Yesterday Wonderboy came home early from work. We were quite innocently lying in bed, when he started to play with my ponytail, smiling to me in an insinuating way. He has this smile, in which his lips start to twitch a little because it’s so strained. I know what it means. I couldn’t help but smile myself.
I wasn’t really expecting anything since last night was such a wondrous fuck, and it’s been so difficult lately with me possibly not getting off, and him taking a huge deal of responsibility for it. But he seemed rather playful, and I started to get wet, just like that. I was on top of him and he was toying with my ponytail. There was a long, long silence in which we just smiled. I finally asked him, what is he smiling about, but it took a couple of minutes for him to answer. And then he came clean and said, that he’d been thinking that if I was to resist, he’d just have to rape me.
Now you have to understand, that we’ve managed to take control of the word rape in our home. It’s a play we play with each other, and has nothing to do with real abuse, even in our minds. I have to say, that as a survivor, using the word with him gives me a certain feeling of empowerment. Rape is turned from a stomach turning, soul-gutting, selfish and evil act to an act of fulfillment and love between me and my lover. There needs to be an adamant trust between us to play a game like that.
And because of that, when I didn’t jump into action straight away, he started to back off. But my heart had jumped when he described what he wanted to do to me in more detail, and I had already gotten really wet and anxious for him to make a move on me. So, I smiled and told him, he could check how exited I was about the idea. And he did. After a few squishing moments of passion with his fingers, he was ready to admit that I might seem to like the idea too.
He asked me then to put on a skirt, or just hinted at it, so I did. After brushing on some mascara and a hint of rose red on my cheeks I stumbled in to the kitchen with my black and shiny 5 inch heels, where he was waiting for me. I know, I know. Seems really simplistic, and more to the point, really stereotypical. But it isn’t, when we are the ones playing the game. I’m still me, pretty snarky and strong, questioning him with my eyes. He’s still pretty feminine, beutiful and caring, even though he towers over my head. He then started to grope me with haste and a sort of entitlement I’d never felt before, because we are over those stupid gender stereotypes that come between us and lust. His hands were aggressive, pulling me against him, almost causing me to fall over.
Why don’t you fight? he asked me after some groping.
You haven’t done anything wrong yet, I answered.
He started to. I started to pull away, slap him in the chest, say small little things like c’moon, please, hey, whatca think your doing? I don’t want to act a scene, I want to feel it, so I don’t go into a role that’s entirely unlike me. It’s still us, but in a very different situation. He cleared the table with one hand and was pushing me on it with the other, when I remarked that people could see us from the street. So, he pushed me in the bedroom and on the bed and under his hard body.
His engagement ring clanged against my teeth, when he put his hand on my face to stop me from yelling. Later he told me that at some point he was actually a bit nervious, because I sounded so sincere. But of course, my body always betrays me, and so it did now. And yes, he called me a slut, and yes, my cunt contracted happily for it. He had just ripped off my panties and pushed away my skirt on my tummy, and entered me, when I felt it coming. Like a train wreck. I was screaming at the top of my lungs no, no, no, ouch, that hurts! (Oh, god, I feel so sorry for our neighbours. And that’s nothing compared to how embarrased I feel.)
I came. Just like that. It was an orgasm that just wouldn’t subside. He couldn’t fuck me at first because my muscles pushed the penis right out, and he had to fight even to stay in me, but when he started to fuck, I felt the orgasm fire up again. The funny thing is, that he had hardly had time to slap me once or twice in the face, to penetrate me and to suffocate me with his hand. Wasn’t I supposed to be the orgasmly challenged?
I don’t know what happened. Am I adapting to the effects of the selective serotonin uptake inhibitor, or are some of my fantasies so potent they get me off no matter what? Or is this because I’m ovulating just about now?
He continued to fuck me, and at some point, took a pillow from the bed, and started to suffocate me with it. My neurons screamed for joy! I’m never sure, if I could really breath through the pillow or not, because the pressure usually forces me to kind of forcefully hold my breath. For me, it is almost too often he checkes that everything’s fine and I’m really having an orgasm, and not spasming because of the loss of oxygen. I’d like to be more seriously suffocated. But I guess those are the things, that just need a lot more learning to get to.
I came again. Honestly, who doesn’t if they are simultanously fucked and suffocated?
After he had fucked the living daylight out of me, we curled up to cuddle, he gazed into my eyes, and asked, do you want me to lick you? I nodded smiling like the blushing bride I am, and soon after felt his love and devotion in action again.
I really enjoy his lustful eyes, almost submissively gazing at me through his long dark lashes, when he’s down at my crotch. He pushed me legs up, and held them like they’d been tied to the ceiling, and I came once more, fantasizing about him fucking me, but that wouldn’t work for whatever reason, so moving on to a doctor doing a gynecological examination for a clueless virgin, but insted of the specula, using his other equipment. As the doctor came, I came, and all was well in the house on the hill.
It’s cold and sunny outside, and I’m in need of a big cup of coffee to take the edge of the day. Feel free to comment on experiences with serotonin related drugs, or playing, or the effect of ovulating, or anything else, you just might want to discuss. I’m on a coffee break.