I had an epiffany tonight. It’s been a crazy couple of days, and I don’t know where to start. But let’s start from the outrageous stuff, so we can get to the emotional in due course.
As soon as Wonderboy came home from work, he told me he wanted to fuck me in the ass. He still needed to go to the city for a hobby of his, so we didn’t have any time before later, but we cuddled and grinded against each other for a while before he had to leave again. We got comfortable, excited even, and then he left, and I continued working, pretty happy.
But when he came home, the climate had ever so slightly changed. It almost didn’t happen. Because when he asked me, did I want to be fucked in the ass, I said I didn’t know. God, I’m such a basket case.
I had thought about it when he called me from the city, because he was insinuating that he had not filled his marital duties (to get the milk from the store for my coffee, you dirty minds!) and I said well, you’ve been filling your other marital duties perfectly, so that evens up the score. And then he said something or the other, which left me thinking he was really hot for my ass. Suddenly I felt kind of intimidated. Because, as you might know, and I certainly do, butt sex can hurt if you’re not in the right mood. For me, it’s always scary. My past experiences of miscommunication with guys who presumed totally unsolicited blanket consent when I only agreed to vaginal sex, might have something to do with that. I blame the porn industry for that one. (Even though I am porn and sex positive, I still do see enough to be critized about it’s effect on us.)
Okay, so back to the bedroom. He lifted me up on his arms in the living room, which wasn’t a storybook moment because I’m a little heavy for that, and carried me in the bedroom to lay me gently on the bed. I sat on the foot of the bed, not to seem submissive but to watch. He started to lube his penis, and it was already pretty hard, twitching in his hands as he played with the head and held on to the base with the other hand, showing it off. I’ve discovered recently, I really enjoy watching him pleasure himself. My pussy started pulsing with excitement. I could feel it engorge just from watching. After a while of smiling at each other, after some small moans that escaped my lips when I watched him, he leaned towards me, took me by my hair and pulled me against him.
On your knees, he commanded with a voice that was like a caress, so it didn’t feel like being commanded at all.
There it was, the luscious, the wonderful. Dick. He banged my cheek with it, pushed it against my lips, and finally put it in my mouth all the while holding me down from the back of my neck. I really like the way he holds my neck like it’s a caress and a threat at the same time. I’m not such a fan of throat fucking, but it really turns him on, and that turns me on. So he did that for a while, moaning and commenting the silky feel of my mouth and lips, dripping salty pre-cum in my mouth. I really, really like to hear the pleasure deepen his voice, the quick breaths that escape when something feels particularly good. I love to feel, smell and taste him enjoying. He was forceful, but I had no trouble breathing unlike some times, so it was quite good.
And then we kissed. It’s an unspoken agreement between us, that after oral pleasuring, we kiss. I feel it as a way to show that we are willing to taste the same medicine the other one’s been getting a truck load of. He probably doesn’t even think about it.
I was on top, and he finally asked me whether I wanted to have butt sex or not. It was all up to me. And I couldn’t say yes. Because, here’s the thing, I’m still not comfortable with what I want. I don’t like pain. I’m afraid of it. If I’m not ovulating, and so really slick by nature, it usually hurts a bit even when he just enters me. Butt-sex is like a possible world of pain and discomfort, if also mind-blowing. I was feeling kind of stretched out because of the (still unspeakable) side effects of the pill, and I didn’t know if I could handle it.
I’m fortunate to be blessed with an emotionally vigilant boyfriend. He has seen this before, many many times. My unsaid discomfort. My undecidedness. Me evading any responsibility of what is about to take place. Is this really what a liberated, assertive, bisexual bottom looks like? Umm.
He started to play with me with his lubed fingers. For the longest time, I laid there on his belly, listening to his breath quicken, soft moans rising from his throat, feeling his copiusly oozing dick against my cunt. Pre-cum always makes me hot, and it did, but his fingers which had found their way to my butt were making me uncomfortable. They were too slow and probing. I wanted more. I craved more. It was like I was on hold. He put the tip of his penis in me, because it wouldn’t go any further, and we played like that for a while.
Then it all came into a screeching halt. He asked me, and for his benefit I can say he did it without resentment, what did I want to do? I gathered myself and said, I wish you’d fuck me from behind. And added, slightly uncertainly, and you can fuck me in the ass, too, if you want. But then you have to rape me a little bit. (Yes, I actually said that. It’s hard to find words for what you want, isn’t it?) Well, he hopped to it.
It hurt, it almost hurt so much, that I had to tell him to stop. It wasn’t pleasurable in that sense, because I’m not a masochist, as far as I know. I migh have actually begged him to stop, but later he said that he just didn’t. He wouldn’t. God, that makes me hot. Because I’d said he would have to rape me (for me to enjoy it). So he did as he was told. And he said, he was worried, how I would come out the other side. And I was screaming quite a lot of Ouch it hurts, stop, please stops. We’ve become more comfortable playing, and so, he’s also come more certain that he could tell if I wasn’t genuinely (but all the more secretly) enjoying myself.
What I realized, when he was fucking me up the wall, was that it wasn’t the act of fucking me anally that sent shiwers down my spine and left flickers of light on the dark matt in my eyes. It was the dominance.
Ha! See what I did there? I’m so fucked up, I can’t even say it! I love it when he dominates me. But I never ever submit. No sir. Just goes to show, how my brain skips over the things I don’t want to admit to myself, even though they’re very plainly there. It was the submission that led me to two orgasms, and to carry Wonderboy over the edge with me with the last one. It wasn’t barely the sensation of his you-know-what in my you-know-where. This was news for me.
This post about rape fantasies, written by Rona at the Secret confessions of a smart girl, gave me a new percpective on the rape-play we’ve been so much enjoying these past few weeks. We’ve played like that before, It’s just been more to our liking now that I’m under the strangely liberating influence of the pill. I don’t crash so hard. He doesn’t have to worry what happens the next day when he leaves for work, and I stay here. I used to totally change my mind after he wasn’t around. I’d start to hurdle towards a big, fat, screaming traumatized flash-back and all the chilling side-effcts of that.
Pain, degradation, humiliation, sex that is focused on his desires instead of mine, the only thing that’s missing is the one thing we both feel slightly creeped out by – and that I, honestly, don’t need – the falsehood and misdirection designed to imply that I don’t want to be exactly where I am, when I really, really do.
Rona made me realize one immensely important thing. I take pleasure more in focusing on his desires than mine. I’ve always felt kind of empty and resentful of womens fantasies’ “narcissistic” nature, when it’s about getting licked, and petted and all their knobs being turned. I really only ever wanted to read, and see, men pleasuring themselves or being pleasured. Where are my menz?! I would cry out reading porn for women or seeing porn flicks that only feature one part of the male anatomy. I didn’t realize everyone is not like that. I didn’t realize it’s somethinc not considered inherently vanilla.
That’s why it’s so important to me that Wonderboy does what he likes with me. I want to hear his moans and feel his dick get harder. I want him to tell me how he just can’t stop himself. Come to think of it, that is where all this kinky shit started. When he discovered that I would come just like that, if he threatened not to be able to withdraw before orgasm. Oh God. It’s my ultimate fantasy to be totally at his mercy. At first I wrote “for him to be unable to control himself”, but I decided it’s time I try, if even in my writing, to habit the space I’m in. (It’s not the sub-space, is it?)
When he rolled off my back, I started to huff tears like a hyperventilating school girl. I was happy and exhilerated, and fragile. I had given him my all, submitted in a very intimidating, pervasive, hurting kind of way. And the catharsis came out as a cry. I probably howled a little too, but he’s too kind to tease me about that sort of thing. We kissed and cuddled, and I smiled through the tears. He asked me, did I have a good time, and I smiled and said I did.
After a minute or two of remeniscing, I asked if he could go down on me, and he did. In the end of that excercise, I squirted so that his whole face was dripping, and we had to put a towel on the bed to be able to sleep. Ah, the day-to-day plights of our life. I’ve almost gotten used to never having clean sheets. Almost.