I read Marie Rebelle‘s brave and poignant “So Many Firsts” blog post and it got me thinking….I guess there’ll always be new firsts to encounter, but when it comes to what separates the ‘only-once’s from the ‘it’s a habit’s and the ‘last time’s, things get a lot more complicated. This came out as more of a stream of consciousness than having any particular point to make but it was therapeutic for me to write it and so I hope you’ll bear with me for sharing.
Submission is not masochism, although you know she becomes aroused by pain, you’ve seen and heard how she shudders and gasps at the sting of the paddle. You’ve twisted her nipples and felt her response in the flood of wetness from her cunt. You’ve held her throat while driving yourself hard and fast into her, watching her eyes glaze with pleasure, feeling her tighten and spasm around you. It’s pain as physical pleasure, sure – but it’s more than that. It’s tangible surrender, the marks you leave are badges of her trust in you, symbols of faith and belief.
From along the bracken-strewn path, I could see that the windows on the birdwatching hide were all closed
Something about the summertime exuberance of the wildlife on this nature reserve has struck with an inexplicable surge of horniness. Right now, I really really want to indulge in myself – pull my tingling nipples, rub my swollen clit, plunge my fingers deep into my wet cunt and grind myself against my hand as hard and fast as I can manage until I come.
They do it in near-silence
You never know who’s listening she’d said or even watching, these days. Before you know it, you’re a viral internet star then every randomer and his dog has an opinion on what an awful person you are.
Neither of them had found that prospect appealing, so he keeps his lips tightly clamped over hers and she locks her breathless moans at the back of her throat as they roll and writhe together in a tangle of limbs on the lounge floor.
He licked me as though he were a sun-blind desert nomad and I an ice sculpture of his most longed-for mirage. No tip-of-the-tongue delicacy, no butterfly-soft tease; he gave me the full weight of his tongue from the cleft of my buttocks to the nape of my neck as I moaned and my legs opened in involuntary expression of my arousal.
Edging myself is not something I do deliberately very often. I’m terrible at self-denial (and not just when it comes to orgasms; I’ll eat chocolate until I feel sick and smoke until my lungs hurt because – well, why on earth would I stop?!)
Today, I desperately want to be dominated. I thought I was just horny but even after a wank featuring a beaded glass dildo and much fantasising about rough gangs and rope, I still feel a deep yearning inside me which I know from experience can only be fulfilled by willing obedience to the will of another. To have the burden of decision-making – even for something as banal as ‘shall I have a cup of tea now?’ not just lifted from my shoulders but held high over my bowed head, is something my whole body and mind cry out for right now.