Waking Up

He's been winding up for something more "real" between the two of us -- for awhile. As He wrote here, He's been "awash" in spanking energy. Our days have been frenetically busy and brutally exhausting. There has not been a single opportunity to act on any of that...

My hungers are less demanding these days, but they are back and not to be denied entirely. I think the only difference between us, in terms of dealing with these long, difficult stretches, is that I've become used to deferring my wants and needs to some degree. It isn't as frustrating to me in the short run as it can be for Him.

Whatever all of that might or might not mean, we woke up this morning ready to play. Both of us. We came to it all slowly and without any sense of rush. That, in itself, is unbelievable luxury for us. One of the subtle shifts that has come about in recent weeks is that He's been inclined to find alternatives to my usual, face-down-on-the-bed, over-the-pillow position, to something that gives Him better access with more comfort for Him in the bargain. Nothing extreme, really -- just bent over the side of the bed with my hips up on a pillow. It is still pretty secure feeling for me, although my toes don't touch the floor. He seems to feel like it is a huge improvement from His perspective.

To my complete surprise, once He had me there, He didn't go right after whomping the tar out of me. Instead, He stroked and teased me with His knife. I wanted to just float away with the delicious sensations that He was creating, but was stuck in my own head with the fear of knowing that the good stuff wouldn't last long. But... then... He started to finger me, and reaching for the lube, pushed harder and harder until He had most of His hand inside me. I was caught between the sheer pleasure and wildness of it, and my same-old fears. We got close, but I began to panic, and He stopped just short of the point where He would have popped right past that last barrier. Still, it was exhilarating and wonderful. He left me for a few minutes while He went to wash up, and then He was back.

Back I went, into position, and He began to spank in earnest. I know that early in the sequence of things, there was the very light Lexan paddle. I recognized the sensations of several of our straps. Then, He began to paddle me with a Lexan paddle that has beveled holes in it. Somewhere in the middle of that, I began to sense the edge of "subspace" rushing toward me. Even though I don't get to subspace often, I can always tell where the point of entry is, and I had a momentary thought that, "this cannot be happening because it never happens when He's paddling me." But there it was; the bright purple lights against the blackness in my head, and then I was there, following the purple lights. I knew that He was still there, and I knew He was still after me with some of the implements that I usually barely tolerate. I could hear Him; I could even respond to Him (sort of), and I was just following along in total amazement. I do think that He took full advantage of my little trip to La-La land and went after me with gusto.

The afterglow was warm and sweet and breathless for us both: a really good session! He promised that there would be much more later in the day -- acting out some of the fantasies that He's been entertaining this last week. Unfortunately, within the hour, it became apparent that in the midst of our morning romp, He'd strained His back. He spent much of the day unable to stand or walk comfortably, and that pretty well took care of any further playing today. I did talk Him into a massage late in the afternoon, and that has seemed to help. Perhaps, those fantasies won't have to put on hold forever.

swan

Hands Up!

kaya gave me the idea for this one, and she's way better than me at fisting herself, and at taking pictures of the deed. I am just a total klutz with the digital camera, and not being able to see what you are pointing the thing at is even tougher. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there are pictures of my "parts" at the end of all of this. You have been warned. There's plenty of time to turn back now, or maybe you would prefer the scenery here...

Still.

There's been no fisting in my life for probably three years. That is entirely my fault. I've been entirely, utterly, unreasonably terrified at the whole prospect since my surgery -- imagining the bit of what is left of my "girly parts" as disconnected, unsupported, drastically shortened, and vulnerable to some sort of catastrophic breakthrough at the top end. So, everytime we've approached this (and I used to absolutely love fisting) I've panicked, and He's stopped rather than take a chance on traumatizing me.

There was a time when I was pretty adventurous, but I've grown steadily more timid and more withdrawn sexually in the last years. I want to reverse that trend, and I understand that the responsibility for doing that is on my shoulders.

This little trick really works for me from the standpoint of helping to allay my fears about the potential disastrous consequences of fisting. My hand and my fingers are right there exploring the unknown of my revamped plumbing. I am learning the geography of things, so the unknown won't perhaps loom so menacingly in my imagination.

I wasn't entirely successful this time. Along with the challenges of the fisting itself, there are all the issues of the contortions required -- my aging muscles and joints aren't all that excited about imitating a pretzel these days. No wild, rolicking orgasms either, and I do remember that used to be part of the deal. Perhaps it is a little like tickling yourself? Or maybe it is just that I didn't really get the whole fist in. Still, it is a start. My grandmother would have said, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." So, I'm off and "venturing." Grandma would be proud (maybe).

At any rate, I'm thinking that kaya's got a great idea here. Maybe we ought to form a "hands up" club.

swan

Edge

We are dancing nearer and nearer to the edge together.

It is good.

It is very scary.

I know that there will be a day when we will take the leap, and I believe that it will be the day when I will finally be assured that I am healed and "back" again.

Still each step nearer to the precipice sends me flying into His arms, buried in His embrace, shaking and terrified, certain that utter destruction awaits me beyond that line that exists (perhaps) only in my imagination.

Before...

We shared the great joy and intimacy of vaginal fisting. It was a gift that He gave to me, early in our relationship, guiding me carefully and with a sure and experienced hand (forgive me the pun) as I learned to "do" it with Him.

Since my surgery, we haven't resumed it. I am, in every medical sense, healed. I have the opinion of the doctor, who sees me at the women's sexual health clinic, assures me that I "should" be able to fist without any problem.

No problem.

Except that in my head, there's a real problem. I'm scared to death -- terrified that He'll punch right through the end of what's left of my vaginal vault. After all, there's no "top" left at the top anymore.

And in physical reality, there's serious uncharted territory to be rediscovered. Our regular sex life does not involve deep penetration. There are places that have been left in unexplored darkness this last year -- places where scar tissue looms tender in my body and HUGE in my imagination.

We are getting better and better. Finding a new place to stand together. One day, very soon, we'll go together to the edge and leap into the darkness.

Wish us well.

swan