Love, Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Volatile bodies

A Miracle

I’m pregnant. I’m almost four months along now and starting to believe it. By starting to I mean that I don’t check the toilet paper for blood every time I go, just every other time. Also, I’m becoming huge. Surprisingly none of this has been a problem for Wonderboy. You should see him. He’s so happy all the time it’s impossible to remember what he used to be like. And he can’t go more than a couple of minutes without groping my huge boobs. I’ve already upgraded a cup and I fear I’ll have to upgrade my winter coat and every clothing I have in no more than a month.

I am happy. It’s been so much easier to negotiate sexual things even though I’ve barely been able to share any with Wonderboy in these passed months. There’s such a sense of fulfillment. It’s not only in my body, although it most definitely is in my body, it’s also in our relationship and in my relationship with the world at large. I’ve fulfilled this potential I had, this demand I faced within myself. Sex can finally be lifted out of the hole of having anything to do with infertility and it can start to be itself again. It has surprised me how much happiness the news brings to people close to me, even people I don’t know that well. Especially women. They don’t know about our struggles but yet they tear up, want to hug me and make sure I’m okay. This makes me believe even more that there’s something deeply engraved in us, that it wasn’t just me with the pain, that it’s in us (most of us anyway). The desire to be fulfilled and fulfill the potential like this as a miracle worker.

It’s quite disillusioning, being pregnant. Seeing that little critter spasm inside my uterus didn’t exactly bond me with it. Nor did the fact that I learned that it doesn’t have brains yet and that’s why it moves like that or that it’s entrails aren’t even inside its body. Still, everything is like it’s supposed to be. It’s healthy, it’s growing, it’s going to be our child. And seeing it was important. It made the fact real that it’s a another person, not just my ever changing body.

I’m guessing you’d like to know what happened? How did we conceive finally after almost four years?

Our money was running out. We’d had to move onto a private clinic because of the treatments I needed. This was the third IVF at the clinic, our fifth all together. I’d had to stop taking the hormones that helped me produce more and more viable eggs, because they gave me pretty severe cardiac dysrhythmia. In the end I also started to suffer from breathing problems during the treatments. My throat kept closing up and sometimes I would wake up startled and try to catch my breath sitting down. It was pretty clear that my body wasn’t handling the treatments well anymore and it was endangering my health.

After the first try after the help of the hormones, with the starting pregnancy with the twins that twindled so early on, on fourth to sixth week like all the eight other pregnancies, we decided that it wasn’t worth putting my health at risk. What was wrong even the doctor couldn’t guess. The embryos were perfect. My uterus, the hormones, everything was perfect. Except the result. We decided that we would make one last attempt and then settle in on the donor program to get eggs from someone else.

To my doctors (positive) dismay I already had three donors lined up, because my little sister and my friends love me to death and I will never forget what they promised me and how they changed my life when they did. Everyone just wanted for us to have a child. Everyone wanted us to be happy.

But we still had that last chance. And since it was the last chance I begged the doctor, like I’d asked a number of times before, if we could try the cortisone treatment. I’ve had a lot of time to read in these 3,5 years and I’ve read a lot of research. If I had an immunological decease, like the celiac decease, my body could be attacking the embryo thinking it was a virus. And the only thing that would help with that is cortisone. They didn’t find any antibodies in my blood to suggest I had celiac decease, but our first doctor had put me on gluten free diet anyway. And it had helped. It changed my body shape because I lost so much weight. It changed my bodily functions, my activity levels, pretty much everything for better. But they couldn’t find the antibodies in my blood, so they wouldn’t put me on cortisone with the IVF treatment. The doctor finally caved. Since this is the last try, she said.

I started the cortisone straight away since the treatment was right around the corner. When we started with the injections I already felt the difference. It didn’t hurt. My ovaries didn’t burn, I couldn’t really feel anything while the eggs were growing but some mild discomfort. I knew straight away that this was it. I knew that we had found the answer and that this was what I was supposed to feel all those other times. Even the doctor was intrigued when I told her about the pains not being there this time.

We got fewer eggs than the last time and like last time none of them were considered ripe. The doctor had noticed that all our viable embryos had sprung from the raw eggs and from the ones they didn’t use ICSI for. So it turns out that Wonderboy’s sperm was actually doing its job best when it was left to fend for itself like it’s supposed to. So we chose to put them all on the petri dish and hope for the best since there weren’t many eggs to begin with. There were six when we left the clinic.

And when I went to see the doctor a couple of days later there was only one that had developed normally to eight cells. Only eight little cells put together! How could that ever grow into a child? Its inner workings weren’t perfect so they couldn’t do assisted hatching like we had talked, but they had added this embryo glue to help it attach. And in it went.

The excruciating pains started four days later when it was supposed to attach and I knew of course what was happening. But it was like all those eight other times. I was just more in pain than before and the pains didn’t subside. I spent the weekend under a duvet with a painkiller and a hot water bottle. After that I got used to waking up every night at 0.30 am and 3-4 am to pains that the painkillers I was allowed to take weren’t really combating very well. And I became pretty hopeful. Since the pains were continuous, they weren’t fading like before, they were getting more strength.

And then one thursday morning I did the pregnancy test. It was the fourteenth day after conceiving in the lab and I was due to take a blood test the 18th in the clinic. I had barely had time to put the stick down when it brightened with two crossing lines. No doubt, I was pregnant. But doubt there was… so much doubt and fear. Wonderboy wouldn’t believe it until we saw what the blood works would say. On monday I went to the clinic and later that day I called for the results. With the twins my hcg levels had tipped a bit to 6-8 hcg. I knew that it was supposed to be 280 by now and I was scared. But there was no need. It was over 800. I was most definitely pregnant.

I went to the first ultrasound on week 5 and we already saw the heartbeat. Then we went together at the end of 6th week and it had grown to twice its size. Everything was good. Everything was normal.

And every night I woke up twice to the excruciating pain that even my doctor was a bit concerned about. But I wasn’t. If I had felt pains the eight times we conceived before, it was only natural that this would hurt even more. Because this time it had worked.

I haven’t had a lot time to process this. I haven’t had a lot of time to be happy. I’ve been so sick, the pains have been at times unbelievable and I have suffered from near continuous migraine for the first time in my life. This is the first time I am able to write anything this long without puking or having to go into a dark room to lie down. This is the second week there has been some normal days. Yesterday was the start of the week 15 of the pregnancy, and it was the first day I didn’t suffer from anything until late at night.

It must be self-evident that I don’t care. I don’t care. We will probably only ever have this one child. And it will be so loved, it is so loved already. We have fought this battle together and we have conquered. Everything is better now. I didn’t think it would be, but it is. Everything is easier, well, except moving and maybe sex. And even that doesn’t matter so much anymore. We have had to learn to wait, to be patient, to tread lightly with sexy things. But we have had ample time to learn the skills to do that: negotiate, be frank and unassuming when it comes to sexual acts.

Last time I said I didn’t want him to hit me or strangle me at all. There was a pause, he was scared and uneasy, because he had noticed that my responses were different and didn’t know what he could do now. We cuddled and talked and then started again. And when his hand went gently on my throat when we were getting close it wasn’t enough for me. I pushed his hand to grip more tightly. Because he had listened to me and I had spoken to him, I could do that. I could ask for it.

There were some droplets of blood, and even though our nurse had said after the first ultrasound and my freaking out on some blood that it was perfectly normal, I asked that we’d not have intercourse again. The blood was too scary. It’s not worth it. I don’t know if we will or won’t, if I change my mind. But I know it will be different. It will all be different. And it will all be the same, too.

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BDSM, Fantasies, Sex stories

A Powder Pink Wig

What would be a problem for most, wasn’t one for me. It burned, when he fucked me. It hurt. My body was not accepting of this new presence; it had been building itself up for something else entirely. Now it has been taken away and like a tide slowly gathering off the sand and back to the sea my body is finding another shape. A new but more familiar now, lean and beautiful.

With his thrusts I felt the burn and although it hurt and almost lured my mind elsewhere as is always a possibility with pain, I felt the pain and the newly found sensations build inside. I had missed it, even when my body had repelled the thought. My body had missed it. It was so eager to answer, too eager. We both came so quickly that we didn’t even have time to do anything. He choked me, I’m fairly sure, and he talked to me some. But we were in such a hurry, we had both been longing for it for a long time.

It took almost a week to get back there again. He was scared and I had to initiate and sooth him, like many times before. It’ll be alright, we can just try it out, it’s not so serious, let me show you.

I have bought a long cosplay wig. It’s powder pink and reaches the lower half of my ass. I’m also so many sizes smaller that I could fit in my old black corset again. It put them on, added heels and sat on him.

You like the way I look?

Yeah. Pretty, Wonderboy whispered touching my hair.

Do you like the the hair, the longer the better?

I don’t know. It is pretty though.

I grinded myself against his growing cock. I kissed his mouth and he devoured mine.

Take the panties off, he said, but I couldn’t part with his lips. We kept on kissing, he held me by my waist, tight, letting me know how small my waist is, how fragile I am against his strength. He played with my ass gloriously, slowly.

And then I had to stand to get my panties off, showing him my new hair, my corset, my figure.

I admired him on the bed as well. When he looked at me, I looked back. How pretty he is with his black hair and his new found definition of muscle. I could look at him all day, and I do. But now I wanted to look at his cock. It was up, tight against his furry stomach. I wanted it inside me now. I sat on him and soon enough he was inside, pounding me, surprising me with the lust and the sensations. There was no pain, just pressure, hard hands on my ass and a hard cock in me pussy. He held me close kissing me and teasing me with his cock. I could feel the tension build up, I quivered and my pussy was trembling with me. We hold onto each other for the longest time like that. He hitting my ass, me on top of him, my pussy locked on his cock.

Suddenly he came. He trembled and rose from the bed to meet me, to hold me against him.

I was surprised by it. Usually he gives a sign when he’s about to come, but it must have surprised him as well.

I rose off him and he rolled over, we were both looking for blood from the fresh sheets, because last time had been a massacre. There was none. I took a towel and we spread it out in perfect understanding what would follow next.

For some reason the left side of my clitoris hurt when he touched it. The hood and the left side felt like they were going to chafe, although nothing had touched them straight on before that. What a lucky thing that I am able to orgasm from other kind of stimuli too. Once upon a time I couldn’t have said anything, but I didn’t have troubles like that now. I guided Wonderboy very gently and firmly.

I want you to lick very carefully and gently right from the bottom up. Lick on this side, I guided him with my hands, and as it sometimes feels better, I also kept my own hands there keeping my pussy lips wide open. It enhances the sensation if I’m really turned on, because the outer lips get so swollen they start to interfere with what I really want to be feeling.

He licked away and put his hands on my waist as I guided him to, still held captive by the corset as well. It felt so good that it didn’t take a lot of fantasizing to get me off like usually. There might have been thoughts of a glory hole, boy I love those, and some big dick hunks fucking each other through it, but I wouldn’t remember that, now would I? I came in his mouth and on the towel and we got to have that moment of glowing together slick with sweat and very happy.

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BDSM, Learning to negotiate, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Wonderboy

A moment of harmony

I don’t feel much like writing nowadays. I’m trying to make the most of my life. Winter is coming, after all, and it’ll be long, dark, cold and hard. We can’t even make any plans to get away like everybody else since we have to wait for the treatments to start and see where we’ll be at the end of this year.

Things have settled down a bit from where we started at. I don’t want to go to the spesifics, but Wonderboy deemed it okay to punish me for my attitude not my behaviour and he did it too hard. I cracked. I realized later I should have safeworded out, but I didn’t realize I couldn’t take it before I was uncontrollably crying. It took us several days to get to the bottom of that with me losing some of my trust in him and him in himself as well. And although it sprouted a most wonderful and adult conversation about his coping skills (retreat, retreat in to silence!) and has made our sex life tons more active and happy, it has diminished the TPE d/s thing a little.

I feel more confident nowadays that I’ll get through whatever the treatments have in store for us, and that we’ll get through whatever will come with it working or failing. We have worked so hard and come so far. I’m really happy in my new job, and I think it makes a world of difference. I just have so much else to think about. We moved back to where I’m from and I have all my friends here. I just belong here. And I think I need to work hard. That I need to feel useful and competent on a daily basis, as I do in my job now.

I’ve also been a very good girl, or so my husband tells me, and so I’ve been working out and eating as per our Contract. Two healthy meals a day, no snacking and no unhealthy choices for breakfast or drinks either. It makes me happy. I’ve changed from coffee to different kinds of teas, and it makes my body feel more at ease and healthy. My stomach obviously couldn’t handle some of the processed grains and milk products or coffee I used to eat. Now that I’ve given those up, I’m much healthier, feel better and… Yeah. I am thinner too.

I don’t mind it so much, and sometimes it even makes me happy to see my face find a shape it used to have or my waist curve in again. But I’m not doing this to lose weight. I’m doing this because of the Contract and…

oddly enough…

this serves a double service of finding myself.

I’ve never run before. Out in the open, in the parks where there are lots of people who stare. They don’t really so much, but I used to be afraid that they would. And what would they think. I just didn’t want to be judged. I also couldn’t go into any of the much needed yoga or stretching classes because I would’ve felt so alien, so fat and such a misfit.

Now I run in the sun, watch the trees lose their leafs and change their color. I watch the dogs run and the people sit on the benches enjoying their day off or the evening sun. I’m finding out what my body is capable of. I’m finding out that I enjoy running. I enjoy to be outdoors.

Why couldn’t I for so long? What was I so afraid of?

I can also communicate my needs. I can lose myself again. I’ve astonished myself by asking for things in the heat of the moment I never thought I’d ask for and Wonderboy has also asked for things that aren’t so clearly in the big catalogue of sexual acts. We both are more honest and more daring, and it turns out we actually enjoy a wild variety of ordinary things, light touches, kisses, caresses of hair.

We have been kissing like when we met. Just kissing, caressing, fondling each other. Not going any further. I didn’t reach orgasm last time we made love, and I didn’t want to try because of the menstrual pain getting worse by the minute. Later we were kissing passionately, so juicyly, and I asked if he’d go down on me then. He thought for a moment and then caressed me and kissed me a little more.

I don’t think I feel like licking you right now. I feel more like kissing, he said.

Let’s kiss then! I said and we continued and it was wonderful and we were both happy.

And I remember thinking that I’d take him so completely losing himself on kissing me over licking me any day. It was also on of the few times he has ever said no to me. He’s trusting me more. He’s trusting us. He doesn’t feel that he always owes me the pleasure anymore. It makes me very happy he feels this way. That he can be honest and that he can find pleasure with me the way he enjoys it too.

D/s doesn’t have to be about a cold command or a hard hand. It can as well be about a gentle hand and loving words… and still be as commanding.

So much is self evident now. I’m hurting because running made my menstrual cramps go from bad to worse. Wonderboy came to ask, if I needed anything and said in a gentle and caring voice, You don’t have to go to the gym today, if you’re hurting really bad. Because it’s his decision, not mine. Because we both want it to be so.

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BDSM, Hyper-Sexual, Learning to negotiate, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Sex stories, Submissive tendencies, Wonderboy

Happy submissive orgasms for everyone!

It was thursday, the day I stopped taking the hormones. Well, guess how long it took for me to start dragging heavy breaths in near Wonderboy? Guess how long it took that I started to desire his touch, smell him, taste him, feel desire in my body as it came alive just because I was close to him?

Two days.

I can’t even begin to explain (but I still will!) how it feels to be out of the deathly grip of estrogen tampering. I feel so much alive. I’d forgotten how it feels to be sensual. Well, almost, because if I really had, I wouldn’t have been depressed about being deprived of it. But you know, sensuality is so much more than the word sounds like. With the hormones I felt that my senses were dulled or even nulled totally. Kissing didn’t really give me pleasure at all. Neither did smelling Wonderboy or giving him pleasure or gentle touch on me. Or playing with power dynamics.

We went at it first on saturday, because friday Wonderboy was too tired. Or teasing me, because he’s such a tease and he hasn’t been able to express it, because my sex drive has been nullified. It was incredible just to kiss him. I felt so much more. I had forgotten, how it felt to become alive all around while kissing, just kissing him!

There was a moment where we had to pause. I confessed that I felt a little scared and he held me – and then we kept going. There was also a moment in which I was on top of him and it just didn’t feel that good. Maybe because I was scared, maybe because of other things. So I said that I didn’t feel that good and we stopped for a minute. This is a phenomenal accomplishment of me. Communicating about negative feelings and things that don’t work in a sexual situation. And I did it even after the long dry spell!

He started to lick me, because honestly, that’s been the only thing working for me with the estrogel hell. Well, it didn’t work no mo’. For a while I endured (yeah, really) and then I asked him to come up and cuddle with me a bit. And after we talked about it, and I started to feel less afraid, we kept going and it was wonderful.

I writhed on top of him out of my mind and as I fell into the black oblivion, drooling all over him, convulsing, it flashed in my mind. This is the way it has been before. It was just so far away from what I’d felt with the hormones. And after the orgasm on his cock, on him, with my drooling manic act, I truly realized why Wonderboy had been ambivalent about my orgasms and even suggested that I wasn’t really having any. The difference was so phenomenal, how could he not notice. How could he not feel something was missing, when I was missing!

And today… He fucked me, which still feels kind of violent, because of the things the hormones did to my physics. But then he stopped, when he saw that I was missing something and asked, if he’d go down on me. And my answer was immediate.

No, but could you dominate me a bit.

I had asked him to order me around when we were getting warmed up, but he had confessed that he felt scared to do it out of the cold like that, when I’d been so dull to it for so long. He did order me around a bit, though, and it made me happy. And after I asked for more…

He spit on my face. He slapped my face, over and over again. He suffocated me a bit. Hit my tits. Held my face by the jaw, the way I like – like I’m a dog of his and he’s teaching me who’s the boss. He told me he likes to hurt me. And he fucked me so hard it hurt.

When all this sunk in. When I felt it, the sweet oblivion building up from inside me, swallowing me, tears welled in my eyes, because of the catharsis, of the love, of being owned and hurt like that. But I could feel his boner getting a bit droopier inside me. He lowered himself to kiss me and asked, are you getting scared?

I was so happy he asked.

No, I’m just scared enough, I answered. I like it when you hurt me, I added in a voice he could barely hear.

It all ended in a mutual orgasm and sweaty bodies. But somehow I know we could’ve handled any other outcome too.

Now Wonderboy’s in the other room playing by himself, as I did earlier today too. He came up to me to tell me and to get an empathetic answer and reassurence I wouldn’t blow up about it later on. I hugged him and told him it would be wonderful, if he’d play a little and that I’m here for reassurence and sexual exploit, if he needs any.

I think I just want reassurence, he said.

Then he hugged me and happily closed himself in the other room.

It’s just so incredible. This in exhange for what I had less than a week ago. No wonder I felt my life was empty. This makes me think really hard on the fact that I was on hormonal birth control for over 10 years, which is not entirely unlike what I was on now. I just wonder, if I’d discovered my sexual submissiveness earlier without any hormones what so ever…

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BDSM, Fertility treatments, Hurting, Love

A crisis of faith

I stopped taking the hormones. I faced a complete breakdown last week and in its wake I realized that I don’t want to force myself go through with this. I have forced myself enough. I have been brave, I have taken everything and carried it,  followed every order, even a hint, and carried it out.

I broke down in tears in Wonderboy’s arms after having a tantrum because of nothing really. I’d heard from a friend, a close friend, who had been dreading calling me, because she’d gotten pregnant right from the first try – 4 months ago. How crystal clear it made my suffering. How clear it made the fact that my torture is in vain.

I don’t want to do this anymore, I heard myself say over and over again.

What I meant was that I don’t want to be like this anymore.

You know, when people hope they could just erase their weird kink? Just snap out of it with medication, therapy or faith. Well, I now know what it feels like to be cut out of my sexuality. I now see what an integral part my kink is not only to my sexuality but to my identity, my self, as well.

I haven’t been turned on by the d/s stuff, I’ve said here. Mildly put! Without the happiness our d/s dynamic brings me (us), I feel desolate. I feel completely content, because I don’t desire it. But I can feel the absence. There’s something colossal missing from between us. We are happy. We cuddle a lot. We even make love. But.

But!

I’m not shaken to my core. I’m not owned. I’m not shown my place. So I’m lost. I know that I love Wonderboy and I know that he loves me. There’s just no proof. Or, better yet, there’s only proof. There are actions that I know tell of love. I read them and know that we’re happy.

But (please forgive my childish behaviour) I don’t have a owner! Nobody owns me!

And I can’t handle it. Not on top of everything else that’s happening. I was driving to work, because I have a new demanding job on top of all this, and I thought this is ruining my life. I can’t live like this. I’ll end up hurting myself, if I take those pills.

Today was the day I was supposed to start a new cycle. It loomed over me. Another month of caged rage and changes of moods so swift they leave me exhausted. If I take the pills, 10 of them in 5 days, I can’t take it back. Then I have to endure the whole month. I just felt like cutting the blood from under my skin. So fierce was the feeling of wanting to get rid of this that has taken over my body and mind.

And I called the doctor from the freeway, driving in the morning traffic, hurting, crying, dialing. Just going to work as any old wife.

I can’t do it. I’ve been bleeding and hurting the whole month. I’ve been facing anxiety and sadness to the brink of total breakdown. I don’t want to take the hormones anymore. 

And they said, please think about yourself. Just stop. Don’t torture yourself. You have to listen to yourself. These hormones do mess with the head. They might not work for you. You can take a month or two and breath. 

I laughed and cried out of relief. Suddenly I noticed that the sun was shining. It’s spring. I’m going to have a vacation this year. And I’m going to have it without the bleeding and hurting and hoping and emotional turmoil of estrogen overdrive.

They promised me that we would get to the IVF in the fall no matter what. I don’t have to finish these hormones. I could choose. I could choose to have myself back. I could choose to have a sex life. I could choose to have back my awful, dirty, shameful secret. My kink.

When I told Wonderboy about my decision, he asked: Are you going to be the same again? Will I get my Rogue Bambi back?

Yeah, I think so. I think you will.

Maybe we’ll even play again, he said. When he held me close to him I realized that it wasn’t just my identity that had been in a crisis. It was both of us.

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Male Lead Relationship stuff, Outside the Bedroom, Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Volatile bodies

Brooding – And A Cure

He’s too sick; he won’t fuck me. My back hurts all the time, I still feel dizzy and nausea. But I want sex. Oh, how I crave for it. Since the last couple of weeks have gone by without my total satisfaction I feel even more frustrated. He feels inadequate, because he can’t have sex with me even though he really wants to. It makes us both sad.

It’s not a perfect situation to be in.

I was reading this wonderful post on Exploring surrender and I felt a little twist in my stomach. A very loving and very familiar setting of deepthroating, fucking and ass-fucking leads to orgasms… and after that! What, wait, there’s an after? After that PIC*, Conina’s husband, floggs her.

I felt stupified. I felt recognition. That’s what I need.

And I have asked for it. I remember it now. I’ve asked for it before sex and after sex. Tortuting me, spanking me. But it only ever happens that time, and I feel it happens half-heartedly like it’s a chore he has to get out of the way. I can’t let go and enjoy and surrender, if my Sire is looking bored and just doing out of good will. He has to mean it!

So, I went to him and said these things to him while I lay on top of him on the sofa bed in the other room where he was listening to music.

You need to start learning. Torturing, I say.

I’ve been learning sucking your cock. You have to learn too. Knots and floggers and stuff.

He understands. I’m saying this from a position of strenght. I am not waiting for it to happen now, I am not baiting him to doing anything and I’m not angry or hurt.

I can do that, he says.

I hope he remembers his promise.

*

Later I was sitting across from him as he ate dinner. My back hurt so much I only felt like vomiting, so I just sat there drinking water.

You should eat something. You’d feel better.

I don’t want to, I say and tears roll into my mouth.

Just a sandwich.

I don’t want anything. Everything makes me want to throw up.

He lets out a deep sigh.

You’re back pain is making me anxious, he says and looks like he’s about to throw in the towel. I feel he’s being unfair. I have hugged him, made tea for him, covered him in blankets and consoled him the whole day, because he’s sick. I can’t have any sympathy? My hurting bakc is immediately too much for him?

I start crying. After a bit I bury my head in my hands. He comes over and caresses my back for a bit and then goes back to eating.

Is this really worth it? he asks. If it will help with having babies?

We both know all these are just side-effects from the hormones. Even some of the broodiness. But not all.

I nod and say yes, and my eyes tear up again. Of course. That’s not even a question. It’s more important than anything else.

He sends me a kiss, but I can’t answer. I just cry. He sends me a new one and now I do answer.

You really should eat something, he says like he’s thinking something.

It’s a common joke in our house. We both get angry and sad pretty quickly, if we don’t get our fill. The dropping bloods sugar levels affect people differently, but we are pretty much the same. I think he was on the right tracks thinking that eating might help some.

I don’t wanna, I say and cry still. The tears just keep rolling onto my cheeks and neck. I’m mocking myself saying it like I’m a little girl fighting her parents.

Would it be better, if I ordered you? he asks and keeps eating his dinner.

I burts into a small laugh and smile through my tears. My pussy pulses. My heart melts. Really? I think. Is this that easy? He seems to be thinking the same.

I order you to eat a sandwich.

He looks at me, smiling a bit like he does, when he’s ordered me. I rise and start making the sandwich. It doesn’t matter how frail I feel my body is. It doesn’t matter that I don’t feel like eating. Immediately when he orders me I start to crave for the sandwich. I want to eat it. I want to complete this task. I feel safe and content. I feel passion.

He laughs at me when I eat the sandwich happily and with good appetite.

You just needed someone to order you, he says and smiles.

When I’m done we stand up hugging and he says, pretty wisely, that I probably would never have gotten so blue, if he’d ordered me to do things all day long. My heart beats faster, my body stirs.

I guess so, I answer. I guess I’m like that, I say.

Okay, now. You go to lie down for a while. Surf the internet or do some fun stuff. You can come see how I’m doing after half an hour. Then I’ll give you more orders.

He hugs me and kisses me, and then he tells me, that he’s going to go watch this one program he’s uploaded.

Somehow, that’s the most important thing. He’ll know what I’m doing, because I’m being ordered to do it. But I don’t know what he’ll be doing, and sometimes it creates anxiety in me. For him to give such straight guidelines for what’s going to happen, I feel completely at ease.

But my half an hour is up!

*PIC = person in control

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BDSM, Craving for more, Fantasies, Love, Outside the Bedroom, Submissive tendencies

The Big Guns

This has been crazy. Realizing that this is something we both enjoy and need has lead to drastic changes around here. I wish I had time to write about all the sex we’ve had now, because honestly, nothing’s the same. But really, words don’t do it justice. Some readers might think the Best Sex Ever was the same as it ever was, and I can’t argue with that. The change comes from inside. There is no proof.

But talking about kinks, bondage or pain can be one little kink, discipline could be the reason why they fit so well together, like a parent category, but this, this is the mother of all kinks. This is what ties all we need together, this is the sense in all d/s. Everything else, everything leading to this, every impact play or breath play, rape play or bondage seems like a little trick that only tries to catch some meaning, some light. From The Big Guns.

If I really think about it, I have to say that we still have sex with the same kind of power play intact, in the same positions, with most of the same impact plays. Still, the change is drastic. This is an open door for communication. We both feel more free to express what we desire, and also to go after it. And it’s all because we’ve found the base assumption, the power play, the game, the structure for our relationship.

I don’t know what to call it, this new life altering thing I keep referring to. Once again I find the names and labels distasteful, inappropriate or just unapplicable.

He calls me his handmaid. (Yes, it’s an allusion to Margaret Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale.) Everything I do these days makes him say what a beautiful, good handmaid I’ll make him with some training. The happines is like a viscious loop. I get happy, when I make him happy and he gets happy and remarks on it, which makes me happy. Same goes for sexual experimentation and tension.

In ways we dabble with what is called a male lead relationship or a Taken in hand relationship. In ways I just am his and he mine in a way that encourages a certain dynamic, a power imbalance if you will, in certain actions and reactions.

We’re in no way very good at this. He took me to dinner, but when I ordered lobster, he got anxious, because it’s so expensive at which point I offered to pay for the drinks. The egalitarianism is much more than a thin film of etiquette between us.

I, on the other hand, drove us home, because he doesn’t like driving (and the car is mine) although for me it really is sexy if he drives, because it’s not the norm for us.

I see a pattern here. Because we strive to be equal in every way, and have been brought up to be, it has a certain meaning to us that we act like we aren’t.  It’s a lot taboo and a bit ridiculous and terribly hot. It most certainly is a game, but it’s very close to real, because I honestly want to please my Wonderboy more than anything, and he wants me to surrender to him completely. He also wants and needs to please me. I think this is the thing that many people criticising consented non-consent, which this also is, truly miss. He is trying to fulfill my desires, sometimes by not heeding to my word and sometimes having to use extra effort to make me happy.

If I can say one thing about this week and this weekend, it’s the fact that, if I’m all spent and can’t even muster up a few words here (I’ve been writing this post since Friday) because of my total fatigue, Wonderboy is ten times more out of it. He’s been really busting his balls to be a good dom and an owner. And, boy, has he! I’m so thoroughly played, owned, loved, fucked and mind-fucked that I actually started to cry after sex. Really cry, out loud. And he took care of me and later said that he realized I was overwhelmed and scared, as I was, and he saved me. But I was crying also because I never thought I’d deserve any of this. I’d hidden it so well, the need and the fantasies, I could never have thought that this would come to be reality for me. That I could get everything I ever wanted…

I don’t know, if you can understand how completely overwhelming that is. Wonderboy asked me, if I could’ve imagined us like this a few years back or having these things in the open and playing with them, and I had to confess that I didn’t even accept these needs, let alone think that they could ever be part of a relationship I was in. He said that his fantasies have always been the same, so he’s not as surprised as I am… but this thing about it coming alive… is as overwhelming to him as to me. My fantasies about submitting are still narrated through the dominant side. I fantasise from the male perspective, still, so it’s a lot more shocking to see how it all plays out in reality, when I am actually submitting. And then again. I rarely think about it anymore. I ask for what I want and submit to what I feel is Wonderboy’s will, and I don’t think about what it could mean in a different context, because this is the only context it will ever have.

I’m not sure, if I’m really ready to write about this yet. I don’t yet understand this dynamic, I don’t know how it’ll turn out for us. If we’ll start going more heavy duty and 24/7 or just keep it light and use as we see fit, mostly sexually. I’m sill a bit afraid to even write about it, and I can’t talk about it with anyone. We are just so happy, so extatic, that I feel the need to say something to someone about it. So, I write here even with everything still so fragile and new.

This has changed my life. I have a purpose.

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