How to fuck more often

In the three months I’ve been (real time) with Richard, I think I’ve had more sex than the rest of my life put together. Three times a day adds up pretty quickly to the same amount of sex in a 5 year, once a month whether we need it or not, kinda marriage.

(OMG! I just busted out my calculator, cuz I’m a geek like that… 12×5=60 times having sex in marriage, 3×90=270 times having sex with Richard! I’ve already had 300% more sex with Richard than I did with my ex! Approximately.)

And that’s just talking about quantity. Quality, well, there’s no comparison. Richard is an incredibly thoughtful and creative lover and of course, finally recognizing my kink and having a kink-compatible lover makes a world of difference to my own interest in sex.

But. As Richard said in an earlier post, we are in a short-term period when he’s not supposed to have penetrative sex. Although two weeks reeeeeally doesn’t feel short-term right now.

He’s been using the time, as he said, to force me to masturbate to orgasm repeatedly. Evil creative genius that he is.

bdsmcouple-amy-morning-bed
Amy, unaware she is about to be fucked.

We’ve also cheated already, with the girl-on-top position. Not a favorite of either of ours, and Richard had never cum in that position. Before yesterday. Who would have thought that a guy could be so dominant in the “female superior” position? Here’s how it went.

We’re lying on the bed, taking a “nap”. We’re snuggling and kissing and Richard starts playing with my breasts. After about 30 seconds (really) he says “Get on top of me.”

I start to argue “This probably isn’t a good idea. We’re supposed to wait two weeks, you know.”

“Get on top of me. Now.”

He’s using the no-nonsense voice, so I get on top of him. I thought I’d have trouble, since we’ve only been playing for a minute or so, but the combination of pent-up desire and Richard’s no-nonsense voice has me wet and ready to be entered.

We both groan as he enters me. How could we have gone a week without this? It feels so sweet, so good I can almost taste it.

I move on top of him gingerly, concerned not to hurt him. He reaches up and cups my breasts in his hands. Then he begins to play with my nipples, and it becomes harder for me to control my movements. He is lying still, letting me do the work.

“Keep moving. Don’t slow down.”

His hands don’t leave my nipples for a second, the tugging reaches all the way to my cunt.

I can feel him moving gently with me. I let out another moan and, without noticing, slip a finger into my mouth. I’m sucking hard on it as I’m being fucked from below.

His hands leave my breasts and slide down to my hips. He begins to guide me up and down on his cock.

I’m trying hard to control myself. I really don’t think we should be doing this and I’m worried Richard will get hurt. But it’s getting harder not to buck and claw and bite. I fall forward onto his shoulder and steady myself by biting down.

He’s able to change where his cock hits inside me simply by changing where his hands hold me. He moves from my hips to my waist and then my lower back. Each movement is so intense I can’t stifle a moan or exclamation.

He’s getting harder and he’s fucking me deeper. I grip his shoulders with my fingers. Later, I notice scratch marks there.

After a few minutes his fucking gets more erratic and I can tell he’s close to cumming. His eyes are closed and his breathing is ragged. For a second I worry that he’s going to get hurt, and then I’m lost again in the sensations.

“Oh God. Fuck. I’m cumming. I’m cumming.”

He thrusts deep and empties his cum into me. It feels…indescribable.

Less than a week to go.

Facefucking like a champ

We are on the couch. Richard flips me onto my back and pulls me over the arm of the couch by my hair. He stands over and behind me, grabs me by the wrists and pulls my arms wide.

“Open your mouth.”

He slides his cock halfway into my mouth. In and out, slowly, a couple of times. Then he slides all the way in and holds there, at the base of my throat. I try to stay calm, but I can’t breathe and after a few seconds I try to pull away.

He pushes in further, pinning me in place with his cock.

I begin to panic and struggle to break free. He holds my wrists tightly and keeps me pinned with his cock.

I buck and finally manage to turn my head to the side. I gasp for breath.

“Don’t fucking fight me.” He grabs both wrists in one hand and slaps me, hard, on both cheeks.

“Pay attention. Are you paying attention?”

“Yes.” I whisper. Boy, am I paying attention. He has my complete attention.

“I’m going to slide my cock down into your throat again. You mustn’t fight me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Again. He continues to hold my arms wide, slides partway in and out a couple of times, and then all the way in. I struggle to stay calm, but after a few seconds I panic and pull away again.

This time he pulls out quickly and grabs both wrists in one hand. My neck and back are arched over the arm of the chair, and he leans forward and slaps my breasts hard, over and over. I begin to cry, but he doesn’t stop.

“You are going to learn to suck cock like a real slut. I don’t care if I have to hurt you, you’re going to learn how to suck my cock.”

“Are you ready to try again?”

I nod, sniffling, with tears running into my ears.

And again. Slide partway in, slide partway out, then all the way to the base of my throat. His balls rest against the bridge of my nose. I feel claustrophobic, but I figure out I can breathe through my nose. I’m drooling out the sides of my mouth (ew), I’m covered in sweat and tears, but I can breathe.

He stays in my throat for what feels like an eternity, but I don’t panic. Then he slowly pulls out.

“Good girl. You were a good girl. OK, again.”

All the way in. I become very passive and simply focus on breathing. He pulls out again, probably after the same amount of time, but it doesn’t seem so long this time.

“Excellent. Good girl. You’re a good little cocksucking slut, aren’t you?”

I whimper. He knows I hate to be called a slut.

“Are you my little cocksucker? My little cocksucking whore?”

I’m on my back, arched over the arm of the couch, and Richard has a death grip on my wrists. He’s already slapped me (did I mention hard?) on my face and breasts. A smart girl would say “Yes sir” wouldn’t she? But I hate being called a whore even more than I hate being called a slut. So I sniff and turn my head. Genius.

He grabs me by the hair and pulls my head back even further, then slaps me across the face several times. He slaps my breasts until I’m crying again.

Then, without any warning, he shoves his cock down my throat. I struggle, because I didn’t have time to prepare, but this time he’s got me well pinned and I can’t escape. He face fucks me roughly for a minute or two or an hour…I don’t know.

He pulls out of me, then sits down on the couch and pulls me onto his lap. At this point I’ve become very passive and quiet, pretty much the opposite of the smug woman who began the blowjob session a short time ago. I snuggle up against him and he pets me and tells me how proud he is of me and how well I did, that he was very hard on me and I handled it so well.

His praise makes me ridiculously happy.

How to find a submissive woman

When Amy first told me “I am for you,” I didn’t get it.

I heard what she was saying, and she explained the concept to me, but what I missed was what she really meant by that.

I’d known too many “submissive” women before.

I’d seen them on bdsm dating sites, laying out what they were looking for in a mate, what they wanted him to do for them, what they wanted to do for him, what they wanted to do for play, etc.

Quite frankly, I didn’t see them as submissive. I saw them, or at least their needs, as what would be dominant in a relationship.

I’d dabbled in Gor. But Gorean behavior had too many conceits and rules. You had to talk a certain way, behave a certain way, socialize a certain way. There were codes of behavior, codes of honor, rules for how your slave was supposed to greet people. Codes about how to capitalize a master’s name, and how to lower case a slave’s. Rules about how to discipline your girl, rules about how to train her, how to give her tasks to better herself, yadda yadda yadda.

Fuck that.

I’m not so much for following someone else’s rules.

Before I met Amy, I did some hard looking at myself and what I wanted in my life. I’d always adapted to my partner, and made sure their needs were met, even if it meant suppressing my own. Classic enabling behavior. I came to the conclusion that I would rather have no partner, than be in a relationship where I had to change who I was for anyone else. I could see past relationships that had not worked, and I could see that changing myself and denying what I wanted would ultimately destroy that relationship.

I decided I didn’t want a primary relationship.

I wasn’t closed to the idea, I just figured I’d never find that perfect match, the woman who wanted what I wanted. I figured they would all come with preconceptions and needs that they would expect me to adjust myself, to compromise, to meet those needs. And I was done with that.

Now, this was an exciting realization for me. I could be totally open and free about what I liked, I didn’t need to impress anyone with anything. I didn’t have to be “Domly” or sensitive, or anything. I could just be myself, say what I thought when I thought it, and move forward in my life. It gave me a natural, unforced dominance that didn’t depend on anyone else.

I wasn’t even looking for a partner.

Then Amy came along. God. Like a tractor beam. OK, so maybe not an appropriate Star Trek analogy, but Star Wars anyway. Close enough. It’s all spacey spacey themed, anyway.

Yeah, Amy attracted me, powerfully so. Smart, funny, very comfortable with herself. Not to mention gorgeous.

We IM’d, we phoned, we talked about bdsm and D/s and all sorts of topics. We both knew one thing, we didn’t want 24.7 D/s. I didn’t want a slave I had to micromanage, and Amy didn’t want to be dominated outside the bedroom.

Or so we thought.

I’m a simple man. I wanted a woman I could throw to the ground, kick her thighs open, and fuck. I’m not much for anything elaborate. And I’m not much for routine, or rules, or protocols. Catch her, throw her down, fuck her.

Pretty simple.

I didn’t want to be all focused on her needs, wondering if she is enjoying sex, if she is satisfied, if she feels good. I wanted a woman I could use. One I could force. One that could say “No”, sure, but that “no,” wasn’t going to get a whole lot of attention. Well, none.

I didn’t want a “brat,” either. A woman who misbehaves to get attention.

Boring.

Nor did I want one who needed to be spanked, disciplined or hurt in anyway. I like hurting. I just want to do it when I feel like hurting her, and not when she feels like being hurt.

Amy repeated to me a few times, the “I am for you,” idea.

Like an idiot, I kept blowing it off.

Then I got it.

I realized that what Amy liked was to be whatever her partner wanted. This wasn’t just words, typical slavespeak, etc. This was a vanilla woman, only the slightest acquaintance with D/s, and yet she knew that sher wanted to be whatever her partner wanted. Her needs were met by meeting his needs.

Let me emphasize that.

Her needs are met by meeting his needs.

Good god.

I told Amy she was dangerous. That a man could destroy himself with a woman like that. She didn’t understand that. She still doesn’t. She sees herself as the most innocuous little creature. I think she’s fucking dangerous.

But she spoke the truth about herself.

I use her, I make her masturbate, I force her to cum, I hurt her, I take away her air, I put hurty clampy things on her, I tie her up. I call her a slut, I ass fuck her. I do stuff that she likes, and that I like. I do stuff that she doesn’t like, but that I like. I do stuff she hates and dreads, but that I like.

I use her.

And I adore her. Did I need to mention that? She gets insecure only when she thinks she isn’t meeting my needs. I have no doubt she would do anything she could do for me if I asked her. She gives me absolute power. Fortunately, I am already absolutely corrupted, so no changes there.

She’s a woman I didn’t have to change myself for, one who loved me for what I am, Sadist, bad man, whatever it is that I am, she loves. And obeys.

Her needs are met by meeting mine.

My perfect mate.