear.
Then we braked for pizza–true story.
We ate in the living room, lazily touching each other, but as soon as we were done we were once again entangled. He made me come silently, because his neighbours share a wall with the living room.
“I’ll let you get off if you’re quiet,” he promised. I bit my lip and put my hand over my mouth as I shuddered and came. Not being able to scream or moan in release, somehow made it even more acute. As I came down, he told me I was a good girl, then carried me to his room and tossed me onto the bed.
More fucking. My pussy was raw and aching, but still dripping. We pounded the hell out of each other, him telling me I am a dirty slut–words that have the power to send me over the edge all on their own.
“I’m gonna come on you,” he growled, the pulled out as hot cum gushed all over my abs and tits and neck. We fell against each other, finally satisfied–for the moment.
“This may be too soon,” he said, “but we should do this again.”
Oh, yes please.
I get wet just thinking about it. . .and yet, something he said to me keeps echoing in my head:
“I’ve never met a girl as hungry as you.”
A few days ago, I saw him again. I will need to come up with a name for him besides D.F.–and I will elaborate on why another time.
Before our last encounter, he told me I was going to finger myself as he drove us to his place. So, despite the fact that it was FREEZING out, I wore a short skirt, bustier tank top and heels (and a cashmere sweater–I didn’t want to get hypothermia). We were driving for about a minute before he told me to start playing with myself. As I opened my legs and started to finger my pussy, he grabbed one leg and slung it over the compartment between the two seats, so I was totally exposed.
“I would finger you,” he said, “but I need to keep my eyes on the road.”
By the time we hit the highway though, that plan had gone out the window. I moaned and touched myself until he was driven so crazy that he unzipped his pants. I ran my hand up and down his shaft, jacking him off while he rubbed my pussy. I got wetter and wetter as he played with my clit, sitting there with my legs spread wide open, squirming and gasping.
“Your house is too far away,” I moaned, desperate to have him inside me.
“No, it’s not far enough,” he smirked. He enjoyed torturing me.
When we got to his house, he told me to keep on my silver heels, then backed me against an armchair in his living room. “You’re not sitting,” he said. He told me to squat.
I bent my knees and plied as close to ground as I could get (which was pretty far–I do yoga!).
He released his cock, and shoved it in my mouth. “Finger yourself,” he told me.
I sucked him and slid my fingers into my pussy, sighing with pleasure. Apparently I wasn’t enthusiastic enough for him though, because minutes later he bent me back over the chair, so I was in almost a bridge position, and fucked me with his fingers until I was screaming and moaning. He tossed me back onto the ground.
“That’s how you finger,” he spat.
Pushing his cock back into my mouth, he commanded me to get myself off. I pushed three fingers inside my hot, throbbing cunt, until I gushed.
“Good,” he said, then immediately ordered me to get up. I did as I was told, but asked permission to take off my sweater. He said yes, then led me across the room and bent me over the arm of the couch. I smiled.
He entered me from behind, and I was screaming on the first thrust. We fucked like that until he turned me over, put my heels over his shoulders, and drove into me with such intensity that I started to whimper. I came countless times like that, and then he pulled out and took off the condom.
He rubbed the length of his shaft up and down my slit. Said, “you love that raw cock, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasped. I felt intoxicated.
“Do you want it?”
“Do. You. Want. It?”
He slid his bare cock inside me.
There is simply nothing in the world like being penetrated by a condom-less man. I moaned loudly, as he slowly fucked me, letting me feel everything. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I wrapped my legs around his waist, squeezing him as I came and came.
When he was about to come, he pulled out, and his hot liquid spurted all over me. I sighed and collapsed, finally satisfied.
He looked into my eyes. “We are too intense.”
He gathered me in his arms, gave me a gentle kiss, and told me he’d missed me.
I melted against him and squeezed him back. It was probably our first real hug.
He told me to strip, and then positioned the chaise lounge in front of the fireplace. He turned on the TV.
“Porn?” I teased.
“No,” he said with a smile, and turned on a jazz music station.
I felt strange.
He told me to lay on my front, and said the fire would warm me up soon. Then he went and heated a bottle of oil.
He gave me a full-body massage, starting with my shoulders and slowly working his way down to my feet. He knew what he was doing. I should have been totally relaxed, but I felt off. I love massages and never get them. I should have been in heaven. But the non-sexual touch, and the jazz music, and him saying he’d missed me, was doing my head in. I wanted to leave.
I think I went there looking for hate sex. I wanted him to pound the rage out of me while I screamed and raked my nails down his back. I needed him to fix what he broke.
I think that’s what he was trying to do–fix it. But instead I just felt lonely and uncomfortable and out of place.
That is, until he started working his fingers over my ass. The non-sexual part of the massage was over. He slid his hand under me and rubbed my pussy, making me gasp. He alternated between teasing my clit with his fingers and grinding his palm against me, until I was moaning and dripping wet. When he slid his fingers inside me, I came almost instantly.
“Roll over and come here,” he said.
I turned on my back, then shimmied down to the edge of the chaise where he was sitting.
I thought he was going to fuck me, but instead, he lowered his head and ran his long, wide tongue over my open pussy. I purred. He continued to rub my pussy with his tongue, then sank it into my opening. I screamed and ground my mound into his face. He licked me out for ages while I writhed, and then rimmed my ass hole with his tongue. I shuddered and gasped as he slid two fingers inside me, then three, pushing against my g-spot. I wondered if he was going to fist me again.
I came twice more, with his tongue in my ass and his fingers in my cunt, and then he walked over and stood beside me. I sucked his cock into my mouth as he rubbed and pinched my nipples, until I orgasmed again, my moaning vibrating along his shaft. Then he straddled me, and shoved his huge, throbbing cock into me.
“You love grinding against my big cock, don’t you?”
“Fuck yes!,” I screamed.
We fucked like two starving people, banging the hell out of each other until we both came, and then he held me for a long time. The weirdness crept in again.
“Stand up,” he commanded. “I want to look at your ass.”
I stood and turned my backside to him.
“You have a world-class ass,” he told me, then grabbed me and turned me around. “The rest of you is great, too. You are so fucking sexy.” He pulled me towards him, causing me to stumble, and started to eat me out again. I moaned and whimpered as he ravaged me with his tongue, then eventually gasped for him to stop because it was too much. He pulled back instantly.
I have more to say on the subject of the two of us, but that will have to wait.
Let’s just say I am happy, and afraid, and confused. And horny.