BDSM, Learning to negotiate, Wonderboy

A Suggestion For a Third Player

I’ve been reading a lot about polyamory and monogamish relationships – and watching the series Married and dating, sometimes with Wonderboy even. He doesn’t usually want to watch the shows I watch for fun so it was a surprise when he actually suggested we watch the show together on Christmas morning. Well, I don’t know if these two things are intertwined or not, but I can’t help but feel they are.

We are about to spend New Year’s Eve at a friend’s place, the Champagne lady’s parents house. There will probably only be the three of us, because she lives abroads nowadays and doesn’t have that many friends here. She’s had her dalliance with the Force so to speak. She’s a lot more experienced with play parties, which she has described in pretty non-alluring way, but a lot less experienced in some ways – as in d/s relationships. She’s been open with me about her inclinations and that’s why Wonderboy knows about them too. At a point in my life when I could barely accept my submissive desires just knowing that she had them too made them feel less threatening.

She’s a wonderful woman, but a bit on the reserved side. She has never even drunkedly play touched me or anything, the thing that happens with almost all of my friends. I get the feeling that she is in fact super straight and pretty keen on keeping her sexuality in the confines of a relationship. She’s not in a relationship now, though. She also keeps Wonderboy and me on a pedestal and feels our relationship is like the Holy Grail of relationships. She’s not alone in that either, my friend Kitten (earlier just K) also feels that way and has been pretty shocked when I’ve told her about Mr M and the difficult stuff we’ve have to wade through.

So, Wondeboy brought this up as a joke. We should take a whip with us when we go!

We went for a walk yesterday in the snow that was up to our knees and waddled trough it talking about it. I asked a bunch of questions, because I felt that it was not a joke and I should address it. Were we really going to play with her or even suggest a thing like that to her? Keep in mind that the Champagne Lady is my friend and is not interested in Wonderboy, nor does she seem monogamish. Just like I am not.

Wonderboy had thought the whole thing out to an extent and it really, really bothers me in retrospect. I just don’t understand what in the world would make him bring a thing like this up now when we’re headed for another IVF in a week or so. I feel cornered and hurt. I feel I can’t even begin to hold my feelings together.

But now I thought about this Wonderboy’s suggestion in the light of my own desire for the first time. I have no desire to do this thing whatsoever. It gives me no pleasure, it only feels really threatening. I want my submission to be a gift to him. It’s sacred to me. I do not want it to be handled like a cheesy scene or a game of Twister. I also see no enhancment in the fact that the Champagne Lady would be there too. I don’t like the idea.

I do not want to do it and I hate that he had to bring it up. It makes me second-guess myself and the things we share and do. Why would he assume that my friend would want to do a thing like that with him? Because essentially he would be doing things to us, it wouldn’t be between us women and it certainly couldn’t be between me and Wonderboy, that would be just rude.

It bothers me that he brought it up. It bothers me that he thinks he can suggest it and that he supposes a friend of mine would just want to do this thing with him. It bothers me great deal. Especially since we’re just trying to hold on to the shreds of our sanity here with the IVF treatments starting and with the Big News about the reasons behind it.

Incidently, this is not the only “joke” Wonderboy’s made during Christmas holidays that’s bothering me. He also tried to find something out of my bag (with my permission) and said:

Whoops, I found your condoms!

I had to ask him then, if he was afraid of me cheating him because the infertility thing wearing on me that much – a thing we just discussed I think a week or two earlier. And he said yes. I kissed him, looked him sternly in the eyes and said that I wouldn’t cheat and that I love him and only want to be with him. The same thing he did yesterday, when he saw I was in shock because of what he had suggested.

But it isn’t enough. He’s afraid I’ll cheat and that we’ll break up. I am not. But it’s not helping that he’s so scared. I suggested therapy to him, like I did last year this time, when he had to resort to mood elevators. And he said he’d think about it, just like he did last year.

I do think the situation has changed for the better. We’re at a better place for sure. But for Wonderboy to be so scared. Are these suggestions also coming from that place and how should I take them if they are? How can I express how hurt I am without insinuating that what he suggested would somehow fundamentally be bad? I cried a little when I tried to express this to him. I said that I feel trapped and overwhelmed with the infertility and IVF looming and that I just can’t handle this right now. He said that he hears me and honors my decision (which made me secretly angry too, like he was about to get something that I now stopped. C was very likely to say no anyway!) and we’ll get back to this after 10 years.

He’s plans for the Thing were pretty reasonable by the way. He sais he’d spank us a little. He’d be dressed, we’d be half dressed. (Even this made me ghrinch. How much so? I don’t want him seeing my friend half dressed!) And then we’d talk about it afterwars. How did it feel etc.

I tried to get him to understand how threatening it might feel by way of comparing to a situation where I’d be suggesting a similar thing with us and Joe. But Wonderboy just grinned and said he has never thought about it that way (!) and it might be fun. It might. But I don’t know, if I want it enought to gamble like that. I don’t know, if we should even be in a place where you can suggest things like this. But I guess it’s better they’re out in the open. It’s just… not so long ago when he hurt me more than I can say saying he wants to fuck someone else too. In the summer. He really broke my heart there, and I’m yet to recover. Maybe I’m just not cut out for monogamishness. And maybe he is?

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BDSM, Coming out, embracing pain, Feminist musings, I am a girl, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Submissive tendencies, Volatile bodies, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

He’s Doing Everything Right

He hit my ass until I cried.

First he slaps my butt through the sweatpants I wear at home. I was lying on his tummy and we were kissing very sexily. It took my breath away. He slapped again and studied my expression and sounds.

Did that hurt? he asked after the blow.

No, I said shyly and continued kissing him.

He caressed my butt through the fabric and hit again, harder but still holding back.

Did that hurt? he asked.

A bit, I answered still kissing him.

I could feel how he drew my pants down revealing only my butt. He caressed it gently, sensually with his fingers tracing its round shape. He grabbed it harder and moulded it in his hands. Then he hit it. Hard.

Did that hurt?

A bit, I said and stopped kissing him. He looked at me with a smile in his eyes. Smile and vickedness. He pulled his hand up and looked at me. I covered my face in his chest. I looked up at him, blinking. I waited. I whimpered. Finally he hit me. The hit made me press my face against his head. It made tears well in my eyes. It hurt so much.

Did that hurt? he asked again.

Yes, I only answered with a small voice.

He hit me again, just as hard, but with the other hand. I could feel my butt sting. The skin was hot and prickly were he’d touched it. He caressed my butt again.

And that?

Yes, I sniffled. I couldn’t help the tears, they ran down my face. I felt punished. I felt he was trying to break me. I though about safewording.

He pressed his cock against me and I could feel it twitch and grow, when he heard my answer.

Good. I like to hurt you. I like it when you hurt.

And he hit me again.

I raised my head and faced him, kissed him.

Are you crying? he asked and I nodded and sniffled. I also grinded my cunt against his cock. It responded in the most marvelous way and at the same time – Whabang! He spanked me again. Then he made me wait. His hand was raised, he was tensed to hit… but he didn’t. I whimpered.

I like it when you cry, he murmured and the cock just kept on getting bigger.

He hit me again.

Take your clothes off, he commanded suddenly and lifted his hands from my butt.

I did, and next I had to take his clothes off too. When I tried to start with his tenting boxer briefs he denied me. No, the socks first. Then the shirt. And then, last, the boxers, he guided me. His cock bobbed from its prison hard and ready.

He ordered me to lick him along the saft, then suck it and threw my hair from my face so he could see it. He repositioned me to see better, slapped my tits a bit and twisted my nipples, but mostly he just enjoyed. I started getting tired. My jaw was straining and my arms were getting tired because of the exhausting 1,5 hour workout I’d done earlier that day on his command. It was a first and it felt… arousing. I stretched my arm, flexed ia a couple of times, raised my head and got the “you’re so good, just keep doing it” answer.

You know the licker also gets tired sometimes, I say.

SLAM! I get a slap on my ass.

Just lick.

I lick, I deepthroat so that a puddle of his and my juices gather on his bush and the thick hairs on the belly. I watch it oveflow and run along his tummy and thighs. I gurgle. I can’t breath. I choke and raise my head. He pushes me away and I immediately go to find a handkerchief to blow my running nose in. I don’t wipe my face, but I’m chastised anyway.

Did I give you a permission to blow your nose?

I’m sorry.

Did I?

No.

He whacks my buttocks. He’s chastised me for this before, I make a mental note. Why? Why wouldn’t he let me blow my nose? It’s uncomfortable to be full of snot, struggling to breath through it. And the nose just starts running when I deepthroat, there’s not stopping that. Then I remember that he likes my face messy with his juices. I guess he likes it when my makeup runs competing with my nose. I look so vulnerable like that. A little uncomfortable for me? A lot of hot for him.

But I don’t like to be uncomfortable. It’s not hot for me. It’s annoying. It sometimes stops me from enjoying all the good things happening at the same time. I can take pain, pain is deliberate. He does that to me on purpose. Behind it there’s his will to hurt me. That’s hot. But discomfort? Not so much. Most of the time I think he doesn’t even realize how bad it feels. Doesn’t realize that he could never pull through something like that and still enjoy. Why would he expect me to? Because he pays it no mind. It’s something he like, end of story. If I don’t come and am irritated by it and the discomfort he refused to make right, it’s my fault. Everything was well until you spoiled it… by telling how I really feel.

Agh.

He whips me over onto my tummy, straddles my legs on top of my ass and starts to whack his cock against my butt and my lower back.

I hate this position. His legs get somehow tangled with mine so that I can’t raise my butt to meet his cock. My feet point outward, which makes my cunt shut tightly and makes it impossible for me to enjoy any penetration. If I happen to enjoy, even for a second, the cock won’t go in right anymore and it hurts. Just like it hurts to tense myself in a position where penetration doesn’t hurt. I hate this position.

He starts to fuck me commenting on my tightness and sighing out of pleasure, which only makes me angrier. My legs are trembling from exhaustion and it hurts and I say ouch and I say this doesn’t work for me. He doesn’t change anything, just asks something, but I don’t remember what. After a minute of him continuing to fuck me I just put on an angry face and he stops, rolls to my side and sighes.

I explain a thing I’ve explained time and again. I don’t enjoy in this position. It’s impossible for me to reach orgasm, but it also hurts.

Should I have fucked you in another position first? he asks.

Well, we have that deal that you should. Always fuck me first in another position, I answer, because this is not the first time we discuss this.

I thought this was a new thing I though of, he answers and I get even angrier.

Yeah, whatever, I think but I don’t say it.

Well, there’s no use continuing if you’re going to be so angry, he says. And my cock has gone all soft too, he adds and I angrily think about him making me suck it again. After I’ve sucked it for such a long time already! Yarrrrgh! I’m also angry at him for just letting things go. Like he coulnd’t face anyt discontent on my part.

No wonder I have a hard time expressing my discontent, when everything stops and I’m to blame, if I do, I say. I believe this is partly true and an example of the same ways of enacting our gender that Clarisse Thorn so thorougly heart-breakingly just wrote about in her aticle about the Unified theory of orgasm.

You know I don’t like that position. I always make it clear. I always yell ouch and make my discomfort known.

I’ve just fantasized about fucking you from behind all day, Wonderboy answers. At work. I really wanted to do it.

That’s nice I answer. And it is your right to fuck me from behind as th first thing if you so choose. It’s just not as pleasurable for me then, I explain. He should know this. He should really know this by now. How is it possible that he so conveniently forgets or just plain ignores my discomfort when it suits him. It’s not so hard to spot, is it?

You can still fuck me from behind. I like it too. Just do it in another position. Don’t cage my legs like that, I continue. I confess my muscles are also in the brink of breaking down and he accuses me of just being lazy. I counter with explaining how hard of an angle it is for me to hold my whole hips in and that it makes absolutely impossible for me to enjoy. At ll.

Would a pillow help? he then goes on to ask.

It might, I say. And then I smile. And I’m not angry. It’s just the hormones.

He gets a pillow and puts me in my place and fucks me. It’s hard to reach orgasm although I come close a couple of times. I hate these fucking hormones. He is close a long time before he comes and he tells me about it, but like usually it does nothing for me. It just makes me angry, because I’m not. He pulls me from my hair so that I’m stretched upward from my head and my butt. It’s not a pleasurable position for me, although I know it looks sexy as he goes on to exclaim. It’s the position of all the doggie style porn I ever saw.  Why is it more important to him that I look sexy than it is that I feel good?

I try not to think about it, when he forces me back up every time I start enjoying and fall down to tha mattress. I try not to think at all.

You are so thin and your butt is so big now you’ve worked out, he says after. And your hair is big and reaches your butt. You’re so beautiful. I’m just a sucker like that, he says.

He said the same thing earlier, when I made a sound of pain or faint and he was immediately all over me in the kitchen making dinner. It makes me angry that he should be more caring and loving, if I’m thinner and my hair is longer. If I look more attractive. It makes me angry. It makes me like him less, even if the actual actions are more affectionate. I don’t understand it. I don’t approve of it. How shallow can you get.

I hate these hormones, I exclaim when we’re done. I hate them. They make it so hard for me to achieve an orgasm.

And then I dream that we’re in a hotel abroads and he says he wants to fuck other people. He goes on to do just that even though I’m against it. He comes back after fucking a prostitute, “Jen” as I found out, and tells me how beautiful she was – and even shows me pictures, but assures me that he didn’t come in her. I lose my shit completely looking at a picture of his cock, still veiny and hard but covered with jizz, still inside her cunt some of the way. I also find a picture of this Jen, a blond silicone filled really beautiful young woman. 50 euros, that’s what it says on the card. That was the cost.

He just wanted to try it! Isn’t it fun he tried a prostitute! What’s my problem? We agreed. He had fun so I should be happy for him.

And when I fully wake up, I immediately send him a text message telling about the things he put me through in my dreams. He answers, Oh no! Dream-me is pretty bad. Kisses. It makes me smile. Dream-him certainly is pretty bad. All my worst fears come true in my dreams.

I know why it came up now. His collague is travelling to Thailand soon and his travel plans include seeing prostitutes for the whole duration. The guy’s my age. It makes me sick to my stomach. I hear stories of his words and actions every day. He’s still going to go, still going to do it, even though he’s met this amazing woman just a few weeks back. I hate that I know this about anyone. It makes me lose faith in men. It makes me lose faith in Wonderboy.

And he’s doing everything right!

I hate these hormones.

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BDSM, Fantasies, Sex stories, Wonderboy

The Need To Be A Good Girl

Wonderboy fucked me yesterday from behind, fast and furious. He hit me on my buttocks more fiercely than he ever has before. He was using his palm instead of his fingers, and it’s like a bone flogger. It fucking hurts.

My ass turned red and his cock twitched in the confines of my contracting pussy. There was something scary there for me. He was so upright behind me, so big, it was so fast, the hits contracted my cunt and made me feel real, pinching unwelcome pain in my cunt where the cock stood rigid in the outer folds. I yelled ouch and he denied me the right to say I’m hurting. This was too difficult to me to handle emotionally. There was good pain and bad pain and then the anticipation having to face even more bad pain, if the cock would hit my cunt in the wrong direction, too hard, and he wouldn’t even know. He didn’t know my cunt was hurting too.

How to communicate all this in the small intense time frame that was set aside for the spanking and for the fucking? How to reconcile this with the need to be his good girl and do as I was told?

As he spanked me I came. Even with the emotional ambivalence, yes I did. I respond like the women in Kitty Thomas’ novels even though I can’t quite understand them. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to reconcile with everything.

But somehow I couldn’t really come, because his cock was filling me to the brim and my cunt couldn’t contract freely and it was all so hard and scary. I don’t know how to explain it. I got to the point of orgasm, my cunt contracted, but couldn’t deliver the contraction because it was stuck in a certain position with his cock and the anticipation of pain and some mystic failure. My arousal dropped and I relaxed, everything looked like the real deal. But I hadn’t had the tingling allover feeling of being taken there. I lost my orgasm.

Later we cuddled and when he was already shifting off to do his own stuff, I finally said that I thought this wasn’t over yet. He answered quite angrily, Well, you should’ve said so earlier, and threw me on my back. He wasn’t really angry, it was all part of the play, but with the incredibly fast sex, with the openly violent spanks and with my not getting off and having no way to reconcile needing more with being a good fuck toy and a good girl, my mood went from fragile to pure sad.

He licked me and finger-fucked me. He fucked me with a dildo, which hurt, and with his fingers in my ass, which really really hurt in bad pinching way. I just felt like my cunt and ass were on fire and not in a good way. I was burning. Why? I have no idea.

I was yelling ouch, ouch and when he thought it was about him slapping me I had to say that It’s your fingers in my ass that hurt! 

He withdrew his fingers and finally I had to ask him to stop altogether.

This won’t work. I’m feeling sad, I said. He sighed and I think actually shaked me a bit coming to cuddle me. What’s wrong?

I didn’t quite know. Why was there wrong pain? Why did I feel bad? We talked and cuddled and then. Then I said it.

Don’t be angry with me. I want to be good to you. I want to be your good girl.

I wasn’t angry. And you were really good. You’re my good girl. He caressed my hair saying this and drew an aroused sigh out of my mouth.

You can say you’ll have to punish me for not telling you earlier, [about not orgasming] but I need you to say “It’s good you bring this to my attention. I’ll decide what happens now. You’re a good girl for telling me this”, I said and hid my face against Wonderboy’s hairy chest and neck.

Hmmm. Okay, Wonderboy said mulling this over. But I wasn’t really angry, he then said again to make sure I understood. It made me breath easier.

It was still too much. With the hitting and the hurting, I said with a little voice.

We will commence this later. You’ll have to wait the whole day to get cock again, he said.

And then he started describing the things he’d do to me. After a while he went down on me and kept describing all the nasty things he’d do. Hurting my nipples with clothespins. Hitting my tits and my inner thighs. Hitting my face. Taking me. Bounding me to the bed. While he was talking he leisurely hit my thigh or twisted my nipple licking me and all the while taking small breaths to tell a new thing he was going to do to me. Later.

Finally I came with a bang. He’s so good at talking nowadays. He knows exactly what to say.

You’ll probably have to wait until tomorrow, though, he said wiping his mouth and holding me in his arms.

I did and it was worth every second of every hour. Dear Lord have mercy oh dear God… (The hoarse blabbering fades into darkness and the camera focuses on a rope curled on the bed.)

I am your good girl, aren’t I, daddy?

To be continued.

Ps. There will be clothespins involved.

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