Craving for more, Hyper-Sexual, Passing Woman, What Women Really Want

A Changing Sexuality – Eye for Men

I had a dream. I was standing alone with a police man. I don’t think he was dressed in an uniform, but I can’t be certain anymore. He was a man build like a bull, big, fit, very muscular and had a hair the color of straw. I wanted him. Somehow because he was so big, I wanted him even more. I never used to like men like him. I picked my men from a narrow pool of wuthering hights and showing rib cages. Men who worked out with me, those with arms as wide as my thighs, bulging muscles and clenched jaws, never had my attention.

Until now.

I notice every bouncer who isn’t butt ugly. I look after the working men coming to have lunch in the near by restaurant. I shamelessly eye the very young men in the parks throwing frisbee without their shirts on.

I was left speechless when there was a new cashier in the grocery store near us. He was beautiful, arabic features and coloring, but spoke our language as a native. He looked into my eyes a while too long when giving me the receipt and I was struck by a lighting. What a beautiful man.

But when I see a really big guy, who has been working out. When I did my workout near a guy who lifted 170 kg just like that. I smiled at him, I smiled so wide. I want to touch men like him. I want to be under them. I want them to take me. And him, as any other decent man, smiled at me and was polite, wonderful. Cheerful even.

In the dream there had been a crime: a rape I think. We were talking about a woman going to a car with a stranger with the police man, not a nice one, not a one you could trust. A brick wall of justice and menace at the same time. Like a superhero gone bad.

You know how that’ll end up, he said.

Yeah, I said.

She’ll get raped, he added or then we both just knew what he meant.

But he meant more than that. He was propositioning me. His car was just around the corner, and I could just walk there with him. He was promising me he would rape me if I did.

I took a hold of his hand. I wanted him to ravage me. I remembered I was married. I knew I shouldn’t, and I had to stop for a second, to try to convince myself not to do it. But I took him up on his offer and called his bluff. Well, what are you gonna do now?

His hand was bigger than mine and wide and warm. He guided me, not to his car, but to a huge warehouse with sheet metal covered walls and hallowed halls filled with car parts and wooden crates.

When we got in I saw a woman dangling from the ceiling by a harness farther inside. She had wings and a huge black dildo in a harness at her crotch. I mean huge, the thing was down to her knees, shiny and bouncing as she swung on the harness back and forth. Her face was hidden in a glittery and feathery mask.

The man was now more a bull than a police. He grabbed me and started to hump me from behind before I could touch him. I suddenly knew that he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of his own cock, that he had a mechanic cock pushed between my thighs. He pushed me down on a bed and came on top of me. I could see his square jaw, his broad neck and his blond hair. He was so not like my Wonderboy. And I craved it.

Suddenly his humping and desire came to a halt. He clutched me into his arms rough and panted in my ear.

The lady in the harness came down, took the mask of and was at the door before I could realize what was happening. She had a giant tube like gym back and was dressed in gym clothes, not so scary anymore.

Men, they are all like that. What a pity, she said like we were accomplishes in a mutual scene.

It took me a while to realize that she was referring to the guy. He had come too soon, all over my clothes.

I woke up not horny but craving the physical overpowering of a strong, big bodybuilder like my police. The dream made me smile through the day. I daydreamed about it. But it is so like me. Even in my dreams I don’t get the pay-off of cheating. I get realism.

As I’m growing older I seem to notice my horizon on sexy changing, widening. I like that. I can appreciate bodies I would’ve felt were unattractive before. And it seems to me to be somehow very symbolic that I’d mostly desire after the big, masculine men. They have after all, the age old marks of high testosterone levels – bulls for my ever needy womb.

I doubt it’s as straightforward as that, but I believe that’s one of the reasons. And I don’t mind. As long as I can admire from a safe distance. As long as I can dream.

BDSM, Craving for more, embracing pain, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

Just A Bitch In Heat

Guess what? I seduced him again! He said I did so by being such a bitch in heat. Rowr.

And guess what else? I got my first official tit bruise from slapping! It’s dainty and I love it!

I asked him yesterday how come he was so much more harsh and hardhanded with me than before. I made it clear that I had liked it by grinding myself against him, kissing him, caressing him and looking at him dreamily.

He answered, Well, I realized you’re not so fragile after all. I can’t break you that easily.

That was it. His new found certainty and assertiveness.

Today whilst fucking me hard from behind and ripping me by the hair he said,

I don’t care if you hurt. The more you hurt, the better.

He said such rude but true things to me all the while he fingerfucked my mouth, fucked me from behind and hurt me. Did I already mention that I came for the longest time? I just love it, when he roughly fucks my mouth with his fingers, suffocates me with them even, stretches my mouth.

Look at me. I love your mouth. It’s so sexy. You just know it’s going to feel so good to put something in there, he said when he forced me to go down on him after he’d made me go do some housework. When he sent me to do housework, I remembered to ask, if I was to call him sir or not, and obviously that was my duty. I was more than happy to oblige and used it instead of yeah all the time I could without embarrassing myself completely.

When we were good and really done we still kissed and cuddled. I had asked for him to put my collar on, when we switched from the forced blowjob to fucking and he obliged immediately. I lay there on all fours, held my hair up and felt it sweep from my neck through my whole body, when he clicked the buckle. True happiness and also true desire springs from him putting the collar on me. And it also happens when he takes it off. It’s a sign I need, I crave. He shook me from it a little to see if it was tight enough and I fell so hard.

It’s important to put the collar on, I said when we cuddled.

That’s good of you to notice, he answered and smiled hiw owner’s smile.

It’s really important to me.

I’ll put the leash on next time too.

And then – and then! – he promised me he’d lead me around from the leash one day! I hope it’s not tomorrow, because my little sis is coming to visit. But he promised to forcefully fuck and suffocate me in total silence, when she goes to bed. We’ll see what happens tomorrow…

Maybe I’ll get a pony!

BDSM, Craving for more, embracing pain, Learning to negotiate, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Wonderboy

To Be Owned Again

Therapy’s back in session. (I accidently first wrote sexon. Whatever could that mean…) What a relief! I think I detected some disappointment over the fact that I didn’t call her, but opted to try new anti-depressants, when shit hit the fan. She was surprised that I should’ve felt that bad.

But I did.

So, on to the subject of the shit and the fan on the ceiling. There has been serious sex sessions happening here over the weekend. I’ve been complemented on giving the best head of his life (and he’s real picky and hurty!) and also the best sex of his life in the course of a week. Nipple clamps made an appearence more than once, but collar wasn’t presented these times. I think we are still too fragile to go there. Owning is different from d/s sex. It means so much more. And I have to be ready for it to work. Same goes for Wonderboy.

So, about what this “being ready” means. There was some discussion about the anxiety disorder affecting our relationship and sex life in the earlier post. It’s spesifically affecting the d/s dynamic, but you know. There really is no sex without it. With me on the anti-depressants Wonderboy has yet again built his courage to own me more… But I don’t trust this courage, when it’s based on my feelings and not his.

Perverse Cowgirls says that WB’s skills as a lover aren’t relevant unless you’re keen to fuck in public, and I don’t see how dominance is relevant either unless one is in a 24/7 arrangement.

I feel I need to address this since I was the one who brought up the anxiety disorder label, used it and even constructed highly likely theories of it affecting us.

Wonderboy’s anxiety disorder isn’t solely confined to the scary outside world. He is sometimes inexplicably scared to interact normally, even with me, especially in sexy situations. This affects everything. It especially affects our wonderful d/s dynamic, because when he gets scared, he can’t trust me and himself enough to dominate me. This is not a thing that happens in my mind by the way. He just won’t. I have to coerce some of it out of him, but it’s not the same as being taken, owned and disgraced now is it?

For you to grasp the magnitude of his anxiety, here’s an example.

He once blamed me for not taking him into consideration, because I didn’t ask him, if he wanted to play the computer, when I played for a long time. He had been playing guitar in the other room for the whole time. The discussion was positively absurd to me and in the end Wonderboy had the guts to say, in a really small voice, that he didn’t know, why he couldn’t ask me, if he could play. (I think I even wrote about the fight?) But when I asked him, if he wanted to play, pretty late into the night, he snapped at me and started yelling, how I was bad and selfish for not doing so earlier.

This is the way he handles his anxiety now. He’s accustomed to lash it out on me. I’m an easy target, I try to understand him and make him feel better. He can get rid of the anger his anxiety builds in him, and get a cuddle to boot. But as I said recently, I won’t be doing any more of that. I won’t coddle him anymore. If he hurts my feelings, I will act upset. I will show my hurt feelings and will not condone them to relieve his. I also will not submit myself to his disorder anymore.

He has the same responsibilities in this family than I have.

If he can’t handle them, he needs to get help.

I am not his mother.

This might sound absurd or cold depending where you’re coming from. But I’m prone to take care of everything. One of the advances of living your childhood in a broken home(s) with alcoholics and people with anger management issues to say the least. You learn to be quiet about your own bad feelings. You learn to try to solve any sign of discontent, any problem with any means possible right away before it escalates into something dangerous and possibly life threatening.

It’s hard to let that go. Hard to start listening to myself again and start understanding that my hurt feelings matter as much as his. Or anyone’s for that matter. And it’s really hard to let him battle the anxiety by himself. I see how it suffocates him. But he’ll never learn to deal with it, if I’m always acting as his buffer. And I can’t anymore. I don’t have the strenght. I’m so angry at him for making me do it. He’s trying to force me back into my role, because we’re both so used to it.

Today I didn’t feel like sex. I don’t much feel like it now. My period is starting and I’m sedated for my pain. (By the anti-depressants.) He ordered me to disrobe and bed him. We had a fun time cuddling naked with his cock poking me and his hands and teeth torturing my nipples… But it didn’t go anywhere. Finally he asked, if I wanted to have sex at all. I didn’t know and he didn’t know anymore either. And then he asked me the best question to solve it:

Would you feel discontent, if we didn’t have sex now?

No, not really, I answered.

I’m happily non-sexual and it’s such a relief. Now I can let him fight it out with his Anxiety. I don’t need him as much, as desperately to fill in the role I have for him.

To be my owner again.

Craving for more, Hurting, I am a girl, Learning to negotiate, Love, Passing Woman, Self-Questioning, Volatile bodies, Wonderboy

Caught In The Act – Not As Good As In Porn

Everything was fine. After a long dry spell we’d had sex on both monday and tuesday night. I was feeling so happy about it, I thought things were really looking up. So, while we cuddled yesterday night I didn’t have my hopes up, really. I did desire him, but I know him well enough not to expect anything out of him three (workdays) in a row. Suddenly he blurted out,

I probably won’t be able to fuck you today.

I started laughing because it was so out of the blue. I hadn’t really been making any advances, because I know him so well. I thought that he would obviously start grabbing me and toying with me, if there was any chance of sex. Usually at this point I ask, if playing is out of the question too, but I didn’t, because I felt his cock limp and warm in his underpants – which he always takes off to cuddle! I guess there were signs I picked up on about his desire to not have sex.

Later at night he came to quickly kiss me in the bedroom saying that he only wanted to quickly kiss me. Like I would have otherwise taken it as a prelude to sex. I was happy he did. When he was leaving I asked, if I was allowed to play by myself and he said yes. But I didn’t. I kind of felt like it, but because he was so out of it and I was also a little beat from working out the same day and the day before that, I didn’t.

He’d said he would just go brush his teeth and suddenly I noticed the silence that had been going on for a while. It immediately made my heart pound faster. I knew he was jerking off in the other room. It was too silent and he had been away so long. So, I yelped where my baby had gone off too, but I didn’t get any answer. I waited a little more, but then I went across the living room and opened the door.

It was dark and I only saw him in the light of the computer, sitting on the bed, dashing to cover himself and close the programs.

Are you playing in here? I asked in a cheerful voice, because I didn’t want him to feel bad about being caught. I didn’t want to accuse him of doing it. I don’t really accept accusing about sexual needs and fulfilling them.

Yeah, he answered and smiled at me, kind of apologetic but more just grinned.

I closed the door and went back to bed to read stuff I was earlier reading. My heart was pounding in my ears. It’s okay, I thought. I want him to have pleasure. It’s alright.

I could hear Wonderboy creeping off to the bathroom to clean up, and suddenly the realisation that he had to clean up even though I didn’t made me start crying. I felt used. I felt abandoned. I felt forgotten and betrayed. I felt rejected.

He came to the bedroom talking chipperishly about how I could’ve know to barge in at just the right time, but soon quieted down when he didn’t get any feedback. He came to cuddle me and I cried silently tears rolling into my hair.

Did you still get sad? Do you feel like you’re ugly and I don’t want you at all?

No, I answered. No, I don’t feel like that.

Don’t be sad, he said and curled his hands around me. I was facing the other way and tried to grab his hands, to hug him back in a way.

I know it’s different. I know it’s not the same. Masturbating and sex.

It was just because we had such amazing sex yesterday. And since you wanted to play, I thought I’d play. Just a little.

I didn’t. I didn’t play.

You know I’d rather have sex with you. I only want sex with you. And if there would’ve been any chance…

I know.

I just couldn’t fuck you today.

I know.

Or play with you.

That stung. Really? Why was it so easy to jerk off, but not to play with me? Was it just because I would want something too? Was it because it’s so easy for him to get himself off, but for me it takes longer to finish him?

The thoughts balled up in my stomach and made my ribcage too small. I cried again.

I tried to understand. I tried to think that I’d do the same in his situation. But I wouldn’t. How ever way I turned it I couldn’t imagine a situation where I would reject him and then play with myself. I just couldn’t. And from there came the rage.

I just would never do that, I said in between sobs. First reject you and then just go and play by myself. I would never do that to you.

It’s just the hormones, he answered to my neck.

Big mistake.

I froze. Oh, my feelings don’t really matter, because hormones might have something to do with them? I couldn’t imagine a world where this wouldn’t have hurt me. I even thought about saying, how it might have helped, if he would have just told me that he needed to do this. Maybe.

You can’t say that, I said, anger in my voice.

He sighed, let go off me and rolled onto his back.

We’ve talked about this. Why are you so sad all of a sudden? We’ve been over this before.

I felt like I was being accused. I was being childish for being hurt about him pleasuring himself and not doing it with me. I was the bad one. And I knew I was the bad one too. It didn’t help one bit, I was so hurt. I kept playing everything he’d probably been doing in my head and it was too much. I felt like puking. I just could’t understand. I couldn’t deal. I was so angry and hurt I wanted to punch something.

He went on to find his mobile phone charger and I stayed on the bed, holding a pillow, unable to move or feel anything but the pain I was dwelling in. I knew I should let go.

He came back, cuddled me and sang a silly song about not going to bed while you’re angry. When he didn’t get any reaction from me apart from a hoarse yeah, he asked me quite demandingly, if I was at all feeling like getting to bed with him. I had played down my emotions, I’d thought how I love him and that I should sleep here. I didn’t want to go to the other room, because of what had happened there just now. And I didn’t want to sleep on the couch. So, I said yes and went on to the bathroom, came back, took my clothes off like he insisted and laid myself down. He cuddled me from the back, kissed my back. I was in his arms, naked, but he’d positioned himself so that his cock didn’t touch me at all. And I was tensed up. I felt positive repulsion to think about his cock touching me. But it didn’t.

After some time he turned around, which made everything sprung up again. The rejection. The hurt feelings. I was trying to sleep. I was trying to just focus on how much I knew he loves me. But I couldn’t sleep. I could hear him falling asleep behind me and I moved myself away from him so our asses didn’t touch.

After I’d sulked there for a while trying to coach myself to sleep, I could feel his head rise from the bed, looking at me. I took away one earplug and asked what was wrong. He said something about waking up to feel anxious. I asked why, and he answered, because of this. Oh, I answered angrily. He didn’t say anything more even though I waited so I put the earplug back in. I could feel him shifting on the bed and then rising from it.

I took the earplug off again and asked, what are you doing? although I already knew.

I’m going to sleep in the other room, he said. This feels too bad, or something to that effect.

I felt accused again. More over I was being also rejected, abandoned. He wouldn’t even take the time to calm me. He wouldn’t even sleep with me when I was feeling hurt that he’d caused. Even when I’d made the decision to stay and try to focus on the love, which is pretty much the first for me.

He just left.

Like always when there’s a conflict.

He left and I was left on the bed with so much rage I was thinking everything from cutting myself to cutting his computer or throwing the dumbbels out of the window. I didn’t of course, but it took a looong time to wind down. He had left me hanging in so many ways. And I knew there was nothing I could do. I was still too angry to discuss it. He had expressed no desire to discuss this further and had even taken himself away as a precursion.

It didn’t help that he had the audacity to come back and collect the good pillows he sleeps on for the other room. Way to go man. If you want to make your wife more angry and hurt, this is the way to do it.

Somewhere down the line I even had time to think about, how not like my fantasies this caught in the act scene had been. I think it’s mostly because I knew he didn’t want and also aggressively denied me any participation in it. It wasn’t like yeah, babe, get in here and suck this cock. It was more in the lines of fuck off so I can finish. I wonder how ever that could make me feel unloved or dimished?

Anyway. I slept here alone after masturbating just in spite and to wind down. It took ages, I was so sad, really, too sad to do it. But I finished finally and then I slept without dreams until I woke up to hear him making breakfast for himself. I dozed off only to wake up, when he lay down on my tummy to kiss me and tell me, I like you, I like you, I like you. He then asked, if I could hear him through the earplugs and I answered with a hoarse yeah. It wasn’t a loving yeah. It wasn’t what he was expecting.

He thought I’de be okay now, in the morning. He’s done this before, thought that whatever concern I express late at night is just some phase I will wake up without knowing. He does get angry and frustrated and hurt later at night without any apparent reason. I just start to think about everything that’s hurt me in bed, when it’s quiet. I’m afraid to go to bed to face all that. Because then it has to be addressed. But it’s never something that’s not really bothering me.

I’m still angry and hurt. I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want to talk with him or see him. I shut the doors to the other room, where I was working yesterday and my good office chair is there. I don’t want to go there. I feel that my trust has been shattered. Why am I not included? This just goes to show that however paranoid it might seem to be suspecting someone of masturbating the minute they close the door between you two, in my case there’s a reason for it. He’s shut me out so many times, it has made me feel cheated upon, when he does this. How can I be happy, if he chooses to have sex with someone else than me? Sometimes it’s been because he couldn’t deal with a possible rejection, sometimes because I had some hurt feelings or anxieties he couldn’t deal with, sometimes it was him and his feelings. And sometimes it’s been because he’s too exhausted physically. A thing I can not accept, probably because all the other reasons (have) existed too.

I’m resisting the urge to text him something bad. Something hurtful. I’m resisting contacting him in any way. He will have to deal with this. But it will happen face to face.

That’s what you get folks for kicking your loved one out of your sex life. Stings, doesn’t it?

Craving for more, I am a girl, Passing Woman, Pregnancy

Doctor’s Orders

I went to the doctor this morning. The sun was shining and the leafs were yellow and red. When I was climbing the stairs of the hospital I thought how incredibly lucky I am that I am coming to the hospital for this. Fertility treatments. We are looking for a way to help our bodies create a child. I’m not fighting cancer. I don’t have to fear for my life like so many others who climb those stairs. I felt happy and hopeful.

I watched this Danish documentary yesterday. It was about human mind’s incredible ability to trick the body to get well. I’ve read a lot about the fact that placebo can be as good as real medication and that it seems that sometimes it’s just important to be part of the rite of being medicated. It makes sense, if you think about all the shaman healing abilities. Western medicine can’t explain or even address this fact.

So, I’ve decided to believe I’ll get pregnant. We have all the help we can get. I will get pregnant.

I told the doctor about crying all day every day during the hormones, and she and the midwife were really understanding, we even joked about it a bit. They also both applauded spontaneously, when I told Wonderboy had quit smoking. They made me feel so happy. They really want us to get pregnant.

The doctor promised that we’d try this for three months still, because it seemed to be working so well on me. She said that we’d probably try some more ovulation inducing medication after that, if I don’t get pregnant before New Year. She said it’s better to try for an “Organic” child before going to the real hardcore medical choice. To my surprise I agreed. I want to make it happen with my own body.

We’ve both been tweaking our diets and I’ve given up all dairy products to try out, if I’m allergic to them. I’ve felt a lot better, healthier and somehow more calm and light too after that. I already know I’m lactose intolerant, but since I seem to have the same problems with low lactose dairy products I’m trying this out to make my body more healthy. I’ve thought that eating the right things can have as big an effect as medication. Nobody knows, how that works.

They asked me, if I’d felt something different and I admitted that my right ovary had been prickly. They went in an ultrasounded me through. Turns out I can feel it. There was a huge (heh) follicle just ready to jump off the ovary.

Doctor’s orders were to have sex this weekend like little bunny rabbities. I tried not to make a too hilariously excited face. I already made Wonderboy make love to me yesterday with the same excuse. Of course when he fucked me, he did it saying that he’d just use me for coming. And he did and it was wonderful.

Three days more of that. Yay!

BDSM, Craving for more, Fantasies, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Sex stories, Submissive tendencies, Volatile bodies, Wonderboy

An Order Is an Order

He’s ordered me twice to think about him, when I play with myself. That has been the condition of me being allowed to play. Just the fact that he does this makes me feel loved. It also gets me very much turned on.  He’s ordering me and he wants to be on my mind. He wants me to remember who is the source of my pleasure.

After these solo orgasms, and during playing, I’ve felt much more emotionally present. I’ve felt loved and somehow I’ve felt his presence in my mind.

It’s been so easy to fantasize just about him, when he’s commanded it. Like today. I just thought about the things he said to me yesterday when he was making love to me. I was thinking what he did too, but what seemed to get me off was the words.

He was on top of me and I really wanted him to wrist-lock me so I said,

Hold me down from my wrists.

What? he asked incredulously and then hit my cheek so hard it stung and felt hot for many minutes to come. You are making demands on me? Seems that I’ve been far too allowing with you. I’ll have to start training you. You’ll be a perfect slave for me.

I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’m so sorry.

You better not. Now, you’ll do everything I say. You’re just hear for my enjoyment, you hear? And you will adress me sir.

He was tentatively biting my nipples, sucking them and biting them again. It was not enough. He slapped them a bit and then bit at them again.

You can bite them harder, if you like, I offered fearing his respond. I was right to fear it. He moved away from the tits and latched on to my earlobe. He bit my ear ripping it to shreads, and I  shrieked, but he just kept going, harder, twisting his teeth’s grip.

Ouch, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts! I yelled. I almost couldn’t handle the piercing, sudden pain.

He stopped after letting me cry out for a while. He sat up, still inside me, and said,

It hurts?

As innocent as his question was my answer, Yeah, the biting. I wanted him to be sure it wasn’t his cock hurting me. But he hadn’t meant it as a question at all.

You enjoy everything I do. He said it in a commanding voice leaving me no choice.

Okay. Sir. Yes. I enjoy everything you do.

And he latched on to my earlobe again. Suddenly I took the pain in and it changed. It went inside me and became warmth. I relaxed. I was hooked on it.

You are for my enjoyment and to give me children.

I am just using you. You fucking whore.

He had fucked me hard, slow and in every way possible and neither of us had come. He’d been so intense with the new training, hitting me so much harder than before, hurting me, biting me so much harder, I’d been too tangled in that. But now he had decided.

You have to come, he said.

I couldn’t believe my ears. It’s always stroke me as implausible and irritable when submissive women have described how they come on demand. I’ve always been intimadated by him having so much power and also by the fact that I though I never could.

Right now? I asked, because I wasn’t sure, if he knew about forcing your slave to come for you. If he meant somethin else.

He didn’t.

Yes, he answered and pushed his cock deep inside of me.


I came.

It was a violent, dryish orgasm which pushed his cock almost out of me. I could feel my hands hitting his chest, which seems to happen every time I come this violently, like I’m protesting it. And the words from my mouth are usually No, no, no!  I don’t know, if I said anything. After the orgasm fell like a sudden tidal wave crashing on the shore, I was all tapped.

I was shocked. I was shocked he’d have this strong of a hold of me. I felt fragile, on his mercy and used, but in the best way possible. I felt I was his. The feeling was more powerful than any words could have awakened.

I started to cry.

I came a second time after that, but I can’t remember what kind of a violent act pushed me over the edge the second time. Maybe it was just his words again. He kept telling me, how he’d make me serve him. How I’d make a good fucktoy for him some day, when he’d trained me properly.

I own you, I can do with you anything I like. And you like it. You will do anything I ask of you.

I will do anything you ask, sir.

After the sex we cuddled and talked about why he hadn’t come. He had fucked me too viciously the night before (oooh boy, it was extatic) and his cock was so sensitive that it had started to hurt too much. I tried to console him and promised him, I’d do my best to make it up to him.

Did you really come, when I commmanded you? he asked.

Yeah. And then I started to cry, I said.

It was really hot, he said and kissed me passionately. He loves it when I cry. And I guess he loves it, when he gets me to come just by ordering me to!

I offered to go down on him, but he declined. It’s a shame I can’t do the same to you, I thought.



Craving for more, Gender stereotypes, Hyper-Sexual, Learning to negotiate, Love, Volatile bodies, Wonderboy

The Merry-Go-Round of Sex and Guilt

I tried to talk to Wonderboy about sex. I told him I hadn’t been asking his permission to play. I said I’d been worried that he’d feel bad about me wanting so much, and him giving so little, when he could see how much I really wanted it, because I had to ask him every time. I told him, how I felt he was somehow distant and mechanic with me. I said there hadn’t been enough sex and that I missed him.

When he licked a stray coffee drop from his mug that morning, my body twingled. When he accidently held my face while kissing me, my heart fluttered. And he was distantly acknowledging all of this, but acted like he wasn’t. Pretty disturbing. Emotionally exhausting. Everything is fine. Except he won’t kiss me longer than it takes to give a peck.

His answer was that we’d had plenty of sex this week. Monday was mutual oral, because he was too tired for else. Tuesday was fucking. Friday we fucked, but he didn’t come and I had to work hard on him to get him there. Saturday we tried to have sex, but it didn’t work out at all for either of us. So, four times in a week. What do you want?

I explained that every time had felt strained to me. I’d felt a pressure to try to keep him going even, if I wasn’t really enjoying myself that much. All of the fucking happened while I was still not ready, I wanted something more to turn me on enough. I came on Tuesday, so what’s the fuss? It was pretty bad. I only enjoyed the immediate end, which also made me come. Before that everything had felt so tentative, so mechanic. His kisses, his actions. It got worse.

He wouldn’t admit to any of it. Granted I didn’t go into full detail, just said how I felt.

When he came to be, I had decided to try to fix things a bit. I’d gotten so lonely and sad masturbating by myself and just missing him and his body, him! I knew he didn’t want sex, but I wanted to try to have some sexual communication with him. I’m all naked under the covers, I said. You can try, if you like. He came to bed, and close to me, but didn’t do anything, so I said ti would be nice, if he touched me. He reached under the duvet, patted my pussy and then left his hand hanging over my belly like a dead fish. He didn’t say anything.

This is what they call initiating, I said. I tried to make out what was wrong, but I couldn’t. His face changed and I asked, Are you okay? Did you get sad somehow?

I waited. And I waited. I asked again, and his answer were the like of monosyllable-man. No. Okay. I’m fine. I don’t know.

I petted him and hugged him, but he didn’t seem to do much. He wasn’t really giving me any feedback. Then he finally said, I just don’t feel like playing. After half an hour, it felt.

Funny thing was I didn’t get angry that much. It was evident there was something he wasn’t telling me, and I just didn’t have the energy to pull it out of him. I thought, perhaps for the first time, that he’d have to come to it by himself. He has to be able to tell me. It’s not my job to always drag every little bit of anxiety and second-guessing out of him for him. So, I rolled over and tried to get to sleep. I was really tired and sleep didn’t seem so far away, when he put his hand on my waist.

In that touch there was longing, gentleness, love and knowing me. The touch was everything I’d longed for the whole week. It was him in his touch. Where had it been? My heart and my cunt answered of course, but I knew he just tried to lift the blame, to draw me close and go to sleep like everything was okay. Like he hadn’t offended me. But he had. It wasn’t the rejection, it was the way he did it and refused to talk about it. I felt my needs weren’t even meaningful to him.

You know what I did, don’t you? While tears built up, I stood up and went to the other room to sleep. It was too much. He was dangling the affectionate touch he hadn’t given me the whole weekend before me. After a while, he popped in naked and only asked me, Do you want me to lick you?

You want me to come back to bed? I asked.

Do you want me to lick you? he insisted.

Of course, I’d love that, I said and kissed him. He stood up.

Well, you better come to bed then, he said and left.

I could feel his touch had a bittersweet taste at first. His tongue was more pointed, not as enjoying and lavish as usual. But I didnt’ mind it. He was offering this to me, it was his gift. I decided to take it. I pushed his hands against my sides, his fingers were on my back and on my tummy like he was holding my whole body, cradling it. He was warm and I left my hands against his arms. I felt connected with him again.

I didn’t try to build up the orgasm. I didn’t flex my body in desperate attempt to catch it. I didn’t give him any enhanced signals of what I was feeling. I let his touch flush over me slowly. It built up with my fantasies about being his little girl. In the dark. He always wants to see me, but it was dark now. I could feel his touch softening, surrendering, when I started to let out little sighs of joy, when I trembled and pulsed. His hands were looking for a different hold, his fingers trembled against my skin. It sent warmth through me. When I came, my cunt let out a little stream of wetness. Gentle sex. Getting to know each other again.

In the dark he came right next to me. I kissed him and hugged him. And then he could finally say it. What had been on his mind.

I just felt that you were pressuring me to have sex. I felt that I had to try to fuck you, because you said that we hadn’t had sex at all this week. You were pressuring me, and I didn’t want to have sex.

He was talking about the time Saturday, when we had to end it abrubtly, because it wasnt’ working out for either of us. But he thought it had worked for me.

That’s why I haven’t wanted to do any sexy stuff with you, he concluded.

I’m so sorry, I said and caressed him and held him as tight as my arms could. But I didn’t want to pressure you. I was okay with us not having sex. I was bewildered, when you started fucking me. I wasn’t even ready.

I was just expressing how I felt. It wasn’t meant as an accusation. It would’ve been just fine to talk about it.

But you said that how is it even possible to be tired from Friday’s fucking? he said.

I didn’t say that.

I was quiet for a while. I was pondering. Where had he gotten that idea? I knew I had been disappointed on Friday and Saturday, but I hadn’t said it, and certainly not like that.

I said I can understand you’re tired after a really hard week and the workouts and the possible cold teasing you… I said, because those had been my words. Although I had been really disappointed and he’d probably only picked on that and didn’t even remember my actual words.

No, you didn’t! he said, but didn’t seem so sure anymore.

Maybe you just have such mixed emotions about not wanting sex as much as I do. Maybe you read stuff into things that isn’t there, because you feel that you should fuck me more. I wasn’t pressuring you, because I love you and enjoy your enjoyment. I was okay with us not having sex.

It can’t all be in my head! he exclaimed.

No, yeah, I was disappointed and sad about it, but that doesn’t mean I’m pressuring you. It’s not your job to fuck me whenever I want it. I understand, if you can’t. I might be a little sad about it, but then we can talk and hug each other. There are always things we can do… I hesitated to say the last bit, because I thought it might seem like pressuring. It’s not his job to lick me or pleasure me by hand, either, if that’s not what he wants. But I guess he didn’t have a problem with that concept.

I kept going.

It’s like sometimes, when you get really angry at me for being angry at you – but I’m actually not angry! You just think I am, because you feel guilty over something. Like you feel guilty for not wanting to fuck me as much. You get so defencive and start to fight even, if I’m okay with everything.

You might be right, he says in the dark and looks the other way. I kiss his neck. I hug him.

I only want to be good to you, I say. I get off on it, remember? You’re just too hard on yourself.

I’m not, he snorts. But you’re probably right about the guilt thing.

Then there is naked cuddling and we fall asleep in each others arms. In the morning he wakes me up with a kiss like every day and says he’ll be going to work now and I say I hope he’ll have a wonderful day and he says the same to me. And then I get antoher kiss and fall back to sleep.

I think it might have been a shock for him to know how much I really actually need orgasms even if he didn’t say so. I’ve never revealed it to anyone, because it has felt possibly intimidating. And I think it was. He felt the pressure to give me more, since he knew exactly how many of my orgasms were coming from him (roughly half, I think). Maybe we’ll get back to it when things have settled, but for now I play when I like. It calms my nerves so I can handle Wonderboy’s guilt trips and also his rejections better. And he doesn’t feel pressured to do anything just because he knows exaclty how much I want.