I am at least half the problem... maybe more than half. Between my natural shyness, and my honest lack of understanding of how my own body works in the aftermath of the hysterectomy, I am clueless and frustrated and scared when it comes to things sexual. I have fostered and nurtured a stubborn and lingering belief that there is some magical formula that could reawaken my sexual nature, but I had no plan for how that would ever happen.
As for Master, remember that He is the Man that T and I refer to, sardonically, as "Mr. Romance." He'd be happy to do whatever it is that would make me happy, but as long as He's happy, there's no driving need on His part to figure that out. That isn't a character flaw. It IS a Dominant thing -- it is the nature of these types to see the world in terms of how things are working for them. So, when I look unhappy, and dissatisfied, it distresses Him, and unless He can get some clear sense of what the problem is, His reaction is one of frustration.
That's where we've been. For a very long time.
Yesterday's post gave us both the key to unlocking the puzzle that has so baffled us. Finally, I found enough words to clearly explain what I've needed and what might work. Armed with that tiny, little bit of information, He took us both into a wonderful session and subsequent love-making that brought us together to a peak we haven't reached in a very long time...leaving me walking around in my own mind going "WOW!" Just "WOW!"
He started out, simply enough, just stroking my skin, my face, my back -- finding, as He went, places that tickle. I am not particularly ticklish, but when He stumbles onto a tickly spot, it just destroys me. Tickling makes me giggly, silly, and leaves me feeling very girlish. I will always protest, "no tickling!" It is a wildly vulnerable place for me, and I like it and resist it with almost equal fervor... Which, of course causes Him to take particular note of those places. Of course.
Nipples. Next. Yes. Sucking and nuzzling. Still nothing very intense, but my whole body felt awake and alive and eager. Easy. That would be me. Really.
He began to slap, very lightly and very gently and very quickly, at my pussy -- and I was immediately entranced, captured by the rhythm and percussive sensations He was creating. I'm not really "into" gynotorture, but my simplest fantasies almost always involve some sort of pussy spanking -- the sort of thing that verges onto painful, but is way more about control and vulnerability than pain. This was right there for me... more breath-taking than miserable; more intensely connective than painfully demanding. By the time He was ready to move onto spanking, I was gasping, writhing with need and desire and wanting.
And, so we came to the SM that is foundational between us... Still in our bed, and over the "spanking" pillow, I was not afraid, not despairing, not panicked, not feeling somehow defeated before we began. Instead, I was eager to go where He would take me, sure that He would manage it all and keep me safe. Already a little "out there," the endorphin cocktail was at work in my bloodstream and brain. I am "sloppy" when I fly. I tend to drool and slobber and jabber away incoherently. I can hear the words in my head, but the sounds that I make sound garbled and muddy in my ears. I know that I felt more curious than I usually do in session. There were sensations that I just couldn't match up with any of the implements we have. Once or twice, I think I asked Him, "What is that? What IS that?" With one paddle, I was totally amazed when He showed it to me -- it is a round, fairly thick piece, made of pine. It has the BDSM logo on its surface. We rarely use it, and I would have sworn that it was some sort of smallish, rectangularly shaped, long, thin bit. How very odd -- that discrepancy between the reality and the physical impression.
He spent some time, making rapid fire strokes with our old, wonderful rattan cane. I got that it was some sort of "stick" thing, but again, couldn't identify it exactly. He went easy with the cane. There were very few full on cane strokes, and only the cumulative fire of those many, many whippy little tattoo beats.
In between, He'd rub me and stroke me and spank me with His hands. I felt Him reaching out to me and grounding me with His touch, and it both calmed and reassured me. I knew, in the midst of each of those intervals, that He'd be back with something more intense, but it was all OK. I was able to rest under His hands and just be there with Him. No analyzing the earlier bits, and no worrying about the things yet to come...
I kept repeating my "good" session mantra: "I love You, Sir," over and over and over, but by the time He got to His newest, current favorite paddles, I think I was reduced to only "Sir! Sir! Sir!" It seemed that was all my brain could manage at the end. Can you say, "lalalalalalalala?" Even that ritualized protocol that requires that I kiss the paddle and thank Him for my spanking seemed a little muzzy. I'm not sure I got it quite right. I knew the words, but couldn't seem to form them up. Whatever I did get out, He seemed satisfied enough.
He told me I could roll over, and I remember wrestling with the silly pillow, unable to get up off it, and not really able to get it out from under me. I just couldn't make my limbs work very well. I think He came and pulled it away and took it to its spot in the corner. He pulled me in, held me close, and did a bit more pussy whacking... When we did, finally, make love I was so ready, so eager for Him inside of me. We rode together to the first shared orgasm we've enjoyed for months and months and months. When it was all over, I'd have stayed right there, forever, in the magical place He made for us. I was afraid to move or breathe too much -- not wanting to break the spell... It was wonderful, and I am anxious to try it all again.
Thank You, Sir!
swan
Y A Y !!
ReplyDeleteJust yay!!
morningstar
wonderful
ReplyDelete